The Doldrums

CHAPTER

THREE

♦ ARCHER THE SUBMERSIBLE ♦

It was the last day of school, but you wouldn’t know that from the weather. The rain tapped against the Button Factory windows all afternoon. In a few classrooms, water even dripped from the ceiling and into buckets.

MEMBER OF THE ROSEWOOD PUBLIC LIBRARY

WILLOW ACADEMY LIBRARY

• BOOK REQUEST CARD •

REQUEST NO. 37953

Miss Whitewood,

Can you please find a few books on the deep sea? I’ve already read Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.

Archer Helmsley

When the final bell rang, the students scurried to the exits like mice from a sinking ship. Archer scurried in the opposite direction, up a few flights of stairs, down a number of corridors, in one of which he stopped to pick up a button, and continued to the library.

The Button Factory library was immense. Rows of shelves stretched up to the ceiling with ladders attached so you could reach the top. A separate room was filled with old couches and chairs where students could sit and look out at the inner courtyard. That’s where Oliver was waiting, lounging in a big armchair, when Archer stepped inside.

“I’ve got something good,” Archer said.

Oliver looked suspicious and not without reason. According to his math, over the past few weeks Archer had failed to find an adventure more times than he tried. But Oliver wasn’t good at math, and it’s not possible to fail more times than you try. Still, he was right about one thing. Archer’s track record was dismal. Oliver was fine with that.

Archer opened his bag and handed Oliver a mobile made of fish.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Oliver asked.

“Use the headband,” said Archer. “Strap it to your head.”

Oliver considered this and then, like any good sidekick, strapped the fish to his head. “Why am I strapping fish to my head?” he asked.

“To set the mood,” said Archer.

Miss Whitewood, the school’s librarian, rolled by with her pushcart. Of all the teachers at the Button Factory, Archer liked Miss Whitewood the most. She had dark wavy hair and smelled of books.

“Hello, Archer,” she said. “I have the books you’ve requested, but I’m afraid you’ll—” She stopped when she saw Oliver.

♦ TWO WEEKS PRIOR ♦

“Do you have the birdseed?” Archer asked.

Oliver tapped his pockets. Both were filled. “But this is a bad idea. If giant eagles exist, which I’m certain they don’t, I’d prefer to stay away from them.”

“Trust me,” said Archer. “I’ll meet you in the library after class and then we’ll go to the roof.”

Archer sat quietly in the library reading Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Mrs. Whitewood was atop a ladder shelving books. All at once, the doors flew open and Oliver came barreling down the aisle like a cat on fire.

“Run!” he shouted. “Run!”

Behind him, in hot pursuit, was a flock of chickens, and directly in front of him, Miss Whitewood’s ladder. Archer spotted Alice, Charlie, and Molly holding an empty cage and peering proudly through the doorway.

“Open your eyes!” cried Miss Whitewood. “Open your eyes!”

Oliver did, but only in time to see the warning label on the side of the ladder: WARNING: LOCK WHEELS BEFORE MOUNTING, which Miss Whitewood had failed to do.

Oliver smacked the ladder and plopped to the ground. The chickens pounced. Miss Whitewood let out a shriek. The ladder blew clear past the end of the shelf and launched her atop a young girl named Isabella.

One week later, Isabella returned to school. Oliver served his time and repaid his debt to society and Miss Whitewood’s limp was now barely noticeable.

“Why does he have fish strapped to his—no—never mind. I’m minding my own business.” Miss Whitewood turned back to Archer. “As I was saying, I have some books that might help you. But you’ll have to leave them here, I’m afraid. Can’t keep books over the summer.”

Archer thanked her. Oliver remained silent till Miss Whitewood rolled away.

“Just out of curiosity,” he said. “What mood am I setting with these fish strapped to my head?”

Archer was too busy looking through his notebook to hear the question. His fingers were twitching and his eyes were flashing, and though he stood just a few feet from Oliver, Archer was a million miles away.

Oliver waited patiently.

Archer lowered his notebook. “I’m ready,” he said.

“Ready for what?”

♦ WORLD’S GREATEST DEEP-SEA EXPLORER ♦

After much deliberation and assessment, Archer had decided he would become the world’s greatest deep-sea explorer. He would voyage the vast sweeping seas and penetrate their deepest depths. He would publish journals of his expeditions, cataloging the mutinies and pirate attacks while lost at sea. Man-eating octopi would shudder at the mention of his name—a name that would ring synonymous with the sea. Where Ahab failed, Archer would succeed, capturing as many white whales as historical remembrance required.

Oliver listened closely, and when Archer finished outlining his next great adventure, he smiled and said, “That sounded really good.” And he meant it because it did. “Except for that part where I was swept overboard. I don’t see why that was necessary.”

Archer reviewed his notes. “I can change that part if you want,” he said. “But try not to get caught up in these little details right now.”

It was too late for that. Despite his best efforts to indulge Archer’s fantasies, Oliver was always caught up in the details. He flipped open a magazine and spoke without looking up.

“What about a ship,” he said. “How can you do this without a ship?”

“I’m still working it out,” said Archer. But the first step would be to meet in Rosewood Park at midnight and from there, continue on to Rosewood Port. There would probably be a security guard or two at the gate. But if they could slip by unnoticed, the rest would be easy. “We’ll just have to pirate a ship and take her to sea.”

“Who’s going to do that?” Oliver asked, again without looking up.

“We are,” said Archer.

“You can operate a boat?”

Archer couldn’t operate a boat—an obvious detail he failed to consider. Then came the submarine. He couldn’t operate a submarine, either. In fact, Oliver managed to point out there wasn’t a single thing on Archer’s list that Archer could do, beginning with step one: Leave House.

“Can I take these fish off now?” Oliver asked.

Archer nodded and tore the page from his notebook. He was disappointed, but that was nothing new.

If someone tells you they love turkey smothered with cranberry sauce, that they love it more than anything else in the world, you might spend the day roasting that someone a turkey and smothering it with cranberry sauce. If that same someone then takes one little bite and says, “That’ll be all, thank you,” you’ll likely go red in the face and hurl both these turkeys out the nearest window because clearly, this person never loved turkey smothered with cranberry sauce in the first place.

Little bites are never enough when you love something. When you love something, you want it all. That’s how it works. And that’s how it was for Archer. Archer didn’t want a little taste of adventure with a side of leftover discoveries. Archer wanted the whole turkey and he wanted it stuffed with enough salts and spices to turn his taste buds into sparklers. Needless to say, it was a tall order for a boy who wore a size small blazer.

Archer wrinkled the page into a ball and tossed it into the trash. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out,” he said. “I have to.”

While Archer was talking, Oliver had come across an ad in the magazine for a shop in Rosewood called Strait of Magellan. The shop sold many things, but the ad was for survival kits. Oliver tore it out and tucked it into his pocket.

“I’m not worried,” he said, glancing at the clock. “But we’d better go. You’ll be in trouble if you’re not home soon.”

♦ ALL GLUBS ON DECK ♦

The sky was still drizzling as they made their way down the sidewalk. The clouds made it feel much later than it was. Archer was watching the streetlamps reflected in puddles. Oliver was staring at the clouds.

“I’d like to be one,” he said.

“What’s that?” asked Archer.

“A cloud,” said Oliver. “I said I’d like to be a cloud.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you think it’d be nice to be a fluffy white mass looking down on the earth while floating high above it from a safe distance? I think that would be very pleasant.”

But these clouds were neither fluffy nor white.

“What about a storm cloud?” asked Archer.

Oliver didn’t want to be one of those.

The boys walked up the steps to Oliver’s house. Archer wanted his binoculars. Oliver had borrowed them to spy on a new neighbor who’d just moved in across the gardens.

“What’s she like?” Archer asked.

“Horrible,” said Oliver. “She was shouting at the moon last night, and I think she ate a beetle.”

“A beetle?”

“Maybe it was just a raisin,” Oliver admitted.

They stepped inside the tall green door of house number 377. Oliver dashed up the stairs. Archer sat down on a bench and glanced around the foyer. The Glubs’ house always looked as if a giant had picked it up and given it a good shake. And it was styled like a sweater your grandmother knits for you—having too much in the sleeve and too much about the waist but providing more warmth than any other you own. Archer liked it. He didn’t have a grandma sweater.

A crash of pots sounded in the kitchen. The door flew open and a mouse scurried across the rug with a look of terror blazing in its beady little eyes. The mouse was followed shortly by Claire, Oliver’s younger sister, who chased the creature with a piece of toast hanging from her mouth.

“Afer-noon, Ar-chur!” she cried, and was gone before Archer could reply.

Mrs. Glub poked her frazzled-looking head through the kitchen door. “Get that creature out of the house!” she shouted. “If you don’t get that—oh, Archer dear—didn’t know you were here.”

Mrs. Glub took a moment to compose herself, but a composed Mrs. Glub didn’t look any different.

“You look wet. Are you hungry? You look hungry. Tea with milk, or toast with jam perhaps?”

“No, thank you,” said Archer. “I can’t stay.”

Mrs. Glub nodded. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind,” she said. “You mustn’t be afraid to speak up.”

“Did someone say Archer?” called a voice from upstairs.

It was Mr. Glub.

“Yes, someone said Archer,” Mrs. Glub replied. “But please—the mousetraps!”

Mrs. Glub gave Archer a smile and stepped back into the kitchen. Mr. Glub descended the stairs with the air of a conquering hero. He was a portly fellow who wore weathered suits and had bright blue eyes that were always glad to see Archer.

“Hello, Mr. Glub. How are you?”

Mr. Glub lifted his hands. “You know what they say, Archer. Just bouncing along—bouncing merrily along. Or something along those lines, I suppose.”

He popped Archer on the head with a closed fist, a ritual Archer had grown to enjoy.

“You don’t look half as excited as Oliver does now that summer’s arrived. Two and half months’ parole, isn’t it?”

For Archer, summer was not two and a half months’ parole. It was just the opposite. During school, Archer at least had the Button Factory and the library. During summer, he only had Helmsley House, with very few exceptions.

“You must enjoy being a plump, ripe tomato while you can,” Mr. Glub said. “You’ll be a sun-dried tomato like me in no time.”

This sun-dried tomato was the editor-in-chief of a small newspaper called The Doldrums Press. It was not a terribly successful paper by any stretch, but it had a decent, dedicated following. It was The Doldrums Press, in fact, that had delivered the iceberg story to Archer’s doorstep, and Archer was in the habit of asking Mr. Glub if he’d heard any news about his grandparents.

“Still nothing,” Mr. Glub admitted as he pulled on his raincoat and hat. “But there’s an expression out there, Archer. Everyone says ‘no news is good news.’ And while that’s bad news for us in the business, in situations like these, it’s always for the best, wouldn’t you say?”

Archer wasn’t sure if no news was for the best in this particular situation, but he nodded all the same.

“I knew them well—your grandparents, I mean,” Mr. Glub continued, using Archer’s shoulder to balance as he slid into his boots “Ralph once told me we’re all explorers, which was a fine observation. The only problem, I said, is that a great many of us have embarked on fantastically drab expeditions.”

Archer agreed. “My expedition is pretty drab,” he said.

Mr. Glub shook his head and opened the front door. “I can’t imagine that’s true,” he replied. “No, I saw that sparkle in your eyes the moment I met you, and I knew it meant something was on the boil. Never told your mother, of course—not sure she goes in for such things. But I was glad to see it. Either way, chin up.”

And with that, Mr. Glub shut the door and whistled his way down the rainy sidewalk.

“Found them!” shouted Oliver from atop the stairs. He took the steps three at a time but missed the final few. He valiantly grabbed hold of the railing, spun around, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

“I hope I didn’t break them,” he said, handing Archer the binoculars.

“I hope you didn’t break yourself,” said Archer, helping him up off the floor. “You have to stop closing your eyes.”

“I guess so,” Oliver mumbled, dusting his sleeves. “But listen, I was thinking about this whole adventure idea. And before anything else, you should talk to your mother about leaving your house this summer. Otherwise you’re not going to get very far. It’s been two years. How long are they going to keep you in there?”

Archer hung the binoculars around his neck. “Until I’m too old to walk,” he replied.

Oliver grinned. “Well that’s only what? Seventy more years at the most.”

Archer said good-bye and stepped back into the rain. When he walked up to Helmsley House there was a soggy note on the door.

Archer,

There’s been an opossum ravaging the gardens and threatening owners. I’m next door at Mrs. Leperton’s. It nearly chewed her ankle off. You’re to remain inside the house and out of trouble. I’ll be home shortly.

Oliver was right. He had to get permission to leave his house this summer. But it wouldn’t be the first time Archer had the discussion with his mother and he knew what she would say: icebergs and tendencies. It was hopeless. Still, as he took one last look down Willow Street and shut the door, he was desperate to make it happen.

CHAPTER

FOUR

♦ DOERS & DREAMERS ♦

Archer was slow getting out of bed. Not for the first time, he’d had a dream that he was the one stuck on the iceberg. He’d wandered the ice in search of the ocean, but frigid peaks shot up all around and no matter how far he traveled, he couldn’t find the sea. As always, he awoke before freezing to death and stayed under his covers, waiting till the sunlight made his eyelids glow a brilliant red, then stepped into the bathroom, attached the blindfold to the flamingo, and took a bath.

It was a week into summer, but Archer still had not made the request to leave his house. Today would be the day. Only he wasn’t sure how. He and Mrs. Helmsley were very different people.

It’s a fact of life that we all dream while we’re asleep. Try as you may, such a thing cannot be avoided. It’s when we wake up, however, that we see two types of people emerge. On the one hand are doers, and on the other are dreamers.

When doers wake up, that’s it, their dreams are over, and in general, they’re content with this. They wash their faces, brush their teeth, and go about their business hoping nothing strange or out of the ordinary will happen along the way. Doers don’t do much original thinking and they don’t do surprises and they won’t ever do anything unexpected or anything someone hasn’t already done before. But they are called doers, after all, so they must do something and they do. In fact, doers do the same something over and over and over again. This is called routine, and doers are very good at routine.

Dreamers are different.

When dreamers wake up, their dreams have only just begun. They wash their faces and brush their teeth and open the front door hoping everything strange and out of the ordinary is waiting for them. Dreamers like asking questions that have never been asked before and doing things that have never been done before in ways that no one has ever thought of before.

Archer was a dreamer. That was obvious. Even a pigeon somewhere in Rosewood knew that. Mrs. Helmsley was a doer.

♦ SIP OF RELIEF ♦

Archer made his way into the kitchen and ate his breakfast of tea with milk and toast with jam. He listened closely to the advice of his spoon, clanking the side of his cup, as he stirred in the sugar. “Chin up,” it said. “You’ll be out of here soon.” He was plotting just that when his mother entered, her arms filled with groceries. Mr. Helmsley’s head was buried in a newspaper.

“I’ve invited the new neighbors to dinner tonight,” Mrs. Helmsley announced. “Murkley—that’s their last name. I just met Mrs. Murkley on the sidewalk. She seems a little, well … I’m sure both her and her husband are lovely people.”

Lovely? thought Archer. After everything Oliver had told him about Mrs. Murkley, lovely was not a word he would use.

Mr. Helmsley lowered his newspaper and took a swig of coffee. He didn’t look terribly excited, either.

“What time are these murky people arriving?” he asked.

Archer smiled. That was the exact word he would use.

Mrs. Helmsley was less amused.

“It’s Murkley,” she said. “They’ll be here at seven. And Archer, I expect you to put your best foot forward tonight.”

“That would be the left foot,” Mr. Helmsley said, raising his newspaper once more. “Make it eight. I’m in meetings till seven.”

Mrs. Helmsley nodded and pointed a bundle of Russian white asparagus at Archer. “First impressions are most important,” she insisted. “We don’t need to review your past performances, do we? She won’t admit it, but I’m certain Mrs. Leperton is still afraid to come over here.”

Archer sighed. While it was true he nearly set Mrs. Leperton on fire during a dinner party a few years back, it was untrue that he did so on purpose. It was simply his first time trying to light candles.

“But he used the entire matchbook, Helena! And when it ignited, he threw it on my lap!”

No, there was no need for review. Archer was well aware of past dinner parties, which was why he wanted nothing to do with this one. He pressed his tea for advice but the cup was empty, leaving Archer flying solo.

“I’ll just stay upstairs,” he said, hoping that would put an end to it.

It didn’t.

“That would defeat the purpose,” his mother replied. “I’ve invited her to meet you.”

“Why?” Archer asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“She’ll be teaching at Willow Academy this fall. She used to teach up at Raven Wood. And I’d like her to meet you. Oh, don’t make that face. You need good influences!”

“But I’m not feeling well,” he lied.

“You’re sick?” asked Mr. Helmsley.