Cragbridge Hall, Book One: The Inventor's Secret (21 page)

Finally, at about 5 a.m., they were at the base of another hill and sat down to rest. Abby did the math. They had been hiking for twenty-six hours. Within moments, both of Shackleton’s companions were asleep. Shackleton himself blinked hard and struggled to stay awake.

“If he falls asleep,” Derick whispered to himself, “all three of them will probably never wake up—they’ll freeze to death.”

After about five minutes, Shackleton shook the other two back to consciousness. “It’s been a half an hour,” he lied. “Time for a fresh start.”

Carol fast-forwarded the image. An hour and a half later, they could see the bay, and by three in the afternoon, they’d arrived at the whaler’s home. They had successfully finished a thirty-six-hour, nearly nonstop hike over a frozen island.

But that wasn’t the most moving part for Abby. Shackleton and the other two men were rescued quickly, but those on Elephant Island had to wait. Shackleton tried to reach them four times before getting through the packed ice. When he finally succeeded, and Shackleton counted the silhouettes that emerged from a small hut the men had made from the two remaining boats, Abby had to blink away tears.

At last Shackleton said, “They’re all here.”

Abby couldn’t believe it. Stranded for nearly two years in Antarctica, and they had all survived. Maybe part of why Grandpa wanted them to study this expedition was to see the power of endurance, the power of hope. Maybe he wanted them to know what people could overcome if they kept trying, going on when they had no more reason to hope. Maybe Grandpa and her parents were okay, and more importantly, maybe they were going to be back soon.

“We have to figure this out,” Abby said, with new determination. “How does knowing about Shackleton lead us to the next clue?”

23

Simulator

Grandpa had written Shackleton’s motto on the slip of paper, and Shackleton’s ship was portrayed on one of the little squares from the inner side of the cube, but Derick, Abby, and Carol still had no idea what Shackleton had to do with Oscar Cragbridge. They turned to the other small pictures from the cube, hoping those might have some answers.

The next miniature painting was of a Civil War battle; the blue and gray uniforms gave that part away. A boy in the next picture must have been about to have some sort of surgery, but there was no figuring out who the boy was.

Carol suggested that the girl with the wounded neck in another picture may have been Joan of Arc, and after some research, they felt it was probable. But what did she have to do with the Civil War? With Shackleton? With the boy having surgery? How were they related? They found a lot of information, but they still couldn’t put the pieces together to make any sense of them.

The three students didn’t stop for dinner. They took turns sneaking down to the cafeteria one by one to eat while the other two worked.

Abby insisted she take the last turn. She couldn’t help but think of her parents and grandfather and wonder where they were and how they were doing—if they were still alive at all. A lump stuck to the sides of her throat as she thought about the possibilities.

She eventually stepped out of the Bridge to eat, leaving Derick and Carol to continue without her. As she closed the door, she was glad they had a clear goal, or leaving Derick alone with Carol would have been downright cruel.

Many questions reeled through her mind as she walked down the hall. So what if Shackleton and his men survived a horrendous journey? What if the battle they were looking at was really during the Civil War? Where did any of it lead? They had gained another key, but what was it for? None of it seemed to bring her any closer to her parents or grandfather.

As she walked, she looked at the walls of Cragbridge Hall, not wanting to make any eye contact with anyone who passed. If she couldn’t be alone physically, she’d be alone with her thoughts. She looked at the patterns in the bricks. She watched the lockers. She glanced at a painting—a picture of two armies facing off with a field between them.

Abby slowed as she passed the painting. It definitely wasn’t the same picture as the one in the cube, but there were some striking similarities. It could have been another artist’s version of one of many Civil War battles. The questions and answers haunted her. Abby wanted to scream. The picture hung there silently as a testament that she couldn’t figure out the next clue.

“It’s called a painting,” a voice said.

Abby turned to see Jacqueline flanked by two of her friends.

“Leave me alone, Jacqueline,” Abby said.

“I was just trying to help,” Jacqueline said. “It starts with a canvas, and then someone dips a brush into paint. With little bristles on a brush, they put the paint onto the canvas. That’s why we call it a
painting
.”

Abby closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. She wanted to say so many things to Jacqueline, but refused. The words wanting to come out definitely weren’t nice, and they wouldn’t help her situation. She started to walk away.

“Maybe,” Jacqueline called after her, “at a different school you could take a class where you’d learn something ...”

Maybe the pressure had built up in Abby for too long. Maybe she couldn’t take the teasing anymore. Or maybe Jacqueline was too rude at the wrong time. Regardless of the reason, Abby cracked.

“Stop it!”
she yelled. “Don’t you read the news? Don’t you know that my grandpa and my parents are missing? Do you think I’m worried about your little clique or some upcoming test—or a stupid painting? I thought you had an exceptional mind. I don’t think it takes a genius to figure out that it’s not the stress of school that has me worried.”

Jacqueline took a step back, a look of surprise on her face.

“I’m ... I’m sorry,” Abby said, calming down. “I just ...”

Jacqueline looked at her friends. One stepped away from her and toward Abby. “I’m sorry about your grandpa and your parents,” Jacqueline said quickly. “I really am. And I hope the police find them soon.” Her voice chilled a bit. “But that still doesn’t change the fact that you don’t deserve to be here. In fact, this might be the perfect time—”

“To quit talking to you,” Abby said, finishing Jacqueline’s sentence. “I couldn’t agree more.” And Abby turned and walked away.

“I wasn’t done,” Jacqueline called out after her.

“I was,” Abby said, surprised at her tone. She didn’t turn around; she simply put one foot in front of the other and continued down the hall. She thought she heard Jacqueline say something else, but she couldn’t hear. More importantly, she didn’t care.

Abby walked for another minute before noticing another painting on a wall—a boy on a bed, surrounded by doctors. Abby nearly passed it before turning back. This was also similar to one from the cube. Abby read the note about it. It was a boy named Joseph Smith. He was seven years old when doctors cut open his leg and chipped away fourteen pieces of infected bone—all without anesthesia. Abby shuddered just reading about it. The surgery had saved the boy’s leg, but afterward, he walked on crutches for three years, and had a slight limp for the rest of his life. Joseph Smith grew up to be the founder of a new American religion.

Excited now, Abby rushed down the hall until she found another painting, this one of a ship with a man dangling from the rope beside it. The plaque said the man was John Howland and that the ship was the
Mayflower
. He was being pulled back to safety after falling overboard. The paintings all matched those from the cube. Abby touched the frame. This painting certainly looked old enough to have been there since the founding of Cragbridge Hall. She tried to pull it from the wall to see if anything was behind it, but it was mounted fast against the bricks. It was meant to stay put—maybe even be there permanently.

Abby walked past the cafeteria but couldn’t find any other framed pictures. She retraced her steps and turned down a hall going the other direction.

There was a painting of Joan of Arc engaged in battle despite her wounds. The pictures were leading Abby somewhere. She passed a smaller hallway as she continued her search, but when she found no more matched paintings, she backtracked.

The hallway she walked back to was empty. It had shorter ceilings, and no classrooms, just storage closets. It was probably for the janitors. More importantly, it had no paintings. It ended in a brick wall.

Abby stared at the brick—a dead end. Maybe there was another picture before the Civil War painting. Abby ran back where she started, but couldn’t find anything. Before allowing herself to get too frustrated, she ran back to the Bridge to get Derick and Carol to help.

Within a few minutes, she, Derick, and Carol searched the halls for the fifth painting.

“The other one has to be here close by, doesn’t it?” Abby asked. “Or is this all a coincidence?”

“I really think you’re onto something,” Derick said. “We just have to keep looking.”

“What’s missing?” Carol asked.

“The
Endurance,
” Abby said. “And based on Grandpa’s message, that painting seems to be the key.”

After ten minutes of searching without success, they regrouped. “Alright,” Abby led off. “We’re missing something.”

She thought it out as best she could. “The paintings have been evenly spaced, so the next one should either be down the large hall, or at the dead end brick wall.”

Knowing that it all had to do with a secret, Abby guessed that the next clue would be in the smaller hallway where no one ever went.

She walked down the small hall, looking at the molding along the edge of the floor, hoping for any sort of clue. Nothing but whitewashed baseboard. It was the same above on the crown molding, except that it was broken up with an occasional block with an ornate picture on it. The ceilings were low enough for Abby to see the blocks. She glanced at the closest one. It had the insignia of Cragbridge Hall—the Watchman. The block before was the same, but near the spot where the next painting should be, the picture was different. It was a small impression of a boat trapped in ice.

“Carol! Derick!” Abby called out. Within moments they were beside Abby, and Derick had boosted her up for a closer look.

The detail was amazing. The phrase
By Endurance We Conquer
was written in tiny letters above the ship. Not knowing what else to do, Abby pushed on the block. After a deep click, a panel of bricks shifted from the wall like a door on hinges. It moved slowly and heavily, but revealed a gap barely wide enough for one person to slide through.

Derick peered in. “There is a whole hallway back here.”

“Don’t wait around. Go in,” Carol commanded. “No way could this be the wrong way. Little blocks don’t just open up strange hallways for no reason.”

Derick took a deep breath, then stepped through the opening. The other two followed.

As soon as they entered the hallway, dim lights along the walls cast a dull glow. Several feet of darkness stretched between the lights, but they illuminated just enough for the three students to see the general path. Abby smelled a musty odor as she continued down the corridor. All at once, she realized it was the same hallway she’d seen when they first tried to open the cube—the image of someone walking down a dark hall. They were on the right track.

“This is so mysterious,” Carol said. “Secret passageways. People in danger. I feel like I’m in a movie. Oh, but if I were, who would play me? They’d have to get someone blonde and really pretty—maybe Chloe Xander—but then, I don’t know if she could be as funny as I am.”

“Aren’t you an actress?” Derick asked. “Couldn’t you just play yourself?”

“Yeah, I guess I could,” Carol said. “I’d do a really good job.”

“I’m sure you would,” Derick said.

“But my question is, is this an action-adventure or a romantic comedy?” Carol asked, walking behind Abby and in front of Derick. “It feels more like an action-adventure movie right now, but we’ll have to wait to see how it ends.” She looked over her shoulder at Derick, who was walking with one hand in his pocket and the other against the wall, safely away from Carol.

Abby rolled her eyes. They walked for over a hundred yards before Derick stopped and cried out. “Ouch!”

“What’s wrong?” Abby asked.

“I walked into something. I think I got cut,” Derick said. He stepped away from the wall. His pants were torn just above the shin. Derick lifted up his pant leg. Droplets of blood began to surface.

Carol looked closely at the wall. “It was a piece of metal,” she said. “Nasty, jagged thing.”

Abby moved over to get a closer look. “It looks like another door. Maybe there’s a painting or a mirror on the other side, but someone tried to use the metal to weld it closed. I’d guess that when someone managed to open it, the metal ripped away, and the jagged edge left behind is what cut you.” She looked over at Derick.

“Whatever it was, it hurt.” Derick limped a few paces, favoring his leg.

Then it hit Abby. “Coach Adonavich,” she said, her eyes going wide. “She had a mark on her leg—a jagged wound.”

“Really?” Carol asked.

“Yeah, I saw it when we were playing basketball. Do you think she’s already been here?”

“It sounds like she has,” Carol said.

“I guess now the question is if she’s on our side, or the other,” Derick said.

“I don’t know,” Abby said.

Carol hurried on. “And if the metal cut her, who was the one who tried to weld the door shut? They’d have been here before she was. And that means we have at least two other people looking for the same thing we are.”

“Why couldn’t Grandpa have just left us a list of all the people he really trusted?” Abby said.

“If we have as much at stake as Grandpa made it seem,” Derick said, “he probably couldn’t be sure of who would stay loyal to him anyway.”

“No matter who else has been here,” Abby said, “we still have to help. We don’t know if they can be trusted, and Grandpa and Mom and Dad could be counting on us.”

The three friends walked several more yards before the hall turned. Around the corner, they faced two large double doors—just like they’d seen from the cube before it fell into flat squares. Abby stared for a moment, taking them in. The doors looked more like they belonged on a safe than an entrance to a room. They were made of metal, with bars crossing each other for the entire width and height of the doors. About waist high ran a long, thick bar with what looked like plate-sized gears behind it.