I know I’ve kept changing my mind about how (and if) to post selections from the new series, going forward, but as things have started to settle down a bit, I’ve decided to try sending out selections once a month or so.
Since I sent selections from Book 1 last month, I’m sending selections from Book 2 this month, and plan to send selections from Book 3 next month.
That way, even though the books are being published in groups of three every three months, you’ll have the chance to read a “selections post” once a month, if you feel like it.
Just to remind you, with every set of three books, I’m going to try to find suitable excerpts from Chapters 1-3 for the first book, from Chapters 4-6 for the second one, and from Chapters 7-9 for the third. I hope it works.
For those of you who may need them, here are the links to order books from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
THE MYSTERY OF THE BROBDINGNAGIAN BEAST
CHAPTER 4 SELECTION 1 (MALLORY)
The following morning, Mallory MacLeod woke with a feeling of pleasant anticipation. The day before, Mathilda Jones had called to ask her if she'd like to apply for a summer job at the Jones Salvage Yard, and when she'd described the job, Mallory had said yes right away. She'd always liked making order out of chaos and she'd always loved old things, but even if she hadn't, she’d have wanted to apply for a job at the Jones Salvage Yard. Ever since she'd ended up in Grass Valley at the same time that The Three Investigators were in Auburn, she'd been hoping to find a way to get to know them better.
Of course, in a way, she already knew them better than she would have if she hadn't been able to help them with the solution to their last mystery. In Auburn, the boys had thought they'd hit a dead end when they didn't know how to locate a pouch filled with gold without the map that marked its location. But there the map had been, in plain sight, and for reasons that had to do with the nature of her memory, Mallory had discovered it.
She hadn't known that was what she was doing at the time, exactly, but in the end her powers of observation had proved crucial, and Jupiter Jones had invited her to be with The Three Investigators when they made their big discovery. She'd liked the way all of them had acted that day; Pete had been courageous, Jupiter smart, and Bob thoughtful.
And it wasn't just that she liked the boys as individuals; it was also that she liked what they – The Three Investigators – did. Ever since Mallory could remember, she'd been a voracious reader, and although she loved reading almost anything, she'd always found mysteries strangely soothing. She liked the way they were studded with clues, and she liked being able to read ahead to the ending to see where the writer was going, so she could notice the clues as she read along.
Although this meant that she rarely read mysteries as their writers intended, it had taught her a lot about what she now knew was called deductive reasoning. Something that at first appeared fantastic always proved to have a logical explanation in a mystery. Of course, in real life, the resolution of any riddle was unknown until you knew it, and Mallory had the feeling that the reason people liked mystery novels was that they made life seem more predictable than it actually was.
In real life, there were a lot of unexpected moments, and it therefore made sense that a lot of people would want to lose themselves in the logic of a mystery. The big puzzle called Life was reduced to a smaller puzzle – one that was solvable.
"Mallory?" her mother called from the living room. "Are you awake yet? I have to leave for work in fifteen minutes."
"I'm awake!" Mallory called back. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and hurried down the hall. She and her mother were currently living in an apartment in a Rocky Beach boarding house called The Wessex House, but as soon as their house in Scotland sold, they'd be buying a house of their own. After her father had died eight months before, Mallory's mother had decided to move the two of them back to Rocky Beach, where Mallory had actually been born.
When Mallory had protested as vigorously as she could – which had been pretty vigorously – her mother had promised that if Mallory couldn't get used to life in America, they would move back to Scotland in two years.
In the meantime, Mallory's mother hoped to work her way back to being a head costume designer – though the first job she'd gotten was more of a glorified seamstress on a movie filming locally. At the moment, she was designing and sewing a gigantic reproduction flag in a nearby warehouse rented by the production company.
"Sorry, Mom," Mallory said when she saw that her mother had set out a simple breakfast and made Mallory a cup of coffee. Mallory loved coffee, and every time she drank it, she thought of her father who had let her start drinking it when she was eleven.
“When are you due at the Salvage Yard for your interview?” Mrs. MacLeod asked.
“Not until 10:30,” Mallory said. “I thought I’d return the books I took to Grass Valley on the way and get some new ones. I finally finished Gulliver’s Travels. It was tough going by the end. But you know how much I hate to leave a book unfinished.”
“So you got to the land ruled by intelligent horses?” her mother asked. “What did you think of the Yahoos?”
“I thought they were so vile I couldn’t imagine why anyone would name an Internet search engine after them,” Mallory said.
“I’ve wondered that myself,” said Mrs. MacLeod. “I have to hope we’re better, in general, than the Yahoos. Though I have to admit that I’ve met a good many Yahoos in my life.”
“Me, too,” said Mallory. “Like my very own cousin, Skinny.”
She had said this before, but was happy to say it again now.
“Oh, Mallory, he’s not that bad,” said her mother, smiling.
“Oh, yes, he is,” said Mallory. “One of the reasons I’d like to get the job in the Salvage Yard is that Bob and Pete and Jupiter don’t seem to hold it against me that I’m related to someone so Yahoo-like.”
This time her mother laughed aloud. “Well, I’ve really got to go.” she said. “Good luck with everything. I’ll be back in time for dinner .”
“Have a good day, Mom,” Mallory said.
She ate breakfast, took a shower and got dressed, then packed her backpack with the books she was returning. After locking the door to the apartment, she got on her bike and started pedaling to the Rocky Beach Public Library. Although she’d known for almost two weeks now that in California kids under seventeen were supposed to wear bike helmets, she hadn’t told her mother yet. She’d never used a bike helmet in her life, and though Bob Andrews had told her she could probably use her climbing helmet, she didn’t want to.
For one thing, that helmet reminded her of her father, and for another, she liked the way the wind felt on her head when she was biking. Today was another beautiful summer day, and Mallory was already flushed from the heat. Since she’d lived in a cold and frequently cloudy climate nearly all her life, she was finding the endless blue skies and relentless sun of a southern California summer a bit hard to adjust to.
She wiped her hand across her forehead and it came away damp. She hadn’t gotten more than a couple of blocks when she was struck again by the realization that Rocky Beach was a pretty small place; you constantly ran into people, even people you didn’t want to run into.
Her cousin, Skinny Norris, was walking along the sidewalk whacking pebbles with a stick. One of them collided with the side of a parked car.
“Ouch!” Skinny said.
He was wearing plaid shorts and a black t-shirt with the name of some heavy metal band scrawled across it. When he noticed her, he called out gleefully, “Hey, Mally-Wally.”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” Mallory asked.
“O.K., Mally. Or Wally. Whichever you like,” Skinny said. He guffawed and looked at her slyly. “So how are you? And how are your pals, The Three Little Investigators?”
She sighed and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll ask them the next time I see them.” It surprised her how quickly Skinny could get to her.
Skinny’s crewcut bristled and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Extually,” he said, “I’m super glad I ran into you. Now I don’t have to go to that smelly boarding house you’re living in.”
Since the boarding house wasn’t smelly, the only effect this comment had on Mallory was to make her want to defend it from this undeserved attack.
“It’s not smelly. I like it.” Mallory stopped her bike and stood in the street, straddling it. “But why would you have to go there?” Mallory asked in a voice that sounded surprisingly like a growl to her.
Skinny grinned pathetically and sidled up to her.
“Sorry, Mally. Didn’t mean to offend. My mom’s planning a cookout by the swimming pool for Sunday afternoon. Hamburgers and barbecued ribs, that sort of thing. And she wanted to invite you and your mother.”
“We’re busy,” Mallory said.
“Really?” Skinny said. “Doing what?”
“I don’t know yet,” Mallory said. “But we’ll be busy.”
“Ha ha ha,” Skinny said. “About three in the afternoon, I think. Bathing suits optional.” He grinned, a ghastly sight, and took off down the sidewalk whacking pebbles.
Mallory shook her head in disbelief, already planning to forget to tell her mother about the invitation.
CHAPTER 4 SELECTION 2 (MALLORY)
Inside the Salvage Yard, Pete waved to her as he dismounted and took off his helmet.
"Hey, Mallory!" Pete called out. "Jupe's aunt said she was going to offer you a job. Did you get it? Are you starting already?"
"Yes," Mallory said. "Mrs. Jones showed me around and I guess I impressed her. She said I could start today and keep my own hours."
"That's fantastic!" Pete exclaimed. "I've got a new job, too! Except I don't get paid for mine. I'm volunteering at the Rocky Beach Animal Rescue Center. I saw a wild red fox with hair almost as red as yours."
Although Mallory knew this was intended as a compliment, she just said, "I've always liked red foxes. There are a lot of them in Scotland. They eat mice and voles."
"What are voles?" Pete asked.
"Small rodents," Mallory said. "A lot like mice, but their ears are smaller. I don't think Jupiter's here," she added. "At least I haven't seen him."
“I didn't come to see Jupe," Pete told her. "I left some stuff here I need to pack. My dad's taking the three of us up to the set of the movie he's working on in Sonoma. It's called Bear Valley. He said there might be some trouble and he wants us to keep our eyes open."
"Trouble? What kind?" Mallory asked, with real concern. Bear Valley was the movie her mother was working on right now - although she wasn't in Sonoma, but in a warehouse not far from Rocky Beach. If there was trouble about the movie, it might spread.
"Things being stolen and damaged," Pete said. "Also, a protest group called OUTLAW. They have a Facebook page, and they've organized a campaign to try to shut the movie down."
"Good grief," said Mallory. "I hope my mother doesn't lose her job. She really needs it. We really need it. These online vigilante groups are like the Yahoos in a book I just read."
"Your mother's working on the movie, too?" Pete exclaimed in astonishment.
"Right now she's working in a warehouse not far from here. She's usually a costume designer, but on this movie she's really just a seamstress, and she's making a replica of a flag."
Pete looked interested. "The Bear Flag?" he asked.
"She already made that," Mallory said. "The one she's working on now is a replica of a flag John Frémont's wife had made for him as a present. It's 15 feet by 20, my mother told me. That's why she's making it in a warehouse."
“15 x 20!" said Pete. "That's prodigious!"
Mallory smiled. "You could almost say it's Brobdingnagian."
"Brob what?" Pete asked. "That sounds made up."
"It is made up," said Mallory. " It's from that book I told you about, the one with the Yahoos. Gulliver's Travels. Gulliver goes to another country called Brobdingnag, which has a race of giants, and where everything is huge."
"Brob-ding-nagian," Pete repeated carefully. "I'll have to remember that. Who exactly are the Yahoos?"
Mallory explained to him as best she could. "They're coarse and brutish and too much like a lot of human beings for my taste." She went on until she looked up to see Jupiter approaching. He nodded hello to both of them and then stood a little awkwardly to the side.
"Hey, Jupe," Pete said, "where have you been?"
"I was in the house deciding what to take to Sonoma."
"Well, remember," Pete said, "it's only for two days. Guess what? Mallory's mother is also working on Bear Valley - though she isn't going to be on the Sonoma set."
Jupiter said, "I'm sorry to hear that," but Mallory could see that, if anything, he was relieved to learn that her mother wouldn't be there when The Three Investigators got to Sonoma. She was glad that Bob and Pete so obviously liked her, because Jupiter would clearly be a harder nut to crack.
"Have fun up there," she said. "Your aunt gave me the job, so I'm sure I'll see you when you get back."
She said goodbye to the boys, then went to the office to sign in on a time sheet so that she could start her new job right away. Even though it wouldn't pay much, it was what you might call a prodigious opportunity to establish a new life for herself in Rocky Beach.
Of course, even now, she wasn't sure she wanted to do that, but since she knew that she would need to stay in America for two entire years before her mother would agree to take her back to Scotland, it would be good to have something interesting to do in the meanwhile.
Also, if she hung out long enough at the Salvage Yard, maybe she'd have the chance to help The Three Investigators solve another mystery. Though it had been sweet when Pete had talked about the color of the wild red fox's hair at the Animal Rescue Center, she hoped that he and Bob and Jupiter would all be willing to see past the way she looked to the way she actually was.
CHAPTER 5 SELECTION 1 (PETE)
As Mr. Crenshaw walked away, Pete looked around, a bit dazed, wondering what they'd do before it was time for serious eats. But even before he could confer with Jupiter and Bob, he saw a man he recognized heading right toward them. He looked at Bob, whose expression had frozen, staring in the man's direction.
Daniel Hernández wore expensive-looking sunglasses, pleated trousers, and a light blue crinkly shirt, and he walked with the loose-limbed gait of a natural athlete. Around his neck was a lanyard with a laminated ID card. To Pete he looked about the same age as his father.
"Are you Pete Crenshaw?" Hernández asked, taking off his sunglasses. "I just saw you talking to Martín, and the other day he told me his son might be visiting the set. You look just like him."
The man had arching eyebrows and very dark eyes, and he was smiling warmly, as if he had known Pete all his life. Pete took a step backward, so forceful was the man's approach.
Hernández turned to Jupiter and Bob. "And if he's Pete, then you two must be the rest of The Three Investigators." Pete's heart sank. They were supposed to be here undercover! And here they were, outed during the first half hour.
"How do you know about The Three Investigators?" he asked.
"You're practically celebrities," Daniel Hernández said. "After your escapade up in Auburn, there were all sorts of articles about you in the L.A. and San Francisco papers. I looked you up online and read all about you. Not everyone discovers gold hidden for over a hundred years."
Jupiter smiled thinly.
"We haven't been introduced," he said coolly. "I'm Jupiter Jones."
"A thousand pardons," the man said. "I'm Daniel Hernández. I've been hired - "
"Yes," Jupiter said. "We know."
"Bob and I saw you on TV," Pete said, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "You're sort of a celebrity, too."
"I wouldn't say that," Hernández cooed, but Pete could tell that he liked the idea.
"My father told me all about you," he said meaningfully.
"Did he?" Hernández said, an edge of steel suddenly appearing in his honeyed voice. "What a wizard your father is." He turned his attention fully to Pete. "Look at the work he and his crew have done!" He swept his arm in the direction of the barracks. "Most days this is a bustling 21st-century town center, but Martín has aged it a hundred and seventy years."
Pete remembered his father saying he would have liked to punch Daniel Hernández's lights out and he was beginning to understand why. Though the man was working overtime at being friendly, Pete felt it was all an act, and it grated on him.
"What are you boys working on now?" Daniel Hernández asked.
"We're between cases, actually," Jupiter said. "We're just visiting."
"Well, it's great to have young people on the set," Hernández said. "I'm sure you'll enjoy seeing the start of the Bear Flag Revolt. There's nothing like a re-creation to make you excited about history."
"Mr. Crenshaw said you wrote a book about John Frémont," Jupiter said.
"Why, yes, I did," Daniel Hernández said. "That's the reason I was hired to consult on this film. Would you boys like me to show you around? Perhaps we could visit the museum together."
Though that sounded less than enjoyable to Pete, he thought it would give him more of a chance to observe Hernández, and besides, the buffet would still not be open for half an hour.
"A historian taking us on a guided tour of a history museum," Jupiter said. "What could be better?"
Bob was trying to suppress a smile.
Just inside the door of the museum, Pete saw a cannon with big wheels and a short black barrel. "How old is that?" he asked Hernández.
"It dates from the mid-1800s," Hernández said, "but it's very well-preserved." He pointed out the curved metal bands securing the wooden wheel rims. "Beautiful work," he said.
Hernández led the boys further inside. There was a display with a replica of the Bear Flag - the original of which, Hernández said, had been made in this very building.
One whole room was dedicated to showing how the soldiers lived - whitewashed walls, a dark wood-beamed ceiling, low wooden beds with storage trunks at their feet, the table where they ate and played cards. Everything was colorful and vibrant, as though it had all happened yesterday. Although Pete wasn't a history buff the way that Bob - and even Jupiter - were, in a museum like this one he couldn't help but think about what it must have been like to be one of the original American settlers of this area when there were twenty-five Mexicans for every American - and who knew how many Indians?
"You're very kind to let me share my passion for history with you," Hernández said. "During the summer I miss having the opportunity to talk with young people. I find them so much more open and responsive than most adults." Pete had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. The guy was laying it on with a trowel.
"I heard some colleges are cutting history departments," Jupiter said.
"Unfortunately, true," Hernández said. "Everyone's nervous about enrollments, and our culture, I'm afraid, is terribly shortsighted. But our department is thriving. In fact, one of the things I like most about my job is advising prospective majors, because I get to answer the great question: Why History?"
He paused for dramatic effect. "Because it's the story of all of us, of course. How can we know where we're going without a thorough knowledge of where we have been?"
Oh, put a sock in it, Pete thought.
CHAPTER 5 SELECTION 2 (PETE)
"Any of you considering a major in History?" Hernández asked. "You look like the sort of young men who think ahead."
"We haven't gotten that far," Pete said. "We're just starting high school in the fall."
"Nevertheless," Hernández said, "the child is father to the man. An interest in history can begin quite early. If you'd ever like to talk about it, I hope you'll give me a call."
He pulled out a small silver case from the front pocket of his pants and took out a card, which he presented to Jupiter. Pete looked over Jupiter's shoulder. Though the card had the appearance of being hand-lettered, Pete could see that it had been printed. Dr. Daniel Hernández and the address at the university in Los Angeles where he taught had been written in careful calligraphic script and gave the immediate impression of old-fashioned elegance and formality.
"That doesn't look like a font," Bob said.
"No," Hernández said. "It's not. That's my own handwriting. Well, it's a facsimile of my own handwriting." Below his address was the name of his book. Manifest Murder: John Frémont and the Taking of the American West. It seemed calculated to cause a commotion, Pete thought, even just sitting on the page like that.
"I was silly not to bring any copies with me, but when I'm back down in L.A., I'd be delighted to send The Three Investigators a signed copy. Where should I send it?"
Pete looked at Jupiter. Normally this was when Jupiter would reach into his pocket and produce one of The Three Investigators' business cards with a flourish. But it was clear that wasn't going to happen today.
"You said you found us online," Jupiter said. "Our address is on the website."
"Of course," Hernández said. "It was very impressive. I'll keep you boys well in mind if there's a mystery that needs solving." His eyes glinted.
When they emerged into the afternoon sunlight, Pete was dazzled by the brightness. In the distance he heard what sounded like people yelling. "It seems that OUTLAW has arrived," Hernández said. "More of them every day. I was afraid that might happen."
"I thought the movie hired you to make them happy," Bob said. "Why are they still here?"
"They have a point to make," Hernández said, "and I guess they're intent on making it, whether or not I'm involved in the movie. That's one of the things that makes this country great, of course. Freedom of speech." He looked at the boys and nodded his head. "Well, I must be off. It was a pleasure to meet the three of you," he said. "I really hope we run into each other again."
"I'm sure we will," Jupiter said. He was holding himself very still and looking at Hernández with icy regard.
Hernández held out his hand, and Pete didn't know how he couldn't take it. When they shook, he was surprised that Hernández's grip was almost as strong as Pete's father's.
His voice caught in his throat but he managed to croak out, "Nice meeting you, Dr. Hernández."
"Let's not have any of this 'doctor' stuff," Hernández said. "Now that we're friends, I insist you call me Daniel."
"Gee," Pete said. "We usually address adults formally."
"Well, this is where you learn to break the habit," Hernández said.
"I don't think so," Jupiter said. "We appreciate the courtesy but we'll need to wait for some other time to take advantage of it, Dr. Hernández."
Hernández looked taken aback. He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Far be it from me to say otherwise," he said. "I hope you enjoy your visit." He gave a short informal bow, turned on his heel, and was soon gone from view.
"A complete and thorough jackass," Bob said. "He's worse in person than he was on television."
"Yes," Jupiter said. "Unfortunate. He's a slippery one. We're going to need to keep an eye on him."
You bet, Pete thought. That's just what I intend to do.
CHAPTER 6 SELECTION 1 (JUPITER)
Ten minutes later, Jupiter was sitting in the back seat of Mr. Crenshaw's truck, and as they headed to the motel, Jupiter was also thinking about Daniel Hernández. Mostly, he was wondering how he would have reacted if he hadn't been told in advance that Pete's father thought he wasn't to be trusted. It was an interesting question, really - and not just in this single instance, but in life in general. How much did what you'd been told about someone affect the way you reacted when you met him? It probably affected you a lot, Jupiter reflected.
However, in the case of Daniel Hernández, Jupiter was fairly certain that he would have disliked him whether or not he'd been told about him in advance. He also thought he'd have been at least a bit suspicious about his attitude toward OUTLAW. In fact, he was suspicious. While Hernández had tried to seem neutral about their presence, he'd been unable to conceal his delight that the protest group had shown up on the set.
Indeed, it seemed to Jupiter that OUTLAW was somehow serving Hernández's personal interests or ambitions. But how, exactly? In general, there was nothing about a mob that would seem to serve anyone or anything except the mob itself. Of course, Jupiter had never understood the lure of becoming part of a group like that. Why would anyone want to sacrifice their own will to the shifting and dangerous whims of a mindless crowd?
And crowds, Jupiter thought, really were mindless. There was a madness about them that was frightening, and that frequently led to very bad outcomes.
But while that was true enough, it was really a separate consideration from the question of Daniel Hernández, Jupiter thought. In his case, the question was what did he have to gain, personally, from the presence of OUTLAW on the set?
Well, for one thing, the negative publicity OUTLAW was generating for Philippa Paxton's book was turning into positive publicity for Daniel Hernández's. And while Jupiter had always had almost as much trouble understanding that kind of opportunism as he had understanding the lure of a crowd, he supposed that for a man like Hernández, positive publicity for his book might be enough of a reason to do just about anything.
Perhaps it was just his sheer, ruthless ambition he was trying to hide through his ingratiating manner, Jupiter thought.
CHAPTER 6 SELECTION 2 (JUPITER)
Mr. Crenshaw parked near the plaza and the boys secured their bikes. As they rounded the corner and crossed the park, Jupiter saw that the police had erected a second perimeter - another ring of sawhorses with yellow tape connecting them - effectively pushing the protesters further back and away.
OUTLAW was out in force this morning; to Jupiter there seemed to be twice as many protesters as there had been the day before. They carried picket signs and poster boards; they struck their fists against the empty sky. Today they weren't yelling about "naiveté"; they were shouting "Silence Is Violence," and "Freedom Isn't Frémont!"
Aside from his instinctive dislike of crowds and mobs, Jupiter was also genuinely puzzled by OUTLAW's presence. What did they hope to accomplish by picketing this movie? Even if they managed to shut it down - a big if, but not impossible - all it would prove was that they didn't know their history.
After all, the Mexicans had been harassing, hounding, and killing the indigenous tribes for years before the American settlers arrived, and at the time of the Bear Flag Revolt, there had only been five hundred Americans in California, while there had been twelve thousand Mexicans. If OUTLAW really thought the local tribes would have been better off if the land had stayed under Mexican rule, they were totally - well - naive.
Mr. Crenshaw ushered the boys around the barricades, behind the cameras and sound technicians, getting them a good spot from which to watch the actual filming - and anything else that might happen!
Now, the director was pacing, conferring with actors and cameramen, checking with a woman who sat up high at the end of a crane with a camera that would capture shots from above. Horse wranglers unloaded beautiful chestnut-brown stallions from horse trailers, and Jupiter could see the extras, dressed in 19th-century garb, wearing boots and chaps and colorful shirts and bandanas. Everywhere he looked there was movement and color and sound. Pete nudged him and pointed when two actors unfurled a replica of the original Bear Flag and attached its grommets to the flagpole's halyard.
Since Jupiter himself had had a thankfully short-lived career as a child actor, he wasn't surprised to see how long everything was taking on the set. All the cameras and sound equipment needed to be carefully positioned; the actors needed to be made up, costumed, and put in their places; the horses needed to be saddled and bridled and calmed.
It was past noon when the filming began. The assistant director yelled for quiet and a hush fell over the plaza; Jupiter was glad to see that the protesters were sufficiently far away as to be both silent and invisible.
Just as always happened, a man came out with a clapperboard, announced the scene and the take, slapped the clapper, and the cameras started rolling. Jupiter watched as a small scrum of men on horseback, pistols on their hips, rode up before the barracks. Dust swirled; horses neighed. The men tied their mounts to the hitching post and stealthily approached the barracks door.
Jupiter looked at his friends. Pete had a big smile on his face and Bob looked very intent. That was all very well, but neither of them seemed to be paying much attention to what be going on behind the scenes - though that was the real point of their being here today.
Now, one of the actors threw his shoulder against the door and it flew open. In no time, the American settlers came back outside with a man Jupiter assumed was the Mexican commander, Vallejo.
"Cut!" the director shouted.
Mr. Crenshaw and his crew ran to return the set to its earlier condition as the actors retreated for another take. The action itself had lasted only a few minutes.
Jupiter watched as they shot the same scene four more times. While they did, he tried his best to keep his eye on things. Twice, he got up and walked around to see what was happening just outside of camera range. Not much, from what he could tell. It was strange how vividly being on this set brought back his early acting experiences.
But although most of what he remembered was pretty unpleasant, it had actually proved an oddly good start to his life. In the first place, even now, he frequently drew on his early training to act stupider than he really was. He had a trick of letting his eyes grow dull and his face go slack which had fooled a surprising number of bad guys.
In the second place, there was nothing like acting to bring home the difference between appearance and reality. Phonies like Daniel Hernández took advantage of that difference all the time, Jupiter thought.
© Elizabeth Arthur and Steven Bauer 2025
Cover Art By Pashur House
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