Spell of the Sorcerer's Skull Page 6

  "Look, John," said the priest softly, putting his arm around him. "I'm not tryin' to be mean to you. I'm just tryin' to test out this thing and see if maybe there's an ordinary, everyday explanation to it. I believe in miracles, but they sure don't happen all the time. We've got to keep our heads if we're going to get anywhere."

  Johnny was crying now—he couldn't help it. The tears flowed freely, and he dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief. "Does... does that mean you're not gonna help me anymore?" he sobbed.

  "Of course not!" said the priest loudly and firmly. "Whatever gave you that idea? I want to find the professor just as much as you do!" He paused and rubbed his chin, and then he looked at the scrawling on the paper again. Suddenly he grinned. He laughed aloud, and the sound echoed in the vaulted ceiling of the old church.

  Johnny took his handkerchief away from his face and blinked. "What... what is it?" he asked in a voice that was thick from crying.

  "Oh, nothing much," said the priest, still chuckling. "Only I realized all of a sudden that I'd have to be out of my mind to think that Raymond did this! That second sentence there, about the great reckoning in the little room. It's from a play by Shakespeare. Old Raymond might be able to read and write, but he sure didn't write this! I ought to've seen that right away!"

  Johnny's heart leaped. He was feeling hopeful again. "Does that mean the writing is really from... from... "

  Father Higgins cut him off with a shake of his head. "No. It doesn't mean anything. Somebody else could've done this for all we know. But I don't think we ought to throw this paper away. No, indeed! We ought to study it and think about it and take it very, very seriously. Because you never know! It just might be a miracle from Saint Anthony! And if it is, it could help us find the professor. Anyway, we've got to take the help that's given to us. Like they say, beggars can't be choosers!"

  Johnny went home that night thinking that maybe—just maybe—there was some reason to hope. It was possible that Saint Anthony or some higher power had spoken. But whoever it was, he or she had not spoken very clearly. Where the bays run together—what could that mean? It seemed to refer to a place, but where? There were lots of bays on the surface of the globe. Johnny knew the names of some of them: Hudson Bay, the Bay of Fundy, Corpus Christi Bay. Was there some place where two bays of water ran into one? He could start combing through an atlas, but it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Then Johnny thought some more: He had heard horses referred to as bays. They were horses that were reddish-brown in color. Did the clue mean that they should look for some field full of reddish-brown horses? Then there was the other clue: a great reckoning in a little room. The "little room" had to be the dollhouse room in the Childermass clock. But except for this little glimmer of meaning, the phrase meant absolutely nothing to Johnny. He turned it over and over in his mind, but the more he thought, the more meaningless the phrase became.

  By the time he got to his front door, Johnny's hopeful mood had evaporated. He remembered the things he had read about the Greek oracles, which had given people mysterious messages just to drive them bats. Maybe the messages had been sent by the devil and not by Saint Anthony. Maybe they were stuck up against a dead-end wall.

  The next day was Sunday, and Johnny went to church with his gramma and grampa as usual. After Mass everybody filed out of the church. Some went home right away, but others stood around outside and talked with their friends. Gramma and Grampa got into a conversation with Mrs. McGinnis, a silly old lady who was the head of the Catholic Daughters. Johnny couldn't stand Mrs. McGinnis, and so he just stood by, fidgeting nervously and waiting for his grandparents to finish talking. But as he was glancing aimlessly this way and that, Johnny saw Willie Prine elbowing his way through the crowd. Willie was a tall, dopey-looking kid with thick glasses, and he had been one of the altar boys at today's Mass. He was still wearing his long red cassock, and he was grinning from ear to ear. Johnny wondered what he was so pleased about.

  "Hey, Dixon!" yelled Willie. "Father Higgins wants ta see ya!" Willie chortled. He was bubbling over with malicious amusement. Obviously Willie thought that Johnny was in trouble, and that pleased him no end. He didn't have anything in particular against Johnny—he just liked seeing other kids get bawled out.

  When they heard what Willie was saying, Gramma and Grampa both looked upset. Mrs. McGinnis clucked and acted prissy, as she always did when bad things happened to other people. Johnny, however, was calm. He turned and smiled smugly at Willie.

  "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll be with you in a minute." Then he turned back to Gramma and Grampa. "I have to go see Father Higgins about something," he said quickly. "It's... it's not very important, it's just about the altar boy schedule. You go ahead—I'll walk home afterward."

  Before his grandparents had a chance to say anything, Johnny was plunging off into the crowd behind Willie. The expression on Willie's face showed that he was perplexed. Why was Dixon so eager to go and get chewed out? When they got to the door of the sacristy, there was Father Higgins. The iron doors of the big Mosler walk-in safe were open, and he was putting away the sacred vessels—the chalice, the ciborium, and the gold-plated paten. As the two boys watched, he swung the squealing doors shut and locked them.

  "Good morning, John!" said the priest, turning to face him. His eyes were gleaming, and there was a secretive smile on his face. "How goes it with you today, eh?"

  "Uh... okay, I guess, Father." Johnny's mouth twitched into a nervous smile. Even though the priest was his friend, he often felt nervous around him. Anybody who was in authority gave Johnny the jitters. "Did... did you want to talk to me about something?"

  "I did indeed!" the priest replied, and his voice sounded ominous. At this Willie smirked expectantly. Now Dixon was going to get it! But to his great surprise, Willie suddenly found the priest glaring at him.

  "Well, Mr. Prine," he growled, "I don't think I need you any longer. You had better put out the candles, change into your clothes, and go home."

  Willie's face fell. "Uh... yeah, sure, Father. See ya later." And with that, he turned and went out, closing the door behind him.

  Now Johnny and Father Higgins were alone in the sacristy. At first the priest said nothing. He walked over to the tall walnut dresser where the Mass vestments were kept. On top of the dresser was a heavy iron crucifix. Next to it lay a neatly folded road map. As Johnny watched, Father Higgins picked up the map. He held it up so that Johnny could see the title on the front. It was a road map of the state of Maine.

  "I've been doing some thinking about those two little messages that Saint Anthony scrawled down for us," he said, tapping the map against the edge of the dresser. "And you know, all of a sudden, last night at dinner, it came to me! I should've thought of it before, because I have hundreds and hundreds of folk songs rattling around in my head. Here, hold this!"

  To Johnny's surprise, Father Higgins handed him the map. Then he turned and strode quickly to the coat closet in the far corner of the room. Opening the door, he reached in and pulled out—a guitar!

  Johnny's mouth dropped open. He was completely dumbfounded and also very amused. So Father Higgins played the guitar! He normally looked so stern and forbidding that... well, it was like finding out that the mayor loved to roller-skate! As Johnny watched, the priest put the strap of the guitar around his neck, played a few opening chords, and then launched into a loud, lusty chorus:

  Haul down your sails where the bays run together,

  While away your days in the hills of Isle au Haut!

  Father Higgins clamped his hand over the strings, and they were silent. "There!" he said triumphantly. "That's it! You get it, don't you?"

  Johnny was still mystified. It was clear that one of the lines they had found was from a song. But Johnny did not have the faintest idea of where the hills of Isle au Haut were.

  Father Higgins looked at Johnny askance. His lips curled up into a sarcastic grin. "Oh, come on, now! You don't know where Isle au Haut is? You real
ly don't know?"

  Johnny shrugged helplessly. "I'm from Long Island, Father! I... I don't know very much about New England. Is Isle au Haut someplace in Maine? I mean, there are islands along the coast of Maine, aren't there?"

  Father Higgins laughed. "Is it someplace in Maine? Are there islands along the coast? Is the Pope a Catholic? Holy Saint Patrick! You outlanders don't know anything about New England, do you?"

  Johnny felt sheepish. "Nope, I guess not," he muttered.

  "Well, here! I'll show you!" said the priest, and he took off the guitar and leaned it against the dresser. Taking the map from Johnny's hands, he unfolded it and held it up. Father Higgins's large hairy forefinger moved along the coast of Maine, which even on a map looked as if it had had big chunks chewed or ripped out of it. Far up the coast, Johnny saw the two long bays that had been scooped out of the shoreline millions of years ago: Penobscot Bay and Blue Hill Bay. Both bays were full of islands large and small. But at the place where the two bays met was a cluster of islands and islets. Even though the priest was holding the map at a slight distance, Johnny's nearsighted eyes could pick out the names of the larger ones. On the left were two together—the one above was North Haven, and below it was Vinalhaven. Then, slightly to the east of these two, was another fair-sized island called Isle au Haut.

  Johnny looked up wonderingly at Father Higgins. "You mean... you think the professor is out here somewhere?"

  Father Higgins nodded. "That is indeed what I think. But whereabouts in this ungodly wilderness of islands he is, God only knows."

  Johnny gazed at the map, and then he shook his head sadly. "But why, Father? I mean, I don't understand why anybody would kidnap the professor and take him out to one of these islands."

  Father Higgins looked grave. He folded the map back up and laid it on the dresser. "Neither do I, Johnny. Neither do I. It may not even be a somebody that's done it—from all that you've told me, it is more likely to be a something that did it. One of the powers of darkness, in other words. We'll know more when we get to the islands, I suppose, and by that time we may wish that we knew less. Of course, there's always the possibility that he's not out on these blasted islands, but the more I think, the more sure I am that we're on the right track. You see, I've doped out the other clue too. And it leads us right to Vinalhaven Island!"

  Johnny's mouth dropped open. "Huh?"

  Father Higgins scratched his nose and grinned. "Well you may say, 'huh'! I'll admit it isn't terribly apparent at first, but I'll tell you what I did. You see, I figured that a great reckoning in a little room had to refer to that blasted dollhouse you told me about. And I'm sure you reached the same conclusion. Anyway, I called up the owner of the Fitzwilliam Inn to see if we could... you know, kind of make an appointment to examine that clock and see what we could find out. And do you know what he told me? He told me that he had sold the clock to a guy who runs a clock museum. The guy's name is Herman Finnick, and his museum is out on Vinalhaven Island! Now, doesn't that just beat everything?"

  Johnny nodded. He felt stunned by all the information that had suddenly been dumped on him. And then it was as if a light had come on inside his brain. He snapped his fingers. "Hey, Father!" he exclaimed. "It all fits!"

  Father Higgins blinked. "Huh? What fits?"

  Johnny grinned. "When a friend of mine and I were pokin' around in the professor's study after he disappeared, we found this drawing that showed a letter L with a vine wrapped around it. My friend thought that it stood for L plus vine—the name Levine, I mean. But we should've read it the other way around: it's Vine-L, for Vinalhaven!"

  "Very good!" said Father Higgins, nodding approvingly. "And that also settles a question that has been banging around in my skull: I was wondering whether we ought to go to Isle au Haut, since it gets mentioned in that little ditty I sang for you. But all the signs seem to point to Vinalhaven, don't they?" Father Higgins paused. "Hmmm!" he said, grimly pounding his fist on the edge of the dresser. "What does that Finnick character have to do with it all? He must be in on this plot to do something to the professor. Is this Finnick a sorcerer? Is he in league with the devil? Did he create the jack-o'-lantern vision that you saw? And why on earth does he want the professor? What awful, ghastly, unnameable thing is going to happen to the poor man? As far as I'm concerned, there are about six hundred and fifty unanswered questions in this whole nutty business!" The priest turned suddenly to Johnny and pointed a knobby, hairy finger at him. His face had turned beet-red, and he looked very threatening and sinister. Johnny cringed. He was afraid that Father Higgins was going to yell at him or grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

  "What I want to know now, John, is this!" roared the priest. "Are you going with me to Vinalhaven to help rescue the prof? What d'ye say?"

  CHAPTER SIX

  Johnny was overjoyed. He wanted to yell and whoop and throw things around the room. Father Higgins had old him the thing that he wanted most in the world to tear. He was saying that they had a chance to find the professor and rescue him, and what was more, he was saying that he wanted him, John Dixon, to be his right-land man in this search. If he hadn't been such a polite and well-behaved kid, Johnny would have thrown his arms around the tall, grizzly faced priest. As it was, he list stood there looking grateful, tears streaming down is face.

  "Th-thanks, F-Father," he stammered in a voice thick nth emotion. "I... I'll help you if I can."

  Father Higgins smiled happily. He was a pretty shrewd judge of character, and he had guessed that—underneath his timid exterior—Johnny was a courageous and resourceful kid. However, he didn't want Johnny to think that this expedition of theirs was going to be all fun and games. So he forced himself to frown and be gruff again.

  "You may not thank me when this little jaunt is over with," he rumbled. "We may find that we're up against something that we can't handle, or we may not even be able to locate the professor at all. But if people tried to do only those things that they were sure of succeeding at, this country would still be a howling wilderness. Anyway, I'm going to need help—lots of help—and I'm very glad you want to go along. Unfortunately, next weekend is the soonest I can get away. I'll have to phone the bishop's office and ask them to send out a substitute. Do you think your gramma and grampa will let you go on this trip with me?"

  "I... I guess they'll let me go," he said uncertainly.

  "I'll call up your folks and tell them that I'm taking you on a little pleasure jaunt," the priest said, and smiled wryly. "And I'm sure," he added, "that God will forgive me for fibbing a bit, if it's all in a good cause. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be getting on over to the Tip Top restaurant for lunch. Father Frisbie of St. Luke's Episcopal is meeting me, and we're going to stuff ourselves with corned beef and cabbage and argue about religion."

  Johnny went home in a daze. It took him a day or two to get used to the idea that he was going on a rescue mission with the rector of St. Michael's church. At times the whole thing seemed unreal to him, and when he thought that they were going because of mysterious words scribbled on a piece of paper that had been left under a statue in a church... well, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But the trip was actually going to happen. Father Higgins called up the Dixons and discussed the matter with them, and they seemed perfectly willing to let Johnny go. As far as they were concerned, Father Higgins was a reliable, upstanding member of the community, and they were both quite proud that he had chosen Johnny to go with him on a short trip to the islands off the coast of Maine. Gramma and Grampa knew that Johnny was feeling bad because of the professor's disappearance, and they hoped this jaunt would help him get his mind off that sad loss.

  So Johnny got out his small, squarish plaid suitcase and started putting things in it: pajamas, toiletries, extra socks, and his best warm woolen sweaters and flannel shirts—it was still pretty chilly in May on those islands, as Gramma kept pointing out. Johnny threw in other odd but useful things, like his waterproof matchbox, his three-bladed jackknife, his
Boy Scout compass, and an old battered pair of opera glasses that could be used as a set of binoculars. After some hesitation he decided to put in the "lucky" skull from the Childermass clock.

  Johnny didn't quite know what to think about the skull. He had begun to have bad feelings about it lately, for no reason that he could really put his finger on. And he found that he was still being extremely close-mouthed about the skull. He hadn't told Fergie or Father Higgins or any of his friends about it. His mind kept making up reasons why it would be better to keep the skull a secret, at least for a little while longer. If he told Fergie, he might want to steal it. As for Father Higgins, well, Johnny told himself that it would not be a great idea to let your parish priest know that you had swiped something. But then what should he do about the skull? Leave it to gather dust forever in his bureau drawer? Arguing back and forth with himself, Johnny finally came back to the notion that the skull might just possibly be lucky. And so he dug the watchcase that held the grotesque object out from under the shirts in his bureau drawer and stuffed it in under the other things in his suitcase. There! he said quietly to himself. I hope you're a good-luck charm, skully baby. Because if I ever needed some good luck, I'm gonna need it now!

  On the Tuesday after his conversation with Father Higgins, Johnny made a big mistake—at least, it seemed like a mistake to him at the time. He spilled the beans to Fergie about the trip that he and the priest were going to take. At first Johnny had kept his mouth shut about the whole enterprise. He hadn't even told Fergie about the mysterious messages that he and Father Higgins had found under Saint Anthony's statue. He hadn't told him because he had been kind of ticked off at him. Fergie had been smart-alecky and sneery about the weird magical happenings that had surrounded the professor's disappearance, and he had demanded proof positive before believing. So Johnny had simply cut him out of the professor-finding project. He had not asked Fergie's advice on this matter lately, and he really had not seen much of him since the night they discussed clues together in the public library. They had met at Peter's Sweet Shop a couple of times since then, but mostly they had just talked about girls, the Red Sox, and homework. Johnny did not feel good about shutting Fergie out. Smart aleck or not, Fergie was his friend. As the Vinalhaven trip got closer, Johnny felt an overpowering urge to let him in on what was going on, regardless of what the result might be.