Read Online This Isn't What It Looks Like by Pseudonymous Bosch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pseudonymous Bosch
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SKELETONS, MARCHING ON THE DAY OF THE DEAD.
BY NOW, YOUR PULSE IS RACING. YOUR MIND IS SWIMMING WITH FEARFUL THOUGHTS. THE BUS IS STOPPED AND CANNOT MOVE WITHOUT PLOWING
THROUGH THE BAND. THIS IS THE CRUCIAL MOMENT. YOU HAVE SEEN THEM. BUT THEY HAVE NOT YET SEEN YOU.
IT IS TIME TO ACT.
THE DRILL STARTS…
NOW.
PLEASE DOCUMENT ALL YOUR ACTIONS SECOND BY SECOND ON A TIME CARD. VIDEO FOOTAGE OF YOUR DRILL IS WELCOME BUT SHOULD NOT BE
CONSIDERED A SUBSTITUTE FOR YOUR WRITTEN SUBMISSION.
SEND TO:
T.E.A.S.E.
P. BOSCH EMERGENCY DRILL
ATTN: DRILL SERGEANT
M ax-Ernest squinted, trying to make out the features of the boy waving at him. In truth, he was just as surprised as the others.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember your old comrade-at-arms!” the boy protested when he reached the Nuts Table. He smiled dazzlingly
and removed his monocle. “It’s only been a year since our last teatime tête-à-tête.” *
“A year and a half,” corrected Max-Ernest, finally recognizing him—but only barely. “Actually, a year and eight months.”
“Ah, there’s the Max-Ernest we all know and love! Always exact, isn’t he? Don’t make a mistake around him—he’ll catch it every
time,” said the boy, chuckling.
The other two boys at the table laughed in appreciative agreement. The new kid had a peculiarly old-fashioned way of speaking,
but he was so relaxed and self-confident that it didn’t seem weird so much as adult and sophisticated.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your chums?”
It took a moment for Max-Ernest to understand the question, because first of all, he’d never heard the word
chum
spoken aloud (only read it in old booksabout a pair of brother detectives), * and second of all (as we established earlier), Daniel-not-Danielle and Glob weren’t his chums in the first place.
“Um, OK. Daniel-not-Danielle, Glob, this is, uh, Benjamin Blake,” said Max-Ernest. “He used to go here.”
At least it
appeared
to be Benjamin Blake.
When Max-Ernest had last seen Benjamin, he’d been several inches shorter and had looked years younger. But it was the way
he spoke now more than the way he looked that represented the biggest change. The old Benjamin had mumbled his words to such
an extent that almost nobody could decipher them. What’s more, whenever somebody bothered to figure out what he was saying,
it turned out that his ideas were even less intelligible than his words. As an extreme synesthete, his senses were all entangled
with each other, and his thoughts were a confused jumble of colors and sounds, tastes and smells. **
Today his speech was a study in perfect elocution. He sounded, not to mention looked, like the star of an old black-and-white
movie. Most surprisingof all was his manner; once shy and awkward to the point where he nearly couldn’t function in normal life, he was now all
cheerful insouciance and casual savoir faire. *
“I thought you were at a spec—I mean, a different school now,” said Max-Ernest when he’d recovered from his initial shock.
He and Cass had been told that Benjamin was going to a “special” school for kids with disabilities.Because of Benjamin’s value
to the Midnight Sun, they were supposed to be keeping an eye on him for the Terces Society. (At one time, the Midnight Sun
had believed Benjamin’s unique brain chemistry might be the key to unlocking the formula of the Secret.) But they’d figured
a school like that would keep him safe, so they had pretty much allowed themselves to forget about him. With a flush of guilt,
Max-Ernest realized they’d never even checked to make sure Benjamin had enrolled. He could have been anywhere for all Cass
and Max-Ernest knew. The Midnight Sun had kidnapped Benjamin once before; it was a stroke of luck they hadn’t kidnapped him
again.
“Oh, but I was at a special school—very special,” said Benjamin. “The New Promethean Academy. Itwas sort of a
finishing
school. You
BY NOW, YOUR PULSE IS RACING. YOUR MIND IS SWIMMING WITH FEARFUL THOUGHTS. THE BUS IS STOPPED AND CANNOT MOVE WITHOUT PLOWING
THROUGH THE BAND. THIS IS THE CRUCIAL MOMENT. YOU HAVE SEEN THEM. BUT THEY HAVE NOT YET SEEN YOU.
IT IS TIME TO ACT.
THE DRILL STARTS…
NOW.
PLEASE DOCUMENT ALL YOUR ACTIONS SECOND BY SECOND ON A TIME CARD. VIDEO FOOTAGE OF YOUR DRILL IS WELCOME BUT SHOULD NOT BE
CONSIDERED A SUBSTITUTE FOR YOUR WRITTEN SUBMISSION.
SEND TO:
T.E.A.S.E.
P. BOSCH EMERGENCY DRILL
ATTN: DRILL SERGEANT
M ax-Ernest squinted, trying to make out the features of the boy waving at him. In truth, he was just as surprised as the others.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember your old comrade-at-arms!” the boy protested when he reached the Nuts Table. He smiled dazzlingly
and removed his monocle. “It’s only been a year since our last teatime tête-à-tête.” *
“A year and a half,” corrected Max-Ernest, finally recognizing him—but only barely. “Actually, a year and eight months.”
“Ah, there’s the Max-Ernest we all know and love! Always exact, isn’t he? Don’t make a mistake around him—he’ll catch it every
time,” said the boy, chuckling.
The other two boys at the table laughed in appreciative agreement. The new kid had a peculiarly old-fashioned way of speaking,
but he was so relaxed and self-confident that it didn’t seem weird so much as adult and sophisticated.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your chums?”
It took a moment for Max-Ernest to understand the question, because first of all, he’d never heard the word
chum
spoken aloud (only read it in old booksabout a pair of brother detectives), * and second of all (as we established earlier), Daniel-not-Danielle and Glob weren’t his chums in the first place.
“Um, OK. Daniel-not-Danielle, Glob, this is, uh, Benjamin Blake,” said Max-Ernest. “He used to go here.”
At least it
appeared
to be Benjamin Blake.
When Max-Ernest had last seen Benjamin, he’d been several inches shorter and had looked years younger. But it was the way
he spoke now more than the way he looked that represented the biggest change. The old Benjamin had mumbled his words to such
an extent that almost nobody could decipher them. What’s more, whenever somebody bothered to figure out what he was saying,
it turned out that his ideas were even less intelligible than his words. As an extreme synesthete, his senses were all entangled
with each other, and his thoughts were a confused jumble of colors and sounds, tastes and smells. **
Today his speech was a study in perfect elocution. He sounded, not to mention looked, like the star of an old black-and-white
movie. Most surprisingof all was his manner; once shy and awkward to the point where he nearly couldn’t function in normal life, he was now all
cheerful insouciance and casual savoir faire. *
“I thought you were at a spec—I mean, a different school now,” said Max-Ernest when he’d recovered from his initial shock.
He and Cass had been told that Benjamin was going to a “special” school for kids with disabilities.Because of Benjamin’s value
to the Midnight Sun, they were supposed to be keeping an eye on him for the Terces Society. (At one time, the Midnight Sun
had believed Benjamin’s unique brain chemistry might be the key to unlocking the formula of the Secret.) But they’d figured
a school like that would keep him safe, so they had pretty much allowed themselves to forget about him. With a flush of guilt,
Max-Ernest realized they’d never even checked to make sure Benjamin had enrolled. He could have been anywhere for all Cass
and Max-Ernest knew. The Midnight Sun had kidnapped Benjamin once before; it was a stroke of luck they hadn’t kidnapped him
again.
“Oh, but I was at a special school—very special,” said Benjamin. “The New Promethean Academy. Itwas sort of a
finishing
school. You
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