Warren the 13th and The All-Seeing Eye: A Novel - Hardcover

Del Rio, Tania

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1594748039 ISBN 13: 9781594748035

Publisher: Quirk Books, 2015

Synopsis

A beautifully illustrated, action-packed middle grade adventure in the spirit of Edward Gorey and Tim Burton.

With fantastic Victorian-esque design, fast-paced action, and plenty of puzzles to solve, this middle grade mystery is a fun and engaging read for even the most reluctant readers. Warren the 13th is the lone bellhop, valet, groundskeeper, and errand boy of his family’s ancient hotel. The strange, shadowy mansion is full of crooked corridors and mysterious riddles—and it just might be home to a magical treasure known as the All-Seeing Eye. But if Warren is going to find the hidden treasure, he’ll need to solve several other mysteries first: What is the strange creature lurking in the hotel boiler room? Who is the ghostly girl creeping around the garden’s hedge maze? And why is the hotel’s only guest covered in bandages? Full of puzzles, secret codes, outrageous inventions, and hundreds of intricate illustrations, Warren the 13th and The All-Seeing Eye will delight and confound readers of all ages.

About this title

About the Author:

Will Staehle is the creator of Warren the 13th, and is an award-winning designer and illustrator. He grew up reading comics and working summers at his parent’s design firm in Wisconsin. He now spends his days designing book covers, posters, and mini-comics, to ensure that he gets as little sleep as possible. He lives in Seattle. Tania Del Rio is a professional comic book writer and artist who has spent the past 10 years wiring and illustrating, primarily for a young audience. Her clients include Archie Comics, Dark Horse, and Marvel; she is best known for her work writing and drawing the 42-issue run of Sabrina the Teenage Witch. She lives in Los Angeles.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter 1

Warren the 13th tiptoed across the roof of the Warren Hotel, and the old slate tiles clattered like bones. A crisp autumn wind snapped at his back, threatening to knock him off balance, but he kept going. A fall from the top of an eight-story building was the least of his worries. He had a chimney to repair.
     The ravens screeched a warning from inside the smoke shaft but Warren peered down anyway. As usual, the chimney was clogged with newspapers, fabric scraps, twigs, branches, and other debris. Six black birds stared back, huddled together in a makeshift nest.
     “Go on now!” Warren shouted.
     The ravens didn’t budge.
     “There are plenty of nice trees around here. Shoo!”
     But the ravens did not “shoo.” They seemed to be pretending that Warren was invisible.
     “I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way,” he said with a sigh.
     Warren had performed this chore dozens of times. At least once or twice a month, he climbed up to the roof and cleared the nest from the chimney before it caused the entire hotel to fill with smoke. But this morning the ravens seemed particularly stubborn. Winter was coming, and they needed a cozy place to ride out the cold weather.
     “What if I poured water on you?” Warren asked. “How would you like that?”
     The birds knew he was bluffing. One snapped its beak, but the rest went right on dozing. So Warren creeped over to the ridge of the roof where a crooked weathervane stood. He unscrewed the sharp metal post and poked it inside the chimney. “I’ll use force if I have to,” he said with determination. “Get out of there or else!”
     The ravens didn’t even ruffle a feather. They knew Warren was too nice to hit a bird with a weathervane.
     It was clear Warren had only one option left. “If you don’t leave now,” he said with as much menace as he could muster, “I’ll go get Aunt Annaconda and then you’ll have to deal with her.”
     The ravens exploded from the chimney, squawking and scattering feathers as they rose into the sky. They had been around the hotel long enough to know all about Annaconda, and no one–not even a raven–dared to test her patience.
     Warren watched until the birds were nothing but dark specks against the dawn’s pale sky. He hated to frighten them, but they’d left him no choice. His gaze lowered and he looked out from his spot high above the ground. The view was nothing special.
     The Warren Hotel was the only building for miles; perched miserably on a hill in a bleak gray countryside, it was ringed by a forest of equally bleak and withered trees. You could walk for hours in every direction without finding anything interesting.
     But Warren wasn’t looking at the depressing view. He was looking beyond it, past the horizon, to where the rest of the world existed. He imagined cities and jungles, seaports and deserts, landscapes he knew only from books. All places he would love to visit . . . were it not for the fact that he was twelve years old and heir to his family’s hotel, where he worked as the sole bellhop, handyman, exterminator, room-service valet, and all-around errand boy. Warren the 13th had spent his whole life at the hotel, just as his father and eleven other Warrens had before him.
     With a sigh, he returned to the grim task of chimney cleaning. Soon his hands were black with soot. He yanked out dozens of sticks and branches and a handful of stranger, more unexpected objects: a lady’s lace bonnet, a rusty nail file, a pie pan, even a bag of marbles he recognized as his own. Warren was trying to figure out how the ravens could have retrieved a bag of marbles from the desk drawer in his attic room when a low growling noise caught his attention.
     Warren squinted into the early-morning fog. To his astonishment, he saw movement in the forest. Concealed by a canopy of spindly branches, a large dark shape was weaving through the trees. The woods around the hotel teemed with bears and wild boars, but this shape was larger than any animal. It growled again, and Warren’s heart gave a leap. This was no ordinary creature.
     It was an automobile!
     He hadn’t seen an automobile since the last guest exited the Warren Hotel, vowing never to return. Five long years had passed without a single customer. Warren’s eyes grew large as the automobile crested the hill. At last, someone was coming to stay with them!
     The car passed through the once-grand iron gates and slowed to a stop at the front doors of the Warren Hotel. And that’s precisely when Warren remembered it was his job to greet new arrivals and help withtheir bags.
     He winced as the hotel intercom sputtered to life–its tinny sound echoing inside the chimney shaft–with his uncle Rupert’s panicked voice ringing through the static:
     “WAAAAARREN!”
     He had to get to the lobby right away! Warren considered using the chimney as a shortcut, but eight stories was a long way down. Instead, he leapt off the side of the roof, grabbed a rain gutter with one hand, and swung through a window in the attic. He landed with a thump, sprinkling soot all over the small bed and desk that crowded his tiny room.
     Warren used to sleep in one of the large bedrooms on the hotel’s second floor, but Aunt Annaconda didn't like having children around and wanted him out of her way. She banished him to the hotel’s topmost floor, eight floors away from the lobby where Warren did most of his work.
     Dashing to a spot on the floor of his room, Warren raised a trap door, climbed down a wooden ladder, and landed with a thump inside the eighth-floor hallway. He picked himself up and ran to the main stairwell, his mind abuzz with possibilities. Who was this mystery guest? And why had this person come to his hotel?
     Things had been much different when Warren was little. Back then, the hotel was booked months in advance. Grand automobiles paraded along the driveway all night long; guests arrived in style–men wearing tuxedos and top hats, ladies bedecked in gowns and jewels and pearls. A dozen bellhops in crisp matching uniforms greeted each new arrival, transferring luggage to polished brass carts while butlers swept by with trays of lemonade and cookies. In those days, the hotel had an enormous staff devoted to keeping everything in tip-top shape. Hedges were clipped, carpets were vacuumed, furniture was dusted, and wallpaper was scrubbed. A troop of maids stretched fresh linens across soft mattresses, and tall vases of fresh flowers brightened every corner.
     But that was long ago, when Warren the 12th was still in charge. He died when Warren the 13th was just seven, too young to take over such a big hotel. Instead, his uncle Rupert had stepped in to fill the job. Unfortunately, Rupert was lazy and disliked work, which meant that things went downhill fast. The staff quit. The lawns became overrun with weeds. Guests cut their vacations short, then stopped coming altogether. Within a year most of the rooms were vacant, and they had remained so ever since.
     Now the hotel looked more like a haunted house than a vacation destination. Once-shiny windowpanes were cracked or broken; shutters hung crookedly, and the whole building was in desperate need of paint. The interior wasn’t much better. Faded wallpaper was peeling at the seams. Faucets dripped, hinges creaked, floorboards squeaked. No one had used the game room or the tearoom or any of the other common rooms in ages. The pool table was covered in dust. The furniture was shrouded beneath musty old sheets, turning tables and chairs into squat little ghosts.
     “WAAAAARREEENN!”
     Again Uncle Rupert’s voice wailed through the intercom, jolting Warren from his daydreams. He set aside his memories and ran even faster down the winding staircase, leaping over the one-hundred-and-third step (since it was, in fact, missing) and narrowly avoiding the hotel snail lurching across the fourth-floor landing. He descended the last two flights by sliding along the bannister and then skidded, breathless, onto the chipped checkerboard marble floor of the lobby.
     Uncle Rupert stood near a window, peering through the curtains and slicking back his hair. “Th-there’s a car in the driveway!” he sputtered.
     Warren joined him at the window and peeked outside. A uniformed driver was unloading a small red satchel from the trunk of the car, but the passenger remained seated inside, a dark shape silhouetted against the backseat window.
     “It’s probably a guest,” Warren said.
     “But what’s a guest doing here?” Rupert exclaimed. “No one comes to this hotel! Not in years! Just look at this place!”
     Indeed, as with the rest of the hotel, time had taken its toll on the lobby. Sunshine seemed unable to penetrate the room; the only source of light was a tarnished chandelier that clung to the ceiling like an insect. It flickered and buzzed as if it might sputter out at any moment. Underneath sat a faded red velvet couch, its surface encrusted with a thick layer of dust–except for a large round area in the shape of Rupert’s torso (he often napped there).
     “It’s not so bad,” Warren said cheerfully. “I can dust the lobby this afternoon. Everything will look as good as new!”
     Rupert stared helplessly at the wall of keys hanging behind the reception desk.
     “Which bedroom is best? I’ve never been inside them!”
     “Any of the rooms will be fine,” Warren said. “I clean and vacuum them every week, just to be safe. I always knew this day would come!”
     With a whoosh, the lobby doors swung open and a tall thin figure strode inside. The visitor was dressed all in black, except for white bandages wrapped around a strangely narrow head. Even more surprising, the guest had no luggage of any kind–only the small red satchel. Warren could hear delicate glass objects clinking inside.
     Rupert gaped at the strange figure.
     Warren gave a slight bow. “W-w-welcome to the Warren Hotel, sir!”
     The greeting was met with silence.
     “We’re delighted to have you. My name is Warren. What’s yours?”
     The guest did not reply.
     “Where are you visiting from?”
     Still more silence.
     “Have you come far?”
     Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirped.
     The visitor reached into the folds of a long black topcoat and produced a card with a sharp fwip! Warren tried to accept the offering, but the guest held it just out of reach. Warren could see it was engraved with the image of a four-poster bed.
     “You’d like a room with a bed!” Warren exclaimed. “Of course! We’ll get you set up right away!” He looked meaningfully to Uncle Rupert, who continued to stare at the newcomer. “All I need is a room key . . . Uncle Rupert?”
     Rupert finally snapped out of his trance. “Yes, yes, of course! Right away!” He turned to the rack of keys, still overwhelmed by the selection, while Warren attempted to take the stranger’s luggage. “I’ll be happy to carry your bag to your room. The elevator doesn’t work, I’m afraid.”
     The guest yanked the satchel back as though Warren were diseased.
     “Sorry,” Warren said, shrinking away.
     “Here we go!” Rupert chimed in, holding up a mottled brass key on a tattered cord. “The key to your suite. It has a lovely view! And the room number is printed directly on the surface, in case you get lost in our beautiful corridors!”
     Warren eyed his uncle skeptically. It was a stretch to call any of the corridors in the hotel “beautiful,” or any of the rooms a “suite,” and certainly none of them had what could be considered a “lovely view.” But he held his tongue as the new guest reached out a bandaged hand and snatched away the key.
     Warren followed the stranger up the creaking stairway. If he couldn’t carry the bag, he would at least show his new guest to the room. But the visitor whirled around and–fwip!–produced another card, this one bearing a large red “X.”
     Warren took that to mean “Leave me alone,” so he gave an awkward bow and retreated to the lobby.
     “I wonder if he’ll expect breakfast,” Warren said.
     “Odd sort of fellow,” Rupert muttered. “Didn’t even give us a name.”
     Paleface, Warren decided as he imagined what might be hidden beneath all those bandages. Wounds? Scars? A third eye? An upside-down nose? Whatever it was, it had to be something pretty horrible. Why else would a person have a face wrapped in gauze? The sound of boot heels clicking upon tile broke Warren’s reverie. He turned to see his aunt Annaconda striding into the lobby. Where Uncle Rupert was short and chubby, his new wife was exactly the opposite: tall, elegant, and slender. Her long black hair was pulled tightly into a bun that resembled a viper coiled atop her head.
     “Am I hearing things?” she inquired. “Or was there an automobile in the driveway?”
     “My beautiful queen! My love!” Rupert exclaimed, his cheeks glowing with adoration. “You are not mistaken. We do indeed have a new guest! A wonderful fellow! He arrived just moments ago.”
...

About this edition

• Publisher: Quirk Books
• Publication date: 2015
• ISBN 10: 1594748039
• ISBN 13: 9781594748035
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 224
• Illustrator: Staehle Will