by Jude Watson
Interpol.
Amy ducked behind the broad back of a patron enjoying a large plate of pastries.
Don’t tell him where we are. Don’t tell him don’t tell him don’t tell him.
The clerk looked at the paper the man held out. He pointed to the café.
“We have to get out of here.” Amy stood. “Now.”
“Wait! My vdolek!” Dan protested, reaching for it.
She yanked on his arm just as he grabbed for it. Dan went facedown in the whipped cream.
She bent over as though to pick up a purse. In the mirror over the counter she could clearly see the Interpol detective trying to peer into the café. All he saw was a boy with a faceful of whipped cream.
Dan reached for a napkin, but she shoved the pastry up against his face again.
“Mmff!” Dan protested around a mouthful of cream.
Keeping his back to the lobby, she steered them through the door. Outside, she pushed Dan forward until they were swallowed by a crowd of tourists.
Dan swiped at the whipped cream on his face and licked his fingers as they weaved through the crowd. “Escape was never so sweet,” he crowed.
Attleboro, Massachusetts
The package arrived that afternoon. Sinead had immediately taken it upstairs to the comm. center. Cheyenne’s phone had certainly been wiped clean, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t get some information out of it. She got to work.
Ian researched the videocam Cheyenne had stuck on the car fender. It was so micro and advanced that, like the DeOssie smartphone, it had to come from military or spy agencies. If he cross-referenced with the names that were starting to come in on the DeOssie … maybe they could find a connection.
Evan and Sinead had written a program to research the jacket label they’d gotten off the video from Vesper One. It was a company in the Czech Republic with factories in China that sold throughout the US and Europe. With a new expanded search engine, the computer was now pulling up every retail outlet that carried the brand. It was a long list.
Ian checked the program over Evan’s shoulder. He stared at the store names, which blurred in front of his tired eyes.
“What is Walmart?” he asked.
“It’s the newest luxury store. Just like Harrod’s. You’d love it,” Evan assured him.
“Whoa!” Sinead suddenly leaped to her feet. “Bingo! That last text for Cheyenne? I’ve tracked down the location! You are not going to believe this!”
Amy felt her cell buzz in her pocket. She plucked it out. There was a text from Sinead.
URGENT! TRACED ORIGIN OF LAST TEXT ON CHEYENNE’S PHONE. WAS SENT FROM TOWN OF KUTNÁ HORA — CLOSE TO PRAGUE. CONTACT ATTLEBORO IMMEDIATELY.
It was a breakthrough. A real breakthrough.
Amy showed Dan the text. “That’s three connections to the Czech Republic — Jane’s note, the jacket label, and now the text! Maybe the hostages are being held right near here!”
They turned off the main street onto a quiet side street. Amy quickly dialed Attleboro and put Dan on three-way calling.
“There you are!” Sinead let out an explosive sigh of relief. “Did you get my text?”
“Great news! Where’s Kutná Hora?”
“It’s only about forty minutes from Prague. We’ve been able to pinpoint the exact location — it was actually sent from Sedlec, a suburb of Kutná Hora. There’s a church there called All Saints — we think it was sent from there.”
“What did the text say?”
“We couldn’t retrieve it,” Sinead said, disappointed. “We only know what Hamilton saw — ”
“‘G is in the picture, could need removal,’” Amy repeated from memory. “Jane mentions a ‘G,’ too. But it can’t be the same one. There are so many random pieces in this puzzle!”
“Tell me about it,” Sinead said. “Erasmus is on his way to Rome to see Mr. McIntyre. They’re going to brainstorm ways to get Interpol off your back. Maybe pull some strings. And Ian is working on a Cahill connection to get you in at the library.”
“Great. We’ll leave for Kutná Hora right now.”
“Look, we just want you to check it out. Surveillance only. If you suspect the hostages are there, hang back. Don’t do anything crazy. We can put a team together in twenty-four hours if we need to.”
“But if we wait, they could be moved! What would you do?” Amy waited out the pause. Sinead was her best friend. She knew that Sinead would want to protect her. But she’d also tell her the truth.
“I’d go in,” Sinead said.
Rome, Italy
The apartment felt lonely now that their father was away, and in the morning Atticus and Jake Rosenbloom began a new routine of flopping on the deep couches in their dad’s study to do their work. Surrounded by their father’s books and stacks of files, they felt closer to him.
Atticus could tell that his half brother, Jake, was still brooding about what had happened with Amy and Dan Cahill. Jake had turned them in to Interpol, but the authorities didn’t seem to believe Jake when he’d said they’d stolen the original manuscript of Marco Polo’s Il Milione.
Atticus was getting over his shock and hurt. He’d thought and thought about it, and he’d decided that there must be something going on that Dan was afraid to tell him. They were buddies, even though Dan was two years older. He still remembered the look on Dan’s face as he seized Il Milione and took off. Like he’d wanted to tell Atticus something, but he couldn’t.
He’d felt so let down by Dan, but he didn’t have many friends to spare. Being an eleven-year-old college freshman wasn’t easy. He couldn’t exactly join in conversations about dating or concerts. And he didn’t have much to say to kids his own age, either. They just thought he was weird. Atticus smiled, remembering what Dan’s response to Atticus saying that had been. Dude, you are weird. Embrace the weirdness! It’s cool.
“What do you want for breakfast” Jake asked him.
“Are you actually going to cook?” Atticus asked.
“I think I can manage to boil water and put some oatmeal in it.”
Atticus snorted. “If you think that’s all there is to it, you haven’t lived in Italy long enough.”
The phone rang, and both brothers looked at it for a moment before bending over their books again. Mark Rosenbloom was a world-famous scholar with a bestselling book. He got calls all the time.
The answering machine was turned up, and the accented voice was clear and crisp.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Rosenbloom.”
“Hungarian,” Jake said.
“Czech,” Atticus corrected. Jake was terrible at accents.
“This is Katja Mavel, from the Library of Philosophy and Cosmology in Prague. Perhaps … ah … you’ll remember me from your last visit.” The voice had suddenly dropped in a flirtatious way.
Jake rolled his eyes. Atticus sighed. Sometimes it was hard being a skinny nerd with glasses in the Rosenbloom family. Mark Rosenbloom tended to make librarians weak in the knees. Jake had inherited every bit of his dark good looks.
“We shared a cup of coffee and you were zo informative about cataloging our object collection… .”
With a sigh, Atticus got up to turn off the volume on the machine.
“In any event, I thought I would contact you directly about two students of yours who say you sent them to us. A brother and a sister. They looked rather young … but I know that you do work with younger students. Perhaps they are prodigies like your son.”
Atticus stopped. Jake sat up.
“Sarah Teague, she said her name was. They said they were researching Johannes Kepler? The Mysterium Cosmographicum — the one that was rescued from Neuschwanstein Castle after the war. Odd, because I did not think this was quite your field. We could not let them in without the proper letters of intro
duction. I am zo sorry if this becomes a problem. If you could call me directly, I’m sure we would be able to clear this up. Good-bye, Dr. Rosenbloom … Mark.”
Jake threw aside his book. “It’s them! It’s those Cahills!”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Atticus said.
“Of course it is. Stop protecting him!” Jake fumed. “Now they’re probably using our father’s name and reputation to steal something else!”
“You don’t know that they’re going to steal anything!”
“Atticus, come on! They stole a priceless manuscript! They’re crooks!”
“A thief doesn’t say he’s sorry. Dan said that to me! And he really meant it! He didn’t want to take it.”
Jake shook his head sadly. “Buddy, you’ve got to stop hero-worshipping this guy.”
“I’m not!” Atticus’s throat felt tight.
Jake stood up. “I’m going to call Interpol.”
“They didn’t believe you last time.”
“This time I’ll be more convincing.” Jake crossed the room in three quick steps. “Who knows what they’re going to steal next? The Mad King’s body?!”
Atticus froze. “What did you say?”
“Neuschwanstein Castle. It was built by Ludwig the Second. What you don’t know about history after A.D. 100 scares me.”
Atticus felt the words hit him like hard punches, like when he used to get beat up at his locker before his parents took him out of middle school.
Jake had his hand on the receiver. Atticus leaped across the room and threw himself at his brother. It was like a small twig battling a redwood. “You can’t!”
“Hey!” Jake backed up. “What is it with you?”
“You can’t,” Atticus repeated desperately. How could he convince Jake not to call in the authorities? How could he tell him that everything had changed when he’d mentioned the Mad King?
Atticus’s thoughts whirled. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It just couldn’t.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as the memories lit up his brain. The night she died. A memory he always blocked, because the sight and sounds of her dying were so terrible he never wanted to revisit them.
Until he had to. Right here, right now.
That night, everyone else had gone from the hospital room where they had been sitting vigil for three days. Astrid had been sick for weeks with a mysterious illness the doctors could not identify. Suddenly, she had taken a turn for the worse. She’d collapsed at her office and had been rushed to the hospital. She hadn’t regained consciousness.
Jake took their exhausted father to get coffee downstairs. Her devoted assistant, Dave, had finally listened when Mark told him to go home to bed. There was only Atticus in the room. He was hungry and tired, too, but they all knew that they couldn’t bear to leave her alone. As though if they did, she would die.
She died anyway.
At first, he thought he was overhearing her dreams.
“V-One. He’s V-One! Vespers …”
Then she’d come fully awake. He was holding her hand when he felt his being squeezed.
“Mom!” Tears spurted into his eyes when he saw her smile.
“Atticus.” She wet her lips. “So thirsty.”
He gave her a sip of water. “I’ll get Dad.”
“No! You must listen. Last chance.”
“You’re going to get better.” Atticus choked back tears.
She squeezed his hand. “Listen. Very carefully. Remember the bedtime story? The one I used to tell you?”
Atticus nodded. He didn’t remember the story very well, not really, but he wanted her to calm down.
“The ring. The ring. Do you remember? They can help you. But they don’t know who we are! I am passing along guardianship to you.”
Guardianship? Of who? Jake? Jake was seven years older than he was. Of course, Atticus always told Jake he was way smarter, but he was joking. Half joking.
“You are a guardian. You must continue. Tradition. So much at stake. Follow the sparrow to the Mad King’s castle.”
It was strange how calm and focused she seemed, even though her words were crazy. “Sure, Mom,” Atticus said soothingly. His gaze darted toward the door. He wished his father would get back. “The Mad King’s castle. Got it.”
“Darling boy …” Suddenly, her gaze unfocused and she tightened her grip as the pain came.
“Nurse!” Atticus shouted.
“Promise me,” she whispered.
“I promise, Mom.”
“My papers. Look in my papers. Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Grace,” she whispered. “I need grace.”
His mother had never been religious. “Do you want me to get the chaplain?”
She shook her head, frustration and pain on her face. “Vespers,” she whispered through cracked lips. “The oldest of enemies. Guardian, promise me.”
“I promise,” he said, for the last time.
One last, gasped sentence. “Stay friends with Dan Cahill.”
She closed her eyes, and her hand went limp. She died two hours later.
Now the agony of that night swept over him again, and he wanted to crash to his knees and sob. He wasn’t over his mother’s death.
But he had to be strong. He had to figure this out. Deathbed promises, made in a swirl of words he didn’t understand. The pain in her eyes. The way she gasped for breath.
What if those things she was trying to tell him … were real?
Stay friends with Dan Cahill. He’d thought she was just reassuring herself that her son would continue his only friendship after her death. But now, in his head, he heard her voice. He heard the urgency of it.
He glanced desperately at his brother. How could he find the words to tell him? Jake would never believe him about Astrid. He’d say she was delusional, that she was full of painkillers… .
Jake was already dialing.
“Please, Jake!”
The desperate emotion in his voice made Jake stop.
Atticus thought fast. He had to give Jake a reason to go find Amy and Dan. His brain was suddenly firing with connections, and he had a feeling that only Dan and Amy could answer his questions.
“Interpol won’t listen,” he said. “Maybe you’re right — what if Dan and Amy are after something else? And they’re using Dad’s name. What if they implicate him in the crime?”
“All the more reason to call the authorities,” Jake said.
“No,” Atticus said. “All the more reason to go to Prague.”
Kutná Hora was a picturesque city that had once sat on top of Europe’s most prosperous silver mine. Back in medieval times, it was second only to Prague in importance. St. Barbara’s Cathedral was renowned for its Gothic magnificence, and the town was popular with tourists. Amy and Dan milled with them as they exited the train station. Most headed for the cathedral or the mining museum in a fifteenth-century castle.
“Do you know what the Czechs used to do with people they didn’t like back in ye olde medieval days?” Dan asked Amy. “Throw them out the window. Really, I read it on the train. It’s called defenestration. It happened in the fourteen hundreds. And there was this event called the Great Defenestration in the sixteen hundreds, where this one group of guys threw this other group of guys they didn’t like out the window of Prague Castle. They actually lived, because they landed in a dung heap. Now, there’s a soft landing. But it started a trend. There’s actually an index entry for defenestrations in the guidebook. Isn’t that crazy?”
“Since when are you interested in history?”
“I’m not. I’m interested in wild acts of defenestration. Do you think we could arrange to meet Casper Wyoming in Prague Castle?”
“
Sure. Keep thinking, Dan. Come on, let’s find the bus.”
Amy bought bus tickets at a tabac and asked directions to the bus for Sedlec. It was an easy walk to Masarykova Street.
The ride to Sedlec wasn’t long, and soon they were pulling up in a small suburb. They jumped off the bus with several other passengers. A tourist with a camera and a backpack approached them. “Is this the way to the bone church?” he asked Amy.
“You mean All Saints?” Amy asked. “I think it must be that church up ahead.”
“The bone church?” Dan murmured as he walked away.
Tucked next to the side of the church was a cemetery. Dan saw a skull and bones, like a Jolly Roger, at the entrance.
A real skull. With real bones.
“Cool,” he breathed. “It’s like the Church of Pirates.”
They paid their money and walked in. There were a few others in the chapel, walking back and forth, studying the decorative garlands, the splendid white chandelier, and the sculptures against the walls.
It was all fairly magnificent — and then you noticed what everything was made of.
“It’s all bones,” Dan said in awe. “Human bones! Is this the coolest thing in the world, or the creepiest? Or both?” He glanced over at a skull sitting on a pile of finger bones. “Dude? Can you lend me a hand?”
The skull stared back, its lower jaw missing. “Cat got your tongue?” Dan asked.
Amy grinned. She was always glad to see the goofball in Dan reappear. She consulted the pamphlet. “There are the bones of at least forty thousand people here. Lots of them died of the plague. When they built the church above us, they turned this chapel into an ossuary — a place for bones. But there were so many that in 1870 they finally asked this guy to … uh, arrange them. So he did this.”
“What a cool ye olde spookmaster dude,” Dan approved.
They walked around in awe. What Amy had thought were carved stone garlands hanging from the balconies above were arm and leg bones. A skull stared at them blankly, a leg bone clamped between its jaws.
“The chandelier is made up of every human bone,” Amy whispered to Dan as they looked above their heads.