At about nine-thirty, the butler returned. “Mr. Grendle has requested that you go downstairs and bid him good night before you retire.”
Gregory looked at his watch and grumbled, “Are we retiring already? It’s only nine-thirty.”
“One believes,” said the butler, “that such was Mr. Grendle’s wish.”
They were ushered down to the parlor, where large leather chairs sat around a huge, unlit fireplace. Uncle Max sat on one of the chairs, reading some newspaper aloud in a foreign tongue. He looked up as they entered. “Yes. Good night, boys,” he said simply, and turned back to his newspaper.
“Good night, Uncle Max. Oh, where is our luggage?” asked Gregory. “It wasn’t up in our rooms.”
“Ah,” said Uncle Max. “Burk has dealt with your luggage. Good enough? Yes. Then, good night.”
They were promptly ushered back upstairs, where they went to their respective rooms. The rooms were almost bare. After Brian brushed his teeth he pulled on the nightgown that had been left folded on his bed and went to look at the nursery for one last time that night. He stood, his hand resting on the door frame, and glanced over the toys as they were shrouded in shadows (for Burk had pulled shut the windows and turned down the gaslights)—the red-lipped dolls, the mechanical juggler, the iron pinwheel, the scruffy teddy bears, the wooden hobby-horse.
His eyes came to rest on the game board. The moonlight trailed over the window seat, down onto the carpeting, and finally touched the blank board, highlighting it. Brian stared, perplexed by something he couldn’t identify. Finally, he turned and closed his door.
Each of the boys had been given a candle to put by his bed and to light his gas lamp. Brian extinguished his lamp and left only the candle burning. After he read a bit (from A Dirk on Thirty-Third Street, Archie Temple fell for a dame named Vanilla, which was grimy, rotten luck for a private jack with a sense of fair play, a lonely heart, an overbite, and a way with a .38 that made strong men see double), he fell into a deep sleep. Gregory, in his room, did similarly.
Downstairs, Uncle Max opened the front door to speak with something that waited on the porch.
In the basement, Burk stoked the fire with the last of their tube socks.
When the two awakened, they dressed in the clothes that had been left out for them: tweed knickerbockers that came down to their knees, long socks, neckties, and stiff collars that had to be clipped on to the shirts with small studs. The collars were huge.
They went down to a silent breakfast of scrambled eggs, ham, orange juice, and oatmeal trifle, the last of which neither ate, as it looked like something that, in movies, got aggravated and depopulated space stations.
Brian found Uncle Max overwhelming. When Max asked for something—the jam, the butter—Brian tried to pass it as quickly as possible. He was too quick. The butter knife slid off the tray and fell on the floor. Uncle Max glowered at the boy. Brian said quietly, “I’m sorry. Really sorry.” There was a long silence.
After Uncle Max had finished slurping a cup of black coffee, he said, “I’m sure. Now. How do you both propose to spend your day?”
“Well,” said Gregory, “I think we were planning on looking around the house and grounds.”
Brian added, “Yes, your house is fascinating. You don’t see a house like this every day!”
Max raised an eyebrow. “I see a house like this every day. This one.”
“Oh, I meant in the general sense of ‘you,’” explained Brian nervously.
“My boy, learn to be specific. ‘To what end are vain words,’ eh?”
There was an awkward silence.
“Sir,” said Prudence. “Perhaps the boys would like to go and do something entertaining now. It’s almost time for you to start your work.”
“Ah! Ah, yes!” He sighed. “Must go up to my office. Much to do. Have a pleasant day.” With that, the stern uncle rose, took his napkin off his lap, and placed it crumpled upon his crumb-littered plate. “I shall see you at lunchtime,” he added, and walked off.
Prudence stared at her plate, then turned to the boys. “You’ll have to excuse Uncle Max if he is a bit overblown sometimes. And I hope you aren’t upset about having to wear those clothes. It makes him so much happier when people agree to them.”
“It’s really no problem,” said Brian.
“No, not at all,” said Gregory. “Except the collars. I feel like my head’s on a platter.” Daffodil made a loud, rasping noise. Brian watched her curiously.
Gregory jammed his finger under his collar and wriggled his hand. “Well, let’s take a look around.”
The two rose from the table, bid Prudence a temporary farewell, and went to look over the rest of the spectacular house.
Daffodil was washing things up in the kitchen, off the dining room. Near the entryway there was a front parlor, with books in cases and comfortable chairs near the fireplace.
As they stepped back into the dining room, they were delighted to find that one wall of the room’s dark paneling had been folded away by Burk to reveal a glassed-in solarium, a greenhouse where baby’s tears grew between the cracks in the moist cobblestones, and lush flowers grew around pillared busts of Roman emperors and Visigoths, all of which had their eyes chipped out.
An iron bench sat, positioned to look out of the leaded glass onto the verdant grounds of the manor. The two boys stood in the solarium, gazing across the house’s lawns and dying gardens. Grassy knolls rolled down to a forest of towering pines.
“This house is incredible!” said Brian.
“Sure is,” said Gregory.
They went back into the dining room, where the maid carried out the last of the dishes. They offered to help her.
She stared at them for a moment, cringed, then gave one whoop of a laugh. She turned and left.
“I guess that’s no,” said Gregory.
Brian opened the door to the kitchen slightly. “Are you sure?” he asked politely.
“Oh,” she said, “very, very, very.” She barked out another laugh.
“Hey,” said Gregory, pointing over to the corner. “That the door to the basement?”
She turned and glared. “It is.”
“Mind if we go poke around down there?”
“The basement? What exactly do you want with the basement?”
“Two guys with free time on their hands,” said Gregory. “Why not gnaw through the plumbing?”
Brian, more conciliatory, said, “We just wondered what kind of interesting old things we could find.”
Daffodil frowned. “The master would not want you poking around.”
Prudence swept into the kitchen. She looked at all three of them. “Why the long faces?” she asked.
“The children were asking to go down into the basement, ” said Daffodil. “I told them it was not the master’s wish.”
“Oh, I don’t see why he’d mind,” said Prudence. “But I don’t think you boys will find much down there. There’s nothing really interesting. Just old and burnt things. And pieces of other things.” She went over and opened the door for them.
“Very well, Miss Prudence,” said Daffodil. She gave Gregory some matches. She said, “It’s lit by gas. Remember: Fools often erupt in flame.”
The staircase almost fell down when the boys walked on it. The steps creaked and groaned, rattling the old lanterns and trowels that hung from rusty nails. Gregory and Brian held candles in front of them as they felt their way down the staircase, but the darkness of the room seemed to lie upon the basement as permanently and thickly as the dust and the musty smell.
Piles of boxes and old furniture heaved out of the gloom at the motion of their candles. After the two had lit the lamps, they began to look around. They found an old hall table, an elaborate but chipped dresser adorned with carvings of nymphs and satyrs, a large lamp with a crystal case that had been broken, the backboard of a bed, and several crates of old newspapers written in some unfamiliar alphabet that looked vaguely Norse.
&nbs
p; “Look,” said Gregory. “An outhouse on wheels.”
Brian pried at the door. “I think,” he said, “it’s a bathing machine.”
“But I like the idea of the outhouse on wheels,” said Gregory. “Going down hills while you’re sitting on the can—now that would be exhilarating.” He said dreamily, “I would sing ‘Born Free.’”
“Only you,” said Brian, smiling and shaking his head.
Inside the bathing machine was a stuffed grouse under a glass bell.
“The dust is beginning to kill me,” said Gregory. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What language do you think those papers are in?” asked Brian.
“I don’t know. Looks like Viking runes. Let’s go explore something else.”
“All right,” said Brian. He looked around the piles of broken and discarded things. He was sure that if they kept searching there, they’d uncover something interesting.
They headed upstairs.
Most of the second level of the house was bedrooms, so they ascended directly up to the third floor, where they found an elaborate game room. There was a huge billiard table, with a rack of cues and several sets of different billiard balls.
“I suppose,” said Gregory, “we could play pool.”
“I don’t really like pool.”
“Seeing as because you always lose.”
“Okay, fine,” sighed Brian. “We’ll play pool.”
The two lit the gas lamps that were screwed to the dark wood paneling and played a short game of pool on the billiard table. As per usual, Gregory won, although several times he came dangerously close to ripping a track in the green felt of the table.
When the game was over and the billiard cues had been replaced in their rack, Brian went to snuff one of the lights, only to notice something about the paneling—a line bordering the indented squares that was too dark to be the grain of the wood.
“Gregory! Come here!”
The other boy rushed to his side. “What?”
“It looks like this square of paneling could pull aside!” With his fingers, he attempted to pry the door open. “I can’t get it,” he said.
“Let the master try,” said Gregory. “I haven’t cut my fingernails since Christmas last year.” He placed his fingers on the crack, and slowly the secret door opened. “See?” said Gregory. “Personal grooming is completely over-rated. ” When the door swung wide, the two found themselves looking into a small room, smaller than the average closet.
The only distinguishing feature of the tiny chamber was a window that looked out at the complicated tiled roofs of the building—a strange, angled landscape of gray.
There was a small wooden box there.
“Hmm,” said Gregory. “What a useless secret room.”
Brian considered. “It was probably designed as a broom closet.”
Gregory leaned down and picked up the box. He bobbed it once on his fingers like a basketball and flipped the top open.
Inside was an hourglass. On the top of it was inscribed Timer—The Game of Sunken Places.
“Huh,” said Gregory. “For that Grendle Manor game.”
“We should ask Prudence about it,” said Brian. “I wonder what the rules are.”
Gregory paused, then thoughtfully strolled over to the window in the closet, a reflective expression on his face. He pressed his fingers to the glass.
“Idea?” said Brian.
“Yeah. How’d you like to explore the roof?”
“Explore the roof?”
“No, no. I said, ‘Strap goats to our shoulders.’”
“You want to?”
“Strap goats to our shoulders?”
“Explore the roof.”
“Brian, would I have suggested it if I didn’t want to?”
“Knowing you,” Brian said with a grin, “no.”
Gregory struggled with the window. Finally, after he strained for a few seconds, it jerked upward with the rumble of a counterweight. A warm breeze drifted in.
Gregory said, “Hmm…,” then ducked his head through the window, stretched out an arm to grab a piece of tiling and, with one swift movement, darted out onto the slate tiles. “Ouch!” he exclaimed. “These are hot!”
Brian paced over to the window and, with a bit of groping and hopping, made it out.
They sat in a small valley between interconnecting roofs. The black slate shingles were hot to the touch, warmed by the sunlight. On the highest conical roof of the mansion, a mottled iron weathercock creaked as it slowly revolved. Brian stood unsteadily, balancing himself on the squat dormer he had just climbed through.
Over the peaks of the roofs, he could see the forest spread out around the mansion, the trees churning in a strong, bitter wind. The two boys, however, felt none of that wind, protected as they were in the palm of the roof. The trees were slowly changing color, especially down near the rivers and swamps, and up near the peaks of the blue-gray mountains. Spots of orange, red, and yellow speckled the greenery.
The clouds were tumbling past at a great rate.
Brian perched on the secret chamber’s gable, and they sat there on the roof for most of the morning, talking about school, people they knew, and movies they’d seen.
Brian got up finally to stretch his legs. He looked down over the lawn. The forest rose, dark and wild. There was a gazebo near the edge of it.
“Look at the statue,” said Brian.
Gregory looked over his shoulder. Out in the garden stood a statue of a man in a top hat and cape. The figure was chipped in various places and had been eaten by moss. The face, from a distance, seemed bitter and hard.
“It’s Uncle Max,” said Gregory. “Looking like he keeps cheese and coleslaw in his long johns.”
Brian thought for a moment, and then asked, “What does he do?”
“Squelches when he walks.”
“Thanks,” said Brian, grinning. “As a job.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s the guy who makes up abbreviations for new states.”
“Gregory…”
“Someone has to!”
“You really don’t know?”
“No, honestly. It’s a little weird, isn’t it?”
“The whole place is kind of strange,” said Brian.
“I had this dream about it last night,” said Gregory. “Odd.” He turned, and leaned back on the slope of the roof. “I was at the house, then suddenly I was flown out of the house and I was looking at the mountains.”
“And the mountains were covered with metal,” finished Brian.
“Yes! Yes! The mountains were coated with metal!”
“I had the same dream.”
“No way.”
“I’m serious.”
“This is just too much!”
“It’s unbelievable!” Brian whispered. “Unreal!”
Gregory rubbed his chin.
Glumly, Brian said, “I bet we’ve been brought here for a purpose.”
“Yeah,” said Gregory thoughtfully. “But why wouldn’t Uncle Max just tell us?”
“Maybe we’re supposed to figure out what’s going on. Maybe that’s part of it… Like we’re playing a game.”
“A game,” repeated Gregory.
Brian pointed down toward the nursery.
“Yeah,” said Gregory. He looked up, shielding his eyes in the sun. “Let’s take that hourglass down and put it with the board.”
They crawled back inside, picked up the timer, and headed to the nursery. The game board sat on the window seat. Gregory put the hourglass down. There was a faint inked ring in the center of the board where it looked like it could go.
“So if this is a game we’re playing,” said Brian, “who’s the other team?”
“What do you think the rules are?” asked Gregory.
“Perhaps that’s what we’re supposed to find out,” said Brian cryptically.
“You think it’s Parcheesi or Operation?”
“I don’t know.”
&
nbsp; “Hungry Hungry Hippos?”
“We need to find out if anyone’s playing against us.”
“And,” said Gregory, “most important, how are we supposed to win?” He tapped the hourglass. He said, “If this is a game, then this should signal the beginning of play.”
With that, he turned over the hourglass.
And out in the woods, a trumpet sounded. It was a high, strange note that smeared downward, losing breath.
“What was that?” asked Brian, frowning out at the trees. The mountains loomed over the forest.
Gregory lifted his hand off the hourglass.
He said quietly, “Sometimes moose have gas.”
Brian was just starting to smile at Gregory’s joke when he looked down at the board. He blinked through his glasses. He said, “Look. New spaces.”
Gregory looked.
A path led out from the house. Space after space was labeled in the woods—places called things like THE STONY PATH, THE DARK WOOD, THE RING, and THE CLUB OF SNARTH.
Gregory scrambled down on his hands and knees and squinted across the board horizontally. “They were completely invisible last night,” he said.
“Yes,” whispered Brian.
“And I didn’t notice them just now.”
“It must be the daylight.”
“Yeah,” said Gregory. “The daylight.” He followed the track of the path with his finger. He stood up and straightened his socks. “Let’s go talk to Prudence,” he suggested. “There’s a lot we don’t understand.”
Out in the gazebo, Daffodil was standing in a drab gray shawl. She heard the dying trumpet note on the autumn air. Facing the forest, she raised her hand. She waved it once.
When she was certain she had been seen, she turned to go inside.
Prudence sat in the parlor. She sewed a fancy-work pattern onto a handkerchief. Her hand moved rhythmically and quickly across the fabric, like a well-handle pumping—as if at any moment, she would start drooling out water.
Gregory told her about the game. “…‘The Game of Sunken Places,’” he said. “It says ‘Grendle Manor’ on it, but it looks Victorian, and I always thought that Uncle Max’s family was—until a few years ago when he moved out here—that Uncle Max’s family was just from Boston. I thought it was an old Boston family that had fought in the Revolution and et cetera, et cetera.”