by Tony Abbott
No one knew that. If Wade had realized he would end up on the internet, he might have combed his hair that morning. Or washed it.
Lily grinned as she typed. “Vacation Day One. The Big Disappointment. A week with my cousins Wade and Darrell. I can barely bring my fingers to type these words . . .”
Darrell frowned. “Ha. And also, ha.”
Tearing his eyes away from Becca, who sat quietly on the couch next to Lily, Wade watched his father move distractedly around the living room. The coded email from Uncle Henry was obviously on his mind. Of course it was. Code? What did code even mean, except keeping a secret from someone? Who would Uncle Henry and his dad need to keep secrets from?
When the snappy conversation between Lily and Darrell finally paused, he spoke up. “Dad, the email?”
“I need your celestial map,” his father said, as if he’d been waiting for a lull, too. “The star chart Uncle Henry gave you when you were seven.”
Wade blinked. “Really? Why?”
“You’ll see,” his father said.
Chapter Five
In the quiet of his room, Wade slid open the top drawer of his desk. He removed the leather folder as he had the night before. The map, so precious and so rare, would now, suddenly, be the center of everyone’s attention. But why did Dad want the chart? Puzzling over this, he brought it into the dining room, where he found them all sitting around the table.
His father pulled out a chair for him. “Wade, open the map, please . . .”
He unzipped the folder and opened it flat, revealing the thick sheet of parchment creased over itself twice. He saw, as he hadn’t in the darkness of his room the night before, faint, penciled letters on the backside, reading, Happy Birth-day, Wade. Carefully, he unfolded the parchment on the table and spread it out faceup.
Becca leaned over it, her eyes glowing. “Wade, this is so gorgeous. Wow . . .”
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
Spread out, the map was about the size of a small poster. It had been engraved in 1515 and was exquisitely hand painted. The heavens were colored deep blue, and the original forty-eight constellations described by the ancient Greek astronomer Ptolemy were drawn and starred in silver inks. Crater, Lyra, Orion, Cassiopeia, all the others. Evenly spaced around the map’s edge was a sequence of letters in gold forming an incomplete alphabet, which had always puzzled Wade and about which his father had offered no real explanation.
“Okay, so,” Dr. Kaplan said, taking a deep breath. “First we have the email.” He produced the printed email from his blazer pocket, then carefully traced his fingers over the letters bordering Wade’s star map. “Uncle Henry gave you this chart for your birthday, knowing you would like it.”
“I love it,” Wade said almost reverently. “It’s what really got me super-interested in the stars.”
“I know,” his father said. “Maybe you don’t remember me telling you, but it wasn’t the first time I had seen this map. Heinrich showed it to me while I was still a student, quite a few years before you were born. He had a little apartment then; he still does.”
“Have you seen him since then?” Becca asked.
“Once, then letters, email once in a while,” he said. “Heinrich had always been a collector of antiques. One night twenty or so years ago, in front of me and some other students, he unfolded five identical printings, all hand-colored, of the same map from the sixteenth century. This map. As we all watched, he took out a pen, dipped it in gold ink, and without a word, inked an alphabet around the edge of each one.”
“But the alphabet is messed up,” Lily said. “It’s only got . . . seventeen letters.” On her tablet she typed in the gold-inked letters framing the star map, while Darrell did the same on a yellow pad.
C D F G H I J K M O P Q V W X Y Z
“Of course.” Dr. Kaplan slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “We noticed the same thing. Heinrich told us our alphabets were one part of a cipher—a code—of his own invention. He said we might have to use it someday. Before we ever needed it, he said, he would see that we each received one copy of the map. Then he put them away before we could really do any figuring. And that was that. I never thought much about the maps again until your seventh birthday, Wade, when he gave you this one. He brushed off any mention of the code then. I assumed it didn’t matter anymore.”
Darrell shook his head slowly. “But it does matter. And it proves I was right. He was a spy. He was pretending to be a professor, but he was a secret agent.”
Dr. Kaplan cracked a smile. “I really don’t think so. He’s retired now, but he was one of the foremost physicists of his day. When he first showed us the maps, he swore us to secrecy. He called our little group of five students Asterias. That’s the Latin name for the sea star. We were, Heinrich said, like the five arms of the starfish, and he was the head. It seemed a little silly at the time. A professor’s whimsy. But we were graduating and going our separate ways, so we all agreed. In the last few years I lost communication with most of them, and he’s never asked me to use the code. Until today.”
Wade breathed in to try to calm himself. It didn’t work. A hundred questions collided in his brain. “Are you saying that the cipher on the map will decode the email?”
“But not all the letters are there,” said Becca. “If it’s a standard substitution code, it needs all twenty-six letters.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Substitution code?” said Darrell. “Uh-huh. Putting aside for a moment what substitution codes even are, how do you know about them?”
Becca blushed a little. “I read. A lot. Last summer I read all the Sherlock Holmes stories. You know what I mean, right, Dr. Kaplan?”
He smiled. “I do. Sherlock Holmes solves substitution codes in several of the stories. When we asked Heinrich about the missing letters, he just winked and slyly tapped the side of his nose. We pressed him about what he meant, and he said, ‘when things are missing, you look for them!’ You’re all pretty brainy, so the first step for us is, what letters are missing?”
Lily had apparently already figured it out and told them with a grin. “A, B, E, L, N, R, S, T, and U!”
“Good,” Dr. Kaplan said. He wrote them on Darrell’s pad.
A B E L N R S T U
“Nine letters. The cipher begins as a fairly simple Caesar code, a substitution code originated a couple of thousand years ago by Julius Caesar for his private letters. Heinrich was a student of ciphers, and he modified this in his own way.
“So, the letters not on the map form a secret word or phrase. You unscramble the missing letters to find the words, then put them at the beginning of the alphabet to make the full twenty-six letters again.”
“Nine letters could spell a lot of words,” said Darrell.
Dr. Kaplan nodded. “But they should somehow be familiar to the person for whom the code is intended . . .” He paused, stroking his chin. “My diary. I kept a journal then, a student notebook, where I wrote down lecture notes and random things. It’s in my office. Hold on.” He left the room at a trot.
“We can start,” said Becca. “A, B, E, L, N, R, S, T, and U. Let’s think.”
The dining room went quiet, except for Darrell’s pencil scratching and occasional humming and Lily’s fingers tapping on the tablet’s screen. Becca frowned and looked off across the room.
Wade tried to think, but the image of Uncle Henry inking the maps in gold was mesmerizing. Was it by candlelight, their student faces glowing? Was his apartment as hushed as their dining room was right now? Why did he do it in the first place?
His father returned, leafing through a small black notebook. “Maybe the answer is somewhere in here . . .”
“I get the words rest, nut, and eat,” Darrell said finally.
“Of course you do,” said Lily. “I see ears.”
“I get lean burst,” said Becca with a smile. “Do I get a prize for using all the letters?”
Wade resisted jumping up and shouting, “Yes, yo
u do!”
But the more he studied the letters, the more they began to shift places like the panels in one of those number slide puzzles. This was how his mind often solved math problems. His father said he was a natural at numbers. And now, apparently, at letters, too.
Common combinations . . . S . . . T . . . slid forward and back . . . vowels moved and moved again. Fixing his eyes on the letters, Wade went through them again, again, then click. Solved. Or sort of solved. He cleared his throat. “Well . . .”
Four faces looked at him.
“One thing the letters spell is blue star with an extra n,” he said. “I don’t know what the n stands for, but a blue star is a real thing. If a star appears blue, it means it’s approaching Earth.”
Dr. Kaplan stared at the letters on the pad, nodding. Then he turned to the last page in his notebook and smiled. “Oh, boy. Close. Very close. But look.”
As they watched him, he slowly rewrote blue star n as blau stern.
“Blau stern?” said Becca. “That’s blue star in German.”
“Exactly,” Dr. Kaplan said, showing them the words in his notebook. “Blau Stern was the name of the café in Berlin where we met after classes—”
“I knew it!” said Darrell. “Your spy hangout!”
Chapter Six
Roald blew out a fast breath. “Hardly, Darrell. But we’ve done it. Good work. What we do now is take the secret phrase and add it to the beginning of the incomplete alphabet to make a full twenty-six letters.”
They rewrote the alphabet.
B L A U S T E R N C D F G H I J K M O P Q V W X Y Z
“Now we arrange the normal ABC alphabet under it?” asked Lily.
“Not quite,” Dr. Kaplan said. “Instead of a second alphabet, Heinrich added an extra step. We need a number key. We have to know how many letters we count from the coded letter to find the proper letter for the substitution.”
“Is there a number on the map?” asked Lily. “Maybe we already have the number key, but it’s hidden on Wade’s chart.”
“Smart, Lil.” Becca squinted over the map. Wade noticed a little thing she did when she was concentrating. A squiggle of her lips.
Dr. Kaplan stood. “Smart, yes, but there are hundreds of numbers on the map. Coordinates, degrees. I can’t help but feel that Uncle Henry would point to the number directly, with a specific clue—”
“Maybe he did, with this,” said Darrell. He flipped the corner of the map over. In faint script it read Happy Birth-day, Wade. “Mom told me that pencil marks are great on manuscripts. They last for years but they can be erased. Anyway, a birthday is a number.”
“Holy cow,” said Lily. “Wade, what’s your birthday?”
“October sixth.”
“Ten and six,” said Becca. “Sixteen. So the substitution for each letter is sixteen letters away? Let’s start.”
They counted sixteen letters from each letter of the first two words of the coded message.
Lca guygas . . .
became
Mzo apiaoq . . .
Darrell tried to pronounce it. “May-zo app-i-ay-ock?”
Lily turned to Roald. “This isn’t a language, is it?”
“No,” he said. “We must have gotten the substitution wrong.”
“Wait,” said Becca, tapping the map. “If your uncle likes codes and puzzles, maybe he meant everything about the message to be a clue, right? So what about the minus sign in ‘birth-day’?”
Wade leaned over the faint pencil marks. “Maybe that’s just the European way of writing it. Is it, Dad?”
His father raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe Heinrich is asking us to subtract the day from your birthday. In other words, October sixth isn’t ten plus six, it’s ten minus six. Let’s try four.”
They did.
Lca . . .
became
The . . .
“I know that word!” Lily screamed. “That’s it!”
Dr. Kaplan laughed. “So the number is four. We count off four letters from the letter in the code to give us the correct letter, like this.”
He scribbled on Darrell’s pad for the next few minutes, then showed them.
B = S
L = T
A = E
U = R
S = N
T = C
E = D
R = F
N = G
C = H
D = I
F = J
G = K
H = M
I = O
J = P
K = Q
M = V
O = W
P = X
Q = Y
V = Z
W = B
X = L
Y = A
Z = U
“If we’re right about this decryption code, where the email message uses the letter B, it really represents S, and so forth down the line. So when the whole message is translated . . .” Dr. Kaplan scratched away on the pad for several minutes. He breathed in and out more excitedly until he dropped his pencil and spoke.
“The kraken devours us.
Strange tragedies will now begin.
Protect the Magisters Legacy.
Find the twelve relics.
You are the last.”
Wade felt a twinge in the center of his chest. You are the last. That was never a good message, especially when it was in code. But the other words? Tragedies? Legacy? Relics?
“Magister,” said Darrell. “Is that like a magician?”
Dr. Kaplan shook his head. “More like a master. A title of respect. Like professor.”
“Okay, but we’re not calling you Magister, Dad.”
“And kraken?” said Lily. “What’s kraken?”
“Sort of a giant squid,” Becca said. “A sea monster. It’s in legends and stories and things.”
Wade blinked. Where does she get this stuff? Substitution codes and krakens? Is it really all that time she spends poring over books or is she an actual genius? Either way, she’s kind of amazing.
“How did your uncle know yesterday about the tragedies they’re talking about this morning?” asked Lily.
“What tragedies?” Darrell asked.
“The things going on all over. It’s been on the net all morning. Look.” Lily linked to a news page on her tablet and scrolled down. Below the political news was a photo report of a building collapse in the center of Rio de Janeiro, in Brazil. Below that were several pieces about an oil tanker sinking in the Mediterranean. “It’s pretty weird, isn’t it, that they both happened at kind of the same time as his message? They’re tragedies, right?” Lily looked from one to the other of them. “I think they are.”
“They are, of course,” Dr. Kaplan said over the tablet. “But I don’t know . . .”
“Call him,” said Wade. “Call Uncle Henry now and find out what he means.”
“You absolutely have to, Uncle Roald,” Lily added.
Dr. Kaplan glanced at his watch. “It’s six hours later there. Afternoon. He should be home. All right.” He found the number in his notebook. Sliding his cell phone from his jacket pocket, he realized once again that it was dead and plugged it into its charger. Then he went into the living room and keyed the number into the home phone. He put it on speaker, and set it on the coffee table.
It rang five times before a woman answered, “Ja?”
“Hello,” said Dr. Kaplan. “I would like to speak to Herr Heinrich Vogel, please. It’s urgent.”
There was a pause. “Nein. No. No Herr Vogel. I em Frau Munch. Howze kipper.” The woman had a thick accent. It took a moment for Wade to understand her.
“Housekeeper,” he whispered.
“Can you please give Dr. Vogel a message?”
“No mess edge.”
“It’s short. Please tell him to call me. My name is—”
“Herr Vogel no call. Herr Vogel iz ded!”
Chapter Seven
Wade turned to his father. “Dad?”
Dr. Kaplan appeared to freeze for a moment. Then he slipped off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, the phone crackling on the table. “Excuse me, I don’t think we heard you. Are you saying . . . Heinrich . . .”
“Ded. Ja. Ja.” The voice rasped from the other end. “Ze fun . . . fun . . .”
Becca silently mouthed the word, “Fun.”
“Fun . . . fun . . . eral. Tomorrow mornink. Alter St.-Matthäus-Kirchhof. Here. Berlin. Elfen glock.”
“Eleven o’clock?” said Lily.
“Ja, ja.”
“Wait. This can’t be right,” said Wade. His chest was burning. “I mean how? How did he die? When?”
The voice on the other end went in and out.
“Frau Munch,” his father said, leaning over the phone. “Frau—”
“Hurry. You vill mizz ze boorial!”
The line clicked. She had hung up.
The children stared at one another, listening to the dial tone until the phone blinked and the connection was severed. Lily set it back in its cradle.
Wade felt suddenly dizzy, as if freezing water streamed down his back, while the inside of his chest was on fire. “Dad?” He lowered himself onto the sofa and felt Becca’s hand touch his shoulder.
Uncle Henry . . . dead?
Dr. Kaplan slumped down next to him, nearly buried by the cushions. “Wade, I’m so sorry. This is . . . unbelievable. How could Heinrich be dead?” He looked at the wall clock. “I can’t go . . . not with you here and Sara flying off to South America.” He seemed as deflated as the pillows around him.
Darrell picked up the translated email and read over its few words. “I mean, I didn’t know Uncle Henry, but something about this isn’t right. He sends you a strange email, a coded message, and now he’s dead? This is way too suspicious.”
Wade stood up from the sofa. Becca’s hand slipped away. “Dad, what do you think we should do?”