"A" Is for the Alchemist: A Winnie and Winslow Adventure

By James Larson

Young Winnie and her brother Winslow find their brilliance and bravery tested when they face a mad scientist intent on turning base metal into gold –however many lives it costs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483516257

Book preview

Ruby

Part One: Paranoid Pigeons

Chapter 1: Winnie’s Fortunate Fall

Her cat, an orange-and-white tabby named Cavalcade, pitter-pattered across the fluffy white rug as Winnie studied the complicated robot design papers on her homework desk.

Meow, said the cat.

Now what? replied Winnie.

Meow, the cat repeated. He brushed his fur against her ankle.

Oh, what a tyrant! You want more treats? They’re all gone. She held up an empty package. See?

Meow, said Cavalcade for a third time.

I need quiet! Winnie put her hands over her ears and leaned down toward the floor. I have to program this robot to sing music, understand? Any kind of music in the world, no matter how complicated, and that’s not easy to do. She rose and pointed across the room. So go over to the window and take a nap on your pillow until I’m done, OK?

Instead, the cat sat on the rug, contrary but seemingly content.

Winnie returned to her work, irritated by this distraction. She was trying to complete the last part of the coding for her robot’s artificial intelligence. It was late on a school night, and she was tired.

But then—tap, tap, tap.

The new distraction immediately ruined her concentration, and she stopped working again. She glared at Cavalcade, who licked his paw and washed the fur behind his ears like he was the cleanest cat in the city.

Tap, tap, tap.

No, it hadn’t come from her cat. What’s that sound?

Cavalcade moved his paw to the fur on top of his head and paid her no attention.

Winnie swiveled on her chair, desperate to get back to the papers on her homework desk so that she could finish and go to bed.

Tap, tap.

Winnie put down her pencil.

It sounds like something is crawling—she leaned over to listen more carefully—inside my bedroom walls.

Tap, tap.

Cavalcade purred and closed his eyes, a picture of blissful tranquility.

Or maybe it’s just leaky plumbing. Winnie picked up her pencil and tried to ignore the noise, but it was no use. She placed her hand on her pages of calculations and said, No matter what I do, I just can’t figure out how to make the robot use those super-high vocal octaves—tap, tap, tap—and sing higher than humans can sing.

Still trying to ignore the sound, Winnie held her pencil steadily—like maybe that would calm her down. She had to finish the robot soon because the STEM fair was on Monday.

Tap, tap, tap.

STEM stood for Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math. The fifth grader who won first prize would get to meet the president of the United States, and Winnie had secret plans for the prize.

Tap, tap.

Oh, it was no use trying to ignore it. Have you ever heard that kind of a noise before? she asked Cavalcade, who had his back to her, still preoccupied with his full-detail fur bathing. Cavalcade, are you listening?

The cat licked his other paw.

Well, you’re no help.

Winnie left her desk and walked over to the wall, determined to solve this mystery. Whatever it is, it’s traveling up. She raised her chin and squinted her eyes. Toward the attic. Unable to concentrate anymore on her robot, Winnie pulled her red hair behind her freckled neck and put her ear to the wall.

Tap, tap.

There it was again, two-thirds of the way up to the ceiling.

Maybe I’m imagining all this.

Tap, tap.

Cavalcade stopped licking his fur and looked up too, eyes open wide.

Did you hear that, Cavalcade?

Mew, said the cat. With his tail straight up in the air, he took a few steps across the rug toward Winnie.

Then, it’s really there!

When whatever made the noise reached the top of the wall, it scurried inside the attic, above her ceiling. Should she open the trapdoor and see what it was? Winnie was curious about what was up there, but she had never opened that door in the ceiling. Her parents had a rule against it, saying the attic was dangerous. Wasps are probably up in the rafters, with their papery nests and long stingers, she told her cat. Or maybe it’s easy to step off the walkway in the dark and come crashing down through the ceiling.

Cavalcade looked bored.

Then—tap, tap. The sound was directly overhead. Winnie held her breath and squinted her eyes even tighter. She had to find out what was making that noise. Until she did, she’d never get her robot done.

Tap, tap, tap.

The cat glanced up at the ceiling.

It sounds like it’s a mouse, doesn’t it? Or maybe a rat. Definitely something terrible. Cavalcade, you’re the rodent expert. What’s that noise?

Her cat strolled back to the center of the room as if he hadn’t heard her question or anything else that she’d said.

Tap, tap.

I’ve got to find out.

The cat stopped in midstride and stared at Winnie as she dragged her desk under the trapdoor, which sent her robot’s artificial intelligence papers fluttering to the floor in disarray. She hoisted her chair up on top of her desk. Winnie was stronger than she looked, but the chair was so doggone heavy—supposedly solid mahogany—that she struggled with its overwhelming weight: Winnie didn’t know much about wood, but anything with the word hog in it had to be heavy.

Carefully Winnie climbed onto the chair, which sat on top of her desk, and—less than five feet tall in her slippers—she strained to reach the trapdoor. Just a little bit more and I’ll have it. Stretching out her arms and rising to her tiptoes to reach the trapdoor handle, she swayed and momentarily lost her balance. Oh no! shrieked Winnie as she started to fall. Before plummeting to the floor, she rammed her arms against the wall to keep her balance, nearly knocking off a picture that hung above her dresser, an old family photo of Grandpa Terry taken long before his hair had turned white. Whew, that was close.

Tap, tap, tap.

Drat! It was still in the attic. Showing no heroism, Cavalcade moved out of the way as Winnie got back down to the floor to think of a better plan. What else can I use to get closer to the ceiling? She scanned the room. Huh, Cavalcade?

Reclined on his side, the cat’s legs were extended outward. Although Cavalcade was nearly napping, he kept one eye open and watched Winnie lift his litter box onto the top of the chair that was already on the desk. She’d been so busy with the robot that she’d forgotten to clean the box for the past week, and, wow, did it smell bad. Despite the disgusting odor, Winnie climbed slowly onto the lid. She was close to the door in the ceiling but still a few inches too far away.

What else could she use? If she tipped her trash can over, she could use that, but it was filled with dozens of wadded-up pages of discarded robot calculations. Winnie stopped hesitating and said, Oh, I’ll clean it all up later. Overturning the trash can, she dumped out the papers and placed the can on top of the litter-box lid. She would unquestionably be able to reach the ceiling, but the bottom of her trash can was large enough for her to stand on with just one foot, not both feet. It was dangerous.

But danger didn’t bother Winnie. To her, it was a calculated risk. So, slowly, she scaled the desk. Then, the chair. Next, the litter box, and finally, she stepped onto her upside-down trash can—definitely not the most secure of pinnacles. Moving cautiously, she reached the ceiling of her room. Winnie was way up high, into the region her brother would call ridiculously reckless.

I’ve got it, said Winnie through her gritted teeth. Triumphantly, she grabbed the handle of the trapdoor. It was a large iron ring, similar to the trapeze at a playground. OK, said Winnie to her cat, wish me luck. Balancing on one leg, she pulled down, but the door didn’t open. Darn!

Tap, tap, tap.

Was the door locked from inside of the attic? She gripped the iron ring more tightly. Or was it just stuck? Her leg was getting tired—of that, she was certain. Well, here goes. Winnie yanked harder than she had the first time, bending at her knee and tugging with all her strength.

Pin-n-n-g!

Suddenly, a different sound rang out, also from the attic—a piercing piano note that got louder and louder. It sounded as if someone were cranking up an amplifier to full volume on the other side of her ceiling.

Pin-n-n-n-n-g!

The new noise poured down from above her head and bumped Winnie off-balance. This time, at a greater height, she missed the wall and fell—flailing her arms and legs—all the way to the floor. Help! she cried. Winnie landed hard on top of her white fluffy rug. Her fall scattered the papers from her robot project and even knocked her telescope—which she had used for an astronomy project in fourth grade—off of its tripod legs. What a mess! Flat on her back, Winnie looked up at her ceiling and groaned.

Cavalcade sat totally motionless and silent. Getting into the attic is not going to happen, said Winnie. The cat meowed a reply as if he were annoyed at the new location of his litter box. A lot of help he was. I’ll put your smelly litter box back, but first I need to check for any broken bones. Winnie moved her arms, then her legs. Fortunately, she seemed unharmed. She stayed on the floor a few more minutes to catch her breath.

Soon afterward, Winnie sat up. Cavalcade? Everything in her room was silent. The eerie piano sound was gone. Had she become deaf? Do you think all of those noises were from the TV downstairs? The cat didn’t answer. Or maybe a smoke alarm? More silence from Cavalcade. But then—tap, tap, tap.

No! She hadn’t lost her hearing after all. Winnie jumped to her feet and ran to the wall. The noise quickly moved downward, leaving the same way it had arrived. While listening, she glanced around. My papers! Her fall had scattered her robot formulations across the floor into a haphazard arrangement of scribbled-on graph paper and marked-up computer docs. What a mess!

But Winnie looked more closely at the papers at her feet. That’s it! She clapped her hands. The solution! Yippee! The calculations on her papers had aligned into a pattern that revealed the proper sequence of equations needed to finalize her robot’s artificial intelligence. She saw that she just needed to change three zeros to ones in a subroutine so that her robot could sing in the highest vocal octaves. It was as simple as that. She had the first-place prize locked up.

But, she said, thinking into the future and worrying aloud, when I meet the president, should I say ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Majesty’?

Cavalcade blinked his eyes and jumped over to the windowsill. It was always too warm in Winnie’s room, so she kept the window open. Cavalcade seemed to like the fresh air.

I’ll ask Winslow what he thinks. Winnie decided that if she grew up to become president, either Your Highness or Your Majesty would be fine when kids met her.

At the window, Cavalcade meowed in alarm.

What do you want?

Meow!

OK! Winnie hurried to the window and stared outside into the night, where her cat had looked. Her room was the entire floor of the seventh story of her house, a place that resembled a castle tower that rose seventy feet in the air. What’re those things on the patio? she asked, looking in a steep downward angle. In the center of the patio light’s beam, she could see two small animals.

Cavalcade hissed angrily and jumped to the other side of the windowsill.

Why, it’s two rats!

Indeed, two rats squirmed behind the house and headed toward the backyard fence, resembling creepy little monsters. Barely visible in the distance, a tiny glow from one of them flickered green. Cavalcade rubbed his fur against Winnie’s shoulder as if he wanted her to protect him, then he hurried to the other side of the windowsill.

I saw it, OK? Calm down.

Across the windowsill, Cavalcade looked into Winnie’s eyes. What did the cat want her to do? She wished that she could read his mind. Whatever that green light was, Cavalcade, it’s too far away to see from way up here. Nonetheless, she squinted her eyes and gazed out the window intently one more time while the rats were still in the patio light. There! Something on one of the rats flashed green again. What the heck? Winnie grabbed her telescope from the floor, placed it back on its tripod, and tilted it toward her backyard. She pressed her eye against the eyepiece and aimed it at the rats in the distance. She quickly adjusted the focuser, and the rats came into a magnified view. It’s a Green Lantern power ring!

A Green Lantern power ring on the tail of one of the rats?

Winnie took her eye away from the telescope, at a loss to understand what she’d seen. In mild confusion, she petted her cat and said, Where’d a rat get something like that? She took another look through the telescope, but by then both rats had slipped out of the yard and into the full darkness. Winnie sat down at her desk and laughed nervously. I guess maybe everything is back to normal.

In the next moment, she saw Cavalcade—balancing on the edge of the sill—lean too far out of the open window. Maybe the cat thought the rats were still in the backyard, and he could get one last look at them. She had to grab him fast so that he wouldn’t fall seventy feet to the patio bricks below. Jumping to the windowsill, Winnie pulled the cat up into her arms.

What were you thinking, Cavalcade? Those rats are gone. Now, forget about them.

Imagine—in one night she had figured out how to finish building her robot, and also had saved her cat from tumbling out of her window—a fall that would not have ended with the good fortune that her fall from her bedroom ceiling had brought. She put Cavalcade on the pillow on the floor and shut the window with a bang. Warm temperatures were better than no cat.

Then Winnie remembered—her brother had a ring just like the one the rat had carried off. In his dresser drawer.

Chapter 2: Winslow’s Big Break

When Winnie had seen the rats, Winslow was still at football practice playing under the lights with his middle school team. As the players were taking a water break, Winslow had a recurring memory. Despite trying not to, he recalled overhearing two of his teammates talking in the locker room weeks earlier:

Do you think Winslow Talisman will start at wide receiver?

No.

But he can run fast.

Kevin Adcock will start, not Winslow.

Because Kevin is in eighth grade and Winslow seventh?

No.

Then why?

Because Kevin Adcock is better at the passing routes.

Passing routes? How depressing, but Winslow tried not to let it bother him. He was tall and naturally a wide receiver, the person who went downfield and caught the passes. Of course he wanted to be on the starting team, but he couldn’t forget those locker-room voices saying, Kevin Adcock is better. Now it was late fall, near the end of the season, and Winslow still had not started any of the games.

We’ve got the big district championship in two nights, said Assistant Coach Roberts to the second team, seated on the ground along the sideline. Roberts’s voice was twice as loud as necessary, like he thought the boys were hard of hearing because of the football helmets on their heads.

The senior coach, elderly Mr. Phillips—who always spoke just above a whisper—had the starters on the other side of the field, running through the regular drills.

See that? said Murphy, the shortest kid on the team. He tugged at Winslow’s practice jersey and looked across the field. Kevin hasn’t dropped one yet. He’s unstoppable!

Kevin Adcock zigzagged over the grass to catch the long bombs, timing every passing route perfectly. Maybe next year, when he was in eighth grade, Winslow would be a starter. But next year was a long way off.

We’re playing the Central Legionnaires for the championship, said Coach Roberts, loudly enough for the practicing cheerleaders on the other side of the field to hear him and pause their routine to listen. They are undefeated.

Winslow’s team had one defeat, and it was also a bad memory—worse than the voices in the locker room. If only he hadn’t made such an idiotic mistake! His one time in the game he had caught a pass by the sideline. When the crowd cheered, it distracted him. As he looked over at them, his defender ripped the ball from his hands and ran to the end zone unopposed. Winslow’s chest tightened when he recalled that disaster, and he wanted to tear out his hair with his bare hands in embarrassment—so it was a good thing that he wore a helmet.

You guys may not be starting, yelled Coach Roberts, but we’re going to get you ready, just in case.

After the second team had run more drills, Coach Roberts took Winslow aside with the team’s backup quarterback. Here’s a new passing route that we’ve never used before, Roberts said to him. We think it will work against the Legionnaires. It’s complicated, and it won’t be easy.

The other second-stringers listened and watched Winslow.

Set up over there, Coach Roberts explained in his booming voice, pointing exactly where Winslow should stand. Run ten steps downfield.

OK. He followed the coach’s instructions.

Cut back two steps.

Winslow thought that was called a buttonhook—or some kind of hook.

Go back center for eight steps.

He was getting lost. Eight steps?

Stop for three seconds. Then go six steps toward the sideline.

This was hopeless.

Cut down the field toward the goalpost for seven more steps.

He needed to write this down. Where was a pencil?

Now’s the critical part, where you turn and catch the football, screamed the assistant coach into the back of Winslow’s football helmet. But your timing needs to be perfect or it won’t work.

Winslow no longer