Charlie expected everything to go as usual when he got home. He stumbled wearily to the bakery's door and pushed himself inside, dropping his basket and wet umbrella behind the main desk.
"Well, there's one of you," Henry remarked, looking at his son and then glancing out of the window. "Where's the other one?"
"He'll be along," the boy answered with a yawn. "And he will be wet because the silly simpleton didn't bring an umbrella."
"Ain't got no brains, that kid," Mr. Hannover grumbled, shaking his head. "I don't know why I keep him. He's too stupid to make a good baker."
Charlie frowned, more out of pity than frustration. He could call Copper stupid all day long if he wished; both he and Copernicus knew it was only a tease. But it always made him feel sorry when other people insulted the little fellow.
"He really is a fine chap, Copernicus is," Charlie ventured. His eyes looked at his father's face, begging for a kind response.
Henry's countenance softened a little. "Hmm. So he is," he consented, "most of the time. Only, I have my reasons to worry about the boy's outcome. He isn't like us, you know. Poor, lowborn child. If I can keep him from goin' wrong before he's eighteen, perhaps I'll feel a bit easier about him. In any case, go along to your mother and then off to bed. I'll be here till the boy gets back."
Quite satisfied with the plan, Charlie went to have his supper and then tumbled into bed. He fell asleep immediately, and several lovely hours passed by. Then the sound of heavy footsteps stomping up the stairs made the boy wake with a start.
Henry stood in the doorway. Exhausted bags hung under his eyes, and his clothes were damp. He looked as if he had been wrung through the wringer, and he still hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. Suddenly, Charlie realized that it was broad daylight, and he was still alone in his room.
"Father!" he exclaimed in alarm. "What's wrong? Where is Copernicus?"
"I've looked high and low for him, and I haven't seen so much as a glimpse of him, Charlie," Mr. Hannover sighed. "Better get yourself dressed and start searchin'. I'll need some extra eyes on the lookout."
Charlie scrambled out of bed and threw his clothes on with fumbling haste. The feeling of deep, frightened worry in his heart was almost astonishing. He had hardly expected to feel so concerned about his father's troublesome apprentice, but he did. Copper was his only friend. Without him, what would he do? Who would he laugh with? Who would he tease and ridicule?
He must be found! he thought, slapping his cap on his head and running downstairs. As he reached the front door and grabbed an umbrella, he heard his family talking anxiously.
"Oh mercy! What do you think became of the lad?" Mrs. Hannover asked breathlessly.
Henry heaved a deep sigh. "I don't know, love," he replied, quickly trading his wet coat for a dry one. "He may have been kidnapped, or he may have gotten himself hurt and been taken off to a hospital by some kind person."
"Hurt! Oh, perish the thought!" the woman wept. "Poor little dear!"
"We'll hope the young blighter's only run off," Henry concluded. "Wish me luck, dear. When I find the boy, he'll be cold and famished. You'd best warm his blankets and make a bit of soup."
"A bit of soup!" Mrs. Hannover repeated frantically. "Henry, we ain't even got a joint of meat in the house! The way business has been goin' I've hardly dared to spend a farthin'! What am I to do?"
Charlie left them with a heavy heart. What good is an 'imperial' bakery if you never have enough to eat? he wondered. We feed the townspeople and hardly make enough money to feed ourselves! It is oxymoron! It's preposterous! Truly preposterous! But there was rent and taxes and other dues to pay. That was what always drained their money. And to start stealing flour from the bakery in order to make their own bread would be slitting their own throats in the end.
Oh, money! How Charlie craved it. Surely it would be the answer to every problem in his life. He could have done so many things if he had only been rich. But his family's situation only seemed to be growing worse.
At this rate, he reasoned seriously, the bakery might come to an end. And then what? If we cannot pay for supplies and rent, we'll be little better than the beggars on the street! And oh, how I loathe that thought! There never was a Hannover who ever stooped to begging!
Honor pled—no, demanded—that he do something about it. But what? He couldn't make money appear out of thin air, no more than he could make Copper magically come into view.
He kept on searching the streets, kept on calling Copernicus by name. At every shop, he darted inside and asked whether anyone had seen the finely-clad, clean-faced boy. But all of them shook their heads.
Hope was dwindling, fizzling out to nothing. Then the lad's eyes were caught by something. He perked up excitedly. All of the crime books he had read came back to his memory, sending a thrill into his heart. Almost hidden by an alley's shadow, he saw a familiar basket lying on the ground. There were soggy breadcrumbs strewn across the pavement. He ran forward and observed it closer.
"No doubt," he said to himself, "this is my father's basket! And that is...er...was our bread. But where is Copper? Why would he abandon his basket so suddenly?" His heart beat hard and fast. "Some detestable rogue must have affronted him! But why? Not to take his bread."
Straining his mind to think like an inspector, he closed his eyes and tried to picture what had happened. The criminal had not been a starving thief; otherwise, he would have snatched the basket and run. No, this was worse than a robbery. This was a kidnapping or—perish the blood chilling thought— murder.
Despite its awfulness, Charlie was beside himself with excitement. His imagination built notions of a maniacal villain, ruthless, thoughtless, dreadful. But he needed witnesses, and he needed to alarm the police. Sprinting recklessly down the road, he ran to find the latter. Bursting into the nearest police station, he poured out the distressing details of the case in a voice which could have stirred urgency within anyone's heart.
"A maniac you say? Murder you say?" a constable gasped, leaping into action. Together, they hurried back to the scene of the crime. But one dropped basket and a heap of soggy bread just didn't convince Constable Bradford that anything as exciting as murder had been committed.
"You're prankin' me, aren't you?" the man grumbled in Charlie's face.
Taken aback, the boy gaped. Then, pulling all of his pride together, he straightened his narrow frame and cleared his throat. "Pranking! That, sir, is an insult to a responsible, honorable citizen! I assure you, I am not pranking! I am completely earnest! Can't you see it yourself? Something happened here! Something criminal! Something mysterious! My father's apprentice is missing!"
"But murdered?" the constable pressed, wrinkling his brow sarcastically.
Charlie cleared his throat again and straightened a few invisible wrinkles out of his clothes. "I did not say he —was— murdered. I said 'possibly murdered.' And I still say it is possible! You may not see it, but I do! Baskets don't just fall on their own accord, and boys don't just vanish! I tell you, some evil scheme of some evil mind has stolen Copernicus away!"
"Look, lad," the man began, putting his broad hand on Charlie's narrow shoulder. "The boy's probably a runaway. He got tired of the business and thought he'd drop the whole thing—basket and all. Now don't that sound reasonable?"
Reasonable, yes. But it wasn't the tale of mystery and woe which Charlie had wanted. The lad looked down at the abandoned basket, racking his brain for a way to convince the disbelieving constable. Then something caught his eye. "What is that?" he asked excitedly. "Look! Look there, just under the basket!"
The faint gleam of gold which he saw made his heart beat with a greedy thrill. He wanted to snatch the thing up in his hand, but Constable Bradford got there first. The man picked it up and turned it over and over on his palm.
"Hmm...now ain't that odd? Some kind of coin or token. Never seen the like!" he mused.
"Evidence!" Charlie blurted as his thoughts turned around like wheels in his mind. "Sir, that is evidence to this crime! Mark my words, it means something!"
Bradford rolled his eyes toward the boy. "Or maybe it's just a lost-and-found item," he reasoned. "We find a lot of 'em actually; though, we rarely find 'em as pretty as this."
Charlie was bursting with frustration. "Are you going to do anything about this?" he demanded.
"Oh, sure I am," the constable answered with a nod. Then, holding up the glittering medallion, he said, "I'll take it back to the station and keep it somewhere safe till the owner comes along askin' after it."
"But what about Copernicus?"
"Don't get yer dander up. I haven't forgotten him. I'll put the boy in a list of missing persons, and we'll keep our eyes open. How's that? He's ten years old, you say? And he was wearin' a green jacket?"
Charlie let out a sigh. He was disappointed by the ho-hum attitude of the lawman, and his weariness was catching up with him. "A very fine one," he answered, "with brass buttons. It was his birthday present this year, and it cost a pretty penny—more than we could afford."
"Now look, lad. Am I lookin' for a missin' boy or a missin' jacket?" Bradford interrupted. "I don't need the garment's history, just the boy's description. His eye and hair color would be useful."
"Oh, yes of course," the exhausted Charlie sighed again. He gave an accurate description of his friend, haling him as a small but fine-looking lad, impeccably clean and well kept.
The constable listened and then patted Charlie on the shoulder. "Right, lad. Go on home now. You've about worried yourself to death. You look ready to drop. Need a ride home?"
Charlie shook his head, so they went their separate ways. But Charlie couldn't help gazing after the constable as he watched Bradford slip the medallion into his own pocket. It was such a pretty, valuable looking thing. He yearned to see it again. He almost regretted that he had mentioned it at all. If he had known that the man would make so light of the thing, he would have kept quiet and put it in his own pocket. But it was gone.
He scuffed on down the street, sorely disappointed. Even though he felt dreadfully tired, he couldn't bring himself to go home. He travelled on in the opposite direction, knowing good and well that it would be in vain. His father had already searched that side of town. Copernicus was gone.
By nearly afternoon, there was no question about it, Charlie was too tired to go on. He hobbled down the road on sore feet. His eyes wanted to slide shut, but he was still too far away from home.
At last, he found himself dragging his numb legs past the crystal-clear windows of The Pearl of Britannia. He glanced in at the main room wistfully. What marvelous luxury lay within: wallpaper, plush cushions, intricately patterned carpet, and potted plants in the corners of the room. He could see elegant persons sitting at round tables sipping their tea daintily. And he saw waiters carrying sumptuous meals and delicate teacakes to the wealthy guests. That wasn't the best part though. The best part could only be seen by Charlie's imagination. He let his mind's eye travel upstairs and open a door which led him into the coziest of all bedrooms. There, he sank into the downy softness of a feather mattress and fell right to sleep.
I imagine that even the servants live luxuriously in a place like this! he thought with envy. Then an idea flickered dimly in his sleepy head. A servant, he repeated. I could be a servant! It is a humble beginning, yes, but perhaps not too humble! How else am I to climb this social ladder if I don't start somewhere? With a genius mind like mine, I may become manager of The Pearl someday! And from then on, I would be limitless!
Charlie thought about it until he was giddy with excitement. Someday, he may not stand gazing at that luxury from the outside. He might be a part of it. He knew he could do any job he set his hand to. And, although it was a risky subject, he felt almost sure that, if he chose his words carefully, he could convince his parents to let him seek work.
You see, it is really a matter of necessity, he would tell them. With our business going so awry, we need a little extra income! Father really can't be spared from the bakery or we will lose the business entirely! But, as for me, I could take on another occupation to help make ends meet! In the process, he imagined himself holding back a few pennies for himself here and there, stashing them carefully away, and climbing the ladder one step at a time. Surely, someday, he would reach the top.