Secrets of the Silver Lion

by Emma Otheguy

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Frontispiece

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Sample Chapter from CLUE BY CLUE

  Buy the Book

  Read more from Carmen Sandiego!

  Introducing Etch

  About the Author

  Connect with HMH on Social Media

  Copyright © 2020 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt IP LLC.

  CARMEN SANDIEGO and associated logos and design are trademarks of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt IP.

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  hmhbooks.com

  Cover illustration © 2020 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt IP LLC

  The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file.

  ISBN 978-0-358-38067-2

  eISBN 978-0-358-37915-7

  v1.0820

  Chapter 1

  CARMEN SANDIEGO MOVED SOUNDLESSLY around the deserted terrace, expertly avoiding loose stones and dodging security cameras. In the morning, there would be no evidence that an international thief had been there—Carmen was a pro.

  “This place sure is quiet for New York City,” Carmen said into her comm-link earring. The terrace was several steps up from the street, and it had been ten minutes since the last car went by. At the far end of the terrace was a stately museum. Carmen thought it looked like a place where someone self-important would live.

  The voice on the other end of Carmen’s earring was cheerful. Even though they had never met in person, Player was Carmen’s best friend. They were partners in fighting VILE (the Villains’ International League of Evil) and spoke every single day. Player was always ready with encouragement and quick facts, and now was no different.

  “It’s the middle of the night, Red. What were you expecting, a welcome band?”

  “What ever happened to the city that never sleeps?”

  “No one uses this terrace at night. It’s all yours, Red—that is, unless our friends show up.”

  Carmen smiled sneakily to herself. She had reasons to believe that operatives from VILE would be coming to ransack the museum—but with any luck, Carmen would thwart their plans and keep the museum’s treasures safe. She could just imagine the faces of criminals like Countess Cleo and Professor Maelstrom, or better yet her archrival Tigress, when they realized that Carmen had beaten them to their prize. Carmen had once been a student criminal-in-training at VILE Academy—ever since Carmen escaped from the academy and started fighting evil, she had tried to stay one step ahead of VILE.

  “I think I’ve found the spot.” Carmen focused on a ledge just below a second-story window. It was narrow, but it looked sturdy, and there were no bars on the window.

  “Go for it.”

  Carmen reached into her red trench coat, wound up her arm, and pitched her grappling hook toward the ledge.

  “Got it!”

  As soundlessly as she had walked around the terrace, Carmen now shinnied up the rope. When she reached the top of the ledge, she gathered the grappling hook back into her coat and sneaked a peek over her shoulder. The view from above was impressive: to the west, the Hudson River glimmered, and to the south, the lights on Broadway snaked deep into the city. Carmen turned back to the window. It took her two tries to pick the lock before the window finally opened.

  Carmen listened for sounds inside, but the museum was empty. She was completely alone.

  Still crouched on the ledge, Carmen used her flashlight to figure out where she was. The window opened onto a grand exhibit hall, filled with richly woven tapestries, silver candlesticks, and elegant vases. It wasn’t a far jump, and Carmen landed on her feet.

  The exhibit hall was packed with stuff VILE would love—she could just imagine Professor Maelstrom melting down those silver candlesticks for cufflinks, like he once wanted to do with an Ecuadorian doubloon. But Carmen knew that VILE was after a bigger prize than the knickknacks in this third-floor gallery. She spotted the stairs and quickly made her way to the ground floor. Luckily, Player had found floorplans, which Carmen had studied carefully.

  On the ground floor, Carmen moved toward the front doors. They were heavy, studded with metal, and secured from the inside with multiple locks. Carmen would deal with those later. Right now, she had one mission.

  “Once you get to the doors, it’s to your right,” Player instructed.

  Carmen turned and faced a long, narrow hallway. She shone her flashlight, which illuminated only shadows and a worn stone floor. Past the reach of the light, the hallway continued like a pitch-black tunnel. Carmen squared her shoulders and strode down the hallway, holding the flashlight out in front of her.

  A sparkle caught the light. As Carmen neared the end of the hallway, she could just make out a silver shape, about the size of her palm. She drew closer, until she could clearly see that it was a silver carving in the shape of an arrow.

  “Do you see it yet?” Player asked into her ear.

  Carmen raised her flashlight. She whistled. “I see it.”

  The silver arrow was nestled into the base of a mahogany throne. The base was intricately carved with scrolls and curlicues, and the legs of the throne were shaped like enormous claws. The arms were fashioned like the heads of two roaring lions. On the seat was a velvet cushion, now threadbare.

  “The museum’s most prized possession,” Player announced. “It was commissioned by King Felipe IV of Spain in 1621.”

  “The man clearly had money,” Carmen remarked. “But I don’t know about taste.” The throne was foreboding.

  “I think the idea was to intimidate people,” Player said. “But that’s not why that throne is valuable, it’s actually that silver arrow.”

  Carmen examined the arrow, carefully inlaid on the base of the throne. On either side of it were hollowed out spaces, like molds that were never filled.

  “You see the space for the castle and the lion on either side of the arrow?” Player asked. “King Felipe IV also commissioned silver inlays for those spots. They were definitely made, because there are documents confirming it, but somehow the castle and the lion never got to the throne.”

  Carmen leaned in closer. “The detail on this arrow is amazing. It’s almost as if the feather at the end were real. I wish I could see it in proper lighting.” She straightened up. “But I need to figure out what VILE is planning.”

  “Do you, Black Sheep?”

  Carmen whirled around, dropping her flashlight in surprise. No one had called her Black Sheep since her days at VILE Academy. Someone flipped a switch, and the hallway was flooded with overhead fluorescents. Carmen covered her face to shade her unadjusted eyes.

  “I see our little friend is here,” said a singsong voice. “So predictable.”

  Carmen lowered her hands, still blinking. She gritted her teeth at the person now adv
ancing on her. “I was a year ahead of you, Paperstar, don’t call me little.”

  Paperstar smiled sweetly. “But did you graduate ahead of me, Black Sheep?” She skipped past Carmen. Her platform patent-leather boots squeaked against the tiled floor. “No, I didn’t think so,” Paperstar said. “So you see, I think little is just the right word for you. Little thief. Little amateur. Oh, look . . .”—Paperstar hopped onto the throne and crossed her ankles primly—“from up here, little person.”

  Carmen’s eyes narrowed. “Get off that throne before I make you, Paperstar.”

  “As if you could.” Paperstar lunged suddenly, throwing an origami star in Carmen’s direction. Carmen ducked as the star whipped through the air and sliced past her ear. Now Paperstar emptied her pockets and the paper weapons came faster and faster, thinner and sharper each time. Carmen retreated, ducking, running, and rolling to dodge the stars. At the end of the hallway she turned left and ran, racing through the galleries, taking every turn she could to try and shake Paperstar.

  “You’d think those boots would slow her down, but no,” Carmen shouted to Player, panting as she ran. She hung a sharp left and shrank into the shadows. Paperstar ran past, and Carmen caught her breath as the sound of Paperstar’s squeaky boots faded away.

  “Player,” Carmen hissed into her earpiece, “I’ve got to get this throne to a secure location—I can’t keep it safe here. I think I’ve got five minutes, tops. Get Ivy—I need backup!” She darted back the way she came and yanked open the door of the first supply closet she found. “Yes, here’s a cart!” Carmen grabbed the handle and ran back toward the throne, not even bothering to be quiet. It wouldn’t take Paperstar long to figure out where she had gone.

  Grunting, Carmen nudged the throne onto the cart. Under her trench coat, she was dripping with sweat.

  The front door rattled. Ivy! Carmen thought, praying her friend and partner-in-adventure was at the ready. She pushed the cart as hard as she could then leaped onto its base, leaning over the throne like a skier as the cart, the throne, and Carmen hurtled toward the front door. Something sailed across the doorway and Carmen knew Paperstar was back, but if she could just beat her to the door and meet Ivy—

  “AAARGH!” Paperstar yelled as she hurtled her body at the cart, pushing it back into the museum and knocking Carmen to the ground. The doors burst open and Carmen heard Ivy yelling her name.

  Seconds later, Carmen heard Paperstar shouting shrilly, “You two get the throne! I’ll put Black Sheep out of commission.”

  Somewhere in the distance, Carmen heard the voices of Le Chèvre and El Topo, two of VILE’s top operatives.

  Please let Ivy get the throne before them, Carmen said to herself. Ivy, get the throne! If she could lead Paperstar away from the museum for long enough—please get it, please get it! Carmen reached the window and jumped onto the ledge—with Paperstar only seconds behind.

  Chapter 2

  IVY PUSHED OPEN THE HEAVY DOORS. “I’m coming, Carmen!” she hollered, then stopped in place. A cart loaded with an imposing wooden throne was careening away from the entrance. Not at all the direction they wanted. Suddenly Ivy noticed a flash of red, and then Paperstar, one of VILE’s most dangerous villains, leaped off the cart and tore after Carmen, throwing paper darts.

  “Come back here!” Ivy shouted. Then she took a second look at the cart and frowned. It looked like VILE had been trying to steal it. And if VILE was taking it from the museum, that could only mean one thing—Carmen would want the throne moved to a secure location. Ivy rolled up her sleeves. Carmen was the VILE expert; Ivy was the gadget expert. And carts were a gadget. She allowed herself one last fist-shake at Paperstar’s retreating figure before getting to work. “That’s my friend you’re chasing,” she muttered.

  A dry voice behind her replied, “And you’re such a good friend to load up this cart for us.”

  “Le Chèvre!” Ivy put her hands on her hips, storming back toward the door. Le Chèvre was one of her least favorite VILE operatives—his name meant “The Goat” in French, because he could climb up anything, like a real goat. He had a habit of getting in Ivy’s way.

  “I was going to climb up the side of the building,” Le Chèvre said gleefully. “But now I see that isn’t necessary!” Ivy lunged at the cart, stopping it halfway down the hallway. “You’ll have to get past me first,” she said.

  “Or not,” Le Chèvre replied happily. El Topo, another VILE operative, came out of the shadows and appeared at Le Chèvre’s shoulder. “Two against one!”

  Ivy grabbed the cart with both hands and ran, pushing the cart as hard as she could toward the door. As the heavy throne drew closer, Le Chèvre and El Topo leaped out of the way, and Ivy cheered as the cart cruised through the open doors and into the night.

  It would have been a great plan, if the uneven flagstones of the terrace hadn’t slowed down the cart. It clunked only a few feet before stopping completely. Ivy had to use all her strength to keep pushing, and the cart moved slowly. So slowly that Le Chèvre and El Topo overtook her and wrestled the cart from her. After all, it was two against one.

  Ivy put her fingers in her mouth and blew two short whistles as loudly as she could. A New York City bus pulled up, blocking the exit from the terrace.

  “Bad news,” Ivy called at Le Chèvre and El Topo. “That was the only way outta here.”

  Le Chèvre pushed the cart to the very edge of the terrace and looked down at the bus. “Hey, driver!” he called. “Get out of our way! Very important museum personnel here!”

  Ivy snorted. “Good luck with that. That’s not just any bus driver, you know.”

  As if on cue, a redhead tipped his Red Sox cap at Le Chèvre. He lowered the window and shouted, “Anything I can help you with, sir? Special rates on thrones tonight, system-wide.”

  The two VILE operatives narrowed their eyes, and Ivy rubbed her hands together. She had them cornered now for sure. The driver was her brother, Zack. He was always there to lend a hand on Carmen’s capers, and plus, he had learned to drive just about any vehicle when the two of them were growing up in Boston. There was just one thing Ivy had forgotten—Le Chèvre’s incredible climbing abilities. Within seconds he had shinnied up a tree overhanging the terrace and dropped out of sight onto the street below.

  “Guess your friend abandoned you,” Ivy said to El Topo. “And guess I’ll be taking that back now.” She lunged for the cart, but El Topo wheeled it away from her. As she chased him across the terrace, Le Chèvre reappeared carrying . . . a spare piece of lumber?

  Ivy stepped closer to Le Chèvre. She did some quick thinking then—“ZACK!” Ivy yelled. “They’re going to try and catapult it!” She raced after the two VILE operatives, shaking her fist at them. “That thing ain’t worth nothing if you break it, you clowns!”

  But Le Chèvre was sliding the plank under the throne even as she ran, and before Ivy could say “catapult,” El Topo was stomping on the other end, and the throne was sailing through the air.

  The two VILE operatives took off running with Ivy following close behind. While they climbed up a tree, Ivy hurled herself through the open window of the bus.

  “There they are!” Zack shouted. The throne landed softly in a dumpster, sending up a flutter of Styrofoam packing peanuts. “They filled the dumpster with packing peanuts?” Zack said. “I gotta hand it to them, that’s some smart thinking. They had to know exactly where the throne would land to pull that off.”

  “Smart?” Ivy said. “They’re taking off with our throne and you’re giving them compliments? Look! They’re already loading it into a van!” She pointed as Le Chèvre and El Topo tilted the dumpster and heaved the throne into the back of a van. “Step on it, bro!”

  Zack slammed on the gas, but the big bus accelerated slowly while the van zoomed two blocks ahead. Zack leaned over the steering wheel and gritted his teeth, willing the bus to go faster. They sped through two red lights, almost closing the distance between the bus and the van, but as the chas
e took them farther downtown, the streets filled with cars and pedestrians. So this was the city that never slept.

  “Slow down, bro, you’re gonna hit someone!” Ivy yelled. A group of late-night revelers were crossing the street, singing merrily. Zack slammed on the brakes, and Ivy clutched the bar with both hands as the force thrust her forward.

  Zack drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as people crossed. By the time the street was clear, the van was long gone—and a woman was tapping on the door, waving her bus pass at Zack.

  “Uh-oh,” Zack said.

  “Didn’t think someone might actually want to ride the bus?” Ivy asked.

  “Planning error,” Zack agreed. He opened the door briefly. “Uh—we’re closed, miss! No bus service tonight!”

  The woman protested, holding up the heavy bags she was carrying, but Zack yanked the doors closed again. “Sorry, ma’am!” he yelled over his shoulder as the light turned green and he slammed on the gas once more.

  “We’re too late!” Ivy exclaimed. “They got away from us!”

  “What now?” Zack asked, slumping over the steering wheel.

  “Zack, look!”

  Zack pulled over in the bus lane and craned his neck. They were just below the George Washington Bridge, and the trail of lights connecting each pillar looked like Christmas garlands strung with twinkling lights. But that wasn’t what Ivy was pointing at. With a squint, Zack made out two dark silhouettes on the top of one of the bridge’s high pillars. One of the silhouettes had two buns on each side of her head, and the other wore a fedora and a trench coat.

  “Carmen’s all the way up there,” Ivy said.

  The bus lurched forward as Zack pulled a U-turn. Cars honked angrily at him, but Ivy cheered. “We’re coming, Carm!”

  Zack slammed on the brakes and parked at the foot of the bridge. “We need to send up a signal,” he said. “Think fast, sis.”

  “Let’s take a page out of Le Chèvre and El Topo’s book and use some leverage.” Ivy grabbed Zack’s hat off of his head and hopped out of the bus. She found a spare tire kit in the back of the bus and borrowed an inner tube. Then she stood as close under the bridge as she could, loaded the hat into the tube, pulled it as taut as it would go, and slingshot the hat toward Carmen. “Come on, come on, come on,” she said to herself.