the cellar door. Peter climbed up and unlocked it. His father stood at the top of the stairwell and looked down at Peter through his glasses.
“Miss Cook tells me she gave you an inventory task that should keep you busy for a few hours,” his father said.
“Yes, sir. It’ll be a while before I finish,” Peter said agreeably.
His father eyed Peter warily, seeming somehow mistrustful of Peter’s calm acceptance.
“You know you can’t just sit down there and work on WindUp. Your stepmother and I are going to run errands now, but I’ll check on you when we come back this afternoon.”
Peter tried to look as innocent as possible.
“I promise I’ll get it done, sir,” he said.
His father nodded and left.
Peter waited, counting cans until he heard his parents leave through the front door. He tucked WindUp inside his knapsack. Then he pulled a storage box over to the small garden-level window near the top of the wall, climbed up on it, and squeezed out. The window exited to a narrow alley between Peter’s building and the next. A woman walking her dog on the nearby sidewalk looked at him strangely as he emerged from the base of their building. Peter smiled and jogged down the alley to the street behind his house, hoping to avoid his parents. He didn’t have money for a streetcar, and the police station was about two miles away. There was no time to lose.
The morning was already hot, the air close. The boulevard that ran by the museum and the police station was busier than it had been the night before. Peter had to wait a long time to cross the streets on the way to the station. He kept glancing around, worried his father and stepmother might pass by and discover where Peter was before he had a chance to eavesdrop on Detective Shade.
Peter made it to the brick police station without incident, however. He glanced around and then dove behind the shrubbery below the window he thought belonged to Shade’s office. It was cooler out of the sun, but not much. Peter was sweating as he drew WindUp from his pack and fiddled with some dials. There was a crackling sound and some static. Peter waited. Was it working but the office was empty? Or had something gone wrong with his design? He hoped it was only that Detective Shade hadn’t come in yet.
Peter pushed a sharp branch away from his face and settled in the dirt, with his back against the building, the bush screening him from view. He opened a box of animal crackers to eat while he waited.
“Well, WindUp,” Peter said, “we’re getting pretty good at spying on people. If I can’t become an inventor, maybe I’ll be a detective instead. I’d deal with all kinds of crooks—hatchet men, grifters, bank robbers, even murderers!”
He gestured enthusiastically with his cracker at this last word and bumped WindUp, who emitted a faint chime. Peter was on the verge of meeting true criminals, even earlier than he expected.
In a cupboard beneath the sink in the undersized museum kitchen, Horus had discovered a treasure. It was a paint-spattered plank of plywood with a splintery side and pockmarks along the bottom. Someone had stashed it in the cupboard’s shadowy recesses, and Horus noticed it when he was hiding his beloved library books.
“However did I miss this?” Horus said aloud, setting aside his carved sling stone and dragging the plank out onto the floor with delight. He’d rifled through everything in the exhibit and the kitchen more than once, out of sheer boredom, and had never seen this before. Someone must have left it within the last month; he hadn’t thoroughly searched for a few weeks.
Horus clapped. “It’s perfect!”
He’d been wishing for a canvas of some kind, in order to make a surprise gift for Tunie. He had no way to go in search of a present, but he did have some artistic skill. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had to offer.
Horus thought back to the gift his older brother had given him. Horus must have been about seven, and
“Miss Cook tells me she gave you an inventory task that should keep you busy for a few hours,” his father said.
“Yes, sir. It’ll be a while before I finish,” Peter said agreeably.
His father eyed Peter warily, seeming somehow mistrustful of Peter’s calm acceptance.
“You know you can’t just sit down there and work on WindUp. Your stepmother and I are going to run errands now, but I’ll check on you when we come back this afternoon.”
Peter tried to look as innocent as possible.
“I promise I’ll get it done, sir,” he said.
His father nodded and left.
Peter waited, counting cans until he heard his parents leave through the front door. He tucked WindUp inside his knapsack. Then he pulled a storage box over to the small garden-level window near the top of the wall, climbed up on it, and squeezed out. The window exited to a narrow alley between Peter’s building and the next. A woman walking her dog on the nearby sidewalk looked at him strangely as he emerged from the base of their building. Peter smiled and jogged down the alley to the street behind his house, hoping to avoid his parents. He didn’t have money for a streetcar, and the police station was about two miles away. There was no time to lose.
The morning was already hot, the air close. The boulevard that ran by the museum and the police station was busier than it had been the night before. Peter had to wait a long time to cross the streets on the way to the station. He kept glancing around, worried his father and stepmother might pass by and discover where Peter was before he had a chance to eavesdrop on Detective Shade.
Peter made it to the brick police station without incident, however. He glanced around and then dove behind the shrubbery below the window he thought belonged to Shade’s office. It was cooler out of the sun, but not much. Peter was sweating as he drew WindUp from his pack and fiddled with some dials. There was a crackling sound and some static. Peter waited. Was it working but the office was empty? Or had something gone wrong with his design? He hoped it was only that Detective Shade hadn’t come in yet.
Peter pushed a sharp branch away from his face and settled in the dirt, with his back against the building, the bush screening him from view. He opened a box of animal crackers to eat while he waited.
“Well, WindUp,” Peter said, “we’re getting pretty good at spying on people. If I can’t become an inventor, maybe I’ll be a detective instead. I’d deal with all kinds of crooks—hatchet men, grifters, bank robbers, even murderers!”
He gestured enthusiastically with his cracker at this last word and bumped WindUp, who emitted a faint chime. Peter was on the verge of meeting true criminals, even earlier than he expected.
In a cupboard beneath the sink in the undersized museum kitchen, Horus had discovered a treasure. It was a paint-spattered plank of plywood with a splintery side and pockmarks along the bottom. Someone had stashed it in the cupboard’s shadowy recesses, and Horus noticed it when he was hiding his beloved library books.
“However did I miss this?” Horus said aloud, setting aside his carved sling stone and dragging the plank out onto the floor with delight. He’d rifled through everything in the exhibit and the kitchen more than once, out of sheer boredom, and had never seen this before. Someone must have left it within the last month; he hadn’t thoroughly searched for a few weeks.
Horus clapped. “It’s perfect!”
He’d been wishing for a canvas of some kind, in order to make a surprise gift for Tunie. He had no way to go in search of a present, but he did have some artistic skill. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had to offer.
Horus thought back to the gift his older brother had given him. Horus must have been about seven, and
Similar Books
