Secrets of the Silver Lion

by Emma Otheguy

  The trouble was, the cavern was just big enough that Carmen couldn’t reasonably dig up the entire place. Or if she did, it would take the rest of the day and most of the night. The special exhibit was supposed to open the next day.

  “Any ideas, Player?” Carmen asked.

  “I think León Mondragón wanted someone to find this lion,” he said. “Not just anyone, of course, but the right person—someone who really understood what it meant to him. Otherwise he would have never left a map, or any notes, when you think about it.”

  “Am I the right person?”

  “Do you understand him?”

  Carmen thought of all of the writing she had read by León Mondragón, how his early notes had reminded her of herself, seeking a connection to a world outside his mountain like she had wanted a connection to a world outside her island. Talking to Player had been that for Carmen—it had given her not only a link to life beyond Vile Island but, ultimately, her freedom. Friendship with Player hadn’t just given her a window, a thread to tie her to experiences beyond the island; it had thrown open the door and granted her the chance to actually be out there, and on her own terms, not Coach Brunt’s or Professor Maelstrom’s.

  But for León Mondragón, things hadn’t worked out quite so well. For a while, when he was young, his silversmithing was his lifeline to the world beyond Potosí. He got to correspond with powerful people far away, and send a little bit of himself—his talent and artistry, the skills he had learned from each side of his family—to places far off and important. It had been, for a while, an honor. Until one day, it stopped looking like an honor to Mondragón. It started looking to him like the kings and merchants for whom he had once crafted commissions were greedy and cunning. Maybe he had always known that somewhere inside, like Carmen had always known somewhere inside that VILE was not a real family. But once he visited Spain and experienced the king’s court, once he realized what the merchant Joaquín Reinoso was willing to do to add to his riches, it became impossible for León Mondragón to ignore. That’s where his path had diverged from Carmen’s: she had gone forward, left her island, and made new friends, had fresh adventures far away from VILE. León had gone back to his mountain and vanished—into thin air.

  “I understand him,” Carmen said slowly. “And I don’t understand him. We were alike, but we ended up different.” Carmen bowed her head and added, “I was luckier.”

  She lifted her head. It felt heavy, weighed down by all the feelings that had tormented León Mondragón so many centuries before. The light of her headlamp bounced off the cavern’s jagged walls.

  “What was that?” she asked in a hushed voice. She scanned the side of the cavern again, nodding her head up and down so that her light hit the same spot it had a moment ago. She stepped closer.

  If she tilted her headlamp at exactly the right angle, she could just make out something carved in the rockface. Two words:

  ¡ARRIBA!

  LIBERTAD

  Carmen recognized León Mondragón’s handwriting. That was a good sign—he had definitely been in this spot. But what did his message mean? Arriba was something people shouted at sports matches, kind of like shouting “Charge!” at a ballgame. Libertad meant freedom. Carmen was totally stumped. Why would Mondragón had carved those words? Maybe they were meant to encourage downtrodden miners.

  Suddenly, Carmen felt angry at Mondragón for leading her all the way here with nothing but a rudimentary map and two completely opaque words. What was he trying to tell her?

  The humming sound filled the cavern again; it was coming closer, and for just a moment Carmen remembered her old fantasy that a miner was singing somewhere in another channel—and then the sound came still closer, and Carmen’s stomach clenched.

  That was no angelic singing she had been hearing.

  It was coming down the wide gallery, louder now, undistorted by the echoes of the mine. And it was sinister.

  In spite of herself, Carmen gasped as El Topo jumped over the stationed cart and landed in the cavern, closely followed by Le Chèvre. Arms swinging, Paperstar came down behind them and settled herself into one of the carts, legs hanging off the side as if it were a beanbag chair.

  El Topo and Le Chèvre were very close to her; there were certainly no more than two inches between each of them. Carmen calculated her options and her hands felt suddenly sweaty. There were only two ways out—one of them was blocked by Paperstar’s lounging form, and the other was so narrow and tight that Carmen could not possibly escape fast enough. If she tried, she would be dragged back in an instant—and worse still, she was no closer to finding the lion than she had been when she entered the mine.

  “How did you get here?” Carmen said in what she hoped was a thoroughly fearless voice. “Kalamazoo didn’t suit you?”

  Paperstar sneered from her cart. “We didn’t fall for your little trick, Black Sheep. As soon as we landed in Kalamazoo and saw the headlines—”

  “So you did fall for the trick, otherwise why would you have gone to Kalamazoo?”

  “The weather is quite lovely this time of year,” Paperstar replied. “Your little friends didn’t even think to divide and conquer,” she went on tauntingly. “Both huddled on one side of the mountain—hello, it’s a circle!”

  “Technically it’s a cone,” Carmen clarified. She didn’t know why she was picking geometry fights with Paperstar, except that she didn’t know the last time she had been in such a compromised position, and if she were going to be pitched down a mine shaft by VILE, she would rather have the satisfaction of telling off Paperstar first.

  But before Carmen could think of any other snide remarks, El Topo and Le Chèvre grabbed her by each arm and lifted her off the ground. Her hardhat banged on the ceiling. She struggled but they had a firm grip on her, and in an instant they were heaving her body over the carts. She kicked and writhed, wondering what they were planning, turning her face left and right to keep from being banged up by the metal carts—always protect the face—a voice inside her said, and then finally one of her kicks landed home and El Topo yowled in pain, letting go of Carmen and falling spread-eagle on his back, a foot from the cart. Carmen hurled herself into a midair flip, forcing Le Chèvre to let go if he didn’t want to somersault with her. She landed belly over the bottom cart, foot braced against the heavy rock that held the carts in place. Le Chèvre and El Topo were both growling and crawling back toward the carts, eager to take another swing at Carmen, but Paperstar was idly folding an origami lotus flower. Her face was bottom-lit by Carmen’s headlamp, like a garish jack-o’-lantern.

  “Don’t worry, boys,” Paperstar said cheerfully, “there’s nowhere for her to go but down.”

  In spite of herself, Carmen sneaked a peek behind her, and what she saw made her stomach lurch. Below this cavern, the tunnel took a sharp dive. If she were to lose her grip, she would have no hope of stopping her fall until she hit the bottom—and by the looks of it, the bottom was a long way off. Carmen gulped. Her hands were growing sweaty, and Le Chèvre and El Topo would recover from their injuries in about a second. Even her grappling hook couldn’t save her if gravity were pushing her down, down, down . . .

  Carmen pursed her lips, wishing suddenly she could talk to Player, or Ivy, or Zack—anyone who knew her and cared about her—just for a moment. But she wouldn’t give Paperstar the satisfaction of knowing she was scared. She wouldn’t say a word into her comm-link earring.

  Things were looking very bad, indeed. Even if she called for help now, Zack and Ivy would never get to her in time. VILE had no reason to show her mercy—once Carmen had plunged to her death, they would have all the time in the world to search the cavern. They didn’t care about the exhibit opening, they would dig up every inch of it with time to spare. And it was Carmen who had led them down here.

  She glanced up one more time, at Le Chèvre, who was climbing over the edge of one of the carts, at El Topo, still nursing his injured leg, and at Paperstar, starting calmly on her second lotus.r />
  Perhaps it was Carmen’s imagination, but for a split second, she saw something that seemed almost like a glimmer of daylight—something definitely sparkled above her—and for one irrational moment, Carmen felt a tickle of hope. Maybe she would see the sky again.

  And then it dawned on Carmen, quite suddenly: arriba. It didn’t just mean “Charge!”—if you weren’t at a sports game it could also just mean “upward.” Maybe León Mondragón meant that literally. After all, what León Mondragón had yearned for when he was in Spain, angry at the Spanish and at the merchant Joaquín Reinoso, was home and freedom. For Mondragón, home was up, up in the mountains. Carmen almost shouted with joy because in a rush she realized that the glimmer she had seen above her wasn’t her imagination, but a real sparkle. She knew, deep in her bones, where the lion was buried.

  It was risky, but she loosened one arm, letting herself dangle off the edge of the cart. “Hey, Paperstar,” she called. “What if I don’t care if I fall down here? What if I was headed that way anyway?”

  Paperstar raised an eyebrow. “Then I would think you would want a cart so you didn’t break your neck, wouldn’t you?”

  “That’s right,” Carmen said. “I would like a cart. Care to lend me this one?” With effort, she threw her arm over the edge again, and though her abdominal muscles screamed in pain, she managed to throw herself a little more securely into the cart. Now her head was facing down into the cart, and her stomach was flopped over the edge. One foot still touched the rock beneath her. It was a ridiculous position, but her heartbeat slowed now that the chance of slipping into an abyss seemed slightly less likely.

  “I think not,” Paperstar said, but she glanced at Le Chèvre and El Topo, and in that instant, Carmen knew she had them. She reached one arm down—it didn’t quite reach the rock, but she had her foot there.

  “I might take a ride anyway,” Carmen said. “I really don’t need your permission.”

  Then everything happened all at once. Le Chèvre and El Topo leaped into the cart next to Paperstar, their greedy eyes fixed on Carmen. They thought she was going to take them to the silver lion, somewhere in the pitch-black depths. But with a kick and a yell, Carmen loosened the stone and half rolled, half jumped over the edge of the cart. She cut herself in what felt like a million places as her body bumped over the metal, but Carmen didn’t care. She landed flat on her stomach with lungs full of dust, but the cart rushed by her, gathering speed with gravity, sending the three VILE operatives down, deep down, into a tunnel where Carmen was sure no light would reach them.

  She scrambled to her feet and reached for her hardhat and headlamp, both of which had fallen off. Every muscle in her body was aching, but she climbed a few steps to where the wide gallery’s steep slope met the little cavern, and sure enough, just where things pointed up, out of the cavern, she found a tiny a etched in the ground. And jutting out of the rocky dirt, a glimmer of silver.

  Chapter 26

  THE LINE WAS WRAPPED AROUND THE PLAZA and loud with joy. Everyone was talking excitedly and craning their necks for a view of the entrance. Milly’s family was gathered round the door—guests of honor. They beamed at Carmen, who was dressed in her very best clothing.

  Then the doors of the museum opened, and the crowd parted. With a little push from Ivy, Carmen walked slowly down the tunnel of people—only this tunnel didn’t feel narrow, or dark, or cramped—it was light and full of freedom. Carmen was walking down it because she very much wanted to bring her new friend Milly the treasure hidden in her pocket.

  Two guards in official uniforms held open the doors, and Carmen and Milly thanked them. Inside, the Casa de la Moneda was full of arches and tan and red bricks that reminded Carmen of Sevilla. For better and for worse, these two places were connected. Potosí had brought Carmen people like León Mondragón and people like Milly—people who knew what it was to be not just from one place, but from many. The thought cheered Carmen. After all, if Milly could be Spanish and Bolivian and a New Yorker all rolled into one, maybe she would turn out to be more than just VILE—maybe she came from more stories than she knew just yet.

  Carved at the top of the central arch was a face, laughing merrily, with grapes woven into its hair. Below, the Throne of Felipe shone in all of its silver and mahogany magnificence.

  Carmen handed Milly the package tucked safely in her pocket. When the wrappings fell away, Milly held a gleaming silver lion. Its fur looked real enough to touch, and its roar was frankly terrifying. Carmen couldn’t fathom how a person could make something look so alive, but she appreciated it. She had a feeling a lot of other people would too.

  “You should do this with me,” Milly said, and she and Carmen knelt at the base of the throne in unison.

  The silver lion fit perfectly in the spot the carpenter had left for it, many centuries before. All three shapes gleamed together: lion, castle, and arrow. To some, they might represent the mightiness of the Spanish Empire. But to Carmen and Milly, they represented the work of a passionate mestizo artisan. And they were beautiful.

  “I think,” Milly said, “that a change of name might be in order. How about you?”

  Carmen nodded eagerly, and with a joyous laugh, Milly reached for the tented card that served as a hastily made exhibit guide. Where it said “The Throne of Felipe,” Milly crossed it out and now wrote in her own hand “The Throne of León—y de todos nosotros.”

  “Now let’s go get everyone,” Milly said, pulling Carmen into a hug as the doors were thrown open, and the people flooded the exhibit with their oohs and aahs of admiration. Everything was as it was meant to be.

  CHAPTER 1

  London, England, 10:00 a.m., Local Time

  Carmen Sandiego paused. Half a block ahead, Tigress was strolling along the busy city street, stopping occasionally to glance into shop windows. With her razor-sharp claws tucked into the pockets of her stylish short trench coat, she looked like just another chic young Londoner. But Carmen knew better . . .

  “Hey, Red, is our feline friend still window-shopping?” a voice spoke in Carmen’s ear.

  “That’s what she wants everyone to think, Player,” Carmen replied in a low voice. Her comm-link earrings could pick up even the quietest whisper—very handy, especially while tailing someone. “But I’m sure Tigress didn’t come all this way to go on a five-fingered spree through London’s blingiest boutiques.”

  Up ahead, Tigress stopped again and glanced around. Carmen ducked into a doorway. She held her breath. Had Tigress spotted her distinctive red fedora and trench coat? For a second, Carmen wondered if she should have gone incognito in a hoodie or something. Then again, it wouldn’t have made much difference. Tigress wouldn’t be fooled for a second—she knew Carmen’s face as well as her own.

  “All clear,” Carmen murmured when Tigress moved on. Then Carmen hurried forward, not wanting to lose sight of her target. She’d been following Tigress through London, England, for half an hour. All the way from Victoria station to where they were now—the Knightsbridge neighborhood, according to Player. Very posh and exclusive. A shopper’s mecca of high-end stores, from the world-famous Harrods department store to all sorts of designer boutiques—and some of the most expensive luxury apartments in the world.

  Player loved finding out that kind of detail about the places Carmen visited. And he was good at it, too. No wonder—he was a high-tech whiz kid who spent most of his time exploring every bit and byte of the web. Carmen had never met Player in person, but he was a trusted part of her crew. Without his help, it would be a lot harder for her to carry out her self-appointed mission—traveling the world, righting wrongs, and stealing from criminals. In particular, the super-secret crime empire known as VILE.

  Up ahead, Tigress suddenly dodged out of sight down an alley between a fancy restaurant—still closed at this early hour—and a large, stately old Victorian house. Carmen crept forward. Was this a trap? Tigress was clever—possibly the wiliest operative VILE had ever trained. Well, aside from Carmen h
erself, of course . . .

  She caught up just in time to see Tigress slip into one of the buildings through a window. “She went into a house,” she told Player.

  “The one you’re standing in front of right now? Hang on—I’ll find out more.” Player didn’t leave her hanging for long. “Found it on GPS,” he said. “That house belongs to a rich guy named Percival Weston-Blather. Fifty-four years old. No occupation listed.”

  “You had me at ‘rich guy,’” Carmen said. “Mr. Weston-Blather must have something valuable in there.”

  “That would explain the chatter.”

  Carmen nodded, even though she knew Player couldn’t see her. The “chatter,” as he called it, was the reason she was here. Player was always nosing around the dark web, the regular web, and every cyber place in between for any secret signs or messages about VILE—Villains’ International League of Evil. The worst bunch of rogues and criminals that nobody ever heard of. Carmen’s sworn nemesis. And her former family . . . well, sort of . . .

  She shook those thoughts out of her head. “VILE is greedy,” she whispered to Player. “But they wouldn’t waste time and resources stealing some ordinary rich guy’s gold watch and cuff links.”

  “Right. They’ve got to be after something big—something worth their effort,” Player said.

  Carmen nodded again. So what had they sent Tigress to steal this time?

  “One way to find out,” Carmen murmured, sidling closer to the open window and peeking in past the thick velvet floor-to-ceiling curtains. The curtains blocked most of the bright morning sunlight, but Carmen could see well enough once her eyes adjusted to the dimness within. “Whoa! Talk about a treasure trove!”

  “What is it, Red?” Player whispered in her ear. “What kind of treasure are we talking about? Gold bars? High-tech equipment? Antique snuffboxes? What?”

  Carmen’s eyes swept the large room. It was set up like a museum exhibit, with glass-topped display cases instead of regular furniture. Framed documents and other stuff covered the walls.