by Jude Watson
“He was recruited,” Erasmus said. “As Vespers often are, when they’re young. Arthur was in college. When he told Grace the story, he made it clear that he had no idea that the Vespers were a criminal organization. He was fascinated by the fact that, at that time, scientists and engineers and historians were part of the group. There were hints of famous scholars in history being Vespers, people Arthur admired. He was approached by Vesper One — the former Vesper One. We know that he died about three years ago.”
“But that means he knew who Vesper One was,” Dan said.
Erasmus shook his head. “He never knew. There’s a courting period where they indoctrinate you — you don’t know anyone’s real identity at first. There’s an initiation ceremony. Arthur was attracted to certain parts of the Vesper heritage, I admit. He was young, ambitious, maybe too impulsive for his own good. But after … uh, certain details of the Vesper philosophy came to light, he was horrified. He renounced the Vespers and married your mother. Your father is one of the reasons we know as much as we do about the Vespers.”
“What about the Sedlec Ossuary?” Dan asked. “Why didn’t he tell you about that?”
The challenge in Dan’s voice made Erasmus frown.
“I’m guessing that was the site of his initiation,” Erasmus said. “He was blindfolded and taken there. He only knew it was somewhere near Prague.”
“So he never …” Amy swallowed. “He never did anything bad.”
Erasmus turned his gaze to Amy. “I knew your father. He was a good man.”
“Thank you for telling us,” Amy said.
“You can count on me anytime,” Erasmus said. He slipped his sunglasses into his pocket. “Remember this: We’re on a dangerous path. But we have been on it for centuries. We will prevail.”
As silently and gracefully as he had appeared, he left. Within moments, Amy could not tell where he’d gone. She could see only shadows where he had been.
Amy woke up to a gray morning. She didn’t know if she’d really slept. The dreams were so real … the blurred memory of her father swinging her into a grocery cart, stringing pink fairy lights all over her bedroom to surprise her for a birthday, making a suit out of bubble wrap and declaring himself King Bub the Invincible.
Could that man be a Vesper?
She’d tried to talk to Dan about it, but Dan had withdrawn into himself. The muscles of his face pulled tight, and his eyes went flat. She wanted to shake him, as though she could shake good memories into him, the things about their father that he couldn’t remember.
But then she remembered other things. Coming into the room and just catching the end of an argument between her mother and her father.
“What aren’t you telling me, Arthur?”
The look on his face when he didn’t know she was watching him. Staring into the fire in the study, gripping the book at his side, the orange flames flickering on the taut line of his mouth …
Dan looked so much like him.
So he never … he never did anything bad.
I knew your father. He was a good man.
Amy realized something: Erasmus had not really answered her question. Could good men do bad things? A question asked by a good girl … who had stolen, lied.
Amy threw back the covers. She hurried into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. She dressed quickly, pulling on her jeans and the same T-shirt she’d worn the day before. She smoothed out the wrinkles as best she could. Sooner or later, they’d have to find a Laundromat.
By the time she came out of the bathroom, Dan was awake and staring out at the city. He walked past her without saying good morning. She knew he wasn’t angry at her. She knew he was thinking.
She just didn’t know what he was thinking about.
She checked her e-mail accounts. A short e-mail from Ian.
Found UK professor (Lucian branch) willing to send evidence of your scholarly credentials to library. Stay tuned.
That was good news. Considering the time difference, she might have heard something already. She checked the separate, secure account and saw the e-mail. Holding her breath, she clicked on it.
Dear Miss Teague,
Your authorization to study at the library came through. You may come this morning at 10.
Katja Mavel
Amy felt relief flow through her. Not just because they’d gained access to the library. But because she wouldn’t have to think about her father anymore.
“Dan! Hurry up! We’re in!”
They hurried through the steel doors of the library. In the vestibule, along with the single polished-steel umbrella stand, two boys were waiting.
Amy and Dan stopped short. It was Atticus and Jake Rosenbloom. Atticus wore a hat with earflaps. Jake wore a scowl. Dan stood on one foot, poised to run.
Amy remembered the last time she’d seen Jake. She’d just kicked him in the ribs, hard enough to take his breath away. She remembered his look of surprise and outrage as he fell over backward onto the hard stones of the Colosseum. That had been one satisfying kick.
“Wait!” Atticus said excitedly. “We just want to talk to you! Please!”
The pleading in his voice made Dan pause. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Don’t try to stop us,” Amy said, looking at Jake. But it was an empty threat, and she knew it. She glanced around, looking for the Interpol agents.
“We came alone,” Atticus quickly said. “This isn’t a trap.”
“Why should we believe you?” Amy countered. Her gaze flicked to Jake. “You turned us in.”
“Of course we did!” Jake exclaimed. “You stole a priceless historical document!”
“And you went running right to security, didn’t you?” Amy said scornfully.
“You bet I did. Because it was the right thing to do!”
“Are you going to do it again, right now?” Amy asked furiously. “Or would you like another kick in the ribs?”
She adjusted her pack as though ready to strike. She wanted to. He deserved it.
“Look, the only reason I’m here is to protect my father. You’re using his name to get something. Steal something.” Suddenly, Jake reached out and grabbed her pack. “Is it in here?”
She went after him, grabbing at the pack. “Hey!”
Jake already had it open. Amy’s crumpled T-shirts fell out, along with her research materials. One sheet of paper drifted down and landed at Atticus’s feet.
The face of Jane Sperling at nineteen stared up at them. The photo had been pulled off the Internet, and it was grainy and dark. Laughing eyes, black hair to her shoulders, dressed in a belted gray coat, standing by a bare tree. The wind must have been blowing, because a filmy scarf almost obliterated her smile.
Atticus picked up the paper. He stared down at it, then up at them. “What are you doing with a picture of my great-grandmother?”
Nobody spoke as they walked down a narrow alley that opened into a small, empty square. Atticus clutched the picture against his chest.
“Why do you have this?” he asked again.
Instead of answering, Amy posed a question. “What do you know about your great-grandmother?”
“Not much,” Atticus said. “She lived in Maine. She was Jewish, but she married an African American soldier, back when you just didn’t do stuff like that.”
“Why do you have the photo?” Jake demanded. “We should be the ones asking questions, not you.”
“Before the war, Jane Sperling was a student in Germany,” Amy said.
Atticus nodded. “She was a medieval scholar.”
“She spent the war years in London. She was an American spy.”
Jake let out a surprised bark of a laugh. “Now I know you’re crazy. A spy?”
But Atticus loo
ked interested. Amy saw the flash of curiosity in his eyes. “Why do you think that?”
“Never mind why. Her code name was Sparrow.”
“Sparrow!” Atticus gave a start. He looked down at the picture again. “Follow the sparrow to the Mad King …” he murmured.
“The Mad King?” Amy asked insistently. “Why did you say that?”
“It’s something my mother said … the night she died. She was trying to tell me something. She’d been unconscious for days, and then she came to and talked to me.”
“You never told us that.” Jake looked at his brother in surprise.
“She said that I had to follow the sparrow to the Mad King’s castle. I mean, what would you think?”
“I’d think she was delirious.”
Amy gripped the notebook deep in her pocket. “Did she say anything else?”
“Oh, crazy stuff,” Atticus said. “She kept talking about vespers and grace. She said she needed grace. Which is funny, because she wasn’t religious at all.”
“Grace?” Amy questioned sharply. “What if it was the name Grace? Like she was talking about a person?”
“She didn’t know anyone named Grace,” Jake broke in. “Atticus, why didn’t you tell me this, or tell Dad?”
“Because it didn’t make sense. And because …” Atticus hesitated. “Because I couldn’t talk about it somehow. It was like a dream. She talked about this story she told me when I was really little. A bedtime story. I can barely remember it. There was this brave family in it who protected a ring… . I don’t remember the name. Something to do with music. Or a poem.”
“Madrigal,” Amy said.
“Yes! That’s it! There was a ring, and the Madrigals had to protect it. There was a dragon named …” Atticus looked up as knowledge lit his face. “Vesper! The dragon was named Vesper. That’s all I can remember. She just kept saying ‘the ring, the ring.’”
Amy had to stop herself from touching her watch. She had trained herself not to keep checking it was there. The ring wasn’t a fantasy story. It was real, and resting against her skin.
“Would somebody please explain to me what’s going on?” Jake cried in frustration. “Because I feel like I’m in some sort of cracked fairy tale.”
Amy took out the notebook. “We found this in Neuschwanstein Castle, hidden in a drain. It belonged to Jane Sperling.” She handed the book to Atticus.
“In the castle? So maybe I was meant to find it!” He opened the flap reverently.
To G: dV528.112K
Stolen by Hummel
repatriated w V. Kepler
resting w/ teacher & victim
together with the spellbound wanderer will point the way
Atticus looked up at them. “What does it mean?”
“We think ‘dV’ refers to the de Virga world map,” Amy said. “We know for sure that Jane was interested in it.”
Jake frowned. “I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a medieval world map that went missing in 1932. Your great-grandmother was at the auction when it was stolen.” Amy quickly related their theory about what happened to the map. “Hummel stole it, and Jane got it back. Then she led us here.”
“I see!” Atticus exclaimed. “So the numbers are a library collection number. And of course ‘spellbound wanderer’ is a no-brainer.”
“Maybe to you,” Dan said. “I’m clueless.”
“Marco Polo,” Atticus explained. “It’s a quote from Il Milione. It’s how Marco Polo refers to himself.”
Amy groaned. “We should have guessed that!”
“But why do you want the map?” Jake asked. His eyebrows came down and he squinted at Amy suspiciously. She felt a flare of annoyance.
Atticus jumped in before she could answer. “But what’s this about teacher and victim?”
“We don’t know,” Dan said. “Something that happened in the war, maybe?”
“Not the war,” Jake said slowly, still looking at the notebook. “Hundred of years before that. Kepler worked for Tycho Brahe, the Danish astronomer. Brahe worked and died in Prague. There are theories that he was poisoned. His body was even exhumed recently — he died of mercury poisoning. Some people say that Kepler did it. So is there a Kepler manuscript here?”
Dan nodded. “We think Jane left a lead with it — or, we’re hoping, the map itself.”
“But why?” Jake asked, dark eyes on Amy’s. It was annoying that he kept asking the right questions.
He was still suspicious, but he was curious now. He was learning things about his extended family he’d never dreamed of. Welcome to the club.
“Maybe we’ll find out today,” Amy said. “If we find the map.”
“Okay, this all makes a weird kind of sense,” Jake said. “If you’re a totally illogical kind of person.” He looked at Amy when he said it.
“Or it doesn’t make any sense if you’re a total resistant blockhead,” Amy shot back.
He glowered at her. “You still aren’t answering my question. What does this have to do with you two?”
“We can’t tell you that,” Amy said. “It’s not just our secret. But we can tell you that lives are at stake. You just have to trust us.” She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “You know, sometimes the right thing isn’t the thing you think is right. It’s the wrong thing you’re afraid to think of.”
“When I figure out what that means, I’ll let you know.”
“Don’t you want to know if Atticus’s great- grandmother was a spy who had her hands on a medieval mappa mundi?” Amy asked.
“C’mon, Jake,” Atticus urged. “We have to get inside!”
She saw in a flash that despite all Jake’s doubts, he couldn’t walk away. His curiosity would lead him forward. Without another word, she turned and headed toward the library. She knew he’d follow.
In just a few moments, she heard footsteps and his voice behind her. “Just don’t steal it,” he said.
Amy decided it was better not to answer.
With the sons of Mark Rosenbloom with them, Amy and Dan had no problem getting into the library. They were ushered into the restricted section. Katja Mavel personally led them to the Renaissance collection. It was kept in a humidity-controlled room.
“You will have to leave your backpacks out here,” she said, pointing to a rack outside the room. “No packs, purses, pens, or pencils are allowed. There is a computer inside for your use in taking notes. You may send the notes to the printer.”
Dan, Amy, and Atticus put their backpacks on the rack. They walked into the collection room. The door shut behind them with a sharp click.
“This looks state-of-the-art,” Jake remarked.
“Absolutely,” the librarian replied. “Temperature and humidity controlled, halon gas fire protection system, all documents stored in archival boxes that are kept in fire-resistant metals. Oh, you know the halon system? It depletes the oxygen in the air in case of fire, to protect the materials. So if the alarm goes off, you must exit immediately. The door will automatically lock within two minutes. And of course you must wear the gloves if you touch the materials.”
“Of course,” Dan said. He pulled on a pair of white cotton gloves and splayed his fingers. “And they’re also so helpful for jazz hands.”
Katja Mavel opened a case and withdrew a long, flat box with the call letters Jane had jotted in the notebook. It looked faded and a bit battered. “Ah, this is one of the old boxes. Not much call for these materials. We are updating all the boxes, but it takes time.” She put down the box but lingered. “So. You are studying the works of Tycho Brahe and Kepler?”
“Such a fascinating story,” Amy said.
“Yes, you know, Brahe is quite a hero in Prague. His death … for so many years, scholars thought his bl
adder burst.”
“Excuse me?” Amy asked.
“You know, he was at this great banquet, and it was said he didn’t want to be rude and get up for the bathroom, so …”
Amy could feel Dan and Atticus trying not to giggle.
“We have a saying when we leave the table for the bathroom. We say ‘I don’t want to pull a Brahe.’”
Dan coughed. It was a strangled sound, as if he was smothering a laugh. Amy felt laughter bubble up inside her just at the sight of Dan’s red face. This always surprised Amy, how hilarity could suddenly sweep over them just when things were at their most tense.
“So what exactly are you studying about Brahe?” Katja Mavel asked.
Amy knew the question wasn’t a trap. But they had to get rid of Mavel if they were going to steal the map.
Jake cleared his throat. “You know, my father still remembers his visit here so fondly,” he said.
Katja Mavel blushed. “I remember him fondly as well — as a colleague.” She tucked a dark strand behind her ear. “I admire his work. His scholarship. We all do. Is your father working on another book?”
Jake smiled. “I’d love to tell you a bit about it. I had a long train ride from Rome. I was wondering if there was any tea or coffee available … ?”
“Yes, of course. Why don’t you come to my office… . Would anyone else care for refreshments?”
“No, thank you,” Atticus said.
Jake took the woman’s arm. “My father would be glad to know that the library is still doing such important work.” As they walked away he looked over his shoulder at them. The look plainly said work fast.
Amy felt a twinge of annoyance. Jake could sure work the charm when he had to. He must know how gorgeous he was. And that made him insufferable.
“Ready?” Atticus asked them. His hands hovered over the box.
Biting her lip, Amy nodded.
Atticus lifted the lid. A musty smell invaded the room. Inside was the leather-bound edition of Mysterium Cosmographicum.