The Daykeeper's Grimoire (6 page)

“So, um, Mrs. Findlay? Can I ask you a question? About your son-in-law?” She nods, so I continue, “Was he really killed here?” I ask quietly.

“Aye, he was.” Her lips get small and stiff as she speaks, trying to hold back tears. “Bloody shame, that. Such a good man.”

“Did anyone ever figure out who it was or what they wanted?”

She shakes her head. “Nae, they must’ve had a boat; no one saw them come or go on the ferry. S’pose the castle seemed an easy target because of how isolated it is, but they didn’t take a thing.” She shrugs. “It’s never made sense to anyone.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Findlay. That must’ve been horrible.”

She pats my hand and says, “It has never
stopped
being horrible, child.”

“Can I help you with anything?” I ask, but she waves me off. I think she wants to be alone.

I feel terrible for upsetting her, so I just walk over to get Mr. Papers and then leave. Pulling him out of his cubbyhole where he had been napping, I cradle him like a baby—he’s all cuddly and warm when he first wakes up, which I love. I suddenly wonder how old he is, and how long monkeys live. “We’ve got a lot to do today, pal,” I whisper in his ear. He butts his forehead against mine and sinks back into my arms as we make our way up the stairs.

Finding no email from Justine, I decide to check again after we explore the room. I gather a stack of origami paper, some white paper for tracing more symbols, my tape, and a couple pencils—once I’m in the secret chamber I don’t want to have to keep coming back out.

An inventory of the carvings is in order, so I tack a piece of tape above one spiral to remember where I started. Then I systematically take a rubbing of each one that has not yet been traced, making sure to number them so they stay in order. As I pass by the very first one that I took a rubbing of, the one that mentions my name, I notice that there’s a tiny carving underneath that says, “
In lak’ech, Fergus
.” If he signed it there, that would mark the last spiral, so I put them all in order based on that one being the end.

Back at my computer, I do a search for
in lak’ech
, thinking it may be some important Gaelic saying. Turns out to be a saying from the Maya, the people who built all the cool pyramids in Mexico, that means “I am another yourself.” Apparently this is how they greet each other, like we say hello. It’s really strange that Fergus would use Mayan language, but then again Hamish gave me that clay Mexican symbol when I was born so maybe there’s some connection.

Before going back, I check my email again and see a reply from Justine.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: SOS

OK CMF, that thing about Dr. Tenzo is sooooooo weird. I’ve always thought he was creepy. He’s one of those guys with really really big red lips and kind of greasy hair. I have no idea how he found you, honest. I’ll call Gramps this afternoon after summer school and ask him about it. It’s just really weird. I’ll let you know when I talk to him but until then, don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just some freaky coincidence. XO, J

PS The reason I’m up at the crack of dawn is that today is my first tutoring session with David von Idiot. I’m excited to see his room—you can tell so much about a person by what their room looks like. Remember how we thought Sarah Finkler was so sketchy after we saw that she had pictures of all the CSI actors around her room? Anyway, I couldn’t sleep so I was happy to see your email. I’ll try to go downstairs and fall asleep on the couch watching infomercials. Ciao for now.

The Sarah Finkler thing makes me laugh out loud. We became friends with her before we knew how much she was into morgues and stuff; she had a serious “CSI” obsession. So I told her about this computer-based class on crime scene investigation to keep her busy and then Justine and I slowly—very slowly so as not to end up on an autopsy table—pulled away from her.

Now that I have all the rubbings, I decide to trace each one so they are ready once I find a way to use the new software program Dad wrote to secretly decode them all. While I’m on the second set, I hear Mrs. Findlay announce lunch on the intercom so I pick up Mr. Papers from the bed and go downstairs. Mom and Dad are already there.

“Hello Professor,” Dad says to me as I enter.

I give him a weak smile. I can tell they’re going to run this thing into the ground.

Mom says, “Well, we’ve got some good news. Your friend Alex will be spending some time at the house when our guests arrive. Mrs. Findlay has offered his services.”

“Yeah, she told me he might be doing that.”

“Mrs. Findlay, you should invite him to dinner tonight so we can talk about the job,” Mom says. “Oh, and we should have your daughter over as well.”

Dad snaps his finger. “Good idea! I can give Alex that computer tonight, too.”

Mom turns to me and says, “Caity, I got a call today on a job in Zurich. It should be a quick one, but I’ll be gone for a couple days.”

“What’s going on in Zurich?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s a safe in a lakeside chateau. One of those cases where the grandfather dies and leaves the house to his kids but forgets to ever write down the combination to the safe. It’s a classic double-door Cyrus Price. Definitely won’t take longer than a day.”

“When do you have to go?”

“I’m taking the ferry to a train tonight.”

“And after I take her to the ferry, I’m going to check out the scene in downtown Brayne,” Dad says. “It’s about time I met the locals. Thomas is going to take me to each pub to meet everyone.”

“That should take about two seconds,” I say as I finish my sandwich. After our first ferry ride from Scotland to the Isle of Huracan we docked in Brayne, the island’s only town, and Thomas gave us a tour. There is a butcher shop; a very small grocery store; a building that says City Government that was completely dark inside even though it was a Tuesday afternoon; and three pubs. The priorities here are obvious.

After lunch, Mr. Papers and I go outside for a walk and to investigate the outside of the tower. It just seems that if Fergus worked so hard to build this thing in secret, there must be something inside of it. All I know so far is (a) that Fergus and the Chinese guy built it alone, (b) there might be some clue to all of this in the spirals, and (c) there’s some Mexican connection with the
in lak’ech
saying. Now I just need to find out how all of this comes together.

Thomas is out with the clippers, shaping the hedges so tightly you can hardly believe they are living things. He looks up at us and waves.

“Just out for a stroll,” I shout as I walk behind the tower to the water coming from the base. It runs out of a big pipe made of stone and then flows right into the little canal that runs around the castle.

Mr. Papers jumps off my shoulder and onto the ground near the spigot and sticks his tongue in the running water as if he’s licking a Popsicle. He takes a mouthful, looks at me with his head cocked, and swishes the water around in his mouth like a pretentious wine snob looking for just the right adjective for the flavor.

I stick my cupped hand under the spigot and then take a sip. You know how the air is when you’re skiing and there’s absolutely no smells because everything is blanketed in snow? It’s as if the water carries no flavor at all, yet its flavorlessness is delicious. I can’t get enough.

Mr. Papers takes another scoop and then just stares at it like he’s watching TV. I glance over to see what he’s looking at, thinking he might have caught some little creature, and he immediately lets the water go as if his hands are on fire. I scoop up a big handful of water and examine it closely for bugs. When the ripples disappear and it becomes still, a weird image appears. I swear I’m not making this up; it looks like a picture of a snake eating its own tail.

I have the same reaction Mr. Papers had, releasing the water as quickly as I can. It must be some weird trick the sun and the trees are playing. I try it again, but don’t see anything at all this time. I try to push the image from my head as I search the back of the tower.

Moving to each side searching for entry points, I find only tightly mortared walls. I sense in my bones that this tower sits on top of what I need to find, I just don’t know how to get in. Then I remember the blueprint that Mom and Dad mentioned.

On my way in I pass the inspector, Barend Schlacter. I’m not sure why, but the guy gives me the creeps. He has this weird combination of a boyish face with sinister eyes. I give him a huge smile, just trying to be friendly, and in return he looks me up and down like I’m a side of locker beef he’s examining.

Dad is at his computer in the library when Mr. Papers and I walk in looking for the castle blueprints.

“Hey Dad, whatcha doing?” I casually ask.

“A freelance project for World Bank,” he replies, without looking away from his screen.

“They don’t even care that you don’t have a name and a face, just a number that you bill with?”

“Skill is king in the programming world,” he says, twirling around in his desk chair to face me. With an arrogant shrug he adds, “When you’re one of a handful of people who can do what I do, you can go by any name or number you want.”

“You. Are. So. Cool,” I say.

He sighs. “I’m so underappreciated around here. If I didn’t have some of the largest financial institutions in the world licking my boots, I might just get a complex.”

“Ah, you know we worship you,” I say, as I lean over the big library table where the blueprints are sitting. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. I thought I might take a look at the blueprints; find out where everything is.”

“Isn’t it strange to live in a house that has almost more rooms than you can explore?”

“I know,” I say. “It’s like that dream I always have where I’ll open a door I think is a closet and it’s a whole other wing of the house I never knew about.”

“I love when you tell me about those dreams. I wish I’d have one.”

“Now you’re living it—you don’t need to dream it.”

“I suppose I am!” he says, seeming amused by his own good luck. “Excellent point.”

“So you don’t mind if I borrow these blueprints for awhile?” I ask.

“Sure honey, whatever you need,” he says as he turns back to his work.

I roll them up and skip up to my room. Mom pops her head out of her room as I pass by.

“Want to come talk to me while I pack?”

I set the blueprints outside her door, then go in and hop up on her big puffy bed.

“You’re doing okay here, aren’t you?” she asks as she folds clothes into her red suitcase.

“Sure. I mean, I miss Justine a lot, but I’m doing okay.” I run my fingernail fast across the outside fabric so it makes a satisfying
zeet zeet
sound.

“That code you made up was so creative; maybe this solo time is expanding your mind.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I don’t want to get into the boarding school conversation again, so I change the subject. “What are you going to get for me in Switzerland?”

“What would you like?”

“A new sketchbook would be great.” I turn over on my side and lean on my elbow. “And if they have a Gap, can you get me some jeans that are NOT capri length? I need the longest jeans ever made in the history of the world.”

“No problem.”

“Oh, and Mr. Papers desperately needs a new outfit. He’s like a doll-size medium. Try to get something boyish. The circus look isn’t really working for him anymore.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “You and that monkey …”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m an only child.”

“Oh Caity,” she says as she takes my face in her two hands and kisses me on the forehead. “I will miss you.”

When she finishes packing I pick up the blueprints and go to my room. I gather my sketchbook, a ruler, and pencil before hopping up on the bed to spread them out and work.

I find my bedroom on the plan of the East Wing. In between my bedroom and the tower is a long skinny rectangle with an X through it, which must be my secret room. I draw it all in the sketchbook for when I have to return the plans.

When I’m finished drawing I realize that something is really off. In the plans, the room with an X through it runs the whole length of my bedroom, but I know it’s smaller than that.

Or maybe the chamber is bigger than I think.

I spend all afternoon recreating the blueprints in my sketchbook; it may come in handy to have a plan of the whole castle sometime. Everything looks to be pretty straightforward from the blueprints; there isn’t even one other small room with an X in it.

A car door slamming reminds me that Alex is coming for dinner. I brush my teeth, carefully apply defrizzer to every strand of hair, and glide on some lip gloss. I have to walk a fine line between looking cute and not looking so dressed up that my parents tease me about being in love with Alex. Then I grab my favorite accessory, Mr. Papers.

I decide to wait for the intercom; I don’t want it to seem like I’ve just been sitting around for Alex to arrive. So I pace. I roll the blueprints back up and set them by the door. I pace. I rearrange the items on my desk. I pace. Finally Mom announces dinner on the intercom.

Mrs. Findlay is waiting for me outside of the dining room, where she removes Mr. Papers from my shoulder. “Inspector Schlacter mustn’t see him anywhere near the food,” she whispers.

“Stupid cherub,” I mutter to myself as I hand over Mr. Papers.