Molly was afraid to ask if he meant Rector or Bell. “I know how I’d feel if I really thought I’d never see my mother again,” she said.
Emmett wiped his sleeve across his face. “I thought I might be able to apologize.”
“For what?” Molly asked.
“When I first received the letter—the one I showed you—I was so angry. I hated my father for leaving me, just like I was so angry with him for keeping my heritage from me and for wanting me to be just like him. But the next thing I heard about him was that he was gone. And I was so sorry I’d ever had those feelings.”
Molly thought about those last moments before Cassandra’s arrest, how angry she’d been at her mother just then. She put her arm around Emmett and led him outside. Sarah, Mary, and Hertha were gathered around a newspaper with sickened looks on their faces.
“What now?” Molly asked. “Is that today’s? Was it in the Onion Boys’ wagon?” The women hesitated to answer, so Molly pulled the paper from Mary’s hands.
“Molly,” Sarah started. “You don’t want to read—”
But she’d already seen the headline.
FAILED ASSASSIN CASSANDRA PEPPER
TO UNDERGO ELECTROSHOCK THERAPY TODAY
DOCTORS SAY NEW TREATMENT COULD BE
THE CURE FOR CRIMINALITY
“Electroshock? What are they going to do to her?” Molly asked numbly.
“Nothing good,” Hertha replied. “I’m so sorry, Molly.”
Molly frowned. Her mother needed action, not sympathy. “Well, we’re getting her out of there,” she said. “First. Before they fry her brain. We get my mother, then we go to the Fair.”
“Molly, we can’t,” Hertha began. “Look at the time. It’s after eight; the Fair opens its gates at ten.”
“But the lighting ceremony’s not till six! What if this thing they’re going to do to my mother—what if it kills her?” Molly cried.
“It’s horrible, and I loathe even having to make such a decision,” said Hertha. “But we can’t weigh one life against thousands.”
“It’s too important, dear,” added Mary. “We really are sorry.”
Molly struggled for words. Emmett found them for her. “Actually, Mrs. Pepper might be our best chance of stopping Rector’s machine,” he said.
“How’s that?” Hertha asked. Molly wondered the same thing.
“From what Rector said on that recording, his device attacks with sound waves,” Emmett said. “Mrs. Pepper’s Sonic Nullifier could be just the thing to counteract it.”
Molly was about to ask what the heck Emmett was talking about, but Bell spoke first. “Nullifier?” He and Edison stepped over to the group. “Your mother created a machine that cancels out sound? All sound?”
“She did,” Emmett answered for Molly.
“Molly, you should have mentioned this sooner,” said Hertha.
“It didn’t occur to me,” Molly finally said, hoping she didn’t sound too surprised.
“Well, that goes far beyond the work I did quieting the train system,” Mary said. “Definitely worth a detour. Molly, can you take us to your mother’s invention?”
“I don’t know where it is. Or how to use it.” Neither was technically a lie.
The adults looked to one another, contemplating their options.
“Do any of us have ideas for thwarting Rector otherwise?” Bell asked.
No response.
“Then it’s decided,” Hertha said. “Sarah, plot a course to Blackwell’s Island.” Molly couldn’t be certain, but something in her voice made her think Hertha was secretly relieved by this change of plans.
She didn’t want to think about how that might change when they discovered the Sonic Nullifier didn’t exist.
“We’ll get her back, Molly,” Emmett whispered. “They took my father from me. We’re not gonna let them take your mother from you.”
37
Transformation!
WEIGHED DOWN BY two extra people, the Moto-Mover puttered along at a slower pace than before. Still, Bell and Edison seemed impressed. Bell ran his hand along the switches and panels on the seat back before him. “I must say, you’ve done a cracking good job with this contraption,” Bell said.
“Language,” tutted Mrs. Cochrane.
Edison leaned far over the side of the car to watch the wheels. “You girls have taken a fantastic first step here. When I think of the improvements I can make to this vehicle . . . Why, it would change the way the world travels!”
“Thank you, Mr. Edison,” Hertha said with mock gratitude. “I hadn’t realized our revolutionary, one-of-a-kind creation was so severely lacking. Would you care to honor us with one of your myriad ideas for improvement?”
Edison looked around. “Cup holders?”
“Seriously, ladies, an innovation like this should not be kept from the public,” Bell said. “Why are you not displaying at the Fair?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Molly snapped.
“Perhaps you were unaware,” Mary explained, “but every inch of display space at the Fair was awarded to the Guild.”
“True, the Guild does sorta run the show,” said Edison. “You ladies should join . . . Oh, that’s right.”
“I suppose you can’t, can you?” Bell said sheepishly. “It’s . . . rather unfortunate.”
“Unfair, you mean,” said Mary.
“Hey, it’s not our fault!” Edison tossed his hands up defensively. “It wasn’t my decision to make the Guild men only.”
“So we should assume you’ve spoken up against it?” said Hertha. “Explained to your colleagues how ‘unfortunate’ it is?”
The men were silent.
“As directors, can’t you change the rules?” Emmett asked, wriggling uncomfortably between the two.
“Any change to the Guild charter would need the votes of a majority of members,” Bell said. Molly narrowed her eyes at him. “But perhaps it’s something we can work on,” he added.
Molly kept her face stony as she nodded in reply, then turned her eyes back to the scenery and allowed herself the grin she didn’t want Bell to see.
After two hours on the road—and ten minutes after the official opening of the World’s Fair—Hertha pulled the hand brake and stopped the motor coach on the banks of the Hudson River. A mile of fast-moving water lay between them and Manhattan.
“This is the best part,” Sarah said.
“Or worst,” said Emmett with a grimace. “Depending on how seasick you get.”
Buttons were pressed, levers were pulled, and slowly, the Moto-Mover began to transform. A glass bubble rose up to envelop the seating area. Metal plates shifted at the front of the car, forming a pointed nose like that of a sailing vessel. Steel fins extended from the sides and rear of the vehicle.
“The Moto-Mover,” Molly shouted gleefully, “has become a Boat-o-Mover!”
For once, Edison was speechless.
“This vehicle is seaworthy?” Bell asked.
“Absolutely,” said Hertha. “How do you think we got to the Jersey side to begin with? Although we are currently too heavy to go back. When we built the machine, we didn’t calculate for this many passengers.”
“I’ve an easy fix for that,” Bell said, climbing out. “It’s best if we split up anyhow. There’s a ferry terminal within walking distance of here. Tom and I will take one to Manhattan and alert the authorities about Rector. You go to Mrs. Pepper. She may not have much time.”
“I’ll stick with the Guild boys,” said Mary. She patted Hertha on the shoulder and climbed out with Bell. “The rest of you rescue Cassandra.”
“I wanted to ride the wizard boat,” Edison whined as he climbed out. Then he fished around in the pockets of his suit jacket and came out with two small gadgets that looked like thumb pianos. “Do any of you know Morse code?”
Everybody in the car raised their hands.
“All right then.” Edison handed one of the gizmos to Sarah. “We can use these to communicate.
They’re miniature telegraph machines that transmit messages across invisible waves. Don’t ask me what kind of—”
“What kind of invisible waves?” Molly asked.
Edison narrowed his eyes. “That’s classified.”
“Ha,” said Bell. “Yes, classified until he figures it out himself.”
“As long as they work, we can use them,” said Sarah. “Thanks, and good luck. Believe in yourself!”
Bell, Edison, and Mary waved farewell as the Marvelous Moto-Mover rolled into the swells of the Hudson and skimmed through the water. It sailed into the harbor, drawing slack-jawed stares from the fishermen and sailors they sprayed past. Emmett kept his eyes closed and his mouth covered until their vessel rounded the southern tip of Manhattan into the East River and finally burst onto the rocky shore of Blackwell’s Island. Hertha switched the Moto-Mover back to land mode, drove across the flat scrubland, and parked it behind a patch of skeletal shrubs.
“It’s even creepier than I’d imagined,” said Emmett.
The architects of the Blackwell’s Island Lunatic Asylum probably meant for its grand dome and ivy-covered white tower to look elegant and majestic. But in Molly, they inspired only melancholy and dread. The vines looked to be choking the life out of those stark walls, while the shadows of gnarled tree limbs crawled across dark windows like invading snakes. Water stains ran down from the dome, as if the building itself were weeping.
Molly shuddered. This was where they had her mother.
Mrs. Cochrane opted to once more wait with the car. And Margaret, whose tool belts and coveralls didn’t fit the wardrobe for this undercover mission, stayed behind as well—but not before presenting goodies to the rest of the team.
“What are these?” Emmett asked as he examined the baseball-sized metal orb she’d handed him.
“Contingency plan,” Margaret replied.
“Neat,” Molly said, examining the small cube she’d been given.
As they ascended the marble steps to the main entrance, Molly kept her eyes on the windows, hoping to see a familiar face, but the ones that peered back gave her shivers. Inside, the entry chamber was far less spooky than Molly expected. No droopy cobwebs, broken mirrors, or bats hanging from the ceiling. Instead, gold-framed portraits of rich old men surrounded a carpeted staircase that spiraled up to the top of the dome. Not a mote of dust dirtied the glistening ceramic tiles, nor did a single loose paper clutter the ornately carved reception desk. The only person in sight was a guard napping on a stool by a big, black door.
Hertha cleared her throat and the guard jolted awake.
“Norris, wake up!” he called. And from behind the large desk appeared a small head. The man had beady eyes and a bladelike nose that made Molly wonder if all desk clerks were related.
“Can I help you?” the clerk asked, squinting like a man who’d forgotten his eyeglasses.
“We’re here to visit a patient,” Hertha said. “Mrs. Cassandra Pepper.”
“I’m sorry, no visiting hours today,” said the clerk.
“Oh, dear, we hadn’t realized,” Hertha play-acted. “But we’re her only family and we came all this way.”
“Yer all family?” the guard asked, raising his eyebrows at their motley crew.
“Doesn’t matter,” the clerk snipped. “No vis . . .” He cocked his head. “How did you get here?”
There was a slight pause before Hertha said, “Ferry.”
“But the city reassigned the Blackwell’s ferry for the Fair,” said the clerk.
“Then how’d you get here?” Molly shot back.
“By ferry. But our ferry’s for staff only, and— Why am I explaining myself to you?” He looked to the guard. “Bernard, watch them while I make a call.”
Bernard the guard stood while the clerk picked up a telephone.
“Contingency time,” Hertha said. She whipped Margaret’s glue cannon from the folds of her skirt and pumped it at the clerk. A thick wad of adhesive pinned him to the wall.
“Jumpin’ jellyfish!” the guard shouted. Molly followed the instructions on her cube: POINT LID AT HEAD. PRESS BUTTON. The contraption sprang open like a jack-in-the-box, and Bernard suddenly had a burlap sack over his face. Startled and blinded, the guard tripped over his own stool.
“Our apologies for all this,” said Sarah, who was nearly done using Margaret’s mini-blowtorch to cut the bolt lock from the door. “It’s a matter of life and death. I hope you understand.”
“I understand nothing!” the trapped clerk cried as Hertha ran behind his desk and flipped through a logbook.
“Women’s wing, Ward H,” she announced as Sarah kicked open the charred door.
“Bernard, help me,” the struggling clerk groaned. “This goo is impossible!”
“I can’t find you,” the guard mumbled as he crawled across the floor and banged his sack-covered head into the desk.
“Don’t give up, boys! Believe in yourselves!” Sarah yelled as she and the others raced into the depths of the asylum.
The quiet cleanliness of the lobby had been sorely misleading. The innards of the asylum held all the spiderwebs, stained floors, and cracked walls promised by the building’s eerie exterior. As the quartet raced along foul-odored, barely lit corridors, following signs to Ward H, Molly tried to keep her eyes straight ahead of her. To glance to the side meant seeing the wretched, moaning, weeping women in the beds they passed. Some were strapped down, yelling things like “Get me out!” or “Please tell my family!” Others lay in puddles or sat staring into corners, ignoring the rats and roaches that skittered around their feet. Molly trembled with fear and rage.
A thick-necked orderly in a stained white apron turned a corner, startling them. SPLORCH! Hertha glued him to the wall before he could utter a syllable. “There,” she said, pointing to the door marked H.
“Hey, you can’t be back here!” Another orderly ran at them.
Emmett hurled his metallic ball at the man, who caught it and laughed. “Was this supposed to hurt me or some—” Bluish gas hissed from the orb and the man collapsed.
“Cassandra!” Hertha called. “Cassandra Pepper!”
“Mrs. Pepper!” Emmett joined in.
“Mother!” Molly cried. They reached an area so overcrowded, the women’s beds were lined up in the corridor. One woman lurched forward and grabbed Molly’s arm.
“Let go!” Molly begged.
“Cassandra,” the woman said. Her eyes were bloodshot. “They took her away.”
“Where?” Molly asked.
“Downstairs,” the woman replied. Her long hair was dirty, but still tied up in a fashionable bun. “About twenty minutes ago. They’re starting the treatment on her—the shocks.”
“Thank you,” Molly said, but the woman didn’t release her.
“They put me in here because I couldn’t pay my rent,” the prisoner said. “Please. Tell someone.”
Hertha placed her hand on the woman’s and gently lifted it from Molly’s arm. “I have a friend. Nellie Bly; she’s a journalist,” Hertha said. “I think she’d be very interested to know what goes on behind these walls. Have faith.”
The woman retreated to her grimy cot as Molly and the others ran downstairs.
When they reached the lower level, they heard a man’s voice behind a closed door: “I can’t say it’s not going to hurt, but on the bright side, when we’re done, you probably won’t remember how much it hurt.”
“I still think I’d feel better if you tried it on yourself first,” came Cassandra’s reply.
The rescuers exploded into the cold, tiled room to find Cassandra Pepper in a white hospital gown, her formerly lustrous hair shaved down to peach fuzz. She lay on a table, bound by thick leather straps, while an orderly steadied a lamp overhead, and a white-cloaked doctor began to lower a wired metal cap onto Cassandra’s skull.
“Mother!”
“Molls?”
“What’s this?” spat the doctor. SKLERP! A perfectly launched glob of adh
esive pinned the metal cap to his chest. He staggered and his elbow tripped the switch of the machine behind him. Sparks shot from the cap. The man yowled, crumpled, and fell still.
“Eh, he’ll be fine,” said Hertha.
Sarah rushed to the table and began carefully cutting through Cassandra’s straps with her blowtorch. “Don’t move, Mrs. Pepper,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally scorch you.”
The orderly took a step toward the table, and Hertha trained her glue cannon on him. The man raised his hands. “Whoa,” he sputtered. “I’m just gonna loosen these for you.” He unlatched Cassandra’s straps and stepped out of the way.
“You made a fortunate decision,” Hertha said. “For us. Because this thing’s all out of gloop.” She tossed the empty gun aside.
“Hey, I’m not gonna stop you,” the orderly said. “This place is awful.”
Free of her constraints, Cassandra leapt up, and Molly enveloped her mother in a hug she never wanted to end. But they soon heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
“Run now, cuddle later,” Hertha said.
“Um, there’s no exit from down here,” the orderly cautioned.
“That’s okay,” Sarah said, holding up her blowtorch. “I’ve got this!” She ran out into the hallway and the others followed.
“I don’t think that’s gonna cut through the stone,” the man called out as they left.
“Doesn’t have to.” Sarah held up the canister, which had a label on it: IF ALL ELSE FAILS, PRESS BUTTON, THROW, AND DUCK. She pressed the noted button, and tossed the canister to the bottom of the brick wall at the end of the corridor.
“Everybody down, please!”
The Pocket Welder exploded, taking out the asylum wall with it. Waving dust and smoke from their faces, Molly, Emmett, Cassandra, Sarah, and Hertha crawled through the gaping hole in the bricks. Before them lay several yards of dead turf, the East River, and Manhattan beyond.
“Anyone for a dip?” Hertha asked.
That was when the Marvelous Moto-Mover zoomed around the corner.
“That looks fun,” said Cassandra.
“We heard the explosion,” Margaret called out. “Get in!” She leaned over the side and helped everyone on board, while Josephine Cochrane, who sat rigidly at the wheel, slowed the vehicle.