House of Secrets (25 page)

“How did you discover them?” asked Will.

“I was dusting the library and bumped into a wall lamp. I reached up and attempted to adjust it. But when I moved it—”

“A door slid open,” said Brendan.

“How did you know?” asked Penelope.

“Scooby-Doo,” said Will.

“Who?”

“A talking canine who—never mind.”

Penelope continued, “I went inside and found a passageway with torches and ghastly books. Past a wine cellar and a closet, I found another passage, and another . . . it was endless. Every night, I sneaked back in, discovering new hidden corridors and chambers. The house was so much bigger than it appeared from outside. Then, just a few hours ago—I can’t believe it was a century ago—I ventured so deep that I heard drips of water that sounded as if they echoed from caverns . . . and that’s when I found Kristoff.”

“What was he doing?” Cordelia asked.

“He was inside . . . it’s difficult to say. I’d describe it as a cave of delights.”

“A cave of delights?”

“A hollowed-out cavern,” continued Penelope, “filled with everything a man could want. Beautiful gems, treasure, women, wine, servants. Kristoff was dancing, singing . . . he looked mad, raving with joy. It was like heaven, or hell. Like something from a dream. But definitely real—”

“Absolutely fascinating,” Will said. He had given up trying not to look at Penelope. It felt as if he’d known her for a long time. “You’re a wonderful storyteller.”

“I could listen to her for hours,” agreed Brendan.

“Then shush and let her finish!” said Cordelia.

“Thank you,” Penelope said. “In the center of the cavern, on a pedestal as if it were a beautiful statue, was a book.”

“I bet I know which one,” said Brendan.

“I assumed that this was the great book Mr. Kristoff was working on, of course. It had no title, just a picture on the cover—”

“Let me guess: like an eye?” Brendan asked.

“That’s right!”

“Look at that. Pop quiz winner, right here.”

Penelope ignored him. In fact, she aimed her story at Cordelia, who despite her prickliness seemed to be the most serious listener. “When I saw the book, I had this overwhelming urge to touch it. I wanted to immediately open it and see what was inside. It was obvious from the book’s position that it was the key to everything. I stepped out of the shadows toward the book . . . and that’s when Kristoff saw me.”

“Uh-oh,” said Eleanor.

“He demanded to know how I’d found his private place. But more importantly, he was concerned about his daughter.”

“The Wind Witch?” Eleanor asked, confused.

“No . . . your brother told me about this ‘Wind Witch,’ but as I knew her, Kristoff’s daughter was a sweet girl named Dahlia. Mr. Kristoff adored her. She was the only thing he cared about more than his writing! Even though Kristoff would disappear for days to work, whenever he was with Dahlia, he was the perfect example of a doting father. And when he was with Dahlia, he never had that crazy bloodshot look in his eyes. Or that mad grin.”

“So what happened?” Brendan asked.

“Mr. Kristoff became incandescent with rage. He called me horrible names, said that because of my carelessness, Dahlia could have followed me. And this was a place that Dahlia could never see! And a state she could never see him in. I promised Kristoff it wouldn’t happen again. I begged him to believe me . . . and he suddenly became very, very calm and told me not to move, to stay perfectly still. He turned around and went to the book. He stood in front of it for a few moments, writing something. I’ll never know what he wrote, because when he turned around, he was holding a mace, and it was on fire.”

“A flaming mace?” Brendan said. “Awesome.”

“Oh no, this mace didn’t inspire any awe in me,” Penelope said. “It was terrifying. Like a weapon for Satan himself. Even though it was made of black metal, it burned as if it were made of wood, and the flames didn’t even make Kristoff flinch. I didn’t understand what I was seeing. And when I looked at Kristoff . . . ” Penelope trailed off as if it hurt to remember.

“What about him?” Cordelia asked.

“His face was . . . twisted. He had this hideous grin on one half and this horrible frown on the other, almost as if his mouth were too wide for his face. He said to me,
‘You have angered the Storm King.’
Then he raised the mace over his head and swung it toward me—and I woke up in this attic.”

“T
he Storm King?” repeated Eleanor.

“Yeah, like the Wind Witch,” said Brendan.

“Denver Kristoff and his daughter must have both fallen under the spell of the book,” said Cordelia. “This explains a lot—”

“Like that scar on your skeleton!” Brendan said to Penelope. She stared at him in confusion, so he went on, “When we found your bones, you had this dent above your eye, like a big chip taken outta your skull, which must’ve been where the mace whacked you—”

“Stop it! Don’t remind me! Denver Kristoff killed me in
cold blood
!” shouted a very upset Penelope.

“There, there. Don’t,” said Will, patting her back.

“Yeah, look at the bright side,” Brendan said, nervously trying to correct himself. “The attic healed you perfectly. You look fine. I mean, not
fine
fine. Decent. You know.”

“Thank you, I suppose,” said Penelope, sniffling.

“Penelope—” Eleanor started.

“Hold on, Nell,” said Cordelia. “Penelope, it’s horrible what you went through, but I have another question: did Denver Kristoff ever mention someone named Rutherford Walker?”

“You mean your ancestor?” asked Penelope. Cordelia looked at her with suspicion. She explained, “Brendan told me his last name, and I assumed there must be a connection. I’m sorry to say it, but Kristoff hates Walker. If Walker ever came near the house, we were supposed to report him to the police. Isn’t he some sort of charlatan physician?”

“He
was
our great-great-grandfather,” said Cordelia, “and we really don’t need to hear any more awful things about him.”

“But what about—” Eleanor started, and this time Will spoke over her. “Dr. Walker was a flimflam man who prescribed all sorts of absurd concoctions and tonics, but we should let bygones be—”

“Stop talking!”
Eleanor yelled suddenly. “All of you keep interrupting me, and I’m trying to say something important! It doesn’t
matter
if Kristoff hated Walker or Walker hated Kristoff! What matters is
finding our parents
and
going home
!
Don’t you care about that anymore?
”

Everyone kept quiet as Eleanor took deep breaths.

“Of course,” said Cordelia, “but we’re trying to solve the mystery—”

“
Your
mystery!
My
mystery is when I’m gonna get to eat Chinese food with Mom and Dad again! Or go to Golden Gate Park! Or see my friends! Maybe I should just go off by myself and find that stupid cave with the book!”

Eleanor ran toward the hole in the attic floor and jumped down.

“Nell! Wait!” her siblings called, but by the time they reached the hole, she was running down the hall.

Cordelia turned to Will. “We’ve got to stop her. She’s not behaving rationally.” She waited for Will to move. “You coming? We should probably stick together.”

“Uh . . . ” Will looked at Penelope and said quietly, “Do you want to go with the Walkers?”

Penelope shook her head.

“I’ll stay here and protect Penelope,” Will announced.

“What are you two, joined at the hip?” Cordelia asked. “What are you scared of?”

“Mr. Kristoff may be downstairs,” said Penelope. “If he sees that I’m alive, he may try to kill me again.”

“Kristoff’s dead!” said Brendan.

“So was I.”

“She has a point,” Will said, giving Penelope a quick smile. “This Kristoff git may return for her—and if he does, I’d like to go a few rounds with him, whether he calls himself the Storm King or the king of France. We have unfinished business.”

“You knew Kristoff?” asked Penelope.

“Not exactly,” explained Will. “But he knew me. Messed with my head good and proper when I found out I was merely one of his creations. Made me question everything about myself.”

“What do you mean ‘one of his creations’?” asked Penelope.

“I was a character in one of Kristoff’s novels,” said Will. “Let me tell you all about it. I was flying a mission over . . . ”

Cordelia scoffed and hopped down into the upstairs hallway. Brendan followed. As they went to the spiral stairs, calling for Eleanor, Cordelia vented, “I can’t believe him. ‘Protect Penelope,’ my butt. He’s got one thing on his mind. I saw that look in his eyes, the way he’s turning on that British charm—”

“Don’t worry,” said Brendan. “He also has British teeth.”

Cordelia laughed and hugged her brother. She truly appreciated him sometimes.
Who needs Will anyway?

They hustled down the stairs and saw Eleanor sitting on the bottom step, crying, with a half-eaten can of corn beside her. Cordelia went to comfort her sister—

When a huge boom sounded outside the house.

It was an explosion the Walkers had heard before, somewhere in the movies or on TV. They all looked up. Before they could figure out what it was—

A cannonball crashed through the wall in front of them.

T
he iron ball—smaller than a bowling ball but a whole lot faster—whistled into the kitchen and hit the stove with a
gong
. The appliance puckered in on itself as if it were made of paper. The Walkers stared open-mouthed as the ball rolled out and hit the floor, which was now covered with a half-inch of sloshing water. As if the cannonball weren’t enough, the house
was
sinking slowly.

“Please tell me that did not just happen,” said Cordelia.

Brendan and Eleanor didn’t answer—they were too busy rushing to the hole created by the cannonball. The hole was surrounded by jagged splinters of wood and torn electrical wires. Eleanor had to stand on her tiptoes to look through.

Outside was a real-life pirate ship.

Fifty yards away, with its sails flapping harshly as it bore down on them, the ship was a huge and terrifying sight. It had three masts; the center one flew a black flag with a skeleton clutching an hourglass. It had wheat-colored wood down to the waterline, where its hull was plated in copper so that it glowed beneath the waves. It had twelve square holes spaced evenly along its side, like windows—but instead of glass they housed cannons, and the cannon at the front was smoking. The bow of the great ship had a spear of wood protruding forward with a carved gray serpent wrapped around it.

“It’s the
Moray
!” Eleanor shouted.

“The what?”

“The
Moray!
The pirate ship in
The Heart and the Helm
.”

“What’s that?”

“The book I was reading! The one about pirates!” Eleanor was much more animated than she had been a minute before.

“I thought you were only skimming that book,” Cordelia said.

“I skimmed to page fifty! That’s enough to know what the front of the ship looks like! And that it has this awful captain, Captain Sangray, who has a terrible laugh and who likes to do these horrible experiments—”