Oebalus Pugnax 2/7

Celestia, being wholly unaccustomed to a classroom setting, was terribly wiggly by the end of the two-hour session. Fortunately, the next activity was recess. Viggs pulled her rapidly through the mass of frolicking girls into the schoolyard, which was spacious and well-tended. In the center of the verdant lawn stood a tall, ancient oak tree. Celestia felt rather than saw the presence of a great climbing tree, and immediately sprinted toward it, only to be checked by a strong grasp on the back of her uniform.

"Can't go there," Viggs stated apologetically. "Look!" Celestia scrutinized the area delineated by Viggs' chilblained finger. She could just make out a pattern of red and violet... the morning's events came rushing back to her and she recoiled.

"Ye-ep, it's her alright. Saddest kid in this place. And you'd better believe we got some sad kids." Viggs directed Celestia to a swing situated a safe distance from the older girl. Viggs climbed into the mechanism and gestured for Celestia to sit on the ground. "I will relate to you the troubling tale of yonder child," she began dramatically. "She's been here since birth, unlike the rest of us. We usually get taken when we are six or so." Her gaze wandered. "Whoo-ee, that was an eventful morning for me. Anyway, back to her. She was sent here at birth because of her skin - see how dark it is?" Of course, Celestia couldn't see that far. She picked a dandelion with her toes. "Turns out, her mother was a very light black woman pretending to be white. Crazy, huh? I get that a lot. But it's true! She's been living here fourteen years. To hide her identity, nobody except Mrs. Kabra knows her real name. Mrs. Kabra says she's a gift from God, just like the rest of us. So the teachers call her Devina. All the rest of us steer clear. She's creepy, just sits around and reads books. She's got scary eyes. Lotta the kids here have weird eyes, but she's 'sposed to be sane. Maybe we aren't the crazy ones after all..."

Celestia stood up. The call of the tree was strong. She was tired of the constant sitting, and Viggs' prattle was boring her.

"Hey. Where are you going?" Viggs' eyes widened with understanding. "O-oh. You can't defy her just like that. That's her turf. No, here, I'll show you."

Viggs took Celestia's hand and led her on a wide, nonchalant circle around the tree. When they were standing directly opposite Devina, Viggs held a whispered conference. "O-okay. Can't believe I'm helping you. I'll hoist you up!" Celestia clambered onto the first branch as quietly as possible, then helped Viggs up beside her.

"Man, look!" Viggs whispered excitedly. "You can see the top of her head!" Suddenly the girl reached into her book bag. "Check this out." Delicately, Viggs dropped a pencil. It landed with a barely audible 'thnk' only inches from Devina. The girl was too engrossed in her book to look up.

"Durn," Viggs mumbled, and reached into her bag for a better missile.

When she saw the steel stapler that Viggs was dangling over Devina's head, Celestia's heart sank. Hadn't they been so quiet to avoid detection? Wouldn't it make the older girl terribly angry? She uttered a loud cry as Viggs released the stapler. Perhaps Devina would have time to move.

~ ❧ ~

" !           !!"

"Wonder where she learned that in a girl's school," Viggs remarked calmly. Obviously, the object had found its mark. Celestia made no reply; instead, she huddled against the tree, terrified of being caught.

"We're going to be fine," Viggs tried to console her. "I mean, she left, right? It's not like she's storming up here to kill us. Although we probably won't be safe when we are peacefully asleep in our beds..."

Devina had hurried away after her hasty exclamation, but to Viggs' disappointment, it was not a permanent absence at all. In minutes, Devina was back, trailed by two concerned-looking nurses. "Drat," Viggs sighed.

"Miss Bedlam Vigo, s girls have complained to me about the way you and Miss Westing are behaving," one of the nurses began. Celestia could tell they were in for it. Hadn't she heard that tone so many times at home? "I'm going to ask you to come down. You have ten seconds. One... two..."

"No."

Celestia flinched. Viggs' voice was unnaturally hostile-sounding. She began inching down the branch, away from Viggs, who suddenly possessed a darkly sinister aura. "We said no! No, no, no! Leave us al-one!"

"Quickly, fetch Mrs. Kabra," one of the nurses trilled. "She'll know what to do with Bedlam."

"Do you want me to come down there?" Viggs continued. "I'll give you ten seconds - onetwoten." Before she knew what was going on, Celestia was swept from the branch and both her and Viggs tumbled to the ground. As soon as they landed, she crawled away from the out-of-control Viggs, but her way was impeded by a sturdy brown shin. Seeing it too late, Celestia crashed into it and hurtled to the ground. Devina pinned her arms expertly and glowered into her frantic eyes. Celestia could see a large bruise spreading on her forehead.

"Just leave me alone, kid, and your life will be so much easier." She picked Celestia up easily and they marched behind Viggs' ranting cries until they had left the sunny schoolyard. Now they were in the shadow of the prestigious school.

"Children," one of the nurses declared, "you are being given a little 'quiet time.' Please use it to try to calm down."

Both of the girls were deposited in a frigid concrete hole. Viggs tried to jump out and was rewarded with a sharp toe to her nose. Then the grate dropped with a chilling 'clang!' Over Viggs' yells, Celestia could hear the nurses' footsteps receding over Viggs' malicious yells.

"I will kill you! I will kill you! I will kill you! I will kill you! You know I have the capability!" Viggs' screams made Celestia uneasy, until she realized the other girl couldn't move. Scooting close enough to see, Celestia realized that her young friend was wrapped in an immense sweater, and the ends of the long white sleeves were secured behind her back. Celestia sat back to wait... wait... wait...

Would she ever be released?

~ ❧ ~

The crisscrossed shadow of the ceiling grate moved lethargically across the concrete floor of the time-out cell. To pass the time, Celestia hummed tunelessly, then, when Viggs snarled at her in annoyance, tried to take a nap. It was hot and humid in the pit, preventing the girl from drowsing off.

Late in the afternoon, the girls heard the rustle of approaching footsteps. Then the grate scraped shrilly across the ceiling, and a strong hand reached out to Celestia. She grasped it and leaped out of her prison, narrowly avoiding Viggs, who lunged at her in hopes of a lift. Since Viggs' hands were tied behind her, Celestia's rescuer shook her off easily, then replaced the grate. Ignoring the cries of the mentally ill little girl, the two of them set out across the lawn.

Celestia eyed her helper discreetly. She could tell he was a man from his large hand and brown woolen suit, but he was too tall for her to see his face clearly. When they rounded the corner of the school, Celestia could hear the murmur of children playing quietly in the yard. Away from Viggs' howls of anger, it was a peaceful afternoon. Beside her, the man knelt down to her eye level.

"Hello, Miss Westing. What a pleasure to meet you." Now Celestia could see the man was young, perhaps around twenty. He had carefully combed fair hair and smiling blue eyes. "I am the school secretary, Johan Liebert. Of course you may call me Johan. Would you like to take a walk?"

When she didn't answer, the secretary took her hand and they walked to the garden gate.

As Viggs had informed Celestia earlier, there were many unhappy children residing in The Academy. One of the most emotionally disturbed of the students was a brown eyed, dark haired little girl who sat on a boulder by the gate. Though she was only four years old, the child occupied herself with nothing but drawing, and she drew only one thing: hot-air balloons. The nurses had long ago forbidden her to use paper for her many drawings, so she used leaves and pieces of bark. This afternoon, she was sitting dazedly by the gate, holding a stack of drawings depicting identical balloons. The child had such an unnerving air that Celestia circled widely around her. Johan noticed and smiled.

"You don't fit in with the other students in our school," he remarked. "Perhaps you are unusually gifted?"

Celestia made no reply. The two of them strolled down the walk and entered the small public park that Mrs. Kabra had mentioned earlier. Johan began to speak quietly to Celestia.

"Miss Westing, what do you think is ultimate fear?" He looked to her for an answer. When none came, he continued. "I thought I had reached the darkest of the dark... but then, ahead of me... I saw even greater darkness. Ever get that feeling, Miss Westing?"

Celestia began skipping.

Johan sighed in defeat. Devina had been right: the child was not mysterious or secretly clever, only remarkably slow. Perfectly useless for any of his plans - useless, in fact, to anyone.

"Let's turn back," he told her, dropping the pretense of politeness.

Celestia sensed his disappointment and wondered at it.

After an uneventful evening meal, Celestia and the other younger girls were ushered upstairs to bed. Since it was apparent to everyone now that she was little more than a mental vegetable, Celestia was given extra help preparing to go to sleep. An older girl brushed her hair, helped her into a nightgown, and tucked her snugly - too snugly for comfort - into her cot. At exactly seven o'clock, the room was quiet and still, with rows of identical, silent cots. Silent, that is, except an off-key humming in the bed next to Celestia. She recognized it as the trademark tune of the Balloon Girl and scooted to the far edge of her bed.

The sheets were tight and prickly.

It was still bright outside.

It felt to Celestia that she spent a long time lying in bed, waiting for the sun to go down so she could sleep. But in reality, as a consequence to her unusually eventful day, it was only a few minutes until she was in a deep sleep.

Hours later, she crashed back into wakefulness, alarmed by a quickly forgotten night terror. Though she couldn't remember the dream, the fear of it was still quite real, and she held perfectly still under the wool blanket. Then memories of the previous day returned to Celestia, making her feel even more afraid.

How long was she expected to stay here?

It had seemed tolerable at first - the spacious garden, her new friend - but had turned sour rapidly. Viggs had seemed like a useful ally, but was terrifying in her angry state. The garden, which had seemed so nice originally, was governed by mysterious rules that she didn't understand. And then there had been the secretary who had given her such an disappointed look. Then, of course, there was Devina to contend with. And the little Balloon Girl. She was mumbling in her sleep.

All in all, it was looking like a less-than-great living situation.

~ ❧ ~

Celestia was lying motionless in bed, trying to breathe calmly and go back to sleep, when the bedroom door creaked. She stared in silent horror, though she couldn't actually see the door, which was on the far side of the room. Perhaps if she stared hard enough, she could evade the intruder before it attacked.

At that moment, the candle set into the door-frame was extinguished.

Celestia screamed silently inside, and any hope of survival fluttered out along with the light.

Seconds later, someone re-lit the candle and began walking ominously down the row of beds. The slow, heavy footsteps stopped directly in front of Celestia's cot. "Why are you awake?" a now-familiar voice demanded.

Celestia’s eyes, which had nearly bulged from her sockets, widened even further. She recognized the voice as Devina's, but what would she be doing here in the middle of the night?

"To top off all your other annoying habits, you're a night-thinker. Just when I thought I couldn't dislike you more..." Devina turned and left the room without finishing her sentence.

Celestia relaxed a little as the girl's footsteps faded into the distance. Her mind returned to her troubles, and she continued mulling over the latest sequence of events until weak light began filtering through the window above her bed. Silently, she knelt on her pillow so she could look outside. The sky was lightening into a lovely clear day.

To her surprise, the window had a very simple catch, elementary enough for a little kid to figure out.

In Celestia's old house, her bedroom had been on the first floor. Of course, to her that meant that all bedrooms must be on the first floor. Opening the window, she crawled carefully out onto the roof. It was a cool morning, a relief from the stuffy room she had been forced to endure. After sitting there for a while, she realized that, at this hour, there would be nobody in the garden. She could play all by herself, with no unfathomable rules to get in the way. With this idea glowing in her mind, Celestia scooted to the end of the roof and put her legs over the edge, followed by the rest of her body. Only when she was dangling into nothingness did Celestia feel a twinge of apprehension.

At her old house, her feet would be touching the ground right now. Why was everything so different here?

Celestia began to scream and cry, which quickly attracted the attention of one of the nurses. In a few moments she had been rescued and led to the headmistress's bedroom. Mrs. Kabra, who had never been a morning person, stood in her nightie and hair curlers and interrogated Celestia.

"You've been here but a day, and already the academy is in chaos, Miss Westing. What do you have to say for yourself?" Of course, Celestia said nothing.

"Corrupting the routine, not eating your food, attacking Miss Devina, and now this - you are making yourself seem like a contrary child. Is that your aim? I was told you would be 'easy to handle.'" Celestia wiped her nose on her nightgown.

“I am going to town to send a telegram. Get Miss Westing dressed. And keep her away from the other girls! Who knows, she might be contagious."

~ ❧ ~

Quite a crowd gathered to see Celestia off. Though she couldn't have known it, she was about to become a legend at the institution - it was very unusual for a student to be sent home for bad behavior.

There was a clump of people waiting at the door. Among them were Johan, Devina, and the balloon girl. Celestia ignored them as politely as she could, enduring their accusatory stares as she was led to the hall closet and helped into her coat.

"What an anti-climactic case," the secretary murmured. "I really thought she might amount to something."

"And on top of that, she's a night-thinker," Devina added.

"How can y'know? It’s only been two nights,” sneered the balloon girl. She was not at all agreeable in the early morning.

"After living with you creatures for as long as I have, I pick up on such things. I can tell when something's not right just by looking into your squinty little eyes, and I tell you, Miss Westing -”

"Aaaagh! Aaaaagh!!" A screaming individual tumbled down the stairway and rushed through the startled occupants of the hallway. "My frieeend!"

Viggs embraced Celestia so forcefully that they both smashed into the wall.

 "I thought Bedlam was safely locked away!" exclaimed Mrs. Kabra, who had just returned from sending her telegram. It was raining outside and she was dripping rainwater on the tile floor. "Somebody grab her before she injures Miss Westing!"

Johan pulled Viggs away.

"Stay here. I'm sorry. My friend. Stay heeeeere...!"

Celestia watched as the secretary dragged her new friend away from her. This was very unsettling. She could tell that Viggs wanted her to do or say something. Maybe a hug - but Mrs. Kabra, anticipating such an action, clasped a firm hand on her scrawny shoulder.

Say something! Celestia concentrated on the few words she knew: food, potty, tired... But none of them would do. Viggs was nearly at the limit of her poor vision now. Soon she would be permanently gone. Celestia said the most beautiful words she knew. Hopefully Viggs would get the idea.

"Oebalus Pugnax!"

Johan stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the name, giving Celestia time to see her friend's reaction to her unorthodox goodbye. Viggs' eyes teared up and she smiled crookedly. Apparently it made perfect sense to her fevered, schizophrenic mind.

Then Mrs. Kabra dragged Celestia through the front door, and they rushed out into the storm, leaving the uncouth institution behind.  

~ ❧ ~

The humid air in the carriage was thick with disapproval. Celestia stared uncomfortably out the smeared, blurry window, entertaining herself by pulling stuffing from a hole in the seat. Her back was sore from sitting in the same position by the time they reached 221 Baker Street, but she was proud of her self-discipline. She had not made eye contact with Mrs. Kabra for the entire trip.

Sherlock Holmes greeted the carriage gloomily. He had made plans for the day, and an interruption like this could set him back for some time. He thanked Mrs. Kabra, then silently led Celestia to his flat. A quarter of an hour later, Watson arrived to find him brooding in a chair and smoking his pipe. Celestia was sprawled drowsily on the sofa.

"Holmes?! I didn't know she was back here!"

"Yes, I received a telegram very early this morning. It is an unfortunate turn of events. I, as I'm sure you recall, had hoped to do a bit of research on the Swine's Dozen today, but now I suppose we are doomed to sit around, smoke, and try to keep the imp from destroying my flat."

At that moment, the doorbell rang. "Mr. Holmes, a visitor for you!" Celestia recognized Beetle's voice and sat up.

"Let him in," Holmes commanded. They heard Beetle clomp down the stairs to admit the visitor. Normally the housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, would keep the door, but today she was on a rare visit to her sister's house. Beetle was working instead and using the money to supplement his meager income. It was difficult for a teenaged orphan to earn enough for food, rent, and decent clothing, so he often helped out with housework. Understandably, Mrs. Hudson adored him.

Beetle clomped back up the stairs, this time with a guest in tow. Celestia prided herself in determining that the boy was not alone, while Sherlock Holmes deduced that the newcomer was a man, either in old age or poor health, who had served in the army previously and was not very affluent.

The man was shown into the room and seated by Beetle, who was clad in an apron of Mrs. Hudson's and toting a broom. The boy bowed and left the room, but instead of leaving, he decided to clean in front of Mr. Holmes door. If he swept quietly, he would not bother the men inside, and more importantly, he could eavesdrop on the conversation.

~ ❧ ~

"I see. Due to the urgent nature of your problem, Dr. Joyce, I think we should take a look at your studio immediately," Holmes decided.

Celestia had fallen asleep soon after the creaky geezer had introduced himself as Doctor Ferdinand Joyce, entomologist, and had explained his problem to Sherlock Holmes. When Celestia woke up, it was to the sound of Holmes, Watson, and Beetle arguing in the hallway.

"There is no question of bringing her with us. Someone might question your professionalism, Holmes! Beetle is quite capable of watching her for a few hours." Watson's position was clear: he wanted to be as far away from the little girl as possible.

"I would be delighted to care for Miss Westing, Mrs. Hudson, however, entrusted me to clean the house. I couldn't think of letting her down." Beetle was imagining the scenes of chaos that would ensue if Celestia 'helped' him clean.

"Miss Westing would be an enormous help to you! Girls are supposed to be good at cleaning." Watson was persistent. "We have to figure out a solution soon, as Dr. Joyce is waiting for us."

Everyone winced when the driver of Dr. Joyce's coach beeped the horn. At a look from Holmes, Watson resignedly strode to the couch and picked Celestia up. She was carried out to the dingy carriage, and was wide awake by the time the four of them reached Dr. Joyce's studio. As soon as they arrived, she was bustled from the cab, across a small lawn, and down a musty, dank stairway lit with archaic torches.

"My specimens," Dr. Joyce explained, "do best in a cool, dark place." The doctor had a creaky, grating voice. Every so often he would emit a short cough, which made a harsh snapping sound in his throat. He smelled of kerosene. Celestia decided she did not like him. "This is the storage room I described to you," he continued while fiddling with a heavy padlock that fortified the rotting door. "As you gentlemen can see, it is quite secure."

Dr. Joyce hefted the door open.

As they entered the cluttered room, Holmes whispered to Celestia. "Now, Miss Westing, try not to break or tamper with anything, if that is within your capabilities."  Of course, his eloquent speech was lost on her.

Long counters bordered the cramped, windowless space, and there was a large island table in the center of the room. Every available surface was blanketed with papers, along with mysterious-looking instruments and several half-eaten sandwiches. Although they were too high for Celestia to see, there were also glass cases fastened to the cold grey the walls.

"May we look around?" Holmes asked politely.

"Certainly, most certainly. Make yourself at home, just please try to find a clue as to who committed this crime!" Dr. Joyce assumed an expression close to tears.

Watson, noticing something odd, remarked, "Dr., one does not often see such a profusion of eye-glasses." He gestured to a few pairs scattered throughout the room. "Are you a collector?"

The doctor smiled ingratiatingly. "No, I spend too much time with my insects to have time for 'glasses. Lately, I have been accused of becoming senile. Though I wish I could ignore the fact, things do seem to get misplaced more often than they used to. So that I don't have to pause in my work, I leave things lying about so that they are at hand when I need them."

Satisfied, Watson replaced the pair he had been examining. Celestia had been standing quietly by his side during the lengthy conversation. If she didn't do something soon, she would get bored, wander off, and find some kind of trouble. So she felt quite reasonable as she reached up and grabbed the spectacles. In the long term, she was saving everyone stress, and Watson had been looking at them. Why shouldn't she?

Before she tried them on, Celestia took a moment to examine the glasses. They were larger than Beetle's. To her, they looked ornate and fascinating, with their tiny hinges, round lenses, and shiny frames. Then she tried them on.

Celestia was astonished at the change in her vision. It was almost magical! She wondered if Beetle saw things this way all the time. It was beautiful, but also disorienting. She could see Holmes on the far side of the room, lifting a dried insect from underneath a paper, and she watched his mouth move as he spoke to Dr. Joyce. "Sir, to my uneducated eye, this specimen looks a lot like the moth you reported missing."

Dr. Joyce rubbed his bony hands together in delight. "Amazing! To think I brought you all the way out here, and I had misplaced it to start with. How very extraordinary!" Celestia decided that the old man looked even worse than he sounded and smelled. He had long, scraggly grey hair and sallow, moley skin. She turned away and began examining the cases of insects mounted above the counters. She saw a case of butterflies, one of bees, and, most interestingly, one of beetles. She stood as close as she could without climbing onto the counter and admired them. She didn't see any that she recognized until she came to the one at the very top of the case. Immediately, she scrambled onto the counter for a serious look.

"Miss Westing? What is it that you are doing? Can't you see that you are scattering papers everywhere?" Watson strode purposefully toward her.

Celestia ignored him, because she had just come to a breathtaking realization. All of the bugs were actually dead, including the one she had been so overjoyed to see. Oebalus Pugnax's mottled back was pierced by a long, glittering pin. Celestia wrenched the glasses from her face and threw them to the floor. Disappointingly, the sound of shattering glass didn't make her feel a lot better. Everything was so disappointing. She wailed plaintively. "Oebalus Pugnaaax!"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Joyce, but we must go now," Holmes excused himself quickly. "Congratulations on the rediscovery of your moth. Oh, of course I will pay for damages." Stepping delicately past Watson, who had panicked at the sight of broken glass, Holmes swept Celestia from the counter and hurried through the door, up the stairs, and into their waiting cab. When they sat down, he sighed dramatically. "Miss Westing, you surely look lighter than you are." Celestia looked at him miserably. "This day has been a dismal one for all of us," Holmes stated sympathetically. "I had suspected that Joyce was involved with the Swine's Dozen."

"But the man cannot keep track of his own sandwiches," Watson protested.

"Exactly. Which brings us back to square one." Holmes paused in thought. "Back to square one. Write that line down, will you, Watson? It has a nice ring to it."

For several minutes, the three of them rode in tired silence, each one of them mulling over their own thoughts. Then Watson remarked quietly, "Holmes -"

"Correct," Holmes agreed, "we are most certainly being followed."