Benjamin Franklinstein Meets the Fright Brothers (4 page)

The Independence Day
bike parade was a patriotic spectacle. Hundreds of Philadelphians pedaled down the street on decorated bicycles. Mayor Milstead led the way, her own bike sporting a pair of lit sparklers on the handlebars. A local high school band had loaded their drums, trumpets, trombones, and even a sousaphone onto their bikes and played a clumsy but rousing rendition of “Stars and Stripes Forever.”

A crowd cheered from the sidewalks, giving an extra ovation to a man dressed as Benajmin Franklin. He wore authentic eighteenth-century clothes as he wobbled along. Even with training wheels, his balance was uncertain.

“How's it going, Ben?” Victor asked, pedaling alongside.

“I admit to having some difficulty maintaining forward locomotion, steering, and sustaining my balance,” Franklin huffed. “But experience is the best teacher, and I shall soon master this remarkable contraption!”

“Try not to think too much,” Scott suggested. “That's what I do. Hey, look at that!”

A small airplane flew overhead, towing an enormous banner reading FREE BICYCLE REPAIRS AT THE RIGHT CYCLE CO.

Franklin grinned broadly, craning his neck to get a good look. “The airplane! Of all your modern-day inventions, that may be the most miraculous. I remember watching the Montgolfier brothers' first hot-air balloon flight. We never dreamed that it would lead to—”

“Watch the road!” Victor shouted.

Franklin swerved and narrowly avoided crashing into a cycling trombonist.

Several near misses later, the procession reached the performance stage in the park. Mayor Milstead got off her bike and joined four men who were waiting on the stage. A cluster of news vans was parked nearby, their cameras focused on the mayor.

“Citizens of Philadelphia,”
Mayor Milstead began,
“I would like to thank you all for participating in our first annual Independence Day Bicycle Parade.”

The crowd applauded.

Victor craned his neck. “I can't see anything. What's happening up there?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “I heard there was free ice cream somewhere.”

“We're too far away,” Franklin said. “Perhaps these will help.”

He reached into his pocket and produced what looked like a small pair of binoculars. They were constructed of two empty toilet paper rolls, a number of hand-ground lenses, and some duct tape. “I've been experimenting with the science of optics and thought this might come in handy. I call it the bioptiscope.”

Victor put them up to his eyes, and the mayor's face came into focus. “Wow, these work great.”

“First,”
Mayor Milstead continued, gesturing to two men standing behind her,
“let us give a warm welcome to our city's two newest entrepreneurs, the proprietors of the Right Cycle Company. They have sponsored this wonderful bicycle parade. Would either of you like to say a few words?”

After a smattering of applause, the younger of the two men stepped before the microphone. He was tall, thin, and extremely pale, dressed entirely in black from his shoes all the way up to his bowler hat. Victor thought his clothes looked old-fashioned, like something you might see in a silent movie. Even though the man wore sunglasses, he still shielded his eyes from the sun's rays with his hand.
“In appreciation of your show of patriotism, my brother and I are pleased to offer every single person in this parade, and anyone watching at home, a free bicycle tune-up this Saturday at our shop, the Right Cycle Company.”

Everyone cheered.

Brothers? Victor wondered. One of them had to be at least thirty years older than the other. Peculiar.

Mayor Milstead took back the microphone.
“Thank you all. And now I have another announcement.”

“Do you notice anything odd about their speech?” Ben asked.

“They're all talking kind of slowly, almost like robots,” said Victor. “Maybe they're nervous.”

Franklin nodded. “Public speaking is a challenge for many. I remember when Patrick Henry first attempted to speak before the House of Burgesses. His voice squeaked so loudly that the entire House erupted into—”

“Hey, Victor,” Scott interrupted, “can I try Mr. Benjamin's biopti-things? I want to get a better look.”

“Sure.” Victor handed them over.

Up on the stage, the mayor welcomed two more men to the podium. The first wore a crisp blue suit and appeared to be standing at attention. The second man was much shorter. He slouched and his beard was full of crumbs.

“Over the past few weeks,”
Mayor Milstead continued,
“there has been some concern regarding sightings of giant monster bats flying above the city. To clarify, I'd like to introduce Mr. Gilbert Girard of the Federal Aviation Administration Flight Standards District Office.”

The man in the blue suit leaned into the microphone.
“After exhaustive observation and research, the FAA conclusively reports that the bats that people claim to have seen are in fact mirages caused by swamp gas rising from the outskirts of town.”

The crowd murmured.

“Thank you, Mr. Girard,”
Mayor Milstead said.
“We also have with us Dr. Robert Kane, eminent small-mammal zoologist from the Philadelphia Zoo. Dr. Kane, would you share your findings with the people of Philadelphia?”

Dr. Kane took the microphone.
“After exhaustive observation and research, the Philadelphia Zoo conclusively reports that the bats that people claim to have seen are in fact mirages caused by swamp gas rising from the outskirts of town.”

“Do we even have swamps in Philadelphia?” Victor asked. “I thought—”

“The transmitter!” Victor gasped, checking the readout on his cell phone. “Someone's calling on the electrophone!”

“We must return to the laboratory at once,” Franklin said. “Follow me.”

“Hey, guys,” Scott said, peering through Franklin's bioptiscope, “there's something wrong with this thing. It makes the people up there look like they have glowing eyes.”

He glanced around, but Victor and Franklin were gone. “Guys? Where'd you go?”

Victor wove
through the crowd, pedaling furiously. Ben struggled along behind, trying desperately to control his bike. In frustration, he hopped off and began to push.

“Go on without me, Victor!”

The phone was still beeping, but Victor knew it might stop at any second. What if the caller gave up and never called back? Victor's legs burned, but he pedaled faster.

At the corner, he made a split-second decision and jumped his bike up and over the curb. The path down the hill was dangerously steep, but it could save precious seconds. His bike shook as it bounced down the rutted incline. Victor found himself moving faster than he could pedal, and threw his weight from side to side in a desperate effort to steer. The front wheel wrenched to the right, and he toppled over the handlebars onto the hard ground.

The phone stopped beeping.

Victor's shoulder throbbed. Blood ran down his shin from his knee, but he scarcely noticed. He pulled the phone from his pocket and was relieved to see that the impact had only knocked the battery loose. Maybe the caller
hadn't
hung up. There might still be time.

The front rim of his bike was twisted at a right angle. He'd have to leave it behind. Victor raced, half running, half limping, toward the gap in the fence.

By the time he reached his house, he was in a full panic. He fumbled frantically with the keys and unlocked the door to Ben's downstairs apartment. Dashing to the back room, he pulled open the bookcase and clambered down the ladder into the secret basement laboratory.

He hit the floor hard, and his bloody knee buckled beneath him. Pain shot up his leg, and Victor, to his own surprise, screamed a swearword—the same word that sent Denny Burkus to the principal's office at least once a week.

The electrophone—it was working!

Victor stumbled across the lab, sidestepping Franklin's Leyden jars on his way to the giant machine in the corner. He unrolled the electrophone's speaking tube and held the copper cone to his mouth.

“Hello!” Victor sputtered. “Who is this?”

He waited but heard no response.

“Hello?” Victor repeated. “Ben—I mean
Dr. Franklin
is on his way. Please don't hang up!”

“Who are you?”
the voice cautiously inquired.

Victor couldn't tell whether the voice belonged to a man or a woman. The sound crackled and warbled, like an old record being played underwater.

“My name is Victor Godwin. I live in the house upstairs. I've been helping Dr. Franklin repair the electrophone. I promise, he'll be here any second.”

“One of them? One of who?”

“Look,” said Victor, “I don't know what you're talking about, but you can trust me. Ben told me all about the Modern Order of Prometheus. You're the reason he woke up, aren't you? So he could help you with a great emergency?”

So there really was one!

“I only know that Ben was supposed to sleep until the Prometheans needed him to help with something really big. He thinks he was revived by accident, but I knew there was more to it.”

“In a way. I've been helping him out.”

“He's, uh, on his way home from the bike parade.”

“Sort of. He's dressed as Benjamin Franklin. It works better than you might think here in Philadelphia.”

“Wait!” said Victor. “Don't hang up! What's wrong with the parade? And what's the Great Emergency?”

The electrophone went dead.

Ben arrived several minutes later, flushed and out of breath.

“Victor, I am sorry, but that bicycle! I don't think it likes me.” He stepped off the ladder and glanced across the room at the electrophone. “Were we too late?”

“I made it just in time, but I'm afraid it's bad news.” He filled Franklin in.

For the first time since Victor met him, the old man seemed genuinely shaken.

“I have been a fool, Victor. Worse, I have been derelict in my duties as a Promethean. I should have worked harder to contact the Order. Had it not been for your persistence—”

“It was a one-in-a-million shot,” said Victor. “The important thing now is figuring out what to do about it. What do you think the voice meant when it asked if I was ‘one of them'?”

“I do not know. But we must try to call back.”

“I'm not so sure,” Victor said. “The voice seemed afraid, as if speaking on the electrophone for too long was dangerous. It mentioned that someone else might be listening in.”

“Then perhaps we, too, should stop trying for now,” agreed Franklin. “The longer we broadcast, the more we may be putting ourselves in danger.”