13 Hangmen (32 page)

“Don't do it,” Angelo said to Tony. “We can take him. It's four against one.”

“No, Tobias is right,” Tony said.

“Are you crazy?” Angelo said. “Think about what will happen to all of us because of a Hagmann. Jack will slip into a coma. Finn will disappear during the Molasses Flood. Solly will get booted off the Red Sox. And
I'll
get murdered! We've been able to turn back time with the pawcorance, just like you said. Now we've got to finish the job and tweak history—just like you said—to prevent all that from happening. Too bad if Ian ends up dangling from that old oak out front.”

“Yeah but, think of what
won't
happen if we do,” Tony said, quietly. “There's a huge problem with my whole tweaking-history hypothesis. Something I never thought of till just now.”

“What?” Angelo said, exasperated. “I don't see a problem!”

“We can't tweak just one tiny part of history, can we?” Tony said. “Not without changing a whole bunch of other stuff. It's all interconnected, like the Hagmanns' triple-spiral charm.” Tony went on to explain. Every thirteen-year-old in this attic had had some sort of brush with an important historical figure. And that had been
because
of a Hagmann. So any change they made to their individual Hagmann stories—even the smallest—might well result in a major historical shift. Jack might not save William Lloyd Garrison's life or inspire Frederick Douglass to become an orator, for example. Finn might not help Honey Fitzgerald get reelected mayor by catching the Tailboard Thieves, which would mean his grandson, John F. Kennedy, might never get elected president. Solly might not convince Finn to save No. 13 from the Great Molasses Flood with a claddagh. (OK, so Solly might also not inspire Finn to
cause
the flood to begin with; but that was only if Finn did blow up his own tank. Maybe he didn't. Maybe it
did
just burst in the unusually warm weather.) As for Angelo himself, he might not encourage Ted Williams to stick out his rookie season with the Red Sox and become the greatest left fielder of all time. And that was all in totally random years ending in nine. What about zillions of the other important historical events to come? Were they really willing to risk all that?

A long, quiet moment.

“Put the bell back in the chest,” Angelo said, sighing. “Lock it up. Tuck it into the rafters. Let Ian go. Let history play out like it should.”

Tobias lowered the pistol. “What a relief,” he said, crossing the room. “I emptied out all the gunpowder after I tied Ian up.” He shoved the pistol back in its niche behind the fireplace.

Tony placed his hand on his future great-uncle's shoulder. “I'm really sorry Benny Hagmann will end up bumping you off after all,” he said. “But at least you're pretty old when it happens.”

“I'll just try and lead a superinteresting life beforehand,” Angelo said.

“But you do!” Tony said. He set the bell on the lid of the chest. He went to the bookcase and pulled out the dusty old scrapbook he'd found in the basement. He sat next to Angelo on the edge of the bed.

“I can't see whatever you're holding,” Angelo told him.

“It's a scrapbook of your life,” Tony said. “You may inherit this house when you turn twenty-one, but you don't live in it. Your mama does.
You
set off to have tons of adventures all over the world!” Tony began leafing through the scrapbook, describing the sort of life Angelo would lead as soon as he got those contact lenses: Air Force pilot in France. Pearl diver in the South Pacific. Archaeologist in Egypt. Visitor to the Grand Canyon, the Great Wall of China, the Golden Gate Bridge.

“All by myself?” Angelo said skeptically.

“Of course not,” Tony said. He flipped to the front of the album and tapped the photo he'd inserted there. “It's a picture of your faithful sidekick, Anders Fogelberg,” he said. “The two of you travel the world together, until his untimely death in 1979.”

“Anders Fogelberg?” Angelo said. “Who's that?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, what happened to him?”

“I don't know. But
you
don't return to Hangmen Court until a few years later, when your mama dies.”

“I hope my life turns out to be that exciting when I disappear,” Finn said.

“Um, lads?” Tobias said. “Better hurry. I think Ian is starting to come round.” They all looked over. He was not on the bed, of course, because the key was still in the lock and not on the spiral. Only Tobias could actually see him.

Tony closed the scrapbook. He set it on the floor. He turned to address the other boys. “It was really cool meeting all of you, and hearing your stories.”

“Well, you are one heck of a sleuth, Tony DiMarco,” Angelo said.

Tony smiled. He
was
, darn it. He was good at history. So what if he needed to drop twenty-five pounds? He was a rock star, just like Julia had said. “Truth is, we were all totally awesome
when we joined forces to find the treasure,” Tony said. “That's what the
real
American Dream is about, if you ask me—united we stand, divided we fall—and I'll never forget that, even if I end up losing Number Thirteen an hour from now.”

They all agreed.

“Shouldn't your brother Angey be getting back soon?” Solly asked.

“You're right,” Tony said. “Before he does—and Ian wakes up—we should make the pact: never to mention these past few days to anyone, not even to one another when we're grown-ups and we meet the kid versions of ourselves on our thirteenth birthdays. It's the only way to make double sure that history plays out the way it should.”

Tony went over to the pawcorance. He laid his right hand on the spiral. The others joined him. They all swore a vow of silence.

“Egads,” Tobias whispered. “Ian's beginning to thrash around. And his blindfold is about to come loose.”

Tony put his finger to his lips. He returned to the chest. He took up the bell and began to rewrap it in Revere's silk hanky. A white cloth star fluttered out of the folds.

“What's that?” Angelo said.

“It's from the flag Abigail designed,” Tobias said. “I noticed the star for Massachusetts was missing when she gave it to me.
It's what she wanted to mend before laying it on my bed. She told me she had plucked the star off the night of Revere's Midnight Ride and tucked it into his pocket—for good luck—before handing the coat to him as he set off. Revere never mentioned finding the star. She just assumed he'd lost it along the way.”

While the other boys speculated whether the flag that would soon adorn Tobias's bed was, in fact, the very
first
American flag, Tony slipped the star into his pocket—a harmless souvenir, he thought, of these past few days when everything that had happened would start to feel more and more like a dream, one he had made up in a sleep-deprived state. Tobias cut short the debate over the flag. Ian was now trying to call for help through his gag. Tony placed the snugly wrapped bell back inside the chest. He closed the lid, then locked it with Ian's key. He tucked the key into his wallet, which he shoved into his back pocket. He told the others to wait for him at the pawcorance while he stowed the chest in the knotty-pine compartment in the eaves of the secret room.

Just as Tony was getting back to the others, there was yet another rumble like an earthquake. A huge crash echoed up from the stairwell. The wrecking ball? Tony checked his cell phone. Couldn't be. The DiMarcos still had a half hour before Health & Safety booted them out. Probably just more of the house caving in.

“Better make our good-byes,” Tony said.

“Thank you for putting the bell back,” Tobias said. “Letting Ian go is the right thing to do. And thanks for your kind words about me, even if I'm still a Jonah. I promise to find some way of repaying you.” Tobias took his riddle away from the pawcorance and stuffed it into his shirt. Though the parchment remained there on the shelf for the rest of the boys, Tobias himself vanished into his own time to deal with Ian.

It was Jack's turn next. He stepped up to the pawcorance, pulled the heart hook away from the spiral, and disappeared with a wink and a smile—a free man. Next, Finn stepped up. He contemplated his brother's ring—a vow of fidelity—then placed it on his finger. He faded away. Solly's turn. Solly shook both Angelo's and Tony's hands, wishing them the best of luck with their baseball careers. He placed the mezuzah case in his pocket—to carry his faith with him wherever he went—and returned to 1919.

Just Angelo and Tony left, now. “Thanks for a peek into the future,” Angelo said.

Tony nodded sadly. He thanked Angelo back for the exercises and dieting tips. Even Angey had noticed he was now officially losing weight. Plus he had finally gotten his own room, even if it had been for only a short time.

They hugged each other tight.

“You don't look anything like an owl,” Tony said. “If Benny Hagmann ever calls you Hootie again, punch him in the face. Your animal totem is definitely an eagle—the noblest of birds.”

“
What
are you talking about now?” Angelo asked, laughing.

Tony explained what Sarah had told him about animal totems and vision quests.

“Wow, an eagle!” Angelo said, pleased.

“So which animal do I remind you of?” Tony asked.

“Lion,” Angelo said without hesitating. “Courageous. Fearless. A born leader.”

Tony hugged Angelo tighter. “I will avenge your death,” he whispered into his ear. “I will find a way to bring Benedict Hagmann to justice somehow. I promise.”

“See you in about seventy years,” Angelo whispered back.

Embarrassed, they parted. Angelo took the ball cap off the spiral and jammed it onto his head. “Anders Fogelberg, huh?” he said. He faded away.

Tony waved his hand over the objects on the shelf. No static shock. No echo of voices. Just a ball cap, mezuzah case, claddagh ring, heart hook, and riddle written on a piece of crumbling parchment. And a cloth star, in his pocket.

He raced downstairs to find out what the most recent disaster at 13 Hangmen Court might be.

ony found the rest of the family in Michael's study, staring at the remains of the built-in bookcase, now smashed to bits on the floor. Michael pulled a biography about Revere out of the wreckage. Its spine was cracked in half. “Lucky I already packed most of these up,” he said, sighing.

Angey turned to Tony and whispered, “I was just sitting down at Dad's computer to find out what
VOC
meant when Mom called me down to the kitchen to bring a bunch of boxes to the car, which took forever. I only made it back up here a few minutes ago. But then I heard this weird groaning noise behind me. When I looked around, half the wall was teetering over. If this desk were another foot to the left, I'd be a goner.”

“What's that?” Tony said, pointing to where the bookcase
used to be. Stuffed into a niche in the bricks was a sheaf of yellowed parchment.

Michael stepped over to have a look. “I think it's a letter,” he said, leafing through the brittle pages. Julia suggested Michael set it aside. Right now he should salvage books. After that, the car would still need to be packed before Health & Safety turned up. As Julia and Mikey began to sift through the pile of splintered shelves, Angey handed Tony a Post-it note:
Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie
. “That's what
VOC
stands for,” Angey said. “According to Wikipedia, it's the name of the Dutch trading company that smuggled tea to the Colonies during the Revolution. That brown gunk in the barrels must be tea. Not much of a treasure.”

“About that treasure,” Tony said. “I think we should just forget about—”

“Oh my God!” Michael gasped. He was still over by the bookcase, reading that old letter.

“Now what?” Julia said.

“It's from Paul Revere!” Michael said. “To a thirteen-year-old named Tobias Tucker who lived in this house. The dateline at the top says it was sent from Maine in 1779.”