If You’re Reading This, It’s Too Late (27 page)

“You mean that cornice? I don’t know how to aim for it exactly,” said Max-Ernest, looking from the Sound Prism to the mountain peak. “I was just figuring if I created a big enough sonic boom, the whole thing would avalanche.”

“Well, let’s try again — but don’t close your eyes this time.”

“OK — but it’s hard not to; it’s a reflex.”

Bravely keeping his eyes open, Max-Ernest held the Sound Prism as far out in front of himself as he could.

With an unusual intensity of focus, Yo-Yoji flicked the whip backward, then — crrrrracked it less than an inch away from the Sound Prism.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!

It was even louder this time. The mountains shook. A big crack zigzagged through the frozen surface of Whisper Lake.

Max-Ernest and Yo-Yoji stared in amazement, at first not noticing that the boulder they were standing on had dislodged from the mountainside and started to ROLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL —

Cass heard the boulder before she saw it.

She had only a hazy hunch that the sonic booms had been created by Max-Ernest and Yo-Yoji, and only the very haziest of hunches that the purpose of the booms was to bury Lord Pharaoh’s coffin for good.

Nonetheless, she snapped into action as though the plan had been her own.

“C’mon,” she said to the homunculus, pointing to the coffin as the boulder hurdled toward Lord Pharaoh’s grave, gaining speed every second.

(Thankfully, Max-Ernest and Yo-Yoji had managed to jump off.)

While the Midnight Sun and Terces members alike scattered this way and that, running away from the boulder’s path, Cass and the homunculus sprinted to the coffin.

Together, they pushed the coffin (it was still on wheels) back to the grave, and heaved it over the edge into the hole.

“Cass!” warned the homunculus.

The boulder had bounded off another rock, sailed through the air, and was now rolling directly at them like a giant bowling ball.

With superhuman effort, the little homunculus rammed into Cass, pushing her out of the way just in time. But as he did so, he lost his footing and —

“Mr. Cabbage Face!!!”

— fell backward into the hole.

The boulder crashed on top of him.

Sealing the homunculus — and Lord Pharaoh’s deadly coffin — in the grave forever.

A
s the last remaining members of the Midnight Sun retreated into the snowy wilderness, a black helicopter rose out of the trees and flew off into the dawn sky — like a creature of the night fleeing the encroaching day.

Were we to have looked into the helicopter’s cabin, we would likely have found Dr. L and Ms. Mauvais sitting in stony silence, or furiously plotting their revenge, or both.

Rather humiliating to be defeated by three children, a defunct circus, and a tiny man grown in horse dung — don’t you think?

But let us stay on the ground this time, and watch the motley assortment of people known as the Terces Society gathering around Lord Pharaoh’s grave — now marked by a giant boulder sunk halfway into the earth.

The scene looked something like it did when the Midnight Sun had gathered earlier. But the differences were telling.

And not only because the sun — the real sun — had started to rise.

For one thing, the Terces Society members smiled. Not in the greedy, sinister, conniving way in which the Masters of the Midnight Sun occasionally smiled, but in an easier, friendlier, if still mischievous and not altogether innocent way.

For another thing, their attention was not trained on the grave and the terrible Secret it might contain but on the three kids in their midst.

I don’t know whether it was due to Terces Society custom, or rather, as I suspect, to Pietro’s intuitive understanding of the kind of ceremony they wanted, but the three kids were kneeling almost as if they were being knighted. Pietro standing above them like a proud father.

Cass and Max-Ernest were taking the Oath of Terces at last. And with them their new friend and partner, Yo-Yoji.

As Pietro recited the words, they repeated them:

I HAVE A SECRET I CAN’T TELL NOR INK;

THOUGH IT HAS NO SCENT, IT DOES OFTEN STINK.

THOUGH IT MAKES NO SOUND, IT CAN MAKE YOU ROAR;

WHEN IT’S TASTELESS, I LIKE IT ALL THE MORE.

THOUGH IT HAS NO SHADE, IT LACKS NOT COLOR;

THOUGH IT HAS NO SHAPE, NO CAUSE FOR DOLOR.

IF YOU THINK YOU KNOW IT, YOU’RE INCORRECT,

AND FROM YOU THE SECRET I WILL PROTECT.

THE SECRET OF LIFE IS NOT STONE NOR CENTS,

FOR THE SECRET SENSE IS BUT A NONSENSE.

“I thought it was supposed to be an oath,” said Yo Yoji, confused, as the three friends stood up. “That sounded more like another riddle.”

“Well, I liked it,” said Cass, her face still red from crying. “Are we allowed to know where it’s from?” She wiped her nose and looked at the grown-ups standing behind them.

“The Jester, of course,” said Mr. Wallace, pulling up the collar of his coat. “Everything he wrote is a bit of a puzzle.”

Owen patted Mr. Wallace on the back. “And if you had it your way, we’d spend all our time sitting in some library solving them.”

“Yeah, but what’s weird is, the way it goes, if you think you know the Secret, you’re wrong,” said Max-Ernest. “So how’re you supposed to figure it out then? It’s almost like you’re not supposed to solve the riddle. How ’bout that?”

“How ’bout that?” Pietro smiled at Max-Ernest “I think you have come pretty close to solving it just now.”

“Perhaps Cass is not the only one who has something in common with the Jester,” said Lily with a laugh.
^*

Later, as they all started heading down the mountain, Cass stopped and turned back to look at the enormous ball of granite sticking out from the glistening snow. There was something very fitting, she thought, about such a little creature getting such a big tombstone.

“Good-bye, Mr. Cabbage Face,” she said softly.

Her eyes beginning to tear again, she pulled that much smaller ball, the Sound Prism, out of her jacket pocket, and tossed it into the air one last time.

I
’m sure I don’t have to tell you how hysterical Cass’s mother became when Cass didn’t come home after the Skelton Sisters concert. This time around she didn’t bend and it would be months before Cass could step foot out of her house again without an accompanying adult.

You try telling your mother you’ll be home by eleven p.m. — then get kidnapped by evil alchemists, save the world with the help of a broken-down circus, have
your
life saved by a five-hundred-year-old homunculus, swear an oath you’ll keep this all secret from everyone
including
your mother, and then show up the following day with no explanation what-soever.

Cass was no longer allowed even to take the school bus. She had to be driven back and forth to school by her mother or her grandfathers.

Or — as happened one day a few weeks after the incident at Whisper Lake — by her mother
and
her grandfathers.

That afternoon, Cass’s mother was waiting on the curb in front of Cass’s school with Grandpa Larry and Grandpa Wayne; it was Grandpa Larry’s birthday and they were all going to an antiques auction to celebrate.

As she stepped outside, Cass heard them speaking — even though they were about half a block away:

“You know, it’s our story, too — not just yours,” Grandpa Larry was saying. “Maybe
we
should tell her if you won’t.”

“No, no. I will. Very soon. I promise,” said Cass’s mother. “I just need to find the right —”

“But there’s never going to be a right time!” said Cass’s grandfathers in unison.

Reflexively, Cass felt in her pocket for the Sound Prism. But she wasn’t carrying it. She was hearing them with her own ears.

Could the homunculus have been right?

One thing was certain: whatever their powers, her ears were unique, and they were her inheritance from the Jester.

And something else: it was time.

Right now.

Right here in front of her school.

Before she could change her mind, Cass marched up to her startled mother and grandfathers, and took a big breath —

“I know why you didn’t want to say who my father was.”

Another breath.

“It’s because you don’t really know.”

Breath.

“Because I was adopted, and you were afraid to tell me.”

Breath.

“But it’s OK, I still love you.”

Breath.

“And you’re still my mom.”

Breath.

“So don’t worry.”

Big breath.

“But how —?” asked her mother, beginning to cry.

“Somebody sent me this — I can’t really explain why.”

Suddenly teary herself, Cass showed her mom the piece of paper that she’d found on the ground in the Barbie Graveyard. The birth certificate that had been in the Sound Prism file.

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when she’d realized that she was the girl whose name was on the birth certificate. It could have been when the homunculus told her she was the heir of the Jester. Or it might have been one of those sleepless nights after they’d lost the homunculus, when Cass thought she’d lost her chance to be part of the Terces Society as well.

But she’d been carrying the birth certificate around with her ever since she’d found it — as if she’d known what it meant all along.

“Oh, Cass, I love you so much,” said her mother, hugging her tight.

“Me, too,” said Cass, hugging back.

“Us, too,” said her beaming grandfathers, closing in for a group hug.

Cass was a foundling.

As Grandpa Larry and Grandpa Wayne would tell her later that evening, and many more times after that, one night twelve years before, Cass’s mother happened to be having tea with them.

She was in tears — she had no husband or boyfriend in sight, and, she told them, she was afraid she would never have a child.

While Larry and Wayne tried to cheer her up, Sebastian started barking down below. A customer, they wondered, at this hour?

By the time they got downstairs, whoever had been there was gone. But a box had been left on their doorstep — just as so many other boxes had been left on their doorstep over the years. (Everyone knew Larry and Wayne could never bear to throw anything away.)

The box was taped up, just as if it contained old magazines or a mismatched set of plates, and it said nothing but the words “Handle With Care.” A single hole had been poked through the cardboard to let air inside.

When they opened the box, they found a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket. There was no note, only a meticulously written label: “Baby girl. 7 lbs. 3 oz. Time of birth 6:35 p.m.”

But Cass’s mother hadn’t needed to read a label to know the baby was hers.

Likewise, Cass hadn’t needed to hear the story twelve years later to know who her mother was meant to be.

Then again, hearing a good story never hurts. Especially when it’s about you.

M
onths later . . .

Cass was in the audience.