by Rick Riordan
Madison was on Hamilton's back, hitting him over the head with a box of Fudgesicles.
Their mother, Mary-Todd, was trying to pull them apart. Reagan and Arnold, the pit
bull, were playing tug-of-war with a package of Eskimo Pies. Eisenhower, the weary
leader of the family, bellowed, "Stop it! Company, FALL IN!"
Hamilton and Madison separated and snapped to attention, dropping the Fudgesicles.
Mary-Todd brushed herself off, glared at her children, then fell into line. Reagan held
the Eskimo Pies in present arms stance. Arnold rolled over and played dead.
"Right!" Eisenhower growled. "I will not have this family killing each other over frozen
dairy products!"
Reagan said, "But, Dad-"
"Silence! I said you'd get ice cream after we finish the mission. And we are not finished until I get a report!
Madison saluted. "Dad, permission to report!"
"Go ahead."
"The surveillance microphone worked." "Excellent. Did the brats take the book?"
Madison shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know, sir. But they're going to 23 Rue des Jardins, Ile St-Louis."
"If you got the number right this time," Hamilton griped.
Madison's face turned bright red. "That wasn't my fault!" "We drove the rental car into the Seine!"
"Oh, and you have all the great ideas, Hammy. Like that stupid explosion that hit the wrong team in the museum! Or burning down Grace's mansion!" "Stop yelling!" Mary-Todd yelled. "Children, we can't keep arguing with each other. It hurts team morale."
"Your mother is right," Eisenhower said. "The fire at the mansion and the museum bomb were both bad ideas. We should've pulverized the Cahill brats in person!" Arnold barked excitedly and tried to bite Eisenhower's nose.
Reagan knit her eyebrows. She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "But, um, Dad
"Problem, Reagan?"
"Well, the explosion ... I mean, it could've killed them, right?"
Madison rolled her eyes. "Oh, here we go again! You're going soft, Reagan!"
Reagan's face turned bright red. "Am not!"
"Are too!"
"Quiet!" Eisenhower bellowed. "Now look, everybody. We're going to have to use some drastic measures to win this contest. I can't have anybody going soft! Understood?" He glared at Reagan, who stared glumly at the floor. "Yessir."
"We know Dan and Amy were Grace's favorites," Eisenhower continued. "Old McIntyre is probably giving them inside information. Now they've beat us inside the Lucian stronghold while we were trying to do surveillance, which was also a bad idea! Are we going to tolerate any more bad ideas?" "No, sir!" the kids shouted.
"They think we're not clever," Eisenhower said. "They think all we can do is flex our muscles. Well, they're about to find out we can do more than that!" Eisenhower flexed his muscles.
"Teamwork!" Mary-Todd cried. "Right, children?" "Yessir! Teamwork!"
"Arff!
" Arnold said.
"Now," Eisenhower said. "We have to get that book. We've got to assume those brats have it, or they know what's in it. We need to get to the Ile St-Louis, without driving the ice cream van into the river! Who's with me?"
The kids and Mary-Todd cheered. Then they remembered the ice cream, and the kids went back to strangling each other.
Eisenhower grunted. He decided he'd let them wrestle for a while. Maybe it would build character.
All his life, people had laughed behind Eisenhower's back. They'd laughed when he flunked out of West Point. They'd laughed when he failed the entrance exam for the FBI. They'd even laughed the time he was working as a security guard, when he'd chased a shoplifter and accidentally Tasered himself in the rear end. A simple mistake. Anyone could've made it.
Once he won this contest, he would become the most powerful Cahill of all time. No
one would ever laugh at him again.
He pounded his fist into the van's cash register. Those Cahill kids were starting to get on his nerves. They were too much like their parents, Arthur and Hope. Eisenhower had known
Them all too well. He had an old score to settle with the Cahills.
Soon, Amy and Dan Cahill would pay.
CHAPTER 14
Amy was all in favor of rushing to the Ile St-Louis, but her stomach had other ideas. They passed a boulangerie, which must've meant bakery judging by the yummy smells, and Dan and she exchanged looks.
"Just one stop," they said together.
A few minutes later they were sitting on the quay of the river, sharing the best meal they'd ever had. It was only a loaf of bread, but Amy had never tasted anything so good.
"See that?" Amy pointed to the top of a nearby church, where a black iron spike rose from the bell tower. "Lightning rod." "Umm," Dan said with his mouth full.
"The French were the first ones to test Franklin's theories about lightning rods. A lot of the old buildings still have original Franklin models."
"Mmm!" Dan said enthusiastically, but Amy wasn't sure whether he liked the story or the bread.
The sun was going down behind a bulkhead of black clouds. Thunder rumbled in the
distance, but the Parisians didn't seem too concerned. Joggers and skaters crowded the riverside. A sightseeing boat loaded with tourists hummed along on the Seine. Amy tried to use the Starlings' cell phone to call Nellie, but the phone was dead. Apparently, it wasn't set up to get a signal in France.
Her nerves were still buzzing from their raid on the Lucian stronghold. Despite all the security, it still seemed like they'd gotten in and out pretty easily, and she wasn't sure why. She also didn't like the stuff Dan had taken -- the Franklin battery and that weird metal sphere. She knew better than to argue with him about it, though. Once he got his hands on something, he hardly ever let it go.
She wondered how Irina Spasky had gotten the book from Uncle Alistair, and why she would be interested in the Ile St-Louis. It felt like a trap, but it was Amy's only lead -- or at least, the only lead she wanted to think about. Her mother's note in the Poor Richard's Almanack -- the Maze of Bones -- still gave her chills.
She tried to imagine what her mother or Grace would do in her place. They would be braver. They'd see what to do more clearly. Her mother had once searched for these same clues. Amy was sure of that now. Grace had intended Amy to take up the challenge, but what if Amy wasn't up to it?
So far she felt like she'd done a terrible job. Every time she'd needed to speak up, she failed. The other teams probably thought she was a mumbling loser.
If it wasn't for Dan, she would've been lost. Just thinking about it made a lump form in her throat.
They finished the bread. Amy knew they needed to get moving. She stared at the darkening sky and tried to remember details from her Paris guidebooks. "There aren't any Metro lines to Ile St-Louis," she said. "We'll have to walk." "Let's do it!" Dan hopped to his feet.
Amy couldn't believe how quickly his spirits had rebounded. A few minutes ago, he'd been complaining about his feet and his heavy backpack. Now, a hunk of bread later, he was as good as new. Amy wished she was like that. She felt like lying down and sleeping for a century, but she wasn't going to tell that to Dan. It was full dark by the time they got to the Pont Louis-Philippe. The old stone bridge was lined with streetlamps that glowed against the water. On the opposite side rose a cluster of trees and mansions -- the Ile St-Louis. To the north was a larger island, with a huge cathedral lit up yellow in the night.
"That's the Ile de la Cite over there," Amy said as they walked across, mostly to keep herself calm. "And that's Notre Dame Cathedral." "Cool," Dan said. "You think we can see the hunchback?"
"Urn ... maybe later." Amy decided not to tell him that the hunchback of Notre Dame was just a character in a book. "Anyway, the smaller island we're going to -- the Ile St-Louis -- the tour books hardly said anything about it. Mostly old houses and shops and stuff. I don't know why Irina would
be looking there.
"
"No Ben Franklin history?"
Amy shook her head. "It used to be called the Island of the Cows, because that's all that lived there. Then they turned it into a neighborhood." "Cows," Dan said. "Exciting."
After the other parts of Paris they'd seen, the Ile St-Louis felt like a ghost town. The narrow streets were lined with elegant old apartments -- five stories tall with black gabled roofs. Most of the windows were dark. A lot of the shops were closed. Streetlamps cast weird shadows through the branches of the trees, making monster shapes on the walls. Amy was too old to believe in monsters, but the shadows still made her uneasy.
An elderly couple crossed the street in front of them. Amy wondered if it was her imagination, or if the couple really glanced at her suspiciously before they disappeared into an alleyway. On the next block, a guy in a beret was walking a Labrador retriever. He smiled as he passed Amy and Dan, but his expression reminded Amy of Ian Kabra -- like he knew a secret.
You're just getting paranoid, she told herself. Or was it possible there were other people seeking the clues, people that weren't even part of the seven teams? She glanced at Dan but decided not to say anything about this ... not yet. The contest was already overwhelming enough.
After another hundred yards, they found the Rue des Jardins. It was narrower than the streets around it, with crumbling stone buildings that might've stood there for centuries.
Amy counted the street numbers. She stopped abruptly. "Dan ... 23 Rue des Jardins. Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Amy pointed. There was no building at 23 Rue des Jardins. Instead, ringed with a rusty iron fence, was a tiny cemetery. At the back stood a marble mausoleum. In front, a dozen weathered headstones slanted every direction like crooked teeth. The cemetery was sandwiched by tall buildings on either side. The one on the right said MUSEE. The one on the left must've been some kind of shop once, but the windows were painted black and the door boarded up. The only light came from the dim orange glow of the city sky, which made the place seem even creepier. "I don't like this," Amy said. "There can't be any connection to Franklin here." "How do you know?" Dan asked. "We haven't even searched. And those tombstones look cool!"
"No, Dan. You cannot do charcoal rubbings."
"Aw..." He walked through the cemetery gates, and Amy had no choice but to follow. The tombstones told them nothing. Once upon a time, they might've had inscriptions, but they'd been worn smooth over the centuries. Amy's pulse was racing. Something wasn't right. She racked her brain, trying to figure out why this place might be important to Ben Franklin, but she couldn't come up with anything.
Cautiously, she approached the mausoleum. She'd always hated aboveground burial
places. They made her think of dollhouses for dead people.
The iron doors stood open. Amy was hesitant to get close. From ten feet away, she
couldn't see anything special inside -- just old nameplates lining the walls -- but a slab
of marble lay on the ground in front of the doorway. With a start, Amy realized the
inscription was a lot newer than the rest of the cemetery. It looked freshly carved:
SE TROUVE ICI Amy et Dan Cahill
ILS ONT COLLE LEURS NEZ DANS LES AFFAIRES DES AUTRES
"Whoa," Dan said. "Why are our names -- "
"Some kind of message... "
Amy desperately wished she could read French. If she ever got back to the hotel, she
promised herself she would make Nellie give her lessons.
"Inside, right?" Dan said. "No, it's a trap!"
But he stepped forward and the ground collapsed. The marble slab dropped into nothingness, taking Dan with it.
"Dan!"
She ran to the edge of the hole, but the ground hadn't finished crumbling. Stone and dirt gave way like cloth under her feet and Amy tumbled into darkness. For a second, she was too dazed to think. She coughed, her lungs filling with dust. She was sitting on something soft and warm
"Dan!" In a panic, she scrambled off him and shook his arms, but it was too dark to see. "Dan, please, be alive!"
"Ugh," he grunted.
"Are you okay?"
"My sister just sat on me with her bony butt. Of course I'm not okay." Amy breathed a sigh of relief. If he was being annoying, he must be fine. She got up unsteadily, dirt and stones shifting beneath her feet. Looking up, she could see the mouth of the ragged pit they'd fallen into. They were in some kind of a sinkhole. "The ground was hollowed out," she muttered. "The earth here is limestone. Lots of caves and tunnels under Paris. I guess we fell into one accidentally." "Accidentally?" Dan said. "Irina lured us here on purpose!"
Amy knew he was probably right, but she didn't want to think about it... or what might happen next. They had to get out. She swept her arms around the edges of their pit, but it was just that -- a pit. No side tunnels, no exits except for straight up, and they'd fallen over ten feet. It was a miracle they hadn't broken any bones. Suddenly, a light blinded her from above. "Well, well," said a man's voice.
"Arf!
" a dog yapped.
When Amy's eyes adjusted, she saw five figures in purple warm-up suits smiling down
at them, and one very excited pit bull.
"The Holts!" Dan said. "It figures. You helped Irina set us up!"
"Oh, get over it, runt," Madison called down. "We didn't set up anybody."
"Yeah," Reagan said. "You fell in all by yourselves."
She and Madison gave each other high fives and started laughing.
Amy's hands started to tremble. This was just like her nightmares ... stuck in a pit, a crowd of people laughing at her. But this was real.
"So." Eisenhower Holt called down. "Is this what you brats were looking for? Is this the Maze of Bones?"
Her heart fluttered. "What -- what do you mean?"
"Oh, come on, missy! We know all about the Maze of Bones. We read the Almanack."
"You have the book? But, Irina -- "
"Stole it from us," Eisenhower growled. "After we stole it from the Korean dude. So we staked out her headquarters, but you got inside before we could launch an assault. Now you've got the book, and you came here, which means you know something."
"But we don't have the book!" Amy said. "We didn't even get a chance to -- "
"Oh, come on," Hamilton said. His greased blond hair gleamed in the night. "It was right there on page fifty-two --BF: Maze of Bones, coordinates in the box. It was your mom's handwriting. Dad recognized it."
Amy's whole body was trembling. She hated it, but she couldn't stop. The Holts had read farther in the book than she had. They'd found another message from her mother:
Maze of Bones, coordinates in the box.
She understood the Maze of Bones part, at least she feared that she did ... but coordinates in a box?
"I -- I don't know what it means," she said. "We don't have the book. But if you let us out of here, maybe I could -- "
"Yeah, right!" Madison sneered. "Like we'd help you!"
They started laughing again -- the entire Holt clan, making fun of her.
"Please, stop," she whispered. "Don't... "
"Aw, she's gonna cry." Hamilton grinned. "Man, you two are pathetic. I can't believe
you got past the fire and the bomb."
"What?" Dan yelled.
"You burned Grace's mansion? You set off that bomb in the museum?"
"To slow you down," Eisenhower admitted. "We should've beaten you up in person. Sorry about that."
Dan threw a rock, but it sailed harmlessly between Reagan's legs. "You morons! Get us OUT of here!"
Reagan frowned, but Madison and Hamilton started yelling back at Dan. Arnold barked. Amy knew this was getting them nowhere. They had to convince the Holts to let them out, but she couldn't make her voice work. She wanted to curl into a ball and hide. Then the ground shook. There was a rumbling sound like a large engine. The Holts turned toward the street and looked astonished by whatever they saw. "You litt
le tricksters!" Eisenhower glared down at them. "This was an ambush, wasn't it?"
"What are you talking about?" Dan asked.
"A truck is blocking the gates!" Mary-Todd said. "A cement truck."
"Dad, look," Reagan said nervously. "They've got shovels."
Amy's danger sense started tingling. Dan turned toward her, and she could tell he was thinking the same thing.
"They're going to fill the hole," Dan said. "Aren't they?"
She nodded weakly.
"Mr. Holt!" Dan started jumping like Arnold the dog, but he couldn't reach the top of the pit.
"Come on, you've got to get us out! We'll help you!"
Mr. Holt snorted. "You led us into this! Besides, you runts can't fight."
"Dad," Reagan said. "Maybe we should -- "
"Shut up, sis," Hamilton growled. "We can handle this!"
"Reagan!" Dan yelled. "Come on! Tell them to let us out."
Reagan just knit her eyebrows and stared at the ground.
Dan looked at Amy desperately. "You gotta do something. Tell them you can figure out
the book!"
But the words wouldn't come. Amy felt like she was already being covered in cement.
Her brother needed her. She had to say something. But she just stood there, frozen and helpless and hating herself for being so scared.
"HEEEY!" Dan yelled up. "Amy knows what the clue means! She'll tell you if you let us
out!"
Mr. Holt scowled. Amy knew he wouldn't go for it. They'd be stuck down here forever, cemented in. Then Mr. Holt stripped off his warm-up jacket and lowered it into the pit.
"Grab the sleeve."
Within seconds, Amy and Dan were out of the pit. Sure enough, a cement truck had blocked the gates of the cemetery. Six thugs in coveralls and hard hats were lined up at the fence, hefting shovels like they were ready to fight.
"All right, team," Mr. Holt said with relish. "Let's show 'em how it's done Holt style!"
The whole family rushed forward. Mr. Holt grabbed the first thug's shovel and swung it, with the guy still attached, into the side of the cement truck.
CLANG!
The girls, Madison and Reagan, plowed into one thug so hard he flew across the street and crashed through the window of a flower shop. Arnold bit the third thug in the leg and held on with jaws of iron. Mary-Todd and Hamilton tackled a fourth thug against the chute on the back of the truck. His head hit a lever and cement started spilling all over the street.