The Maze of Bones (The 39 Clues #1)(39)
Alistair was buying, so Dan ordered an early lunch -- a turkey-and-cheese sandwich with chips and a large Coke, which for some weird reason was delivered in a glass with no ice. Nellie spoke with the waiter in French for a long time and ordered some exotic gourmet thing. The waiter looked impressed with her choice, but when it came Dan couldn't tell what it was. It looked like gobs of Silly Putty in garlic butter.
In a sad voice, Alistair explained how the Holts had ambushed him outside de Gaulle Airport and taken the
Poor Richard's Almanack.
"The barbarians hit me in the face and cracked one of my ribs. I really am getting too old for this sort of thing." He touched his bruised eyes.
"But ... why is everyone trying to kill each other over that book?" Amy asked. "Aren't there other ways to find the clue? Like the invisible message we found in Philadelphia -- "
"Amy!" Dan said. "Keep secrets much?"
"It's all right, my boy," Alistair said. "You're correct, of course, Amy. There are many possible paths toward the next clue. For instance, I found a message encoded in a famous portrait by -- well, here, see for yourself."
Uncle Alistair reached into his coat and pulled out a paper. He unfolded a color print of a painting. It showed Benjamin Franklin as an old man in a red flowing robe, sitting in a thunderstorm, which seemed kind of dumb. A bunch of baby angels hovered around him -- two at his feet, working on batteries, and three more right behind him, holding up a kite with a key on the string. Lightning zapped from the key into Ben's upraised hand. Ben didn't look upset by this. His long gray hair was wild and frizzed out, so maybe he was used to getting shocked.
"No way did it happen like that," Dan said. "With the angels and all."
"No, Dan," Alistair agreed. "It's symbolic. The painter, Benjamin West, meant to show Franklin as a hero for drawing lightning out of the sky. But there is more symbolism than I realized -- signs hidden so deep only a Cahill could discover them. Look at Franklin's knee."
Dan didn't see anything except a knee, but Amy gasped. "That shape in the fabric!"
Dan squinted, and he saw what she meant. Part of Franklin's knee was painted in a lighter shade of red, but it wasn't just a random blotch. It was a silhouette he'd seen many times before.
"Whoa," he said. "The Lucian crest."
Nellie squinted. "That? That looks like one of those ladies on a trucker's mud flaps."
"No, it's two snakes around a sword," Amy said. "Trust me, if you'd seen the Lucian crest, you'd recognize it."
"There's more," Alistair said. "Look at the paper Franklin is holding. Turn it upside down. There - brushed over with white paint, almost impossible to read."
Dan never would've noticed if Alistair hadn't said something, but when he looked closely, he could see the faint shadow of words on the document in Franklin's hand.
"'Paris,'" he read. "'1785.'"
"Exactly, my dear boy: a painting of Franklin with a key, the Cahill family crest, and the words Paris, 1785. A significant hint."
"I never would've found this," Amy said in amazement.
Alistair shrugged. "As you said, my dear, there are many possible hints, all leading us along the path to the second clue. Unfortunately, we Cahills would rather fight each other, steal information, and keep each other from getting ahead" -- he shifted his weight and winced -- "as my cracked rib and black eyes will testify."
"But who buried all these hints in the first place?" Amy demanded. "Franklin?"
Alistair sipped his espresso. "I don't know, my dear. If I were to guess, I'd say it is a hodgepodge, a collected effort by many Cahills over the centuries. Dear old Grace seems to be the one who wove them all together, though why or how, I don't know.
Whatever the final treasure is, the greatest Cahill minds have gone to a good deal of trouble to hide it. Or perhaps, as in the case of Benjamin Franklin, some of them are trying to lead us toward it. I suppose we will only know for certain when we find the treasure."
"We?"
Dan said.
"I still believe we must have an alliance," Alistair said.
"Uh-uh." Nellie shook her head. "Don't trust this guy, kiddos. He's too smooth."
Alistair laughed. "And you're an expert on smooth, my teenage babysitter?"
"Au pair!" Nellie corrected.
Alistair looked like he wanted to make another joke at her expense. Then he glanced at her lethal backpack and apparently changed his mind.
"The point is, children, our competitors have decided you are the team to beat."
"But why us?" Amy demanded.
Alistair shrugged. "You've been ahead of the game so far. You have escaped every trap. You were always Grace's favorites." His eyes glittered, like a starving man looking at a Big Mac. "Let's be honest, eh? We all believe Grace gave you inside information.
She must have. Tell me what it is, and I can help you."
Dan clenched his fists. He remembered that video of Grace, how stunned he'd felt when she'd announced the contest. Grace should have given them inside information. If she'd really loved them, she wouldn't have left them in the dark. The other teams were after them now because they thought Amy and Dan were Grace's favorites. But apparently Grace hadn't cared about them. They were just another team in this big cruel game she'd cooked up. The more he thought about it, the more betrayed he felt. He looked at the jade necklace around Amy's neck.
Rick Riordan's Books
- The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)
- The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)
- The Ship of the Dead (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard #3)
- The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo #1)
- Rick Riordan
- Rebel Island (Tres Navarre #7)
- Mission Road (Tres Navarre #6)
- Southtown (Tres Navarre #5)
- The Devil Went Down to Austin (Tres Navarre #3)
- The Last King of Texas (Tres Navarre #3)