in her trunk. “What was his name?”
“Benjamin Birthwhistle.”
Grandma Helmsley stood straight up. Her arms were filled with sweaters, but from her expression, you’d think they were explosives. “Did you say Birthwhistle, Archer?”
Archer nodded. His grandfather’s expression was the same. “Do you know Benjamin?”
“Mostly we know his father,” Grandpa Helmsley explained, staring across the room at Grandma Helmsley. “A man named Herbert Birthwhistle. Or I suppose it’s President Birthwhistle now. He took over at the Society after we vanished.”
Archer shook his head. That couldn’t be right. “Benjamin’s father is a travel guide.”
“A travel guide?” Grandpa Helmsley’s laugh was filled with something bitter. “That’s what he told you, is it? Well, I suppose at a certain point that was almost true. But he’s one travel guide we’ll never use again.”
Archer was becoming uneasy. He had a vague idea where this was going. His grandfather stood before him and became very serious.
“You want to know more about the iceberg, Archer, and it’s only right that you should. Above all things, a true explorer desires to make the unknown known.”
“Ralph.”
“The first thing you need to know is that when I was president of the Society, I made decisions that Mr. Birthwhistle disagreed with. But there was one decision in particular that Mr. Birthwhistle hated me for—a decision he wanted to reverse. And sometimes, when you want something bad enough, you’re willing to do something terrible to get it.”
Archer’s mouth fell open.
“Now that’s quite enough of that,” Grandma Helmsley said, dropping her sweaters into her trunk. “Your grandfather and I have a few things we need to discuss.” She hurried Archer to the door and sent him out.
“We agreed he’s not to be involved in any of this!”
“I’m not involving him! I only want him to know the truth!”
Archer pulled back from the closed door. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Fearing his mother might ask him to dust more curtains, he hurried to his bedroom, his mind racing. Benjamin’s father is the president of the Society? He did something terrible? Some thoughts are better left unspoken, so Archer said nothing as he passed the polar bear in the alcove.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the polar bear whispered. “And if you consider it more, you might find it’s not as absurd as you think.”
Archer shut his bedroom door. It can’t be true. He went to his desk, grabbed the newspaper clippings, and there it was, right under his nose.
“We’re still gathering information,” President Birthwhistle said. “But I can say without hesitation that the iceberg was no accident.”
The room began to spin. Archer took a breath. When he released it, out came the thought he didn’t want to say.
“Did Benjamin’s father try to kill my grandparents?”
On Christmas morning, joyful children all across Rosewood sat around trees, tearing into presents and gulping down more chocolate than their stomachs knew what to do with. In Helmsley House, Archer sat on his bed, encircled with newspaper clippings, tearing through his thoughts.
Did Benjamin know who Archer was? He had to. But did Benjamin know what his father had done? That had to be why Benjamin had said Archer would hate him. Didn’t it?
“Merry Christmas, Archer! Come downstairs!”
Archer rolled off his bed and followed his father’s voice.
It wasn’t a completely cheerless Christmas morning. The Helmsleys gathered around the tree decked with metal ships and planes, exchanging and unwrapping gifts. Archer received his usual yearly planner from his parents, which he faked interest in and kindly thanked them for. Mrs. Helmsley received a tremendously colorful yak-hair sweater from Archer’s grandparents, which she quickly averted her eyes from, perhaps fearing she might go blind. Mr. Helmsley received a paperweight, bearing a red crest: ORDER OF ORION. “It’s never too late,” Grandpa Helmsley said with a wink. Archer’s gift from his grandparents was by far the greatest Christmas present he’d ever opened—a beautiful pair of binoculars, polished brass with leather grips.
“Finest they make,” Grandpa Helmsley said, placing them around Archer’s neck. “And you’ll need a fine pair when you become a Green—”
Mrs. Helmsley coughed violently into her new sweater. Grandma Helmsley rushed her a cup of tea. By the time she recovered, Grandpa Helmsley had lost his train of thought.
After a sumptuous breakfast, Archer’s grandparents went upstairs, Mr. Helmsley prodded a dwindling fire, and Archer helped his mother with the dishes. Aside from her coughing fit, she was in good spirits. Not a single person had knocked on the front door. Until someone did. Archer wasn’t sure if his mother was startled and dropped the plate or if she was furious and threw it. The dish shattered regardless, and Archer narrowly dodged a ceramic shard. His mother tore down the hall, shouting before she’d even gotten the door open.
“It’s Christmas morning! Don’t you have a fam—”
Mrs. Helmsley hushed. It was no reporter. It was a tall man in a greasy jumpsuit with an eye patch covering one of his eyes. The Eye Patch! Or at least, that’s what Archer called him. He’d met the Eye Patch twice before, but all he knew was that the Eye Patch was the captain of a ship, a friend of his grandparents’, and tremendously kind.
“Merry Christmas, Helena!” the Eye Patch cheered. “Hope I’m not disturbing you. I saw the sign. Was going to leave. But I’m here on urgent Society business. I was wondering if I might… Helena? You look a bit queasy. Don’t you remember me? It was a long time ago, but I thought the grease might…”
Mrs. Helmsley’s eyes narrowed and her forehead went splotchy. It was almost like she was trying to dig up a memory she’d killed off and buried deep in her mind.
“Cornelius?” she finally said, her voice quivering.
The Eye Patch smiled widely. Mrs. Helmsley didn’t. He seemed to know why.
“I’ll admit it wasn’t the best way to introduce myself,” he said, his smile waning. “Ralph and Rachel asked me to stay in the waiting room. And I did. But there was a pigeon, you see. It wandered into the viewing room—perched itself on
