The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers Book 5: Trust No One (18 page)

“They’re not the same as the other ones,” Dan said immediately. Amy recognized the authority in his voice; she knew he was accessing the photographic-memory part of his brain.

“For one thing, these mesh together. None of the other circles did that. And none of them had these teeth.” Dan pointed to the edges of one of the circles.

A row of perfect triangles rimmed each circle.

“They’re gears!” Jake exclaimed.

“So it’s some kind of machine?” Dan said.

Atticus picked up the encased folio and peered at it closely. “There’s something else here,” he said slowly. “Maybe . . . pencil that somebody tried to erase.”

He pointed to a space just above where two of the circles overlapped, then handed the folio to Amy.

The page showed the variations in color and texture typical of ancient vellum: old crease marks, crackling, patches of uneven hues.

Amy shifted her position so the light from the overhead lamp fell on the page more directly, and held it a little closer.

“I see it now,” she said.

Above the intersection of two of the circles was a very faint line leading to an even fainter figure — a simple five-pointed star.

Amy handed the folio to Dan, who put it down on the bed and took out his phone. Using the flashlight app again, he went over the page thoroughly.

“There’s more,” he said slowly. “Same thing — pencil that’s been erased. I think it’s . . . two words, and one of them’s pretty clear. A-N-T-I-K,
antik
.”

“Maybe whoever wrote it couldn’t spell
antique
?” Jake guessed.

Dan frowned. “The other word is written smaller. And kind of smudged.”

Amy dug into her toiletries bag again. “Try this.” She handed him a magnifying mirror.

“What do girls need all that stuff for?” Atticus asked, sounding half admiring and half mystified.

Holding the mirror at an angle in front of the page, Dan spelled out the letters one by one. “H,” he said. “Then O — or it could be a C. And then a P — no, wait, I think it’s an R, not a P. And then A.”

Jake grabbed a pen and pad from the nightstand. “H-O-R-A,” he repeated as he wrote the letters down.

“Hora,” Amy said. “That means ‘hour’ in Spanish, or it could mean ‘time,’ too. Well, they’re astronomical charts, duh — of course they have something to do with time. Hora, antique — it’s not a clue, it’s just someone’s useless scribbling.” Amy knew she sounded snarky, but she couldn’t help it.

Atticus was frowning. “H-O-R-A . . . but that’s backward!” he said. He nudged Dan.

“You were reading from the reflection, so it’s backward. It’s really, um, let’s see —”

He was sitting across from Jake and had to read the letters on the pad upside down. “— A-R-O-H.”

“Which could mean anything,” Amy said crossly.

“Wait,” Dan said. “What if it’s a C instead of an O —”

“A-R-C-H — arch!” Jake shouted.

Jake and Dan immediately began a game of verbal ping-pong.

“St. Louis — the Gateway Arch.”

“The Arc de Triomphe in Paris.”

“Arches National Park.”

Amy listened to their conversation without really hearing it. She knew she should be contributing, or at least trying to. But after the high from the successful use of her tweezers idea, she was coming down hard now. A strange feeling had been growing in her — since Erasmus’s death? Or Phoenix’s? She wasn’t sure when it had begun, but she had gradually become more aware of it, and now it could no longer be ignored.

It was as if her mind was slowly dividing into two parts. One part of her was leading the boys around the planet to battle the Vespers, in a constant state of adrenaline-fueled anxiety, tension, and desperation. The other part was like a spectator, or a passenger maybe, detached, uninvolved — and uncaring.

That part of her had begun to feel like a safe place. No Vespers. No Isabel. No menacing capoeiristas or assassins disguised as waiters. A place in her mind that was quiet because it was empty.

As hard as she tried to fight off the impulse, Amy found herself wanting to go there more and more often.

“Amy?” It was Dan, dragging her out of her thoughts. “Arches — what’s the first thing you think of?”

“McDonald’s,” she said automatically.

“Very funny,” Jake said. “Come on, we’re making progress, get in here and help.”

He reached out and pulled her into the huddle. His hand on her arm was warm. . . .

Unbidden, the image of Evan’s face popped into her head. Why was she thinking of him now? Why did everything have to be so complicated?

Then Atticus made a gesture: one hand making a quick arc that ended with a snap of his fingers.

“Snap,” he said. “I’ve got it.
Arch
isn’t an arch.”

His voice was quiet, but they could all hear the certainty in it.

“Okay,” Jake said. “So what is it, then?”

“It’s a person. Archimedes.”

Atticus looked at them. “
Arch
is Archimedes,” he repeated.

Dan stared, his mouth half open. “You mean the Greek dude?” he said.

“What was he, like, a mathematician?” Jake asked.

“Yes, and a scientist and an inventor. One of the greatest who ever lived.”

“I get that
Arch
could be short for
Archimedes
,” Dan said, “but why are you so sure it’s him?”

“A couple of reasons,” Atticus said. “First,
antik
. It doesn’t mean ‘antique.’ It’s short for
Antikythera
.”

“Auntie who?” Dan asked. “This is about Archimedes’ aunt?”

“No,” Atticus said patiently. “The Antikythera has been called the world’s first computer. It was brought up from a shipwreck over a hundred years ago, and people have made replicas of it. It’s an amazing device that has all these incredibly complex gears. They think it’s an astronomical calendar and that maybe it was invented by Archimedes.”

“I’m with you so far,” Jake said. “What else?”

“Mali,” Atticus said. “The salt artifact — the one with the writing on it?”

“The ‘Apology for a Great Transgression,’” Amy murmured.

“Right,” Atticus said. “Written by a centurion, a soldier, who felt terrible about killing someone — a really great man. A man whose inventions could have changed the course of history if he’d lived.

“It’s been bugging me, because I felt like I’d heard that story. And then just now, when you said the letters were a-r-c-h, something clicked. That’s how Archimedes died. He was killed by a soldier.”

“Arch . . . Antik . . .” Dan muttered.

He leaned over the folio for another close look just as Amy did the same. They cracked heads.

“OW!” Amy clapped a hand to her forehead. Dan’s skull had crashed into hers in exactly the spot that was still tender from head-butting Sinead. Involuntary tears rolled down her cheeks, and she felt momentarily dizzy.

It was one of those bad-timing last straws. Amy flopped onto the bed and turned to one side, her back to the rest of the room.

“You okay?” Jake asked.

She waved him off. “I’ll be fine,” she managed to say. “I just need . . .” She crossed her arms over her chest, drew her knees up, and huddled into herself.

Without even realizing it, she went to that quiet place in her mind.

How peaceful it was there.

An awkward silence filled the room. All three boys stared at Amy’s hunched back for a moment.

Dan cleared his throat. “Um, Amy?”

No response.

Dan leaned over and poked Amy in the back.

Her shoulder twitched once, a tiny gesture, but otherwise she was still.

Worry percolated inside Dan, like bubbles slowly rising to the surface of a thick, noisome sludge he could almost smell.

He tried again. “Come on, you can sleep later. Places to go, people to see!”

Now there was no response at all, even though Dan could see that she wasn’t asleep — she was blinking slowly, staring at something he couldn’t see.

Don’t do this, Amy. Not now. There’s too much to do, and we need you.

I
need you.

Dan could feel his concern for Amy practically radiating out of every pore, which forced him to admit what had been terrifying him since his recovery from the blowpipe attack.

She might crack up. Like, long-term. Or even . . . permanently.

Dan pulled half the bedspread over his sister. The three boys left through the connecting door into the Rosenblooms’ room, with both Jake and Dan giving Amy a last concerned glance over their shoulders.

Jake broke the silence. “What’s the plan?” he asked.

Dan stood still a moment longer. He knew it was just his imagination, but he felt as if something had just landed on his shoulders and upper back.

It was a shapeless, nameless mass, but at the same time, so heavy he almost staggered.

If Amy’s in no shape to make decisions, someone else has to do it.

Dan tried to swallow, but there was hardly any spit in his mouth.

I guess the job’s mine.

Dan’s first move was to contact Vesper One with a message that the folio was in their possession. He received an immediate response, which said to get to New York and await further instructions.

Dan sent another text, asking for contact with the hostages. No reply.