his coat pocket and laid it on the floor beside the door. He knew he should leave, but again his curiosity took control. Surely there was time to snoop around a little, to see if he could find out what the letter was all about.
The van was a mess. A clothes chest lay on its side, and books were scattered among the bottles on the floor. On a worktable against the wall was a jumble of scientific instruments — test tubes filled with golden fluid, coils of silver wire wrapped around copper rods, a rat cage with metal pegs attached to its sides — and piles of papers scribbled with notes.
Edging closer, Wild Boy flicked through a few of the pages. He saw anatomical drawings of body parts — twisting muscles in an arm, a diagram of a skull, a human head bisected to expose its cauliflower brain . . .
The hairs bristled on Wild Boy’s back.
Time to get out of here,
he decided.
He turned to leave, but stopped.
“The clothes chest,” he said.
There was something strange about it — his eyes were drawn there instinctively. And now, as he stepped nearer, he realized why. The chest lay on its side, and he could see the base within. But it didn’t look deep enough when compared to the panel outside.
Was it possible? His heart pounded faster as he crouched and slid a hand inside the chest. He groped the base until —
click
— one of the wooden panels hinged open.
A wide grin spread across his hairy face. There was a secret compartment.
He thought of pound notes, boxes of jewels . . . Whatever was in there, he’d just pinch enough to rent his own wagon, so he didn’t have to go back to Finch.
His heart sank as he slid the contents out. It was just another sheet of paper, with technical diagrams and instructions for some sort of scientific contraption — a tangled sphere of cogs and pipes skewered on an axle between two wheels. Several lines, wires he supposed, trailed from the bottom of the sphere and connected to . . .
Wild Boy leaned closer, hoping he’d seen it wrong. But he hadn’t. The wires were connected to human heads. They seemed to go
into
the heads.
THUD!
He jumped in fright, dropping the paper. Outside, something had crashed against the wall.
THUD! THUD!
Wild Boy stood very still, trying to listen over the manic thumping of his heart. He heard boots trudge through the mud. He crept to the wall and peered through one of the joins in the metal.
He couldn’t see much, but there was no mistaking the crooked figure of Professor Henry Wollstonecraft, with his blood-blistered nose and shaded spectacles. The old scientist leaned against the opposite van. His golden ring glinted in the moonlight as he drank from a bottle of wine, spilling half of its contents over his crumpled suit.
Old soak,
Wild Boy thought, letting himself relax. With the Professor so drunk, he could easily sneak from the van unseen. But then he heard something else.
“Henry,” a voice said.
He shot to another crack in the wall. Outside, a shadow stretched long and monstrous across the mud. It was the hooded man.
Wild Boy shifted to another crack. He still couldn’t see the face under the hood. He couldn’t see
anything
under that tattered leather cloak. The man moved fast, but with strange, awkward strides — loping and unbalanced, like a wounded creature. His voice was deep and vicious.
“I have come, Henry,” he said.
Before the Professor could reply, the hooded man attacked. A gloved hand shot from under the cloak. It grabbed the scientist by the neck and slammed him against the van.
Finally, Wild Boy saw beneath the hood, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out. It wasn’t a man that he saw, but a mask. It was one of the carnival masks that were sold around the fairgrounds — a white porcelain doll’s face, eerily featureless except for a long, hooked nose, like a bird’s beak, that protruded from the center. Those masks had given Wild Boy the creeps ever since he heard they were modeled on
The van was a mess. A clothes chest lay on its side, and books were scattered among the bottles on the floor. On a worktable against the wall was a jumble of scientific instruments — test tubes filled with golden fluid, coils of silver wire wrapped around copper rods, a rat cage with metal pegs attached to its sides — and piles of papers scribbled with notes.
Edging closer, Wild Boy flicked through a few of the pages. He saw anatomical drawings of body parts — twisting muscles in an arm, a diagram of a skull, a human head bisected to expose its cauliflower brain . . .
The hairs bristled on Wild Boy’s back.
Time to get out of here,
he decided.
He turned to leave, but stopped.
“The clothes chest,” he said.
There was something strange about it — his eyes were drawn there instinctively. And now, as he stepped nearer, he realized why. The chest lay on its side, and he could see the base within. But it didn’t look deep enough when compared to the panel outside.
Was it possible? His heart pounded faster as he crouched and slid a hand inside the chest. He groped the base until —
click
— one of the wooden panels hinged open.
A wide grin spread across his hairy face. There was a secret compartment.
He thought of pound notes, boxes of jewels . . . Whatever was in there, he’d just pinch enough to rent his own wagon, so he didn’t have to go back to Finch.
His heart sank as he slid the contents out. It was just another sheet of paper, with technical diagrams and instructions for some sort of scientific contraption — a tangled sphere of cogs and pipes skewered on an axle between two wheels. Several lines, wires he supposed, trailed from the bottom of the sphere and connected to . . .
Wild Boy leaned closer, hoping he’d seen it wrong. But he hadn’t. The wires were connected to human heads. They seemed to go
into
the heads.
THUD!
He jumped in fright, dropping the paper. Outside, something had crashed against the wall.
THUD! THUD!
Wild Boy stood very still, trying to listen over the manic thumping of his heart. He heard boots trudge through the mud. He crept to the wall and peered through one of the joins in the metal.
He couldn’t see much, but there was no mistaking the crooked figure of Professor Henry Wollstonecraft, with his blood-blistered nose and shaded spectacles. The old scientist leaned against the opposite van. His golden ring glinted in the moonlight as he drank from a bottle of wine, spilling half of its contents over his crumpled suit.
Old soak,
Wild Boy thought, letting himself relax. With the Professor so drunk, he could easily sneak from the van unseen. But then he heard something else.
“Henry,” a voice said.
He shot to another crack in the wall. Outside, a shadow stretched long and monstrous across the mud. It was the hooded man.
Wild Boy shifted to another crack. He still couldn’t see the face under the hood. He couldn’t see
anything
under that tattered leather cloak. The man moved fast, but with strange, awkward strides — loping and unbalanced, like a wounded creature. His voice was deep and vicious.
“I have come, Henry,” he said.
Before the Professor could reply, the hooded man attacked. A gloved hand shot from under the cloak. It grabbed the scientist by the neck and slammed him against the van.
Finally, Wild Boy saw beneath the hood, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out. It wasn’t a man that he saw, but a mask. It was one of the carnival masks that were sold around the fairgrounds — a white porcelain doll’s face, eerily featureless except for a long, hooked nose, like a bird’s beak, that protruded from the center. Those masks had given Wild Boy the creeps ever since he heard they were modeled on
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