As he walked down the hallway toward his grandfather’s study, Andy caught sight of his reflection in an ornate mirror hanging on the wall. He was pale and thin. His blond hair was once again sticking up in all directions from his running his hands through it, and his brown eyes were bloodshot. The trip to his grandfather’s house had taken two days, and he looked in desperate need of a good night’s sleep.
Andy made his way into the study and flopped down in a big leather chair by the fireplace. He felt something poke him in the back. Leaning forward, he reached into his pocket and tossed the contents onto the table in front of him. A key and a letter hit the table’s surface with a loud thud.
A week before the funeral, Andy had received a strange package in the mail. Inside was a note from his grandfather’s attorney informing him that his grandfather had left him an inheritance. Andy wondered what the man who had never cared enough to meet him could possibly have left for him. A book? An ancient artifact? Piles of money?
His initial excitement about the prospect of wealth had evaporated when he arrived at his grandfather’s mansion and learned that the inheritance was no more than an ornate rusty key and a letter with a wax seal. Andy had put them in his pocket to look at when he got a minute alone, but in all the commotion at the funeral, he had forgotten about them.
Now Andy looked at the letter.
I wonder what he wanted to tell me.
Written on the sealed note was his name, in neat spidery handwriting. Until he had received the note from the attorney, Andy hadn’t even known that his grandfather knew he existed! Now that he had a moment to think about it, he found his curiosity growing. Why had he been left a key? What did it open? And what in the world could his grandfather have written to him?
I can’t just sit here forever, Andy thought, staring at the note and the key on the table in front of him. I should open it.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Andy reached for the letter. He examined it closely.
My name’s been written with a fountain pen, Andy thought, a smile spreading over his face. Andy had loved fountain pens for as long as he could remember. He had personally collected over thirty of them and was a subscriber to Fountain Pen Monthly. Andy loved the way the ink flowed on a crisp, clean sheet of paper. And he loved how elegant everything written with a fountain pen looked.
Sometimes Andy liked to imagine that he was an important man signing an important document. He practiced his signature over and over until he had it just right, every letter the correct size, the flourishes rolling beneath his name with a confident swirl. He could name all the different nibs and what they were used for, list the pros and cons of dropper-filled pens and cartridge fillers, and recite the history of fountain pen usage.
He even knew that the very first fountain pen in recorded history had been commissioned in the tenth century by al-Mu‘izz li-Dīn Allah, the caliph of the Maghreb, but he usually didn’t mention that to his friends for fear they would think him a little too obsessed.
Andy studied his name. He could tell from the width of the line and the way the ink reacted to the paper the kind of ink and nib his grandfather had used.
Beecham’s India Ink and a Hodges HB-2 pen. Wow. That’s rare.
Andy had read all about Hodges pens. They were so highly coveted by collectors that even pens in poor condition were often valued at well over ten thousand dollars. Andy’s dream was to own one someday. He couldn’t care less about getting a new bicycle. He would much rather have a Hodges pen!
Andy broke the crimson wax seal and gently lifted the top of the folded page. His heart beat wildly as he studied the first few lines.
Dearest Andy,
My sincerest apologies for not writing sooner or making the time to meet you over the years. As your mother can probably attest, I am an incredibly busy man and I tend to get absorbed in my work.
Although I haven’t been able to see you personally, rest assured I have made it my mission to know you. I have had my associates watching over you and reporting back to me for some time. They tell me that you clearly possess the Lostmore Spirit—something that skipped a generation with your mother—and that my trust in you is well placed.
“The Lostmore Spirit? What would make him think I have that?” Andy mumbled.
At this very moment I find myself half-wrapped in fragrant vines, awaiting entry to a temple hidden deep in the Amazonian jungle.
I suspect that my enemies are pursuing me and that the temple I’m investigating may lead to a trap. In spite of the obvious danger, I am, as always, trying my best to keep my head about me.
I’m sure you have probably heard some strange tales about your old grandfather. After all, I have seen many unexplainable things—phenomena that would make your hair stand on end and your toes curl! (By the way, if you ever are plagued with such an affliction, a tablespoon of honey mixed with Farnsworth root will relax your toes and hair and return them to normal.) And you must be wondering about the key I left you. It has been designed to open a very special door—one that hides behind it a mission of great urgency. I expect the very thought of danger and adventure will excite you, much as it did me at your age.
I feel certain that with a little deduction and logical reasoning, you will be able to quite easily discover the location of the lock and thenceforth reveal the amazing quest that awaits you.
One bit of advice: don’t lose your head! It is a valuable tool and should be treated with care. Heaven knows I’ve gotten a tremendous amount of use from mine and plan to continue using it for many years to come, in spite of the rather perilous circumstances I currently find myself in.
Chin up, old boy! Adventure awaits!
Yours sincerely,
Your grandfather
Ned Lostmore
P.S. I look forward to making your acquaintance!
Kungaloosh!
Andy folded the letter up. Make my acquaintance? We just had his funeral!
He set the letter back on the table and picked up the rusted key. He shivered. One end of the key was shaped like a human skull.
I’m not really sure I want to know what this opens, he thought. And for the briefest moment, he considered forgetting about the whole thing. He could just return home and keep the key in a drawer somewhere, write the whole thing off as a prank, and go on living a normal, relatively safe existence.
But perhaps there was a little bit more of his grandfather in him than Andy would’ve liked to admit. The stir of curiosity he felt was hard to resist, and he knew that if he didn’t at least try to find the lock, he would always wonder what might have happened.
Maybe I really do have some of that Lostmore Spirit he mentioned, Andy thought.
He stood up and carefully walked toward the blackened stone fireplace. Picture after picture—all showing the same three people—lined the mantel. Andy easily recognized his grandfather, but the other people were a mystery. Who were the man and woman standing beside Ned in all the photos?
Andy looked closer. In almost every photo, the man and woman wore matching safari outfits and pith helmets. She was a stunning beauty with blond hair and a heart-shaped face. He was stocky and seemed as solid and immovable as a boulder.
As Andy took a step back to study the pictures, his knee bumped into a small table with a fragile-looking teacup on it.
Usually when this kind of thing happened (as it did on a daily basis), the outcome would be the table flipping over and the teacup smashing into a million pieces on the floor. Andy would feel his usual embarrassment and frustration with himself for not being more careful and aware of his surroundings. He would immediately start cleaning up the mess, apologizing profusely to the disappointed person whose item he’d broken. And he would, of course, volunteer to pay for the damaged item, usually receiving a forced smile and assurances that all was well. Then Andy would feel miserable for the rest of the day.
But that day, something happened that had never happened before. Andy’s right hand shot out with a
strange reflexive precision, catching the teacup and its saucer, while his left caught the table a mere inch above the floor.
After carefully setting the table and teacup back in place, Andy stared at his hands in amazement. Phrases like good catch and nice save were never directed at him, but there was no other way to describe his move.
Andy smiled, feeling a wave of relief and a flash of confidence followed immediately by confusion. What had just happened?
He gazed around the room, noting the dust motes that floated in the late-afternoon sunbeams pouring through the panes of his grandfather’s cut-glass windows. Clearly the storm that had been brewing had passed. The warm glow suffusing the study made the room seem almost magical.
Something about Andy felt different. Could it have been that the day’s events, although disturbing, had filled him with the conviction that life wasn’t meant to be lived so anxiously? Risking everything was something that, until that moment, Andy had read about in his grandfather’s books but had never considered doing himself.
It’s like the spirit of my grandfather could walk in through the door at any minute and sit down at his desk, he thought.
Andy looked at the array of items lining his grandfather’s desk: a letter opener made from a medieval fork, a magnifying glass with a strange horn for a handle, and handwritten list after handwritten list. A 1938 calendar with a series of appointments written all over it in red ink stood in the corner of the desk. Andy smiled, picturing the old jungle doctor hard at work, cataloging his archaeological finds.
Suddenly, Andy noticed a large map displayed above the desk. He walked over to it, narrowly avoiding tripping over an antique brass spittoon that lurked near the bottom corner of the desk.
As Andy drew closer, his eyes widened with surprise. It was not a map of the world, as he’d assumed. In fact, it didn’t seem to be a map at all. Instead, it was a huge piece of parchment inscribed with tiny writing designed to look like continents. As Andy leaned in, he saw that the spidery scrawl was the same as he’d seen on the letter from his grandfather. It had also been written with a fountain pen.
“That looks like a .35-millimeter Humbolt,” Andy murmured, observing the tininess of the lettering and thinking of the corresponding pen nib. The writing was precise and beautiful, but try as he might, Andy couldn’t read the words. They were all gibberish.
KISREID EIHIT NRO DINRAATAS
The nonsensical phrase was written repeatedly all over the parchment. Andy wondered if it was some kind of Norwegian dialect.
He continued to stare at the words, reciting them over and over. They didn’t sound right to him, and he felt like he was missing something. There was a distinctive quality about the phrase that nagged at him, like the answer to a riddle that sat on the tip of his tongue.
Andy loved code breaking. He had read tons of books about it and had even made up his own secret codes. He was sure that what he was looking at was no different from the other codes he had read about. But the solution eluded him. After ten solid minutes of staring at the words, Andy gave up. But no sooner had he turned away from the strange writing than a thought occurred to him.
He wheeled back around, a huge grin spreading over his face. The elegant simplicity of what his grandfather had done filled him with newfound respect for the man.
So simple, Andy thought. It’s almost a joke!
But it wasn’t a joke. It was an instruction!
If he skipped every other letter of each word and reversed the order of the remaining letters, the command revealed itself. Kisreid eihit nro dinraatas became stand on the desk.
Andy turned from the map and cleared off the top of his grandfather’s desk. He pulled himself up and surveyed the room from a new height, his jaw dropping in wonder. The room, which had seemed so cluttered and disorganized from the ground, had changed. From this new angle, all the furniture and artifacts formed a carefully organized pattern.
“Amazing,” Andy whispered, awestruck.
Subtle golden lines had been painted on the surfaces of the artifacts and furniture. The light pouring through the windows illuminated the lines.
Andy was breathless with excitement. He observed the lines closely.
There’s a whole other world here, he thought.
Then he noticed something else. All the lines pointed to the same object: a tiny painting of a gold key on top of a display cabinet filled with pinned moths. The head of the key was pointing directly at…
“That suit of samurai armor!” Andy exclaimed.
The armor stood in the corner of the room, next to a large brass vase holding a spiky cluster of decorative tribal spears.
That must be where the keyhole is hidden, Andy thought.
He hopped off the desk, sending a boxful of paper clips scattering to the floor. Then, being extra careful not to bump anything else, he moved across the room to the armor. His pulse quickened. He had to admit his grandfather might have been right. This was pretty exciting. Maybe he was up for an adventure after all.
At least, as long as having an adventure is more like finding an Easter egg hidden in a house than having a near-death experience in the jungle, he reminded himself.
As he examined the suit of armor, Andy noticed a sequence of silver numbers engraved on its black marble base.
21 14 4 5 18 13 5
I wonder if there’s some kind of combination lock somewhere, Andy thought. He searched around the base but found nothing interesting other than a tiny etched skull at the end of the numerical sequence.
Andy studied the key again. “The symbol matches the key,” he told himself, “so I must be on the right track.” Andy ran his hand through his thatch of blond hair and whistled through his teeth. If this was a code of some kind, it was tougher than the last one.
He’d never been a math wiz, but he could tell that the numbers weren’t arranged in any kind of mathematical order based on prime numbers.
“Hmmm, I wonder why Grandfather used numbers instead of words this time,” Andy mused. He stared at the numbers for another long moment. There was a small gap between the first five numbers and the last two.
“It’s almost like words….”
He snapped his fingers as a new thought popped into his head.
“Of course!” he exclaimed. Andy mentally counted through the alphabet, assigning each number its corresponding letter. After finishing, he realized that the numbers did indeed spell out two simple words.
UNDER ME.
Under what…the suit of armor? Or does it mean something else? he wondered.
Andy tried feeling all around the base of the armor, searching for any visible cracks or a way to get underneath it. But after a few seconds, he concluded that it was solidly fixed to the floor.
Hmmm.
Again he noticed the skull next to the numbers. Could the phrase be about that? Maybe he was supposed to find something beneath it.
Andy placed the edge of his fingernail under the tiny raised skull and pulled upward. To his delight, it opened with a little pop and revealed a keyhole.
Yes!
Andy grinned as he pulled the key out of his pocket and placed it in the lock.
Here goes nothing.
The key turned with a smooth click. Andy waited, but nothing happened. What went wrong? he wondered.
Then, to Andy’s surprise, the suit of armor swiveled with a grinding noise, revealing a roughly cut hole beneath its base.
Whoa! Andy gazed at a series of stone steps that descended into total darkness.
A gust of musty air blew upward, lightly riffling his hair. The passage smelled of damp earth and mold.
Andy hesitated. Should I really do this? Anything could be down there! What if it’s dangerous?
Andy glanced back at the doorway that led from his grandfather’s study to the rest of the house. It wasn’t too late to forget the whole thing and go find his parents. But the tiniest flicker of newfound courage burned inside him. He couldn’t help wondering what wa
s down there. What was the mission he was supposed to undertake?
With a deep, steadying breath, Andy stepped into the dark passage. Keeping his hand against the wall, he tentatively walked down the first few stairs, assuring himself that if he ran into anything scary, he could always turn around. He hadn’t gone much farther when the suit of armor began rumbling back into place.
Andy shrieked and tried to dash back up and out the opening. Before he’d taken three steps, he slipped and banged his shin painfully on the stone stairs.
Andy hardly noticed the discomfort.
“No!” he shouted as the base of the statue groaned back into place with a resounding boom. The last crack of light from the library disappeared above him. The heavy silence and oppressive darkness that followed weighed down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had never been more frightened in his life!
His breath came in short, ragged gasps. He felt like he was hyperventilating.
No one knows I’m down here! Why didn’t I tell someone what I was doing?
Andy tried to catch his breath, but it seemed impossible. Feeling his way through the darkness, he slowly started to crawl toward the top of the stairs. His mind filled with horrible images of being trapped in the dark forever.
Please don’t be locked. Please…
His fingers probed the bottom of the statue’s base, groping for a keyhole. But his worst fears were confirmed. All he could feel was the rough-hewn base, with no apparent way to unlock it from underneath.
Andy shoved until his arms shook, but the statue didn’t budge. His heart sank as he leaned against the wall by the stairs.
“Help!” he called. “Somebody, please help me!”
But his voice was muffled by the closeness of the chamber, and judging by the lack of light coming into the stairwell, he guessed there wasn’t much sound getting out. Andy tried again to calm his shaking nerves. “If I can’t go back up, then the only other choice is to go down,” he muttered. He rose and—rubbing his sore leg—started to turn around.
The Perilous Polynesian Pendant Page 2