A King's Ransom

“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.