Sighing, Amanda kicked off her sandals, dropped her bag to the floor, and padded over to Jordan’s backpack. She tipped it upright, its open mouth resembling a hungry baby bird’s, and started to fill it with the stuff scattered on the floor. A couple of text books, a large purple hooded sweat shirt, a mini pair of binoculars, pens, a binder, and—she made a face—his jockstrap. Grabbing for a pen, she gingerly lifted it up off the floor and flicked it into the bag.
“Eww, eww, eww,” Amanda muttered, throwing the pen aside. Then she spied a photo under the table and reached for it.
It was a digital print Treena had taken this week of Melody’s twelve-thousand-year-old stone arch. Amanda smiled. Her thumb grazed the glossy photo, remembering how it only took them a few days to unearth it. Melody had even rented a small bulldozer to pull the seven foot tall arch back into its original standing position. Once that milestone was completed, they all put in a lot of elbow grease to clean it up. Drake had done some research to find out what kind of chemicals were needed to buff up the stone and get rid of all the brown and green stains it had accumulated throughout the years of neglect.
The stone arch now shone like dappled marble, flecked with tones of brown, white, and gray. Most of the hieroglyphics had been preserved and were legible. Besides the trident in the keystone Jordan had recognized earlier, a group of seven spirals had been carved into the arch. To Amanda, both the trident and spirals looked out of place, like they didn’t belong with the rest of the ancient scribbling. Drake had been puzzled by a line of glyphs that mentioned the “old red land” and could offer no explanation. Imagine that, the boy-genius was stumped!
Melody, on the other hand, had become certain that the stone arch was some type of library that held precious secrets and knowledge to the past. Every night, she hungrily read her great aunt’s journals to look for any clues. But so far she had come up empty-handed.
“Hello?”
Amanda jumped. She pushed the photo to her chest and turned around slowly. A man stood in the doorway. Wearing jeans and a rumpled beige button-down shirt, he looked as if he could have passed for the winning contestant in Survivor, except that his face was clean shaven. His age was a mystery, but Amanda put him in his forties. Without making a move, she watched as he raked a large tanned hand through his thick, shoulder-length sandy hair. Suddenly, the strong fumes of his spicy cologne ambushed Amanda in the hallway. She sneezed, and sneezed again.
“Gesundheit,” the man said, as he sauntered in, carrying an over-stuffed duffle bag.
Amanda rubbed her nose. “Huh?”
“Gesundheit means to wish you good health. Probably stems from the Middle Ages during the bubonic plague.” He stopped and eyed her. “Unless, by chance, you sneezed because you’re vulnerable to evil spirits?”
“No. Just allergies,” Amanda replied, looking at him strangely.
The man laughed. He tossed his duffle bag aside, almost knocking over the hall table. “I’m John Lucas, Leslie’s brother.” He held out his hand, callused and pitted with scars.
“Who’s Leslie?” she asked suspiciously, still clutching the photo.
The man withdrew his hand. “Leslie Jensen. Jordan’s mother. You must be a friend of his, since you’re about his age. Unless—”
“Unless what?” Amanda asked.
“Unless, you’re his new girlfriend,” he said with a wink.
Like an oven set to broil, Amanda’s entire insides heated up. Her cheeks gushed white hot. Her armpits felt soaked, and her throat closed up. Without realizing it, Amanda crumpled the photo into a ball.
“Uncle John!” Jordan shouted from down the hall.
“Hey, tiger!”
Jordan sprinted down the hallway as if he were entering a cheering stadium. Then, he skidded to a stop. His mouth fell open as soon as he saw his uncle.
“Is there a problem, Jordan?”
Jordan continued to stare at his uncle as if he were under a spell.
“Is my fly low or something?” He checked his zipper.
Jordan blinked. “Wow! Did you get a cool-dude make-over or something? You’re not wearing your usual geeky polyester professor gear.”
His uncle shot him a lopsided smile. “Cute. I guess you could say my lifestyle has changed somewhat.”
“Did you finally meet a woman? Is she hot?”
Amanda stifled a giggle.
“No, I did not meet a woman! Honestly, Jordan. That sounds like something your mother would say, with the exception of that ‘hot’ crack.”
“Er, sorry, my bad,” Jordan replied.
He smiled. “So, are you going to introduce me to your girlfr—”
“I’m Amanda Sault,” Amanda blurted, cutting him off. “Um, I’m in Jordan’s class.”
“Study buddies?” he pressed.
“Ahh, no, more like—” Amanda paused, unsure how to define their relationship.
“Wait a sec, aren’t you supposed to be teaching at Notre Dame?” Jordan asked, breaking Amanda’s awkward stall tactic.
He nodded. Amanda noticed that his sky blue eyes suddenly glazed over.
Jordan must have noticed it too. “What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “Nothing you can fix, tiger. Unless, by chance, you can pull a once-in-a-lifetime ancient discovery out of a magician’s black hat for me.”
Jordan leaned against the wall. “You’ve lost me.”
“That’s okay, Jordan. I’m a little lost myself these days. To make a long story short, I’ve been disgraced, discredited, and suspended from my teaching responsibilities at Norte Dame for an indefinite period of time, thanks to Marcus Crowley.”
Jordan frowned. “Who?”
“Professor Marcus Crowley—my star protégé in the study of ancient cultures. He was thirsty to learn, so I took him under my wing and taught him everything I knew. It ended up he was smarter, and sneakier, than I thought. And it was a bone-head move on my part.”
“What exactly did he do to you?” Jordan asked as he checked his wrist-watch. Amanda glanced over his shoulder. It was just after four. They had to be at Melody’s house by four-thirty.
“Am I keeping you and Amanda from something important, Jordan?”
Jordan looked up. “Sort of. A bunch of us got in trouble at school, and for punishment were given yard duty. No biggie. So…are you gonna tell me what this Crowley jerk did?”
Jordan’s uncle sighed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, “That back-stabber stole most of my research as well as a rare Mayan artifact we found during an archeological dig in Central America early this spring. For the life of me, I still don’t know how he moved the thing. It must weigh close to five tons or better. When all the dust settled, I was the one held responsible. At first, I was thrown in jail. But, because of my position at Notre Dame, I was bailed out and sent home, where I was asked by the University Board to take an extended leave while things were cleared up with the authorities in Guatemala. Apparently, they don’t take too kindly to looters.”
Jordan shrugged. “Can you still teach?”
He nodded. “Eventually. I’m still a professor, if that counts for anything.”
“I guess you’ve been given a detention too,” Jordan said. Then he grinned. “We must be related!”
He rumpled Jordan’s tawny hair. “I’ll tell you what, when you and Amanda are finished with your yard obligations, the three of us will go out for some burgers and fries.”
Stunned at the invitation, Amanda released the crinkled photo. It bounced off her foot and rolled toward Jordan’s uncle.
“I’ll get it, Amanda,” he said, bending.
He picked the photo up, began smoothing it out, and then stopped. His jaw dropped. “What…the…hell?”
Jordan frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s…It’s impossible,” Jordan’s uncle muttered.
“Huh? What’s impossible?”
He continued to stare at the photo, his face void of expression.
&
nbsp; Jordan poked his uncle. “Earth to Uncle. Come in, Uncle.”
Suddenly, his breathing became raspy, almost asthmatic.
Amanda’s stomach knotted. Something about the way the professor stared at the picture unnerved her, spooked her. She took a step back.
“Do you want me to call Mom?” Jordan asked in a worried tone.
Jordan’s uncle didn’t answer. Instead, he straightened up, clamped the photo between his teeth, then reached for his duffle bag on the floor and ripped it open. He started pulling out articles of clothing and books, throwing them all over the floor until he came across a blue twill bucket hat decorated with an assortment of fishing lures. He plopped it on his head, then turned toward Jordan and roughly grabbed his shoulder. Jordan winced as his uncle removed the photo of the stone arch from his teeth, and shoved it under Jordan’s nose.
“Show me where this is, Jordan! Now!” he demanded.
Amanda’s whole body tightened, and her mouth went soupy. An invisible wall went up between the nutty professor and herself. He had transformed into someone obsessive, demanding, controlling, right before her eyes—all because of that photo. Amanda’s survival instinct kicked in. She needed to warn the others. Run. Get out. Go.
6. The Crystal Key
Amanda was lucky to get out of Jordan’s house alive. She snatched up her sandals and backpack and flew out the front door before Jordan’s crazy-eyed uncle could nab her. She tried to shake off her fear. Professor Lucas had freaked her out. His actions, his voice, his manner reminded her of a psychotic man her mom had once dated. Amanda shuddered just thinking about him. She licked her lips and swallowed a sour ball of guilt. Poor Jordan was still in there, cornered like a cat against a coyote.
Desperate times called for desperate measures, so Amanda stole Jordan’s bike. She’d gotten three streets over before she realized that she’d mistakenly taken his backpack too. Breathing hard, Amanda continued on, rounding another road, until she spotted Melody Spencer’s house. Go, go, go, almost there. Pumping, pumping, pumping the pedals, her legs ached while her lungs gave silent thanks, as she skidded to a stop, jumped off the bike, and let it fall into a patch of crabgrass past the gate. Amanda headed for the backyard.
I’ve got to get to the others before he does.
As Amanda rounded the corner of the house, she tripped over a rake and landed in a garden bed of freshly turned soil. Whump! With a nostril full of dirt, Amanda wiped her nose and shook her head. Disoriented, she looked around. Melody, Drake, and Treena were standing on the sagging back porch. It creaked, its tired foundation protesting under the weight.
“Look what I found last night, kids,” Melody Spencer announced in a whimsical voice.
Drake whistled. “That’s wicked-awesome, Melody!”
“OMG! Let me see it, let me touch it!” Treena squealed.
The sun caught what Melody handed to Treena, and Amanda winced at its brightness. She hooded her eyes with a hand to get a better look, and saw that it was a crystal trident, about the size of a pen.
“Where’d you find it?” Drake asked, as he slid his knapsack off his shoulder and dumped it on the porch. The porch creaked again.
“Believe it or not, Drake, I discovered it inserted inside the front cover of an antiquated-looking book. The book had been concealed within a secret compartment behind one of the book shelves in the library. It must be important, or Aunt Florence wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to hide it.”
Treena traced a finger up and down the clear prongs of the trident. “Does the book tell you what this crystal trident is used for?”
“I’m not sure yet. It seems the book was written in sets of abstruse riddles, as if it’s only intended for someone specific, someone who would understand what all the gibberish means.”
“A book of riddles?” Drake said. “Sounds like something Nostradamus would pull.”
Melody sighed. “I’m sure it would take a prophet like him to reveal the mysteries hidden in the book.”
Treena continued to run her finger up and down the prongs, faster and faster, until it started making a high-pitched ringing sound. She stopped. “Whoa, do you hear that?”
“Sounds like an angel singing,” Melody replied.
Drake covered his ears. “More like a couple of humming birds fighting.”
Before Amanda could interrupt, her heart started to race.
“Hmm, I wonder what would happen if you did—” Treena tapped the wooden railing with the crystal trident “—this?”
Amanda’s ears rang with an intensity she had never known before. A queasy, sick feeling ambushed her entire body. Her mouth went dry. She wanted to throw up, but couldn’t, needed to sweat, but didn’t. It felt like her body was awakening, connecting to her in a language she didn’t understand. Something deep inside her echoed, calling to her in a strange yet familiar way. Amanda forced herself to look at the crystal trident in Treena’s hand, and then, as if it spoke to her, to look at the recently resurrected stone arch in the middle of the yard. She turned her head, and like the sparkling trident, it too, glistened with a mysterious aura.
The sound of Treena’s shrill voice reeled Amanda back. “Oh, wow, I gotta get me one of these tuning tridents for singing class!”
Drake snapped his fingers. “Betcha if you put that crystal trident into the etched trident in the keystone, it acts like a key and unlocks those ancient secrets your Aunt Flo found out about. Maybe that’s why she kept it hidden, so it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. Maybe it’s the key to unlimited riches.” He rubbed his palms together. “Sweet!”
Melody reclaimed the crystal trident from Treena and nodded. “Yes, I thought that too, Drake. I was so excited when I found this that I couldn’t wait until morning. So, I ran outside in my pajamas during the middle of the night to place it in the keystone.”
“And?” Treena asked, biting her bottom lip.
“And…nothing. No big revelations, no psychic perceptions, no heart-stopping show.” Melody started to blush.
Drake frowned. He hiked up his baggy blue jeans, then pulled down his red T-shirt with the dragon on it, before he said, “Did you try reading out any of those riddles after you put the crystal trident in the keystone?”
“I tried nearly every riddle in the book until I got so frustrated I almost ripped the bloody pages out,” Melody replied, still red-faced. She glanced at the trident and squeezed it. “Why on earth would my Aunt Florence bother to write down all those peculiar riddles if they had nothing to do with this thing? There’s got to be some kind of connection between the riddles and this trident.”
Drake puffed his cheeks. “Can I see the book, Melody?”
“Well, if anyone can figure out this gibberish it’s you, Drake Bailey,” Melody said. She dipped into the pocket of her long black skirt and pulled out a small tan book the width and length of her hand. She passed it to him.
“What’s that gold design on the front cover?” Treena asked, peering over his shoulder.
“It’s called the Eye of Horus,” Drake explained, unlocking the clasp holding the book closed. “It’s the ancient Egyptian symbol of protection.” He moved a finger onto a page. “Here’s what’s written on May fourth, 1429—The plowman’s daughter has need of me, to take up arms and protect thee. To halt a madman’s wild arrow, I must go to Orleans and protect the sparrow.”
Treena scrunched her face. “Fortune cookie messages make more sense than that does.”
“Gibberish,” Drake grunted. He slammed the book shut.
Still feeling the funky effects from that strange resonance, Amanda slowly stood up. Gaining her balance, she stepped out of the garden. Book of riddles. Crystal trident. Stone arch. What’s the connection? She brushed dirt from her overalls. Nothing came to her. It was a blank page to this poet. And she hated blank pages.
“Hey, Amanda, I didn’t see you there,” Treena said, waving to her. Then she stopped. “What’s with the Mother Earth look?”
Melody
looked at Amanda. Her face fell. “Amanda, you’ve got dirt all over you. What happened?”
Drake laughed. “Looks like someone tackled her for a change!”
Amanda looked down. Her eyes widened. What had happened? Her head was buzzing, like she’d had one too many of those caffeine energy drinks. Think, think, think. But nothing came to her. It was as if her mind was in limbo. “I-I’m not sure. Don’t remember. Must have tripped.”
“Hold the presses!” Treena shouted, wide-eyed. “Drake, give Amanda the book of riddles.”
“Why?” Drake asked.
“She’s a poet. Ergo—she understands gibberish.”
Melody sighed. “Perhaps a pair of fresh eyes would be of help, Drake.”
“Fine. But if I can’t figure it out, then I highly doubt a less than average student will.”
Coming out of her fog, Amanda glared at Drake. “Poetry’s my turf, not yours, brain-drain.”
She strutted over to the end of the porch, snatched the book out of his hands, and stared at it. The book itself, not much bigger than her hand, had a thin black spine and the gold embossed Eye of Horus in the middle of its cover. A small copper clasp, now opened, wagged at her like a berating finger. Amanda turned the cover and saw an indentation in the shape and size of the crystal trident. She thumbed through the book’s yellowed pages and noticed that each page was dated. However, the dates weren’t in chronological order. Days, months, and years seem to skip from one century to another. And under each recorded date was a handwritten riddle like the one Drake had read. Amanda frowned. It was gibberish, all right. No limericks nor haikus here—just really bad poetry. Even she wrote better stuff than this.
“Boo!”
Amanda screamed. She dropped the book and twirled around. It was Ravi Sharma wearing his garden grubs—brown cargo pants and a worn navy sweatshirt. Ear buds were stuffed in both his ears. A wiggling movement above Ravi’s brows held Amanda’s attention, until she realized what it was—a grotesque green worm protruding from his forehead. It looked as if it had eaten its way out of Sharma’s skull and was going in for seconds. He swayed his head from side to side for effect.
The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis Page 4