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Overview
A hidden attic. A classic story. A very unexpected twist. Twin twelve-year-old bookworms Ophelia and Linus Easterday discover a hidden attic that once belonged to a mad scientist. While relaxing in the attic and enjoying her latest book, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Ophelia dozes off, and within moments finds herself facing a fully alive and completely bewildered Quasimodo. Ophelia and Linus team up with a clever neighbor, a hippy priest, and a college custodian, learning Quasimodo's story while searching for some way to get him back home--if he can survive long enough in the modern world.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780310727958 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Zonderkidz |
| Publication date: | 05/08/2012 |
| Series: | The Enchanted Attic , #1 |
| Edition description: | Original |
| Pages: | 192 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.20(w) x 7.80(h) x 0.50(d) |
| Age Range: | 9 - 12 Years |
About the Author
L.L. Samson lives in Kentucky and has been writing for longer than anyone needs to know. Suffice it to say, L.L. has been reading even longer, loves to do it, and hopes you will too! Chickens, children, and a cat live in Lexington with L.L. and spouse, Will Samson, who writes too. Despite this, it's difficult to find a pen in the house.
Read an Excerpt
Facing the Hunchback of Notre Dame
The Enchanted AtticBy Lisa L. Samson
ZONDERVAN
Copyright © 2012 L. L. SamsonAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-310-72795-8
Chapter One
Bottles, Books, and BeakersOr Introducing the Setting and the Main Characters
When 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 clich, 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.)
Linus and Ophelia carefully ascended the dark, narrow staircase.
"Look—it's a lab!" Ophelia burst into the room, her head now level with the slanted planes of the ceiling. You know how attics are.
Linus bent down a bit to fit through the small door. For a boy his age, his height, one could say, seemed a bit showy. And although he and Ophelia tore into the delicate fabric of society only minutes apart, they resembled one another not at all. Her dark, curly head came to the middle of Linus's chest, and he looked down upon her with bright blue eyes beneath a head of straight blond hair. Linus described the two of them as the troll and the princess, while Ophelia argued, "Oh no. We're Lennie and George from Of Mice and Men." This claim always made Linus roll his eyes. (You will have to read that book in high school, and then you will understand why Linus would rather be a troll.)
The lab would have made anybody stare with open mouth, which is what both twins had done when they first saw it. Yet now upon their second entry into the attic, they stared open-mouthed again. The room affects people like that. I know I felt the same way the first time I entered the dimly lit space that smells of old shoes, horsehair, hot dogs, and geraniums. Shelves line the front and back walls where vials and bottles and baskets are neatly arranged and labeled. Ginger. Cardamom. Pekoe.
Linus pulled out a basket, his fingers searching through odd bits of junk, most of it very old and seemingly workaday. Nuts, bolts, hinges, nails, bits of fabric, leather, Popsicle sticks, and silver cutlery.
I could do a lot with this stuff, he thought.
"Look at these bottles, Linus!" Ophelia touched another shelf.
The bottles held liquids that glowed from the single beam of sunlight streaming through the small window above their heads. One bottle, pyramid shaped with a cork stopper, emitted a variety of colors at the same time! "I wonder what this one's for?"
Linus shook his head. Boy, would he like to find out! In some ways he was annoyed that his sister had also found the attic. Now he was responsible to someone else for whatever happened when he got his hands on these things. Could he, Linus, be a mad scientist in the making?
On one shelf three glass jars—simply labeled One, Two, and Three—sat next to a mortar and pestle. Mandatory scientific apparatus complete with tubes, beakers, and burners rested under a thick layer of dust on a table near the entrance.
Linus suggested that I explain some of the more unusual items in the room. So if you already know what a mortar and pestle are, please forgive me. I do not mean to insult your intelligence. However, for the rest of you, a mortar is a small but heavy bowl, usually made of stone, with thick walls; and the pestle is basically a thick stick with a rounded end that's not only easy to hold, but also fits perfectly in the bowl. With a pestle one might grind seeds or herbs against the inside of the mortar to create a fine powder.
They ran their hands along stacks of ancient books with names like Bringing the Imaginary to Life: A Proposition; Trapdoors to Other Realms; Simple Chemistry to Wow Your Simple Friends (They'll Think You're a Magician!); The History of Alchemy; Physics for Nincompoops; Mixing It Up with Common Chemicals; and Stage Presence—Stage Presents: The Art of Showing Up and Showing Off. Many more books, albeit older and smellier, were written in German; some were written in an alphabet of which even I don't know the origin. These last books were, naturally, the most threadbare and obscure (unknown by most people), and they were also the most apt to send chills down your spine. I'd recommend leaving them alone. "What you do not know will not hurt you" is a widely accepted maxim (old saying, a general truth). Some things really are better left alone, but I also believe that to remain in ignorance can come back to harm you.
"This is a great place to read," Ophelia said as she plopped down on a large, blue velvet couch in the middle of the room. The cushion exhaled a large puff of dust, which was illuminated by the meek shaft of light coming through the dirty window above. Not that any of that dust and grime bothered these children, amazingly enough. "We need to keep this place a secret."
Uh ... yeah, Linus thought.
"Auggie and Portia will think it's too dangerous for us to be up here. And look at that circle painted on the floor." The lip of the circle ended just inches from the couch. "I wonder what that's about?"
Linus did too. He also wondered where that large square bottle of amber liquid that was now sitting on the floor between the couch and the bookcase had come from—and when? It wasn't there before.
"Did you bring that up here?" Linus asked Ophelia.
"No. Did you?"
He shook his head.
Her eyebrows raised. "Really?"
"I swear."
Aunt Portia called to the twins from downstairs, but the words merely tiptoed to them as through a thick fog, "Time for tea!"
"We'll figure out what that bottle is later," Ophelia said as they turned to leave. "We're assuming Uncle Auggie doesn't know anything about this place—but he might. Remember, not a word."
Linus nodded. Some things went without saying.
Chapter Two
The Gaggle of Rickshaw StreetOr Introducing the Relatives and Other Secondary, Though Critical Characters
Ophelia pleasantly saw herself and Linus as junior editions of Uncle Augustus and Aunt Portia, destined for a similar existence. Yet Linus stayed awake some nights dreading the very same thing!
You'll like Auggie and Portia. Everybody likes them. They possess that general air of goodwill and, even better, humor. They are actually the aunt and uncle of the twins' mother, Antonia Easterday, who recently wrote a letter to her children full of details about hers and Ron's studies on Willis island, but she never once asked how they were faring in Kingscross. The outrage!
While Linus and Ophelia display almost no physical similarities (other than their toes), Portia and Augustus resemble one another the way a salt shaker resembles a pepper shaker, excepting for the obvious detail of gender. They both stand tall and straight while holding their slim ribcages aloft. And they both possess that soft, dripping candle wax variety of skin that vibrates a bit when they talk. Which is often. Quite the chatty, social pair, they are what one would call extroverts. (An extrovert is a person who becomes energized around other people. Introverts are their opposite—people who recharge by themselves.)
Portia resembles a movie star grown old, her face lovely and gentle, her eyes bright. In other words, she hasn't "let herself go." (Grown-ups say that about older women who gain weight and stop wearing makeup and doing their hair as they age. There are no correlating expressions for men who do the same sort of things.)
"Come sit down." Aunt Portia set the final fork on the chrome-legged table. Then she straightened up and threw her bright blue feather boa over her left shoulder and out of the way.
We're not British, thought Linus, as he did every teatime. Why not simply call it supper and leave it at that?
The kitchen, painted a horrifying mustard color with turquoise cabinets, was located on the second floor of the family home. The twins now sat on two of the six antique dining chairs, placed bright pink cloth napkins on their laps, and waited patiently to eat as Aunt Portia passed around potato pancakes, mashed potatoes, and potato salad. The poor dear has never quite understood that variety in a meal means ingredients, not just preparation. Her apricot hair, styled in a large wavy coiffure (hairdo) around her face, shivered with each movement. And she'd placed a tiara on top for good measure. A real diamond tiara, word has it. Where she obtained it, nobody knows. And Portia refuses to say. Good for her. A woman needs a few secrets.
"We're having a party next week," Portia said as she stabbed a piece of potato salad with her fork. The twins also began eating (to the delight of potato farmers everywhere). "We're calling it 'Medieval Knight Fever.'"
Oh dear. She's rather corny, isn't she? But don't blame her. The name was Auggie's idea. Portia sticks to the classic movies.
Portia continued, "I'm going to need your help. Would you help me serve the food?"
"And we'll need you to dress fifteenth-century French. I have just the items," said Augustus as he joined them, arranging his poplin suit just so. He rearranged his silverware to perfection, then picked up the fork.
What I just described about Augustus is known as telling detail. It reveals something about a character without coming out and describing it with exact words (in this case Uncle Augustus is overly neat and somewhat of a perfectionist. You should see his room. I've been in hospital chambers with more joi de vivre. (Joi de vivre is a French term that means "joy of living.")
"I just saw a copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame!" Ophelia crowed. "I'll start reading it right away in preparation."
"Good girl," Portia beamed. She loved books as much as Ophelia did. "After you're done with it, I'll pass along the book I'm reading now—The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot."
A snoozer if I've ever read one. Hopefully you won't be forced to read it too.
"And as for you, Linus," Augustus said, "I need you to construct a fake set of stocks for pictures. It'll be a stitch."
Linus nodded. Now that I can do. He cleared his throat. "We heard there was a scientist living here at one time."
"Oh yes!" said Portia. "Cato Grubbs. Mad! They say he conducted crazy experiments in the attic."
"The attic?" asked Ophelia, trying to put as innocent an expression on her face as possible.
Uncle Augustus cleared his throat and set down his fork in the three o'clock position. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and said, "Funny thing, though. We can't find the entrance to the attic. He must have sealed it up when he left."
The adults explained the mysterious circumstances surrounding the scientist's disappearance.
"Is he dead or alive?" asked Linus.
"Nobody knows. At least not around here," said Portia.
A shadow darkened the tablecloth, cast by the body of Mr. Birdwistell who lived above the clock repair shop next door.
Birdwistell is really his name, I assure you. Sometimes writers employ names to further characterization, meaning it helps the reader know the character better. Sometimes the names fit perfectly (read any Charles Dickens book and you'll see what I mean); sometimes they're the opposite of what they really should be. Mr. Birdwistell (pronounced "bird whistle") should have been named Mr. Sharpthistle or Mr. Snakehissle or some such uncomfortable variety of name, for he was more prickly than a yard full of blackberry bushes and meaner than any snake you're likely to come across in your comfortable, boring lifestyle.
Birdwistell tapped the tabletop and harrumphed, "Well, Augustus, it's time for cards at Ronda's. She's making rumaki (bacon wrapped around water chestnuts and baked in a barbecue sauce) and stuffed celery. Are you going to sit there all evening or might we make our way?" A squat man, Dr. Birdwistell teaches philosophy at Kingscross University, and ... well, I hate to tale bear (gossip), but he's gained a terrible reputation for grading arbitrarily. (In other words, he'll give you good grades if he likes you.)
Plus, he thought the twins nuisances—as evidenced by the way he ignored them as they sat eating their tea. Or dinner. Or supper.
Ophelia smiled at him, but he returned her effort with only a condescending grimace.
Then, without warning, Linus's glass of milk tipped over onto Mr. Birdwistell's shoes.
"Oh no!" cried Opehlia, leaning down to clean the polished wing tip with her napkin.
"Clumsy!" Mr. Birdwistell pointed at Linus. "Augustus, you should have a firmer hand with these two. A firmer hand, I say."
Ophelia looked up at Linus and winked.
The gentlemen left, both lighting up pipes as they walked up the street, and the twins were then expected to clean up the "tea things" (or "the supper dishes," as Linus thought of them), while Portia headed out to attend a lecture on marketing over the Internet. The poor thing is always trying to bring her business up to date. But how could she, really, with wares so odd and odiferous (stinky)? Not many people realize how off-putting smelly books are. Most of us long to spray them with a good disinfectant (and I know my disinfectants). Thankfully, most university professors fail to care about such inconveniences, and they frequently show up at the shop despite all of that.
So the twins's lives weren't exactly perfect. They had to do chores, help out, and even endure being ignored or yelled at by snooty neighbors. And now with school starting in September, Uncle Auggie had said to them, "We'll expect you to make the grade."
Linus worried about that because he'd never tested well. You see, the children's parents had never so much as looked at their report cards. But Ophelia whispered to her brother, "Don't worry, Linus, I'll help you through. You know I will."
As they dried the dishes in the kitchen, a crisp rapping vibrated the back door of the store downstairs. Linus rushed down to open the door, and there stood Madrigal Pierce, the headmistress of the Kingscross School for Young People, a rather genteel yet run-down boarding school (which used to be the Pierce family mansion, built in 1811) located on the other side of the Seven Hills bookshop.
I must tell you, the school thinks itself snootier and more well-heeled than reality suggests. Most of the students come from backgrounds where their parents must sacrifice greatly—or rack up debt if they enjoy eating out and going to Disney World—in order to send them there. But nobody seems to realize it because they make themselves so busy by overstuffing their lives back home. One exception is Clarice Yardly-Poutsmouth. Her parents are richer than everybody else put together, but she never tells a soul.
"I saw you children loitering at the park today," Ms. Pierce said, her thin lips turned down over a perfect chin.
Paris Park sits on the Bard River; it's across the street and up a block.
"Hello, Ms. Pierce," Ophelia said as she stepped forward. "How are you today?"
"How can I get my students to behave when you're running around like ruffians?"
"But it's summer, and I'd hardly call throwing a baseball—"
"Don't contradict me!"
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Ophelia redirected the conversation.
"Why yes, thank you."
Madrigal Pierce always came to criticize and ended up staying
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Facing the Hunchback of Notre Dame by Lisa L. Samson Copyright © 2012 by L. L. Samson. Excerpted by permission of ZONDERVAN. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
prologue: What You Need to Know Before Reading This Fantastic Little Book ... Or All of This Backstory Isn't Normally a Good Idea, but We'd Like to Get On with Things....................7one: Bottles, Books, and Beakers Or Introducing the Setting and the Main Characters....................11
two: The Gaggle of Rickshaw Street Or Introducing the Relatives and Other Secondary, Though Critical Characters....................15
three: Party Like It's 1399 Or Enough! Let's Get the Plot Rolling!....................23
four: A Third Wheel Is Important if You're Riding a Tricycle Or Welcoming the Character That Rounds Things Out....................27
five: Sometimes Unexpected Guests Prove to Have Arrived at Precisely the Right Time....................31
six: Worlds Collide and the Instructions Aren't as Helpful as One Should Expect....................37
seven: Mystery Loves Company....................41
eight: When in Doubt, Get Something to Eat....................45
nine: Who Knew the Bathroom Was Such an Amazing Place?....................49
ten: If Only Noah Had Come Through the Enchanted Circle....................55
eleven: Will the Real Cato Grubbs Please Stand Up?....................61
twelve: Funny, I Never Pictured a Mad Scientist Looking Like That....................67
thirteen: Who Says Bounty Hunters Don't Make Good Priests?....................75
fourteen: Thereby Proving That All Scientists Are Mad Scientists And If You Don't Like That, Take It Up with the Administration....................83
fifteen: Sometimes Fourteen Years of Life Experience Clearly Has Its Disadvantages....................89
sixteen: Sometimes Fourteen Years Is Plenty of Time to Accumulate the Necessary Brain Function to Figure Out How to Proceed....................93
seventeen: Don't Ever Underestimate the Brilliance of Street Smarts....................97
eighteen: Why Does It Seem Like a Crime to Stop for a Bite of Lunch?....................101
nineteen: What Does It Take for a Guy to Get Some Lunch Around Here?....................107
twenty: No Sense in Sitting Around All Day, Trust Me....................113
twenty-one: A River Will Do Whatever a River Wants to Do....................119
twenty-two: Where Two or Three Are Gathered Together, a Lot More Gets Done....................123
twenty-three: Separated! And the Clock Is Ticking!....................127
twenty-four: Really, Surviving a Flash Flood Should Be Enough Trouble for One Day....................133
twenty-five: The Smartest People Are Sometimes the Easiest to Fool....................137
twenty-six: Back to Boring Old Summer—Don't You Just Feel So Sorry for Them?....................141