Leon and the Spitting Image (28 page)

“This,” said Miss Hagmeyer, “is what the monks of the Middle Ages would have called a codex of connection. I will spare you the Latin. It is a book that ties together the work of master and apprentice. It is, in other words … a binder of bonding.”

“Binder of
bondage
is more like it,” Leon whispered to Thomas.

Miss Hagmeyer heard the remark. “Bondage, Mr. Zeisel? So you think you’re my slave?”

“No, Miss Hagmeyer,” Leon replied. Just the opposite, he thought to himself.

Miss Hagmeyer lowered the book. “You went from two s.p.i. to eleven. From the bottom of the class to the top. From apprentice to master. From making a lumpy, lifeless snake to an animile with perfect seams. Don’t you think that was worth a bit of bondage?”

“I guess,” said Leon.

“Perhaps you will be better convinced after you have examined the
Hagmeyer Codex.”
The first thing that caught Leon’s eye, after he lifted the cover of the binder, was a photo.

Who is Artemis? Leon wondered. Where is Petra?

Leon made a mental note to check the map in his room. Then he flipped ahead until he found one of his animiles.

Leon was still staring at the terry cloth towel snake when he felt the tap of the instructional needle on his shoulder.

“Time to let the others take a gander, Mr. Zeisel,” Miss Hagmeyer said. “And since I’ve broken with protocol by beginning at Z, we’ll work backward. Take the binder to Mr. Warchowski.” She looked over at Thomas. “When you’re done, pass it along.”

Before obeying Miss Hagmeyer’s directive, Leon scanned the statistics that accompanied the picture.

“Paramaribo!” Leon cried. “That’s the capital of
Suriname!”

“I am very impressed by your command of geography, Mr. Zeisel, but that is not what we are studying at present.” Miss Hagmeyer closed the binder. “Take this over to Mr. Warchowski and return to your seat.”

As the binder passed from student to student, Miss Hagmeyer explained its significance. “Stitches of Virtue, or SOV—contrary to what Masters Zeisel and Dhabanandana seem to think—is
not
a commercial venture. It is an enterprise based on the medieval principle of
caritas
—a term you can find in the glossary of the
Reader.”

There was a fluttering sound at the front of the room.

“Got it,” Antoinette chirped.
“Caritas
, or charity. The word dates from 1137. Says here it means ‘benevolence for the poor.’ ”

“Thank you, Miss Brede, for that speedy elaboration. Now if I might continue. I send your handmade toys to orphaned tots all over the world.”

“SOV is a
charity?”
P.W. cried out.

“That is correct,” said Miss Hagmeyer. “A charity—and a crusade.”

Murmurs filled the room.

P.W. exchanged puzzled glances with Leon and Lily-Matisse. They’d been dead wrong about Miss Hagmeyer. She had no Grinchy scheme to
sell
their animiles. She was
giving
them away.

“How did you get all the pictures?” Thomas asked.

“I include a disposable camera with every shipment,” said Miss Hagmeyer.

Lily-Matisse raised her hand. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

“Simply put, the
Hagmeyer Codex
is reserved for the eyes of masters. None of you was ready to see it. None of you was a member of the guild.”

Antoinette held up her wolfhound and said, “Now that we are, can you tell us where you’ll be sending our master pieces?”

“Ah,” said Miss Hagmeyer. “That raises an important matter. Masters must decide the fate of their work for themselves. You may deposit your final animiles in the finished bin or, if you choose, you may keep them.”

Eyes widened. Jaws dropped. The news floored everyone, Leon most of all.

He could keep his master piece.
He could keep his master piece!
HE COULD KEEP HIS MASTER PIECE! It suddenly felt as if Miss Hagmeyer had spun
him
in the air seven times.

“However,”
she continued, dragging Leon back to Earth, “I must point out that though all of you are masters, you are also fourth graders—fourth graders about to receive final reports. I earnestly hope I can document the spirit of
caritas
in each and every assessment I send home.” She eyed the finished bin. “I trust you will make the right choice.”

Leon felt trapped. He could keep the master piece and guarantee himself yet another negative report. Or he could deposit the master piece in the finished bin and kiss his magic powers good-bye.

He didn’t know what to do, but one thing was certain. If he did have to part company with the doll, he would give it a worthy send-off.

“Right,” said Miss Hagmeyer. “When I call your names, approach. The choice you face is simple. You can embrace the virtue of charity or give in to the sin of greed.”

The procession began, as usual, with Antoinette, who did what was expected and donated her wolfhound to Stitches of Virtue. Leon watched and waited. After four of five students had relinquished their master pieces in similar fashion, he stood up and said, “I can’t believe you would
plan a
surprise like that, Miss Hagmeyer.”

While everyone stared, Leon winked at P.W. But P.W. didn’t get the cue.

“I beg your pardon?” said Miss Hagmeyer, perplexed by the outburst.

Leon repeated himself, this time more forcefully. “I
said
, I can’t believe you would
PLAN A
surprise like that!”

All at once, P.W. understood. Plan A! The scheme to unite Miss Hagmeyer and Lumpkin—and a pair of really old panty hose. He tapped his pocket to let Leon know he was set.

“Thank you for sharing your shock with the class, Mr. Zeisel. Now please sit down.”

Leon took his seat and prepared for Plan A. It required four discrete steps. Miss Hagmeyer had to:

1. Reach down and pick up a pair of panty hose.
   

2. Stretch open the waistband of said panty hose.
   

3. Raise said panty hose in the air.
   

4. Thrust said panty hose, in a swift downward motion, over Lumpkin’s head.
   

After that, Leon figured, things could take care of themselves.

When Miss Hagmeyer said, “Lumpkin, Henry,” Leon reached for his doll, careful to avoid direct contact. (The last thing he needed was another accidental hugging.)

As Lumpkin lumbered forward, Leon gave the signal. P.W. withdrew the panty hose and tossed them on the floor. The hose landed some four feet from Miss Hagmeyer’s boots.

Perfect!
Leon told himself.

“So, Mr. Lumpkin, have you decided to join the crusade or—”

Before Miss Hagmeyer could finish her sentence, Leon bent the doll at the waist and extended one of its arms toward the floor. Miss Hagmeyer fell into a trance and reached for the panty hose.

So far, so good, Leon told himself.

Lumpkin watched with growing concern (while the rest of the class watched with growing excitement) as Miss Hagmeyer straightened up, stretched open the waistband of the hose, and raised her arms until the hose hovered less than a foot from Lumpkin’s head.

Only step four—the thrust—remained.

Leon lined up the shot and, with the arms of the doll perfectly positioned, executed the swift downward motion….

All of a sudden Miss Hagmeyer began making odd, jerky motions—motions completely unrelated to Leon’s fluent dollwork.

The panty-hose plan had clearly hit a snag.

Leon repeated step four, but Miss Hagmeyer kept jerking about, refusing to crown Lumpkin with the brown-gray hose.

When the class started tittering, Leon had no choice but to suspend his dollwork and free Miss Hagmeyer from her trance. As soon as he did, she completed her unfinished sentence, unaware of the bizarre interlude.

“—will you be keeping your pit bull?”

“I’ll join the crusade,” said Lumpkin timidly.

Lily-Matisse and P.W. looked at Leon, desperate to know what had gone wrong. All he could do was give them a confounded shrug.

P.W. made a pouring motion. Leon understood
instantly. He reached into his desk and grabbed the spit bottle, reapplied some of the solution to the site of the original splotch, and hastily revived his dollwork.

It was no use. Miss Hagmeyer refused to attack. It was as if Lumpkin was protected by some invisible force field.

Leon watched helplessly as the bully slam-dunked his pit bull into the finished bin.

“Hank the Tank for two!” Lumpkin yelled before lurching back to his desk.

While Miss Hagmeyer continued the roll call, Leon struggled to diagnose the reason for the failure. It wasn’t a distance issue. The master piece was definitely in range. Nor did the sight-line present problems. Leon was
sure
he had a clear, direct shot. And the supplemental spit should have taken care of any potential signal weakness.

So what was it?
What?

Leon slumped in his chair. Why, he wondered despairingly, does something always go wrong when I’m using the doll against Lumpkin?

He recalled having the exact same difficulty in the lunchroom. Twice he had tried to get Miss Hagmeyer to launch cottage cheese at Lumpkin. Both times, inexplicably, the cottage cheese had veered off course.

Suddenly Leon understood why the master piece wasn’t working properly. Why it had messed up in the lunchroom. Why it had messed up now.

It hadn’t attacked because it
couldn’t
attack. Plan A and Plan B (and every other anti-Lumpkin plan from C to Z) were doomed to failure.

Master pieces only worked on their spitting images.

Once Leon realized that the Hagmeyer doll would
never
neutralize Lumpkin, he had an easier time accepting the possibility of giving it away and avoiding a negative home report. After all, fourth grade was almost over. The doll wouldn’t be of much use once he entered fifth grade.

It was at the moment that Miss Hagmeyer was saying “Warchowski, Thomas,” that the idea popped into Leon’s head. Actually, “popped” is the wrong word. It smacked into his brain like a medieval battering ram.
Whoomp!

Shaking with excitement, Leon glanced at the padlocked supply cabinet. He had to gain access. But how? Leon briefly considered using his master piece to make Miss Hagmeyer open the doors. He nixed that idea. Even if he succeeded in guiding Miss Hagmeyer to the back of the room, he didn’t think he could get her to insert her key into the lock. And even if he could do that, everyone would see him, since his desk and the cabinet were right next to each other.

No. He had to come up with another way to get the stuff he needed.

Z
eisel, Leon,” Miss Hagmeyer said.

Leon pouched his doll and walked to the front of the room.

I can do this, he told himself.

He approached his teacher.

“So what does the newly minted master wish to do with his master piece?” Miss Hagmeyer asked. “Is he keeping it for himself, or will he be embracing the spirit of
caritas?”

I
can
do this, he repeated.