One False Note - 39 Clues 02 (8 page)

"Then I hope she's got one of those giant mining drills," Dan replied, taking note of the sloping floor. Suddenly, he pointed. "Whoa!"

Through an archway in the never-ending passage, they could make out a heavy ston
e
pillar. Propped up against it was --"A ladder!" Amy breathed.

They rushed over and gazed up through a thick iron grate. "Sunlight!" she hissed. She had never expected to see it again.

Dan scaled the wooden rungs and pushed at the metal. "Give me a hand, will you?" Amy joined him on the ladder. Slowly, the two of them were able to budge the heavy grill enough to heave it over. A loud gonging sound resonated. They scrambled through the opening and hoisted themselves into the room.

The large space was lined with small neat cots that rested directly on the stone floor. But that was not its most notable feature. At the foot of every bunk stood a black-robed monk with a shaved crown.

Forty pairs of startled eyes were fixed on the Cahills. Forty mouths dropped open in shock. The Benedictine monks of St. Peter's gawked at the Cahills as if they could not believe such creatures existed.

An older monk, his tonsure ringed with gray, noticed the parchment clutched in Amy's hands.

The cry that issued from him was less than human.

CHAPTER 10

In a body, the Benedictine brothers surged toward her, arms reaching for the precious artifact. Amy stood frozen with fear, but Dan was ready for action. He had already spotted the single small doorway in the dormitory. He wasn't sure where it led, but out of here was good enough.

He grabbed Amy by the arm and began to tow her through the swishing black robes, ducking reaching arms. When it became clear that they were about to escape, the monks' agitation grew. A hand grasped Amy's sleeve, and Dan shouldered it away like a pro football player. Amy leaped over a would-be tackier, and the Cahills fell into a broken-field run for the exit.

Nellie fretted in the Fiat, checking her watch every thirty seconds. Where were they? She should never have let them go into a place where one of their slimy Cahill relatives was prowling around. If that lousy Alistair Oh did anything to hurt Amy and Dan, she
was going to feed him his walking stick wrapped in barbed wire.

She turned to the backseat, where the cat lounged, no longer scratching. "They're half

an hour late, Saladin. Where can they be?"

And then she spotted them, moving fast through the milling crowd of tourists. Running, even. Looking kind of disheveled -- and scared. Her eyes focused beyond the Cahills to the wave of black that was gaining on them. Dozens of robed figures -- monks
–
were
chasing Amy and Dan across the abbey grounds. She started the car and threw open the passenger door. "Get in!" The parchment thieves did not have to be told twice. They barreled through the gates and piled in, a tangle of arms and legs. "Get us out of here!" Dan gasped.

Nellie stomped on the gas pedal. The car was already squealing forward as Amy pulled the door shut. Dan stared into the side mirror, watching the enraged monks grow smaller as the car accelerated.

The au pair was bug-eyed. "What happened back there?"

"It's not our fault!" Dan babbled. "Those guys are crazy! They're like mini-Darth Vaders without the mask!"

"They're Benedictine monks!" Nellie exclaimed. "They're men of peace! Most of them are under vows of silence!"

"Yeah, well, not anymore," Dan told her. "They cursed us out pretty good. I don't know the language, but some things you don't have to translate."

"We found a clue," Amy explained breathlessly, "and they didn't want us to take it. I'm positive it's something important!" She thrust the parchment into Nellie's arms. "Can you tell us what it says?"

"Why don't we put some distance between ourselves and the abbey first," the au pair advised, wheeling through the narrow streets of Salzburg. "How'd you like to have to explain to the rental company that their car was trashed by an army of deranged
monks?"

Dan was impatient. "We'll buy the rental company and the abbey, too! This time, we scored the big enchilada!"

By skirting downtown, Nellie was able to avoid most of the traffic and get over the bridge quickly. They made a few twists and turns and pulled over on a quiet street. "Okay, let's have a look at this 'clue.'" She picked up the parchment. "We think it might be some kind of formula," Amy put in excitedly. Nellie pored over the calligraphy, her eyes widening in amazement. "Oh, my God! I can't believe it!" Dan grinned. "That good, huh?" "But what's it the formula for?" Amy persisted.

The au pair read the page again and again, as if trying to convince herself that it really was what she
knew it to be. "You boneheads! This isn't a clue -- it's the recipe for Benedictine!" "Benedictine?" Amy repeated. "You mean the
drink?"

Nellie nodded miserably. "It's an ancient recipe known only to the Benedictine brothers for centuries.

That's
why they were chasing you!" The Cahills were devastated.

"We almost got killed in there," moaned Dan. "And it was all for nothing."

"No wonder the monks were upset," Amy lamented. "It must have seemed like we stole

the most important thing they own."

"Well, maybe it isn't a clue," Dan tried to console himself, "but at least that parchment

will look cool in my collection."

"Dan!" Amy exploded. "We have to give that back."

"Good luck." Dan was bitter. "If we set foot in that abbey again, those men of peace will rip our heads off."

Amy was adamant. "We can't keep it. Maybe we can mail it to them."

"I can't wait to see the address -- third cave on the right, go through fifty tunnels, turn left at the stalagmite. In German."

He climbed over the seat and joined the cat in the back. "I'm going to sit with somebody who isn't nuts -- what's up, Saladin? Hey, he stopped scratching."

"I was going to tell you -- before I had to play getaway driver from the Christian brothers. While you were at St. Peter's, I took Saladin to a veterinary clinic." "Was it fleas?" asked Amy.

Nellie shook her head. "The doctor took off his collar and

T
his
popped out." She reached into her pocket and produced a miniature electronic device about the size of a thumbnail.

"He figures the corners were digging into the skin. That's what all the scratching was

about."

Amy frowned. "But what is it?"

Dan was disgusted. "Don't you ever watch TV? It's a homing device. You plant it on somebody when you want to keep track of where he's going." Nellie was confused. "Who keeps track of a cat?"

Light dawned on Amy. "Not the cat -- us! Our competition did this! That's why we can't get ahead in the contest. Wherever we go, someone else always knows about it." "This has the Cobras written all over it!" Dan growled. "Leave it to a couple of rich kids to buy a hightech way to cheat because they're too dumb to get the clues on their own."

"Or Irina," Amy reasoned. "This would be kid stuff for the KGB. It could be any of them -- even Mr.
McIntyre. Remember -- he had Saladin while we were in Paris." "So what do we do with the transmitter now?" Nellie asked. "Smash it?" "Drop it down the sewer," Dan suggested. "Let the cheaters go scuba diving for it." Amy turned serious. "You know, this could be a golden opportunity to put the competition off our scent. We shouldn't waste it on a joke." Dan scowled. "You never let me have any fun." "Oh, this'll be fun," his sister assured him. "Listen... "

Alistair Oh trudged heavily through the parlors of the Mozart Wohnhaus, putting more weight than usual on his diamond-tipped walking stick. He already knew the location of the next important Clue. Still, while he was here in Salzburg, it made sense to visit the Mozart family's home, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. One could never be too careful.

But as he made his way through the eighteenth-century musical instruments and furniture, weariness pressed down on him. He wasn't as young as he'd once been, back when he'd made his fortune as the inventor of the microwave burrito. Exciting t
imes --alas, all in the past.

He sat down to rest on a visitors' bench. The money was mostly gone now, and so was his youth. The last thing he needed was a globe-trotting marathon after Grace Cahill's pot of gold. But what a pot of gold: fabulous wealth, limitless power. A return to the glory of his burrito days and beyond.

He'd barely slept at all last night. In truth, his conscience was bothering him over the incident in the tunnel yesterday. No one had told him the small explosive would trigger a cave-in. The plan had been merely to scare Amy and Dan away. Yes, they were adversaries, and adversaries had to be defeated. But he'd never forgive himself if anything terrible happened to Grace's grandchildren.

He'd been up past two a.m
watching TV news. If there had been an accident i
nvolving two American children,
surely he would have heard about it. Curse Grace and
her contest for setting them at
each other's throats

He never finished the thought. Fighting fatigue and lack of sleep, he allowed his eyes to close -- just for a moment -- and slumped back on the bench, fast asleep. "Another Mozart house. Oh, joy."

"I didn't pick it," Amy told her brother sharply. "Uncle Alistair did." Nellie had called every hotel and guesthouse in Salzburg to determine where Alistair was staying.

After two pungent hours hiding behind a dumpster in the alley beside the Hotel Amadeus, Amy and Dan followed their elderly rival to the Mozart Wohnhaus. Now they lurked in the shadow of a magnificent fortepiano, peering through the antique French doors at the tall figure on the bench.

"Well, there you go," Dan said bitterly. "A million-year-old guy who probably wasn't the life of the party even when he was young. Hey, how come he isn't moving?" Amy watched as Uncle Alistair's head lolled back on his shoulders, jaw slack, mouth open. "I think he's dead."

Dan goggled.
"Really?"

"Of course not, stupid! He fell asleep. Maybe we can slip the transmitter into his pocket without waking him up." "And if he does wake up?" Dan challenged.

Amy pulled the tiny homing device out of her jeans. "We'll have to chance it. Wait
here."

Cautiously, she slipped through the doors. It was early, and the museum was not yet crowded. The only other visitors in the room were a young couple with Norwegian flags on their backpacks.

Amy waited for the Norwegians to move on. Her feet barely touching the floor, she approached the slumbering Alistair. Slowly, she reached out with the transmitter. His arm lay across his chest, pressing his blazer closed. There would be no margin for error

A sound halfway between a snore and a hiccup burst from his throat. Amy froze as he stirred, resettled himself, and went back to sleep.

This isn't going to work. The slightest touch will wake him....

Her eyes fell on the walking stick leaning against the bench by Alistair's knees. She scanned the cane for a nook or cranny where she could plant the chip.

Dan was in the doorway, gesturing with both hands. She regarded him impatiently. What do you want, dweeb?

At last, she recognized the twisting motion of his fists. She grasped the head of the cane and turned. To her delight, the tip began to unscrew.

Perfect -- the top contained an opening where the diamond had been set. It was just the right size for Amy to insert the transmitter.

She was about to replace the piece when she noticed that the walking stick itself was hollow. Why not just solid wood? Unless ...

She picked up the bottom of the cane and squinted inside. There was something in there! A paper, tightly rolled to fit in the narrow tube. This was Alistair's hiding place!

She pinched a corner of the page and drew it out. The document was brittle and brown with age -- although not as ancient as the recipe they had taken from the Benedictine monks. Hands trembling, she
unfurled it. The printing was not in English. But the name jumped out at her, unmistakable:

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART

It was all she recognized, but she knew in a heartbeat that this was what they'd been searching for in the tunnels of St. Peter's Archabbey.

So you bear us to it,
she reflected, regarding the dozing form on the bench. Maybe we underestimated you.

A
gurgle came from Uncle Alistair, and his eyelids fluttered.

Working quickly now, she screwed the cane back together and returned it to its leaning spot against the bench.

Alistair slumbered on, completely unaware that his front-runner position had been stolen right out of his walking stick.

CHAPTER 11

Another vital document; another foreign language. "It isn't German," Nellie announced.

"No?" Amy was flustered. "I just assumed, because we're in Austria -- uh, what is it

then?"

Their Salzburg hotel room was small and not very nice. Dan was convinced that the management used low-wattage lightbulbs so that the guests wouldn't notice what a dump they were staying in.