The Hanging Hill

105

At Bartholomew Buckingham’s suggestion, Zack and Mr. Kimble hurried into the gloomy scene shop.

Looking for … well, whatever they were supposed to find.

Kimble tapped Zack on the shoulder. Pointed.

In the middle of the big room, near what looked like a winch coiled with metal cable, Zack saw a short man in baggy pants and suspenders holding his fedora so he could stare down through a hole in the floor without his hat falling into it.

It was the same guy Zack had seen last night tossing sparklers up to Juggler Girl.

“Pietro?” mumbled Mr. Kimble.

The man looked up from the hole. Put the hat on his head.

“Hey! Little Wilbur! How you doin’, henh?”

The man had a very thick Italian accent.

“You know this guy?” Zack whispered to Kimble.

“Aya. Used to, anyways. Pietro Bacigalupi. Top special effects man. Back in the 1940s. Died on the job.”

The little man shrugged. “There was an accident. Somebody smoked a cigar. Whattaya gonna do?”

“Mr. Bacigalupi was the premiere pyrotechnics wizard of his day,” said Kimble. “Smoke pots. Explosions. Canon fire. Whatever a show needed!”

“And Mr. Willowmeier?” said Bacigalupi. “Lemme tell you. The man, he like a nice Fourth of July picnic and fireworks extravaganza. Rockets. Shells. The works. But always remember one thing!” He wagged his finger at Zack. “Safety first!” The finger was a stump and a knuckle.

Bacigalupi looked at the floor again.

“Looks like they got another kind of party goin’ on down there. Maybe a barbeque.”

Zack noticed that there was a four-by-four square missing from the floor.

“Is that a trapdoor, sir?”

“Sì, sì, sì.”

“How’d you open that hatch?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to open it real bad, you know? And guess what? She opened.”

Yep. The time and rules were definitely out of joint.

Zack leaned over, peered down through the opening.

Thirty feet below them was the scenery storage room. Zack could see the Minotaur statue. A guy in a turban. Another guy in robes.

Meghan and Derek.

“It’s Moloch!” gasped Kimble. “The sacrifice!”

Zack turned to the ghost. “How do you raise and lower scenery to the storage room?”

“In my day,” said Bacigalupi, “we used this winch right here.”

“Do you know how to operate it, Mr. Kimble?”

“Sure, but …”

Zack turned to the dead pyrotechnical wizard. “Mr. Bacigalupi? Did you bring any supplies with you tonight?”

He shrugged. “Not much. Just, you know, some Roman candles, couple sky rockets, some willows, waterfalls, multi break shells.” He tipped his head toward a six-foot-long wooden crate. “Maybe one or two dozen bottle rockets, this very pretty Pandora’s blast, some flares, fountains…. Not much, really.”

Stenciled on the side of the crate was a warning: DANGER. EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE AND EXPLOSIVE.

“Will they work?” asked Zack.

Bacigalupi shrugged again. “Tonight, they probably work as good as a meat cleaver.”

“Give me a hand!” Zack said to Kimble.

The two of them pried the lid off the wooden box.

Then Zack started stuffing his pockets.