Chapter Twenty-Four

“Gustafson.” Downstairs, Journey had found him standing at Jeronicus’s desk.

He spun around and removed his top hat. “Well hello, young lady.”

Jeronicus and Jessica emerged on the landing. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

Two constables moved to detain him.

“The robot that you stole from me,” Gustafson accused coldly.

“To the dungeon with him!” Don Juan said from where he stood on the desk. “Yes. You.”

“I demand that you arrest him at once, right now!” Gustafson ordered the constables, who struggled to keep their holds on Jeronicus’s wriggling wrists.

“For what?” Jessica demanded. She would not allow her father to be wrongfully policed.

Journey advanced on him. “You’re the real thief.”

“A thief couldn’t have these.” Gustafson slipped a page out from his cloak. He unfolded it and showed the sketches to the constables. “The designs for the robot that I slaved over.”

“Restless days and sleepless nights,” Don Juan piped in, for effect.

“I wanted to give up so many times, but I didn’t. I—”

“We,” Don Juan corrected him.

“Persevered,” Gustafson continued. “Knowing that one day, I—”

“We,” Don Juan corrected again.

Gustafson shot daggers at him. “Would realize my dream.” His voice had a put-on sadness to it, and he pulled the large page taut, showcasing it. “Proof! In black and white.”

Journey snatched it. “And blue!”

“¿Azul?” Don Juan inquired.

She crossed to the lamp and flicked it on. As she held the designs under the bulb, radiant blue words began to materialize across the page in a scrolling, looping handwriting, like ribbons.

Property of Jeronicus Jangle

One of the constables read it aloud.

Journey held the page up high.

The other constable regarded it and looked to Gustafson. “Explain this at once!”

Gustafson stammered. “It’s— It’s . . .”

“I can explain.” Journey boldly approached him. “After I ran into Mr. Gustafson, I was afraid he would try to steal the Buddy 3000.”

Gustafson held his pointer finger up to his mouth in an effort to silence her.

“So,” she continued, “I marked the design. For proof.”

The constables freed Jeronicus, who looked proudly at his brilliant Journey.

Gustafson’s face hardened. He’d been found out at long last. “Uh-oh. Just arrest Mr. Jangle!”

“You told me those were your inventions!” Don Juan accused, lying. “Did you lie? Are you a thief? Yes. You.” Don Juan then ran across the desk. “Jeronicus, save me!” he cried.

“I’ll take the matador,” Jeronicus said. “It’s my invention, after all.”

“I am home! Mi rey,” Don Juan said with relief. “I’ve missed you!” he said to Jeronicus with feigned affection. “I like your hair. Did you do that yourself?”

Jeronicus lifted him. “Finally, children everywhere will be able to love you.”

“I am extremely lovable,” he said arrogantly from Jeronicus’s hand. “Puppy dog eyes! Baby kitten eyes!”

“After I reprogram you,” Jeronicus concluded.

“Reprogram? Reprogram what?! I am and forever will be one and only one of a k—!”

Jeronicus opened a panel in Don Juan’s back and disconnected him, then set him down on the desk and stared at Gustafson as the constables stomped over to him.

“What are you doing?” Gustafson asked them.

The constables roughly grabbed him.

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Gustafson argued, wrestling against them. “You’re taking the word of a ten-year-old child! I am a respected member of the community! Are you kidding? I mean, look at that child! Look at that girl! There’s evil in her eyes!”

The constables steered him down the mahogany staircase and toward the front doors.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jeronicus said, chasing after them. “I have something for him.” He walked to a desk by the entranceway and pulled out the decrepit bottom drawer.

The constables halted in the doorway, holding Gustafson still, and everyone watched Jeronicus, who produced a rectangular box wrapped in paper and tied with a length of green silk ribbon.

“I had it to give it to you that night.” He approached Gustafson. “But then you were gone.” He handed the present to Gustafson, a gift thirty years in the making.

Gustafson untied the ribbon and opened the gift. It was a simple wooden box. He flipped the lid to find a small metal contraption nestled inside. He teared up. “A gyroscopic stabilizer.”

Jeronicus looked kindly back at him. “For your Twirling Whirly.”

Gustafson gritted his teeth to hold back his tears. Jeronicus was as generous as he had always been, while Gustafson’s heart had only grown colder. He had waited all his youth for a token of Jeronicus’s time, and when he finally got it, he felt unworthy of such a gracious gesture.

“I would have shown you everything, if only you’d waited,” Jeronicus added.

As Gustafson looked up at Jeronicus, he felt like a child again. He had waited for no tomorrows, but tomorrow had been worth waiting for, in the end. Now it was too late. Eyes misting with tears, he grappled with what to say, but “thank you” hadn’t quite been introduced to his vocabulary yet.

The constables guided him from the shop and into the police carriage on the street.

Gustafson glanced back at Jeronicus one last time.

The inventor, old and grayed, cast his eyes down.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” came a voice, and Jeronicus looked up to see Mr. Delacroix strolling toward him through the shop’s front doors, walking with a harried gait.

“Mr. Delacroix,” Jeronicus greeted him.

“Merry Christmas, old friend.” Mr. Delacroix shook his hand, then removed his hat and tipped it at Jessica and Journey. “Ladies.” He came face-to-face with Jeronicus, and his good cheer soured. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, but—”

A trilling from the upper-level landing siphoned his attention away.

There was Buddy, levitating over the bannister and gliding down toward them.

Mr. Delacroix cowered behind Jeronicus. “What in heaven’s . . . ?” Then he stepped out and rested a hand on Jeronicus’s shoulder as the robot hovered serenely over the cash register.

“It’s something sensational,” Jeronicus said proudly.

Mr. Delacroix moved toward the robot. “Yes, it’s—”

“Something spectacular.” Jeronicus followed on his heels.

“More than that, it’s—”

“Something revolutionary,” they said in unison.

Jeronicus gestured. “It’s the Buddy 3000!”

“The Bud— The what?” Mr. Delacroix asked, perplexed.

“It’s a robot,” Jessica asserted.

Flabbergasted, he wheeled on them, brows furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“A flying robot!” Journey added with a merry nod.

His eyes bugged. “Is such a thing possible?” he asked Jeronicus.

“Something sensational!” Buddy said from the air. “Something spectacular! Something revolutionary!”

“It talks?” inquired an astounded Mr. Delacroix.

Jeronicus gave a self-assured nod. “It talks.”

The banker turned to Journey and Jessica. “It talks,” he said, to which they nodded smugly. He faced the robot. “You talk!” Mr. Delacroix’s eyes sparkled. “By Jove, Jeronicus, you’ve done it! You are a genius, my old friend.”

Jeronicus meant to state that it had been a team effort, but Mr. Delacroix cut him off with a finger wag. “No, no, no, no, no! If I know anything, there’s more where that came from.”

“I have thirty years’ worth of notes,” Jeronicus replied. And now that he believed in the impossible again, thereby reviving his magic, the possibilities of bringing all of those divine designs to life were limitless.

“I have no doubt! Oh, look at you! I could kiss you!” He smooched Jeronicus on the cheek then firmly shook his hand. “From now on, whatever you need, the bank will give you for the rest of your life!” It was all Jeronicus could have dreamed of.

Buddy landed softly on the countertop.

Mr. Delacroix rushed out the door, shouting, “He’s a genius! It’s spectacular!” He waved his hat back at them. “It’s a merry, merry Christmas indeed!”

And so it was—even for Gustafson, who, despite being carted off in the police carriage as it jostled off down Chancer Street, had learned the error of his ways—and discovered his heart.

As for Jeronicus, even when life had knocked him down, he’d figured out how to get back up.

With a little help.

With a lot of help.