Facing the Hunchback of Notre Dame

B
ackstory: The past events leading up to the present story so the reader might better understand the current happenings
.

The adventures began when fourteen-year-old twins Linus and Ophelia Easterday were deserted by their parents. Drs. Antonia and Ron Easterday (PhD, of course) never thought much about anyone other than themselves and their lepidoptera (four-winged insects such as butterflies and moths). So for this reason they have no problem leaving their children in the care of Portia and Augustus Sandwich, the kids’ aunt and uncle on their mother’s side, also twins. And on this particular excursion, they were scheduled to be gone for at least five years. Five years! How could they leave their children behind for such a length of time?

The children bade their parents good-bye at the docks in New York City, as Ron and Antonia set out on a boat called
The Basset Hound
to study never-before-seen butterflies on the island of Willis, which was discovered by Willis Cranston from Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey, while parasailing from a cruise ship. That is all we know about Mr. Cranston, and most likely that’s all we should know about him.

Both children were actually a bit relieved at Antonia and Ron’s departure, due to the fact that the Drs. Easterday are lousy parents. Therefore, the children had grown up primarily on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cold cereal, and instant oatmeal. And
not even the most delightful peaches and cream kind, I might add. Plus, they’d been doing their own laundry for more than seven years now. A crime! Hopefully your parents are much worthier than those two. If not, you have my most sincere condolences (feelings of pity while wishing circumstances could be better for you, even though they cannot).

Linus and Ophelia, enjoying the carefree lifestyle that is summer vacation, hopped aboard a train and headed inland for the town of Kingscross, where the esteemed Kingscross University has been educating minds since the late 1600s. Snow and ice regularly occur during a Kingscross wintertime, and I’ve watched a colleague or two of mine in the English department fall down flat on the steps leading into our building. May I admit that I chuckled?

They do not respect me here at the university, but who cleans up the messes of their infernal making? It is I, Bartholomew Inkster, that’s who. Of course, they look down their noses at me because I’ve never had the time, what with having a real job and all, to earn the number of degrees that they have. But let’s face facts: If you were given the choice between having either all of the janitors or all of the English professors in the world disappear, who would go first? My point exactly! And if I laid my reading list alongside any one of theirs, guess whose would be longer and more diverse? That’s right. You guessed it
.

The children eventually arrived at their aunt and uncle’s home on Rickshaw Street. Portia and Augustus Sandwich live in a townhouse three stories tall and built from stone the color of verdigris (the green that collects on copper). The bottom floor of the Sandwiches’s townhome holds the family business, Seven Hills Better Books, which sells rare and antiquarian books. In other words, either there aren’t many of these volumes left, or they smell like mildew. Portia runs the place, and she always offers me a peppermint whenever I enter the shop to peruse the current findings.

But beware: while in their shop, I’ve occasionally witnessed shifting shadows, a hint of cloak, a waft of odor … only to turn around quickly and find nothing there. Just a little warning, mind. Nobody else seems to notice these things, and I hate to bring it up at the risk of ruining Portia’s business.

Augustus, when not at auctions looking for ancient merchandise, sits around and talks with the customers — mostly about twaddle, but everyone needs to chat about insignificant topics on a regular basis. It clears the mind for more important matters.

Portia and Augustus are brother and sister. I believe I mentioned previously that they are twins as well, and they secretly believe the Drs. Easterday are loony to leave behind such adorable children. I do have to wonder, however, if Linus and Ophelia behave better for their aunt and uncle than they do for their parents. It’s just a suspicion and clearly I might be mistaken. The children have always seemed most polite when I’ve encountered them in the store.

The bookstore has been in place for almost two decades, yet the older residents of Rickshaw Street remember when Cato Grubbs owned the house. He ran an apothecary and laboratory equipment shop — and a rather successful one at that—until he mysteriously disappeared. One day he was there serving his customers, and the next day his shop door remained locked. Not a single person saw him leave. He said good-bye to no one.

Eventually the bank regained ownership of the building until Augustus and Portia obtained it at quite the bargain. As such, the bank did not pay to have Cato’s belongings removed, which is how the younger set of twins came to suspect that Cato did much more than sell beakers and burners. They do have quite an overactive imagination, those two. They’d been living with Augustus and Portia for about a month when they discovered their suspicions held weight (a thousand pounds worth).

Why don’t Linus and Ophelia tell this story themselves? Easy. Not just anyone can write a piece of fiction! Linus is scientific, and Ophelia dissects novels a bit too much to get taken up in the writing of one. So they asked me, Bartholomew Inkster, to tell it for them because I know my way around a pen and some paper, and also because I believe their story is worth telling. That’s the most important qualification, after all.

Before you continue on, I would like to explain a few things so you may be an informed reader. Being a self-educated, literary fussbudget (a needlessly fault-finding person), it is within my
nature to explain a bit of the writing process as I proceed. You may choose to either use these tidbits of information to increase your knowledge of English and the fine art of writing, or ignore the opportunity to learn literary technique from an expert and simply skip over my explanations. If you choose to ignore the input that I have so generously provided regarding the writing craft, then you may also choose to ignore the simplified definitions of some of the rather advanced words I’ve used within the story—words that I’ve explained at the request of Linus, who seems to think my vocabulary rather too advanced for the average reader. For those who wish to increase their knowledge, read on. For those who prefer to ignore my teachings, well … read on anyway
.

W
hen Ophelia Easterday discovered the secret doorway, her brother Linus pretended he’d never seen it before. If anything bad should happen, he figured Ophelia might as well feel responsible too. And Linus didn’t want to hurt her feelings. As his twin sister, she was prone to believe he told her everything. He certainly didn’t want her to think any differently. Secrets do come in handy at times.

“You’ve got to see the attic, Linus. It’s fantastic!”

They stood in Uncle Augustus’s collection room on the second floor, where gowns and costumes from days gone by (organized by time period and fabric) hung in plastic bags on racks, all around the room.

Ophelia moved aside a red velvet curtain to reveal what looked like a plumber’s big foul-up. Chunks of plaster were missing, wood laths peered through the holes, and a musty draft breathed over them. But if one pressed against the rightmost protrusion, a door opened without a sound. Ophelia pressed the spot.

“I thought there was a window under here. Imagine my surprise!”

Imagine
, Linus thought.

“Look, steps! And you’re never going to believe what’s up there!”

A mad scientist’s lab?
Linus thought.

As you can see, my dears, Ophelia does a lot of talking while Linus does a lot of thinking. Not that Ophelia doesn’t think. Oh no. She is quite bright. Just as bright as Linus, in the IQ sense. However, Linus possesses mathematical smarts as well as practical smarts, which come in handy more often than Ophelia cares to admit. He is very handy around the house as well, and if you need a computer desk assembled, Linus is your man. But don’t be too hard on Ophelia. She would give you the shirt off her back.
(That’s what we call a cliché, a word or phrase that is tired out, used by millions, and should never be found in the pages of a well-written book. I only included it here so as to alert you to such things used in the books of other writers. I go all around Robin Hood’s barn to avoid them like the plague.)