The Copernicus Legacy: The Forbidden Stone (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Y
ou’re sitting on my foot,” said Lily.

“Why is your foot on the seat?” Darrell snapped.

“Because that’s the way I sit!”

“It’s wrong—”

“
You’re
wrong!”

“Bitte! Ruhe, bitte!”
said the streetcar conductor, scowling back at them, as he slowed to a stop, which he seemed to do at every single street corner in Berlin.

“Which means ‘please calm down, please,’” whispered Becca.

Lily growled to herself. The streetcar was crowded with late-night passengers and, as usual in these sorts of situations, because they were trying to stick close together and she was the smallest and everybody thought she was sassy and could take it, she got stuck getting crushed between big people with big elbows.
Me. The technician who needs the most room of all to manage my equipment.

She poked her own elbows out as she turned on her tablet.

Darrell groaned and shifted his weight onto Wade, while Wade, she noticed, seemed to do everything he could not to lean on Becca.

Roald stood by the tram’s stairs, running his finger along a map of the streetcar’s route. “A bit of a ride left,” he said. “Nine stops and we get off. Our hotel is a couple of short blocks from there.”

“I hope they’re short,” said Darrell. “We can all use some sleep.”

Becca stared out the tram windows at the slick streets. “Sleep. I think I’ve heard of that. I just want to wrap myself up in blankets and never come out.”

As the screen flickered to life, Lily realized that Becca was just as distracted, confused, and worried as the rest of them, and needed to “please calm down, please” herself. It didn’t matter that Becca never really seemed to break out and have any crazy fun. Becca was Becca. Quiet and thoughtful. Lily couldn’t imagine being with anyone else on this whatever-it-was. Darrell, on the other hand . . .

“Please give me room, please,” she said, nudging him sharply with her elbow.

“Oww!” he grumbled. “Do
you
have the dagger now?” he whispered.

“No. But that’s exactly what I’m looking up,” she whispered. “For which, by the way, you’re welcome.”

She scrolled down images of short swords and vintage daggers until she came upon a print of a dueling weapon that looked sort of similar to the one Uncle Roald had slipped inside his jacket.

“It could be a dueling dagger,” she said. “You know the way in movies sword-fighting guys have a sword and a dagger? And they use the dagger to block the other guy’s sword? Ours looks like that kind.”

“I hope it doesn’t mean that we’re supposed to fight someone,” Wade said, keeping his voice low.

“No one’s going to use this thing,” his father said.

“But why did Uncle Henry hide it in a secret crypt under his tomb?” whispered Darrell. “And what does it have to do with Copernicus? He was an astronomer. A mathematics guy. Stars and numbers. He wasn’t a fighter.”

Becca leaned over her. “Lily, see if there’s more info on where that kind of dagger comes from. Or the initials on it.
AM.
”

Lily leaned back. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Dad, do you think this might have belonged to Copernicus?” Wade asked. “Maybe it’s valuable.”

His father stroked his beard. “We don’t know enough to make any guesses.”

Which sounded to Lily like something a science teacher would say. The tram made another s-l-o-w stop. Three passengers got off. Probably going to sleep.
How much longer . . . ?

“I’m thinking that some clues might just lead to other clues,” Becca was whispering, “and that the real secret—whatever it is—isn’t the dagger at all. It makes sense, right? I mean, Uncle Henry didn’t make it easy to get this far. The email, the birthday clue on the star chart—which he wrote six-and-a-half years ago!—Frau Munch’s message in the dust, the tomb, the gnomon. It’s all codes and half clues, places, word games, quotations, number tricks. If the codes and tricks are clever enough, you shouldn’t be able to figure it out. Unless you have the key. Maybe the dagger isn’t the final secret but a key to the next thing. Maybe the real secret is pretty far down the line from the dagger.”

Lily stopped swiping the screen and turned to her. “Becca Moore. Those are more words than I’ve ever heard you say at one time.”

Becca blushed. “I just get the feeling that we’re at the beginning here.”

Which may be true, but Lily didn’t like the sound of it. Searching for clues and never getting to the end seemed like it might get boring really fast. Then again, she’d have a chance to shine. She knew better than anyone where to find stuff online, and that would totally speed up the solving of clues.

“You might be right, Becca,” Roald said. “If Heinrich’s secret was big, he’d have layers of clues to hide it. He loved word clues. Maybe the dagger is even a word clue. What they call a
rebus
.”

Darrell twitched so much then, Lily could practically see the goofy gears in his brain grinding to come up with some joke involving the word
rebus
and school bus or something. He finally shook his head slightly, which meant that his brain had failed him.

“What’s a rebus?” he asked.

“An object or a picture that doesn’t mean what it usually means,” Roald explained, “but is referring to its name or the sound of its name or something else about it.”

Wade frowned. “You mean like a picture of an eye might mean ‘I,’ as in ‘me, myself, and I’?”

“Exactly,” Roald said. “So, because a dagger has a point, maybe the clue is that it’s pointing to something. Or its letters spell out a clue. Or maybe it’s a key.”

“Maybe it’s all of those things,” said Becca. “In books where there are footnotes on the page”—she rustled in her backpack and took out her book—“sometimes they mark footnotes not with numbers, but with symbols. Little ornaments. There are asterisks—stars. There are little paragraph symbols. See. Here are some.”

She held up a page where there were symbols in the text corresponding to the same symbols at the bottom of the page.

* ¶ §

“There are also tiny little daggers, like this.”

†

Wade leaned over Becca’s book. “So the symbols in the text point to the footnote at the bottom of the page. Then maybe the dagger really
is
pointing to something. Or somewhere.”

And links do the same thing
. Lily followed one to another until she discovered a photograph of a short weapon that had the very same manner of wavy blade as theirs. “Are you ready?” she whispered. “This exact kind of dagger is called a pug . . . pugnale . . .
pugnale Bolognese
—”

“A baloney slicer?” That was Darrell again, hoping everyone would laugh. They didn’t. They were more interested in what Lily and her computer had to say.

So there
.

“A fighting dagger from Bologna, Italy,” she said.

“Interesting,” Roald said, looking past them through the tram windows. “I actually know someone in Bologna.”

“The article says that this kind of dagger is associated with a special way of dueling that began in Bologna, in places called
sale d’armi
. Salons of fighting. Fighting schools. Some are still around. One of the most famous teachers was—aha!—a guy named Achille Marozzo—”

Becca clapped. “The
A
and the
M
on the handle part!”

“Hilt, Becca,” said Darrell. “It’s called a hilt. Have you never read
The Hobbit
?”

“Those nasty little guys with hairy feet?” said Lily.

“Wait,” said Darrell, “
you’ve
read
The Hobbit
?”

“By accident!” said Lily.
Score!
“Anyway, AM was a fencing master who lived from 1484 to 1553.”

“So he was around at the same time as Copernicus,” said Becca. “Maybe they met. Copernicus went to Italy.”

“Everybody knew everybody back then,” Darrell said, hovering over Lily’s shoulder. “The whole population of the world was only a couple of thousand people.”

Lily laughed. “The fencing school seems to be still there—”

Wade stood up. “That’s why he said it twice!”

“Who said what twice?” Roald asked. “Uncle Henry?”

Wade was practically bouncing now. “Yes! It bothered me that he would say ‘follow the gnomon, follow the blade,’ because why would he say follow the same thing twice? It’s because he didn’t. He was telling us to follow the gnomon inside the tomb, then to
follow the
blade
that we found in the vault. He meant that we should follow it to Bologna, where it’s from. I bet the fencing school is the next clue!”

That’s good
, thought Lily.
Really good. Smart Wade.

Roald’s slow nod meant he liked it, too. Then his expression changed. “Except we’re not the ones to continue this.” He paused to glance around at the other tram passengers. When he spoke, his voice was low and firm. “Heinrich was killed because he was hiding this. Maybe he wanted me to somehow take up the task—I’m not sure—but I
am
sure he didn’t want my family put in danger. This weapon should really go to the police, but after tonight we can’t be certain about them. So I’ll take it to the US embassy in the morning and tell them everything.”

Wade frowned up his face, then nodded slowly. “I guess.”

“Or maybe just tell the embassy we have it,” said Darrell. “They could be part of the conspiracy.”

Roald smiled and patted Darrell on the arm. “I doubt it, but maybe.” Lily realized it wasn’t easy for him to know what to do. When something bad happens, you go to the police. But they couldn’t. Plus Sara was out of the picture for the next few days, so he couldn’t consult with her.

“Let’s sleep on it,” he said finally, patting the dagger inside his coat. “Things will be clearer in the morning.”

She hoped so. The tram was finally nearing their hotel, and the rain was turning to wet snow again.

Noon was heavy and gray when she woke with a splitting headache. It took her a long minute to realize where she was before the combined smell of diesel exhaust, mildew, and burned coffee reminded her that she was in a cheesy hotel in Berlin.

They had returned so late the night before, and after running all around town, they had decided to leave everything until morning—the murder, the dagger, the men pursuing them, everything—and get some sleep.

Which she would have done except for Becca’s snoring. Her roommate looked like a ghost, pale and drawn, and coiled in a dingy bedsheet. Becca was so smart and everything, but she so wasn’t the type of person to go running from bad guys. Lily was pretty sure Becca did her best work in a library. Still, their little group hadn’t done so badly. Evil gunmen might have chased them all over a big cold city, but they were all still alive. Plus, they had discovered a major thing. An ancient baloney slicer.

“Keep sleeping,” Lily whispered. She unplugged her tablet from the wall and woke it up.

“Lily’s Travel Blog. March 11. Day Three. Or is it two? Or four? Whatever. You won’t believe it. We’re being chased by goons in black suits—”

Knock
.

Her heart stopped. “Yes . . . ?”

“It’s Wade. You guys should get up. Dad’s decided we’re ending this now. We’re going to the embassy, then flying home this afternoon.”

Lily felt something crash inside her as she turned off the tablet. “Okay. Sure. It’s too bad, though. Wade?” He had already gone back to his room. “Becca, wake up. We’re going home—”

She bolted upright. “I’m awake!”

For the next ten minutes, they ran around getting themselves together, stuffing their clothes back into their bags.

“By the way, you were awesome last night,” Becca said, brushing her hair over the sink in their tiny bathroom.

Lily looked up from her bag. “Are you talking to yourself in the mirror?”

Becca laughed and leaned around the door. “No! You! All that information so fast. It’s too bad it’s ending, though. It was kind of fun, actually. Some of it. Anyway, we wouldn’t be anywhere without you.”

Lily didn’t know whether to scoff or hug her. “It’s all on the internet.”

“But you know how to get it
off
the internet and into the rest of us,” Becca said, lobbing her hairbrush into her bag.

Darrell tapped on the hallway door. “Five minutes, ladies.”

Lily unplugged her charger and crammed the last of her things in her bag. “Look,” she said, wondering if she should go anywhere near completing the sentence she was thinking of, then plunging ahead. “I know I can be prickly.”

“What?”

“My mom says I’m like her. She says it’s hard for her to get close to people. She says she’s a cactus mom. I know I’m a cactus, too.”

“You are not.” Becca’s eyes were suddenly moist, and she buried her face in her bag, pretending to look for something at the bottom of it. “You are . . .” She paused. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be sitting at a sticky desk in a tiny study carrel on the third floor of the Faulk Library! This was the best—”

The door thundered. “Now,” boomed Dr. Kaplan.