The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers Book 2: A King's Ransom Read online

  Just the way Jake felt responsible for Il Milione. Because, in a different world, under normal circumstances, Amy would have felt the same way.

  Okay, she thought grudgingly, I’ll give him that. He cares.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have kicked him quite so hard.

  The apartment took up two floors of a grand building close to Old Town Square. Everything seemed to be upholstered in leather or velvet, and Amy had never seen so many tassels and trimmings — on curtains, on chairs, on sofas. Books were piled in short columns everywhere and used as tables for an assortment of abandoned teacups. At this hour, it was still and quiet.

  Until Jake heard the news.

  “You stole the map?” Jake asked furiously.

  “We can explain — ” Amy started.

  “Do you realize that you’ve implicated my brother in your crime? And me?”

  “I’m sorry, that was unavoidable. The fire alarm — ”

  “You said you were only going to look at it.”

  “No, actually, that’s what you said,” Amy corrected.

  “She’s right, Jake,” Atticus said.

  Jake wheeled on Atticus. “And you! How could you get involved in something like this?”

  Atticus took a breath and faced his brother. “Because I’m a Guardian,” he said. “I’m involved whether I like it or not.”

  “What’s a Guardian?” Dan asked.

  Jake held his head. “Not this wacko fairy-tale stuff again.”

  “It’s not a fairy tale!” Atticus cried. “I know that now. Mom told me I was a Guardian. I didn’t know what she meant. I still don’t. But I think my great-grandmother was one, too.” Atticus looked at them, vulnerable and scared. “Do you know what it means?”

  “No. Can you tell us what she said?” Amy asked.

  “I remember that she talked about the Guardians right before she got sick. She said it was a story her mother told her, only she never believed it. That there was this group that protected something over the centuries. More than one thing. They moved stuff from place to place until they found the safest spot. My mom thought it was a made-up story. But then she met someone who told her it was true. She didn’t believe her, either. But this person said that the Guardians and the Madrigals were sort of partners. And that the Vespers were our enemies.”

  “Grace,” Amy said. “That’s why your mother called for her in the hospital. Grace is — was — our grandmother.”

  “Of course!” Atticus cried. “Because Mom suggested I join this online gaming group and look for this guy named Cahill. She said she’d met his grandmother once and thought we’d hit it off. And I thought you were really cool, so we became friends. Not because of her, but because …” Atticus’s voice faltered as he added, “Because you liked me.”

  Dan held out his fist for a bump. “You are blowing my mind, dude.”

  Meanwhile, Jake stood a few paces away, his arms folded. Amy tried not to squirm. Whenever she felt his eyes on her, she grew annoyed. He couldn’t just glance at a person. He had to read the person, as though he was waiting for her to make a mistake or pull something over on him.

  “Listen, Miss Mysterioso, it’s time we heard some answers. We’re not going to go another step forward if you don’t tell us what you’re involved in. What exactly did you mean about lives being at stake? You and Dan almost suffocated. That wasn’t accidental. Somebody is after you. Who is it? Who are the Vespers? What do they have to do with you?”

  They were facing each other across the room, both of them with their arms crossed.

  “I’m afraid to tell you,” Amy said.

  Jake’s stern expression relaxed for a moment. “Did you ever think,” he said slowly, “that we could help?”

  Here it was — the moment Amy knew was coming. And she wasn’t in the least bit prepared. Sinead had told her not to trust them. But Sinead wasn’t in this room.

  She remembered Jake’s hand on Atticus’s shoulder. She remembered him saying Because it was the right thing to do. She felt something odd insinuate itself inside her. She still didn’t like him. But she trusted him. He was one of the good guys — she could feel it.

  She looked at her brother. They had a moment of pure communication, the thing between them that they’d counted on during the hunt for the Clues. There were so many times that they trusted their instincts, ignored what they should do and proceeded to take a different way. It had worked out. Usually.

  Yes, Dan’s gaze was saying, we can trust them. We have to.

  “Telling you what’s going on could endanger you,” Amy said hesitantly. “I know that sounds way dramatic, but it’s true.”

  “We’re already in up to our necks,” Jake said.

  Amy took a breath. There was so much to say, but she didn’t have to say it all yet. “The Vespers are a group that’s been in existence for hundreds of years — since the sixteenth century. It’s a secret organziation, and its members are recruited. So we don’t know any identities — well, we know two. The twins who were at the library. And your mother … She was right about the ring. They’re after it. It’s not magic, of course, but we don’t know why they want it.”

  “Wait, hold on a second. Who’s we?” Jake asked.

  Amy and Dan didn’t say anything. They couldn’t just blurt out a secret that had been kept for hundreds of years.

  But they didn’t have to.

  “You’re Madrigals,” Atticus guessed. “That story is true, too.”

  “Seven people from our family have been kidnapped,” Dan said. “We almost were, too. And then we get this phone with a text on it from this dude called Vesper One. He says that if we don’t follow his instructions, he’ll kill them.”

  “Are you sure he’s serious?” Jake asked.

  “He shot one of them,” Amy said. “In the shoulder. She seems okay, but …” She took a shaky breath to compose herself. “So yeah, he’s serious.”

  Jake kept his gaze on Amy. “Are the people they kidnapped … are you close to them?”

  Amy felt her eyes sting. She willed herself not to cry. She lifted her chin and tensed her whole body so it wouldn’t happen. She couldn’t appear weak in front of Jake. “We’ll do anything to get them back.”

  She’d done everything to show him strength, but somehow, she sensed, he saw her vulnerability instead. He cleared his throat and looked out the window.

  Dan got his computer out of his backpack and then reached for Il Milione. “Okay, gang. It’s time to get the jump on Vesper One.”

  “‘For to the world I was a Traveler, but once on the road I stopped in the great and splendid City. There I took on the task, Guardian, of what was entrusted to me to keep.

  “‘Men steal and kill, they hide and conceal, and the great Task for us is to bury what should be buried and do not mourn, for it is better so.’”

  Atticus read the words out loud. Then he pushed his glasses up on his forehead and rubbed his eyes. He’d found a dictionary of Old French in the professor’s library, and it had taken him awhile to translate the epilogue.

  “It’s kind of rough,” Atticus said. “My Old French isn’t as good as my Latin.”

  “Are you sure the translation is correct?” Jake asked.

  “Who are you talking to?” Atticus asked, insulted. “Of course it’s correct.”

  “‘The great and splendid City’ … there must have been a few on the Silk Road,” Amy said.

  “What’s that?” Dan asked.

  “It was an old trading route,” Jake said. “It wasn’t called the Silk Road back then.”

  “The term didn’t come into use until maybe the late nineteenth century,” Atticus put in. “I believe it was a German term at first?”

  “Uh, smart dudes? This isn’t Jeopardy!” Dan said. “Can you just
give me a summary?”

  “Trading routes through Asia,” Jake said, studying the de Virga map. “Look, the wind rose is right in Central Asia.”

  “I thought it was called the compass rose,” Amy said.

  “Same thing.” Without touching the map, Jake passed his finger over the expanse of territory. “Four thousand miles or thereabouts, from the Mediterranean to China. That includes parts of Turkey, Uzbekistan, India, Persia, Afghanistan … that’s a lot of territory. Maybe this will make sense if we look up some facts about cities along the route.”

  “Let’s look at Jane’s note again,” Dan suggested.

  “The murderer must be Kepler,” Jake said. “And the genius?”

  “Leonardo,” Amy said. “His shield was concealing Il Milione at the Colosseum.”

  “The city of stars,” Dan said. “What do you think Jane meant? Could it be the great and splendid city that Marco Polo talks about? He’s the traveler, right?”

  Atticus was still consulting Il Milione. “Wait, there’s a couple more sentences.” He bent over the book again. In only a few minutes, he put down his pencil.

  “That’s extreme,” Dan said. “The fate of the whole world? Exaggerate much?”

  Amy noticed Atticus’s look of distress. “What is it?” she asked.

  “‘The fate of the world is in our hands,’” Atticus said. “That’s just what my mother told me. The night she died.”

  They all exchanged glances. This time, Dan stayed silent, and Jake didn’t scoff. It seemed so crazy … the fate of the world. But suddenly, it seemed so real.

  Dan woke up with his face planted in a pile of papers. He had been dreaming about the wind. He pushed himself up, yawning and rubbing the indentations of balled-up paper on his cheek. The others had conked out, too — Jake in a deep armchair, and Atticus on the floor on a pile of quilts. Amy was asleep on the velvet sofa, her arms over her head, as if protecting herself.

  The wind rattled the old panes of the windows and seemed to make the entire building creak with unease.

  And the wind rose and pushed the traveler …

  Dan suddenly felt wide-awake.

  “Look, the wind rose is right in Central Asia.”

  “I thought it was called the compass rose.”

  “Same thing.”

  Jane had been talking about the wind rose on the map!

  Dan’s hands were shaking as he reached for the computer. He typed a word string into a search engine.

  wind rose de Virga map

  And the word popped up: Samarkand

  He clicked on the link. It was a description of the de Virga map. It said that the wind rose was in Central Asia, “most likely over the city of Samarkand, where Ulugh Beg’s observatory once stood.”

  Observatory? The city of stars. Jane had pointed them in the same direction!

  It had been there all along, and it was all so much easier than he’d imagined! As though Samarkand was the magic word that unlocked every clue.

  Dan did another quick word search. The great and splendid city — those were Marco Polo’s own words, and they described Samarkand. Buried in the text of Il Milione … but readily popped up on a search engine. Dan’s fingers flew on the keys. So this was why Amy got all excited when she researched! Piece after piece, falling into his hands, and they all made a picture.

  Samarkand was the clue. And if they could get there first … maybe they could have a bargaining chip.

  Dan crept over to where Amy lay sleeping. He put his hand on her arm and her eyelids sprang open.

  “Samarkand,” he whispered. “That’s what he wants. If you put the map together with Marco Polo, that’s what you get. The wind rose is right over the city.”

  “What?” Amy was wide-awake immediately. “Let me see.”

  He showed her his process, from putting together wind rose with the clues in Marco Polo’s lost epilogue and Jane’s hints.

  “I think you’re right,” Amy whispered slowly. “This is such good work, Dan!”

  Dan felt a glow at his sister’s praise. He was known for his photographic memory. It was Amy who could take random information and form it into a theory. But tonight, he’d not only remembered things, he’d put them together.

  Just then the Vesper smartphone buzzed by Amy’s side. She accessed the message and turned the phone so that they both could read it.

  Here’s your alarm clock, and it’s ticking! Meet me at the Astronomical Clock at six a.m. When the skeleton pulls the rope, leave the packet at the feet of Jan Hus. And don’t look back!

  “He’s going to be there himself,” Dan said. “He said ‘meet me.’”

  “It’s twenty to six. We have to get moving.”

  “Where? What is he talking about, the skeleton pulling the rope? Who’s Jan Hus?”

  Amy put a finger to her lips. “Shhh. Don’t wake Atticus and Jake.” She grabbed for her shoes. “The Astronomical Clock is right in Old Town Square — it’s one of the biggest tourist destinations in Prague. At the top of the hour, these mechanical carved figures come out in a procession — but first, a skeleton on the clock pulls a rope. The Jan Hus monument is there, too. We passed through part of the square on the way here, do you remember? It’s about ten minutes away.”

  “That doesn’t give us much time.” Dan reached for his shoes.

  Amy slipped the de Virga map into her pack. “Let’s go.”

  Fog shrouded the dark city. It was still dark. The sun wouldn’t rise until after seven A.M. No one was on the cobbled streets. Amy had mapped out the route and they slipped down the alley, made a right on an avenue, and continued toward the square, running as though a clock was ticking in their heads. Occasionally, they would see another figure in the fog, an early riser heading for work, someone walking a small dog.

  As they approached the square their steps slowed. They had made it. Now the swirling fog enveloped them, magnifying every sound.

  “Do you hear that?” Dan whispered. “Footsteps behind us.”

  Amy could hear them now, the quick steps of someone on the cobblestones.

  They picked up their pace again. The monument to Jan Hus was a dark shape that they scooted past to run to the Town Hall, where the clock was located. It rose suddenly out of the gray mist. Amy checked the time on her watch. One minute to six.

  There were other people on the square. It was large and open, with restaurants and shops lining it, so there were people coming in to work. They could hear the footsteps and occasionally the sound of a murmured conversation. But the fog isolated them and kept them apart, staring up at the clock.

  Was the fog lifting? The threads were twining around the clock tower. They could just make out the skeleton. A rope was in its hand. As they watched, the skeleton pulled the rope. The clock began to chime. Doors flicked open in the tower, and carved figures began to move jerkily forward.

  “Now,” Dan murmured.

  They turned toward the monument. The fog gave them great cover. Dan jumped over the chain.

  Amy quickly scanned the square. A white-paneled bakery truck was unloading trays of bread. A waiter whistled as he set out tables. An old woman sat at a table with a cup of coffee and a glass of ice. A mother walked by the tables, holding the hand of a small child. No one was looking at them.

  Dan hoisted himself up over the base and placed the packet at the feet of Jan Hus.

  “Dan! Amy!”

  The voice seemed amplified through the fog. Amy started as she saw Atticus running at top speed across the square toward them.

  Time seemed to slow down. And yet, everything happened so fast.

  She heard the squeal of tires. When she looked up, she saw the bakery truck careening across the square. Atticus was still running toward them, on a collision course with the truck. />
  “ATTICUS!” she screamed.

  The truck squealed to a halt.

  Atticus bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath.

  Amy’s hand was on her heart. She could feel the pounding, hard and fast. She had expected to see the truck hit the skinny body, send it flying.

  The driver stayed at the wheel. The passenger got out and crossed to Atticus with quick steps, as though to ensure that he was all right. Then she recognized the figure in the long white apron.

  It was Casper Wyoming.

  “ATTICUS!” Amy screamed again.

  She sprinted across the square, across the uneven paving stones. All her months of cross-country training paid off. She didn’t stumble.

  Atticus lifted his head, confused, as Casper grabbed his arm, twisted it back behind him, picked him up, and tossed him in the back of the truck.

  “NO!” Amy screamed as she ran.

  Dan suddenly appeared on her left. He had vaulted over the monument, making better time. In a last burst of speed, he threw himself at Casper.

  Casper sent his elbow straight into Dan’s throat. Dan flew backward through the air, his head striking the paving stones with a thud that sent panic shooting through Amy.

  The bakery van door slammed.

  Sobbing, Amy reached Dan. She crashed to her knees.

  “Dan!”

  He was out cold. She pressed her cold fingers against his pulse. It skittered against her hand. “Dan!”

  She looked up as the red taillights disappeared into the fog. “ATTICUS!” she screamed.

  Atticus could smell bread and motor oil, and it made him sick. The truck jounced over the uneven road, slowing down now, which didn’t make the jolts any easier on his head.

  When he’d seen movies about things like this, he’d always imagined how he’d react. Using his razor-sharp reflexes and boundless courage, he’d pull a surprise move and use a pencil to stab his abductor. Or he’d leap out of the way, jump onto the roof of a passing car, and escape.