The 39 Clues: Unstoppable: Nowhere to Run (10 page)

When Amy and Dan cycled into the village the next morning, Fiona poked her head out of the grocery and gestured at them frantically. They hurried inside, and she closed and locked the door.

“I’ve got a message for you from home,” she said. “Your phones are no longer safe. You’re supposed to destroy them. If you need to communicate, you’re to go to an Internet café. There’s one in the next village. And there is a very slight chance your location was compromised. The advice is to stay put for now. I’m supposed to tell you that a pony is checking everything out?”

“Okay,” Amy said, nodding. She felt her nerves strain at the news.

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe. The whole village is on alert. Which is why . . .” Fiona crossed to the window and peered out behind the shade. Then she let it drop. “There’s someone in town asking for directions to Bhaile Anois,” she said. “He checked in late last night at the inn.”

Amy and Dan exchanged uneasy glances.

“What does he look like?” Amy asked.

Fiona narrowed her eyes. “Sneaky, for certain,” she said. “And he’s quite a waster. Good for nothin’ but complaining. Nora over at the inn said he’s never satisfied with the temperature of his tea, and he asked for a cashmere throw in his room.”

Amy and Dan exchanged another glance.

“IAN,” they said together, and sighed.

“You
know
the eejit?” Fiona asked.

“The eejit is our cousin,” Amy said.

“
Distant
cousin,” Dan added. “Very, very distant.”

They strolled over to the front of the inn, where Ian Kabra stood outside arguing with the desk clerk. Their tall, elegant cousin propped a rickety bicycle up with one index finger, as if it would contaminate him. In this rural village, he was dressed in pressed jeans, a navy jacket, and a silky dark T-shirt. He was only sixteen, but he looked older.

“Are you seriously telling me, my good man, that this is the only transportation in the village? Surely there is a car service. Or a garage, where one might hire a car? Even in this backwater?”

The red-haired young man put his hands on his hips. “Why don’t you do this, me boyo? Take a flying leap at the nearest garage yourself? And then you can —”

Dan strode forward and took Ian’s arm. “We’ll take it from here. Thanks.”

“Dan! Amy! Thank goodness you’re here,” Ian said in his plummy British accent. “The locals have been
supremely
unhelpful.”

“Ian —”

He narrowed his dark eyes. “I was lost on the back roads for hours last night because when I asked some villager if this was Meenalappa, she said no. And I was standing
right
in the middle of the village
! If I ever see that young woman again, I’ll —” Ian’s eyes widened. Fiona was crossing the street to the pub. “Th-there she is!” he sputtered.

“Hi, Fiona!” Dan said, waving.

“Hi, Danny boy!” she trilled back.

“You’re
acquainted
with that creature?”

“Relax, Ian.” Dan tried to hide his grin. “She was just trying to protect us.”

“Did Nellie call you?” Amy asked, irritation spiking her question.

“Of course she did. And Hamilton and Jonah, too,” Ian said, naming their other cousins. “They’re on alert. Reagan and Madison would come, too, but they’re both training for the Olympics, and Hamilton wouldn’t let them. They’re on reserve, though.”

Amy gritted her teeth. “I told Nellie not to alert anyone.”

“Nonsense,” Ian said briskly. “We’re Cahills. We’re in this together. Now, let’s go to Grace’s house. It’s got to be better than that shoddy inn.”

Ian sniffed at the single bed with the cotton coverlet and plain white sheets. “I spoke too soon. Why, oh why, didn’t Grace know about thread counts?” he moaned.

“I have no idea what you mean, dude, but if you insult Grace in my presence again you are going to have one very fat lip,” Dan replied cheerfully. “Or two.”

“I’m not insulting her,” Ian said. “I’m just indicating my preference. If only Natalie were here, she would know exactly what I mean.”

Suddenly, Ian’s face clouded. Natalie had died only six months ago and she’d been his baby sister. Amy knew the wound must still be so unbearably fresh.

Ian cleared his throat and quickly turned away. His voice came out higher and constricted. “Since I’m alone in this, I won’t say another word. I will cope with threadbare towels and scratchy sheets like a gentleman.”

Amy could tell by the way Ian was examining his bedding that he was close to tears. Nobody was
that
interested in fluffing their pillow.

“We miss her, too, Ian,” she said gently.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

It would be like losing Dan
, she thought. She had a glimpse into great and unquenchable grief, and if she could have produced a cashmere throw for Ian at that moment, she would have been happy to provide it.

“We really need your help,” she added.

Ian’s face brightened, and she knew it had been the right thing to say. He wanted to be needed now.

Ian followed them down the stairs. “I know you two are going to need some Lucian strategy.” He lowered himself onto the overstuffed sofa. “So relax and tell me how I can solve all your problems.”

It was almost a flashback to the former arrogant Ian they’d known, but now he ended the remark with a smile that mocked his old self-centeredness. The loss of Natalie had changed him.

Amy felt her eyes mist. With all her worrying about putting him in danger, she hadn’t stopped to consider that Ian might need them, too.

They sat outside on the back lawn. Amy had spread out a linen blanket and brought a tray with a teapot and pretty mismatched cups — Grace had always collected mismatched china — and a plate of cookies. The weather had warmed and brightened, and the soft breeze ruffled the pages of Olivia’s book.

Ian knew more Latin than Amy, so he was able to translate a few things that had stumped her.

“This dowry reference is puzzling,” Ian said. “She keeps referring to it, but we don’t know what it is. Is it land, or money, or animals, or objects?”

“It does come up often,” Amy agreed. “Even after Gideon is dead.”

Amy looked up at him. Their faces were very close. She remembered when those dark expressive eyes would make her quiver inside, when being this close would make her blush and stammer. Not anymore, though.

A shadow fell over the blanket.

“Well, well. Aren’t you two cozy.”

Shading her eyes, Amy looked up and, with a spurt of uncomfortable surprise, saw Jake. Her heart began to pound. He was standing against the sun, and she couldn’t see his expression.

It was official. She was going to kill Nellie.

Guiltily, she scrambled to her feet. Now she could see his face, his strong nose, brown eyes, dark messy hair. He looked tired. And angry. “What are you doing here?” she asked, flustered.

“Nellie contacted us and said you needed help.”

“I told her not to do that!”

“Yes, I can see why.” Jake’s gaze flicked to Ian. “You already reached out for help, didn’t you? Sorry to interrupt the tea party.”

“Our network went down,” she said. “We even had to give up our phones. I couldn’t text you.”

He gave a tense shrug. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t have to hit me over the head. I get it.” His stony gaze moved to Ian.

“No, you
don’t
get it,” Amy said.

Ian rose. “Good to see you, Jake,” he said. “I hope you brought your little brother. There’s some medieval Italian to translate. . . .”

Just then Atticus bounded up with Dan. Atticus was Jake’s half brother, but they didn’t look much alike. Atticus was wiry and intense, and he’d inherited his African-American’s mother’s thick curly hair, which he wore in shoulder-length dreadlocks.

“Isn’t this fantastic?” Dan asked. “Jake and Atticus in person!” Dan punched Atticus on the arm. “Professor! You are
so
busted for showing up without telling!”

“You don’t have a phone!” Atticus said with a grin. “It was an insurmountable impediment, dude!”

Although Atticus was a year and a half younger than Dan, he made up for it with a vocabulary that could make a college professor hit the dictionary.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in college?” Dan asked. “How’d you get time off?”

“Taking independent study,” Atticus explained. “Dad said I should put off Harvard until I was emotionally mature enough to go.”

“Emotionally mature?” Dan hooted. “Your pop will have to wait about a billion years, dude!”

“I won’t have to wait as long as you, dude!” Atticus adjusted his glasses as he peered down at the blanket. “Hey, is that the book Nellie told us about?”

Jake’s eyes flicked to Olivia’s book. “You’ve got it outside in the
sun
? Are you out of your minds?”

Amy crossed her arms. “We’re being careful.”

“It’s not about careful, this is a five-hundred-year-old manuscript! You should be wearing gloves — Atticus brought some — and keeping it
out
of the sunlight.”

“It didn’t take you long to start barking orders!” Amy exclaimed, her face flushing. “But then you always know best, don’t you?”

“Somebody has to be mature in this situation,” Jake said, his gaze flashing at Ian, who was now intently trying to brush cookie crumbs off his pants.

“True. In that case, we’d rather consult your little brother,” Ian said with a smirk. “Medieval manuscripts are his field, am I right?”

“Technically, it’s early Renaissance,” Jake said.

“Thanks for the correction, my good man. Amy is right—you
do
know best.” Ian slipped his arm around Amy. “She’s so perceptive. One of the many things I adore about her.”

“It’s getting chilly. Why don’t we go inside?” Amy suggested brightly as she tried to step out of the circle of Ian’s arm.

Ian took the opportunity to rub her shoulder. “You do feel rather cold,” he said. “Let’s sit by the fire. Jake, since you’re so interested in proper handling, why don’t you take the book?”

Jake snatched up the book and furiously stomped off toward the house.

“You forgot to wear gloves!” Ian called after him.

Amy pushed him away. “Really, Ian.”

“What a touchy guy,” Ian said. “Frankly, I don’t know what you see in him.”

He winced as the kitchen door slammed, then glanced at Amy’s red face. “Hmmm. It might be a good time for me to take a walk,” Ian said.

The house was suddenly too crowded.

Within a couple of hours, it had been transformed. The lively, focused curiosity of the Rosenbloom brothers made the air buzz. The living room was now strewn with teacups and wadded-up napkins and plates with half-eaten sandwiches, and shoes on the floor and pencils snapped in half and discarded scratch paper and Atticus’s toothbrush, because Atticus said he got his best ideas while he was brushing his teeth.

Jake’s laptop was secure, so at least they could now do research on the web. Through their father, Dr. Mark Rosenbloom, an archaeologist, they had access to online libraries that Amy and Dan could never have consulted. Since spending the winter in Rome, Jake’s Italian was close to fluent, and Atticus was a Latin scholar. They had translated in a few hours what would have taken her days.

“My question is this: Why was an Irish woman back then fluent in Italian?” Jake asked. “Highly unusual.”

“She was a scholar,” Amy said. “She mentions that her father taught her Latin.”

“Latin I understand, even though it’s unusual for her to learn it,” Jake said.

“She did come from a family of bards, Jake,” Atticus said.

“Beards?” Dan asked.

“Bards,” Atticus said with a snort of laughter. “Poets. The learned scholars of Ireland.”

“I bet they had beards, though,” Dan said, and Atticus laughed and threw an eraser at him.

“The Irish have an amazing scholarly history,” Jake said. “Bards were more than poets. They founded schools, usually had nobleman patrons. They were revered in Ireland. But —”

“They were all men,” Amy finished. “Typical.”

“It just doesn’t add up,” Jake said, frowning. “And this code in the back . . .”

“Is that unusual, too?” Dan asked.

“Yes and no,” Jake said. “Actually, cryptography was widely used in sixteenth-century Europe. Queen Elizabeth had a school for espionage. It was a little later, but still, I’m not surprised at the code. But why is she using it in a household accounts book? And it’s so odd looking . . . reminds me of something I can’t place.”

“You know what Dad says,” Atticus put in. “When you’re stumped, return to the source.” He turned to Amy. “Can I look at the secret room?”

“Sure. I’ll show you.”

They took the stairs up to the second floor. Amy pulled down the sconce, and the stairs rose.

“That is just amazing-cool,” Atticus said, bounding into the space. He peered at her, his eyes wide and curious behind his glasses. “Do you think Grace could have left you a clue? About the code in the book, I mean. Dan told me she left a clue about the alphabet lock.”

“If she did, I don’t know what it is.” Amy plopped tiredly in the white chair, her hands clasped. “She said the struggle never ends. That it’s only abandoned. She
knew
that even if we destroyed the serum we could never be free.”

“That’s what spooks Dan,” Atticus said, prowling around the room. “He keeps waiting to have a regular life. It never happens. He’s super scared it never will.”

She smiled weakly. “How come you know my brother better than I do?”

“Aw. With Dan you have to listen to his underneath, you know? Not so much what he says. Anyway, I know how he feels. Ever since my mom died, my dad thinks he’s Indiana Jones. I keep waiting for him to settle down, but instead Jake and I just get yanked around the world.”

“I’m sorry, Atticus,” Amy said. “I thought you liked living in Rome.”

He smiled. “I do.
Now.
I just had to let go of wanting something else, that’s all. And realize my life is pretty cool. And having a brother like Jake raise me is amazing-cool, too.”

“I always knew you were smart,” Amy said. “But I didn’t know you were so wise.”

“Not so smart if I can’t help you,” Atticus said, blushing furiously. “So is there anything else here that would give you a hint? Is there anything odd, anything in the room that just doesn’t seem like Grace?”

“It’s all Grace, really,” Amy said. “She loved white and blue. The table is old, the Windsor chair . . .” She looked across the room and saw herself reflected in the mirror, a girl without a clue. “Everything but that mirror, I guess. I mean, she didn’t like ornate things, and it’s gold . . . and if you sit in this chair, you look right at yourself. . . .”

Atticus looked at the mirror. He pushed his glasses up his nose in the characteristic gesture that meant he was thinking hard. Then he spun around and laughed. “My brain is exploding! Amy — it’s the easiest code in the
world
!
It’s not just code, it’s mirror writing!”

“Mirror writing? Are you sure?”

“Elementary! Come on!”

They hurried downstairs, where Atticus excitedly told the others about his discovery.

“Of course!” Jake exclaimed. He hit himself lightly on the side of the head. “Sometimes things are
too
obvious.”

“This shouldn’t be so hard,” Atticus said. “Olivia is writing an instruction to Madeleine, right? ‘My Joy, my Song, you have my charge.’ If she made it too hard, Madeleine wouldn’t have been able to figure it out.”

“That’s why the references might have been things that they both knew,” Jake said, tapping his pencil against the desk. “A family vocab. Like the way Grace spoke to Amy and Dan. Using the familiar.”

“Maybe it has something to do with the teacher Olivia talks about in the poem?” Amy asked.
“ ‘Mio maestro.’ ”

“It’s more than a teacher, actually,” Jake said. “ ‘. . .
mio maestro di vita.
’ Teacher of life. It implies someone who teaches more than facts — all the aspects of life, a way to live. . . . Like a mentor.”

Dan recited from memory. “ ‘. . . and take up battle not with arms but wisdom gained from ancient land / kept close and passed from hand to hand / to
mio maestro di vita
, thee of timeless woman, universal man.’ ”

Atticus sat up, his dreads flying. “What did Grace say in her letter?” he asked Amy with sudden urgency. “About the struggle?”

Amy picked up Grace’s journal. “ ‘I am sorry to say that our struggle is never finished, only abandoned.’ ” She looked up. The two brothers were rising from their chairs, their faces full of disbelief, discovery, revelation. . . .

She rose to her feet. “What?”

“ ‘Art is never finished, only abandoned’!” Atticus crowed. “It’s a quote. Quite famous, actually.”

“Not to us, dude,” Dan said.

“There’s an old game Jake and I used to play. You know how you memorize quotes from famous people in history?”

“Constantly,” Dan said.

“And the mirror,” Jake said. “And universal man, of
course
!
Vitruvian Man!
”

Amy frowned. “That famous drawing of the man with his arms out? But that’s by . . .”

“And timeless woman!” Atticus crowed. “The
Mona Lisa
!”

Amy felt the knowledge roar through her body. “Are you talking about
Leonardo da Vinci
?”

“Gosh,” Dan said. “Even I’ve heard of him.”

“Leonardo was Olivia’s teacher,” Atticus said. “
That’s
why she knew Italian.”

Jake excitedly returned to the book. “That’s what the coded pages are. An account of her travels, but in it there must be something Leonardo gave her. ‘Then he to me bequeathed it, and with instruction bid / and I, through his own methods, hid.’ Now that we know this, we can crack the code, I know we can.”

“This is so amazing,” Atticus breathed. He stared at Dan and Amy in wonder, as though they were suddenly priceless works of art. “The most famous man in the Renaissance, and he
taught
your great-great . . .”

“. . . great-great et cetera grandmother,” Dan finished.

“The antidote is in those coded pages,” Amy said. “I just know it.”

Which makes the book just as dangerous as the serum. Because if we possess it, someone else will want it.

Yes, Grace. The struggle never ends. You knew that.

Jake sat, writing notes on a piece of scrap paper. Atticus tapped his toothbrush on the table as he looked over Jake’s shoulder. He was kicking his long, skinny legs, and his feet in bright red socks looked too big for his body.

He was just a kid.

And Jake . . . the way he made room for Atticus, the way he casually put his hand on the tapping toothbrush to stop it . . .

Jake was Atticus’s caretaker, his protector. They had a distant dad, a dead mother. The two of them would be lost without each other.

Here they were, alive in the moment, precious life coursing through them.

If she allowed them to help, they could die.

And she would be standing over another open grave.

So much emotion welled up in her chest that she was afraid she’d burst into sobs.

Amy cleared her throat. She looked at the two brothers.

“You’re going to have to leave,” she said.