Chapter Ten
All Hallows Eve
Ethan's suspense did not last long. Professor Bancroft found them at breakfast the next morning.
"Mr. Lloyd, your detention will be served with Professor Swope," he said. "Report to him at 8 o'clock Halloween morning to clean paintings. As for you, Mr. Van der Meulen, Seńor Galvez needs someone to clean the locker rooms and the school trophies. You are to report to him at the same time."
"But, Professor, the Pumpkin Hunt," Ethan began. He saw Tim roll his eyes.
"I rather think that your participation in the hunt is unwarranted this year, Mr. Lloyd," Bancroft interjected. "See to it that you both do exactly as you are directed.
"I wouldn't complain, Ethan," Tim said as Bancroft strode back to the faculty table. "After all, they could just as well have sent us home."
Halloween fell on the following Thursday. Classes were always suspended so that the four houses could compete in a hunt for transfigured pumpkins. The sun rose bright and a clear, warm day beckoned the students as they arose on Halloween.
Ethan and Tim ate breakfast with their housemates. An excited buzz filled the Assembly Hall, but as everyone else got ready to go out on the grounds, the burly Galvez and the rumpled Swope waited at the end of the Bradbury table for Ethan and Tim.
As the two of them made their way down the table, a gaggle of first-years passed by. Alec was evidently holding forth on the subject of the hunt. "I heard that last year there was a Sasquatch out there," he said excitedly.
"Come along, then, Mr. Van der Meulen," Galvez said. "You have a full day's work ahead of you. The lockers have needed cleaning for some time. And I'm afraid that our trophies are quite tarnished, too."
"Well, I don't know the last time anyone properly cleaned the museum," Swope added for Ethan's benefit. "Certainly my predecessor didn't. Off we go."
"Did a bit of late night wandering, I hear," Swope said as he stumped upstairs towards the studio, Ethan at his side. "Not the first time you've gone astray now, is it?"
"I suppose not, sir," Ethan answered stiffly. It was bad enough, he thought, missing out on the hunt; having Swope analyze his misdeeds would only make it worse.
"Well, that's not so bad, is it, as long as you don't overdo it," Swope added to Ethan's surprise. "Just be sure you can pay the price if things go awry."
The price, in this case, revolved mainly around dusting frames in the museum. Ethan didn't mind this too much at first, though it was extremely tedious.
"In case you're wondering, you're not allowed to use magic," Swope told him as he handed Ethan a long feather duster and a pair of white gloves. "It would take too long to teach you the proper spells, anyway."
As he brushed dust off the ornate frames, Ethan did have a chance to examine the paintings a bit more closely. He exchanged pleasantries with some of the portraits―several thanked him fervently for cleaning their frames―and he admired the techniques used in the landscapes.
Swope levitated Ethan up to the paintings that rose out of reach all the way to the ceiling. Ethan got the feeling that the paintings at the top hadn't been seen, let alone dusted, for decades. The duster dislodged clumps of dust that drifted down, some landing on another frame, others floating slowly all the way to the floor.
In the very top row, Ethan swept the dust off of a painting of a gray-haired man with deep blue eyes and two boys. The man, who held a forked stick in his right hand, was looking on bemused as the two boys played wizard chess. They were in a circular room with a skylight that bathed the room in a sunny glow. The older boy was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair. The younger one was slight, green-eyed and about Ethan's age. The title on the plaque caught Ethan's eye: "Elwyn Bradbury and his sons."
Unlike some of the other subjects in the Museum, this trio paid no attention to Ethan, even when he called down to Swope.
"Professor, I didn't know that Bradbury had children." The man in the portrait looked at Ethan curiously but said nothing.
"He didn't," Swipe answered. "At least not his own. He did take in a pair of orphans, though. Brought them up as his own."
"Hmmm," Ethan mused as Swope floated him down to the next row. "What happened to them?"
"Became teachers, both of them," Swope said. "Not too surprising. The older one followed his father as headmaster."
The windows of the museum were open. Occasionally the autumn breeze blew in stray sounds of the pumpkin hunt: shouts of discovery, cheers as each house added to their pumpkin total. Time passed slowly for Ethan. There seemed to be an endless supply of dusty paintings.
Eventually, the sun set, the hunt ended and everyone else headed in to the Assembly Hall for the feast. At last Ethan's feet returned to the ground. His arms and shoulders ached and his head swam, overloaded by the imagery of the painting collection.
"One more level and you'll be done, Mr. Lloyd," Swope told him. "You can do these without my help. I need to attend to some paperwork."
With that, the art professor returned to the studio and left Ethan to his dusting. Ethan was too tired to really register the subjects of most of the remaining paintings. But when he reached the painting of the Phantom Ship, he couldn't stop himself from examining it closely. The painted image looked just like the apparition Ethan had seen out on the Hudson, the ship engulfed in flames. As he gazed at the painting, Ethan even thought he could make out the weird cries of the crew as they carried on the breeze. He wondered whether the painting's creator had really been cursed by the sight of the haunted vessel.
Swope stumped back in and broke Ethan's reverie.
"Still looking at the Phantom Ship, eh?" the painter asked. "S'pose I would too, if I were you. Still don't obsess on it, Mr. Lloyd. Whatever happened to the artist―and I'm not saying anything untoward happened, mind―has nothing to do with you. Anyway, your work seems to be done, so run along. You might yet make dessert."
Ethan hurried out of the studio, for Swope had reminded him how hungry he really was. He had barely started down the corridor when Tim and Anne came up behind him.
"Thought we might catch you up here," Tim said breathlessly.
"How were the lockers?" Ethan asked. Without waiting for Tim's answer, he added to Anne, "Shouldn't you be at the feast?"
"I thought I'd better see how you two were bearing up," she answered. "Besides, I've no desire to see the Prophets gloating over another trophy. They won by 50 pumpkins this year."
"As long as I don't have to polish their trophy, I don't care," Tim interjected. He stretched his right arm tentatively. "I've already polished every Quidditch trophy for the last century, not to mention the Kaaterskill Trophy, an antique Quodpot award and all the special trophies ever awarded. My elbows remember each one."
"Well, should we swallow our pride and try to get some dessert?" Ethan asked, his stomach rumbling.
"Might as well," Tim allowed, and off they went down towards the Assembly Hall. They hurried down the stairs from the upper floors, which were silent except for the occasional complaint from Ethan's stomach. After a particularly loud rumble, Ethan suddenly heard a low raspy voice, seemingly nearby. He stopped where he stood. The others were a few steps ahead of him.
"What was that?" he asked.
"What was what?" Tim asked, looking up quizzically.
Ethan didn't answer, for the voice had returned. This time he could make out the words, although they seemed growled more than spoken.
"I will take you, freeze you, steal and devour you."
He looked around wildly for the source of the voice, but it had faded away.
"That voice," Ethan said, still looking around distractedly. "It's going to attack someone."
"What voice?" Anne asked. "I didn't hear anything."
"Don't tell us you're now hearing things we can't, too," Tim added.
For a moment, Ethan considered whether he had imagined what he'd heard. He dismissed the idea.
"I heard something, a voice...threatening. I know I did," he began. Then he caught a glimpse of something moving across the floor at the foot of the stairs. "Hey, what's that?"
Tim and Anne turned to look down the stairs. They all moved closer and Ethan saw a procession of tiny toads moving across the hallway, leaping up to an open window, then jumping away from the building.
"Have you ever seen toads behave that way?" Ethan asked, looking on curiously.
"No. I wonder where they came from," Tim said. "They're too small to belong to students. Besides, only a few kids even bring toads―too old-fashioned, they say. What do you think, Anne? ...Anne?"
There was no answer. The boys turned and saw Anne edging back from the toads, twirling her orange braids nervously.
"I don't like toads," she said, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Nasty, slimy creatures."
"Anne, they're tiny," Ethan said. "Just step over them."
Anne took a deep breath, gritted her teeth and leapt over the advancing toads. Ethan had to stifle a laugh at Anne's apparent fear of the little creatures. He dared not look at Tim, who'd just made a throat-clearing noise that might have masked a giggle.
Still, Ethan did find the toads' exodus very odd. They hurried down the hall now, turning into the corridor that led to the final stairway down to the main level and the Assembly Hall. Visions of dessert spurred them on.
Tim was in front and he suddenly halted and held out his arms to stop the others. "I think there's a teacher up there," he whispered.
They slipped behind a statue of a witch whose name was Cordelia, according to the large plaque on her pedestal.
As they huddled there, Ethan cautiously looked around the statue. He could indeed see the figure of a man just ahead of them, blocking their path at the head of the stairs. He seemed to be holding something large and shiny in his arms.
"Now what?" Anne asked.
"We could just go back to the Tower and forget about the feast," Tim suggested unconvincingly.
Ethan's stomach rumbled. He really didn't want to forego dinner if he could help it. As he thought about his hunger pangs, he looked again at the standing figure and realized there was something strange about the way it moved.
Or rather, the way it didn't move. Whoever it was, the person was standing completely still, not looking about, not walking, not moving at all. It was hard to tell whether he was even breathing.
"There's something not right about that," Ethan whispered to the others. "He's like a statue. Let's go see."
Anne and Tim shared a doubtful look, but followed Ethan as he moved out of their hiding place and down the hall.
The figure remained totally still, paying no attention to the approaching students.
Ethan strode right up to the figure and looked at it.
"It's Standish!" he said. "But what's happened to him?"
The gnome-like groundskeeper stood facing the opposite end of the hall, just a few feet away from the main stairway down to the first floor. In his arms, he held a large glass pumpkin on a pedestal. He had a curious look in his eyes; fear or surprise, Ethan wasn't sure which.
Standish seemed completely frozen. Further, his outline seemed slightly fuzzy, almost as if he were a hologram projected in their midst.
"He isn't...dead, is he?" Anne asked fearfully.
"I don't think so," Ethan answered. "You can't stay on your feet after you die, can you? What's he doing with the Hunt Trophy? That should be in the Assembly Hall."
"I don't know," Tim replied. "But I don't think we should stick around to find out. Come on, let's go back to the dorm!"
As they turned to go, Anne suddenly lost her balance. Ethan reached out to her and as she grasped his hand, he too began to slip. After he managed to pull her back up, they all realized that a shallow slick of water covered the floor around Standish. Smaller puddles ran down the hallway away from them.
As they stepped back from the water, Anne gasped and pointed at the wall behind Standish. There they saw, in glowing green letters, this message: "Let those who have ears, hear. The Cleansing has begun."
"Come on, let's go!" Tim urged.
They started off, but it was too late. At that moment, a crowd of students streamed out of the Assembly Hall and many headed up the stairs. The Halloween Feast had ended.
Dozens of students crowded up the stairs, chattering and laughing. Ethan caught a glimpse of Edwin Malinowski and Bram Rozema in the first wave. It was only a moment before someone took in the still form of Standish, the glass trophy in his arms and the glowing message behind him and shouted, "What's wrong with him?" Immediately the stairway was filled with a cacophony of gasps, shouts and cries. The crowd flowed up the stairs and down the corridor in both directions, trapping Ethan, Anne and Tim next to the groundskeeper.
"Let me through!" Ethan heard Brocklebank's irritating drawl from the stairs. Simon emerged from the crowd, Katrina Powles at his side, Harding and Van Nort just behind. They looked from Standish to the message on the wall and then to the three Bradburys.
"The Cleansing has begun ," Katrina read aloud.
"And about time!" Brocklebank exclaimed. "Mudbloods, beware!"
Just then, Cyrus Flyte pushed his way to the top of the stairs. Just behind him were Bancroft, Tiverton and Swope.
"Well, what have we here?" Flyte said under his breath as he appraised the scene.
"Ask them," Katrina Powles piped up. "They were here."
A murmur of agreement ran through the crowd. Ethan noticed an odd look pass over Brocklebank's face, a strange combination of satisfaction and confusion. But when Ethan met the eyes of Edwin and Bram, they looked away nervously.
"A sensible suggestion, Miss Powles," Flyte replied calmly. "We shall make all appropriate inquiries. Now, will the proctors please escort their houses back to the commons rooms?"
The proctors immediately went to work gathering their housemates out of the crowd. Ethan saw Kenny and Jimmy just to his left. But as he started in that direction, Flyte said, "No, Mr. Lloyd, you stay here. Miss Findlay and Mr. Van der Meulen, too, please."
Four knots of students gradually moved away down the corridors, the din of their chatter fading away as they went.
Silence returned. The three students watched Flyte and the others as they observed Standish's body, rigid, unmoving yet flickering oddly.
Flyte examined the groundskeeper carefully, touching his arm and holding a hand before his nose.
"Mr. Standish is not dead," he said grimly. "He has been time-frozen. But as to how this could have happened, I cannot say--for the present."
Just then, Nurse Abernathy joined them, out of breath and pale as she reached the top of the stairs. Behind her came Beadle, who gazed at the motionless groundskeeper and then shot a sharp look at Ethan and his friends.
Beadle frequently worked with Standish and Ethan reflected that the custodian may have been one of Standish's few real friends.
Turning to the nurse, Flyte said, "Priscilla, will you and Mr. Beadle...ahem, escort Mr. Standish to the infirmary, please? I will be along presently."
Abernathy nodded. With a wave of her wand, she conjured a stretcher. She and Beadle picked the unfortunate man up and laid him on the stretcher. The nurse then levitated the stretcher off toward the infirmary, Beadle in her wake.
Flyte then turned to Bancroft.
"Herodotus, may we borrow your office? It is the closest."
"Certainly, Headmaster," the history professor replied.
"You three, please come along," Flyte said to the students, as Bancroft led them down the hall to his office. As they went, Ethan saw that the large puddle a the top of the stairs was but the largest of a trail of water.
"Curious," Ethan heard Flyte murmur to himself as they passed what proved to be the last of the puddles, which was in front of a door next to the stairway that led to the History classroom and Bancroft's office.
Ethan' mind was racing over everything that had occurred on this extremely odd day, but he did note both the water and the Headmaster's reaction to it.
When they reached the office, Bancroft offered Flyte his chair, but the headmaster waved dismissively and said, "I think I shall stand. But by all means, the rest of you, do have a seat."
Bancroft had to conjure a few extra chairs in order to seat Swope, Tiverton and the three students.
Flyte stood by the door, apparently lost in thought for a long moment, face framed by his shock of white hair, beak-like nose pointed towards the floor.
"Well," he said at last, addressing the teachers. "We must get to the bottom of this matter. What do you think, gentlemen?"
"You say Standish is time-frozen," Bancroft said. "But how could that happen? There are few known ways to induce such a state and each..."
"Is unlikely in the extreme, yes I know, Herodotus," Flyte said gravely. "Yet this is what has happened, by one means or another."
"If I may, Headmaster," Tiverton interjected. "Perhaps we should ask these students. At the very least, they were the first on the scene. As you may recall, Lloyd and Van der Meulen had a dispute recently with Mr. Standish."
"We never touched Standish!" Ethan burst out. "We were just getting back from detention and we found him there."
Swope cleared his throat. "That much is true, Cyrus," the art teacher said. "I'd dismissed Lloyd and sent him down to the Assembly Hall just before I headed down myself."
"Ah, in that case, why didn't he arrive at the feast before you did, Uriel?" Tiverton added. "In any case, I don't seem to recall that Miss Findlay had any detention. Why was she not at the feast?"
"Well, I'd gone to see if I could find the two of them and get them to the Assembly Hall in time for dessert," Anne said. "I probably slowed them down a bit in the end."
"If you're suggesting these three had anything to with Standish being frozen, you're not as sharp as your reputation suggests, Terence," Swope muttered.
"Of course they wouldn't be capable of producing this effect themselves," Tiverton replied. "Which does not place their actions this evening above suspicion. Lloyd in particular has a penchant for dabbling in magic far beyond his abilities."
The old wizard in the portrait over Bancroft's desk cleared his throat loudly and Ethan saw him glare at Tiverton.
"At this stage, no one is above suspicion," Flyte said. "But these students are unlikely to be involved. They are very lucky not to have arrived on the scene earlier."
"Excuse me, sir," Tim spoke up. "What do those words mean? 'Let those who have ears, hear. The Cleansing has begun.'?"
The other teachers exchanged ominous glances, then looked at Flyte.
"Whatever the exact reference," the headmaster sighed. "It means that Kaaterskill is no longer a safe place. Now, it so happens that Professor Crockett has obtained a supply of young Singing Barberry, so we should, in due time, be able to reverse the effect on Mr. Standish."
There was a pause. Then Flyte said to the students, "You may go now―by the straightest route―back to your common room."
"Yes, sir!" all three said at once. They hurried back up to Bradbury Tower, eager to be out of Tiverton's baleful eye and full of questions.
"He didn't explain those words at all," Anne said as they went through the hidden panel.
"I seem to remember something about a call for "cleansing" Kaaterskill, sometime after Bradbury left," Tim said. "Must have been in Kaaterskill Chronicles."
"Makes no sense to me," Ethan added. "'Those who have ears, here.' Sounds like a warning, but of what?"
They were silent for a bit. As they reached the Disconcerting Stair, Ethan suddenly asked, "Do you think I should have told them about Van Dam's ghost?"
"No!" said Anne with surprising vehemence. "It's not good to see things no one else can, even in the wizarding world."
When he and Tim had climbed the stairs to their dormitory, Ethan lay awake a long time in his four-poster pondering those words.