A King's Ransom

Cahill. Jake had turned them in to Interpol, but the authorities didn’t seem to believe Jake when he’d said they’d stolen the original manuscript of Marco Polo’s Il Milione.

Atticus was getting over his shock and hurt. He’d thought and thought about it, and he’d decided that there must be something going on that Dan was afraid to tell him. They were buddies, even though Dan was two years older. He still remembered the look on Dan’s face as he seized Il Milione and took off. Like he’d wanted to tell Atticus something, but he couldn’t.

He’d felt so let down by Dan, but he didn’t have many friends to spare. Being an eleven-year-old college freshman wasn’t easy. He couldn’t exactly join in conversations about dating or concerts. And he didn’t have much to say to kids his own age, either. They just thought he was weird. Atticus smiled, remembering what Dan’s response to Atticus saying that had been. Dude, you are weird. Embrace the weirdness! It’s cool.

“What do you want for breakfast” Jake asked him.

“Are you actually going to cook?” Atticus asked.

“I think I can manage to boil water and put some oatmeal in it.”

Atticus snorted. “If you think that’s all there is to it, you haven’t lived in Italy long enough.”

The phone rang, and both brothers looked at it for a moment before bending over their books again. Mark Rosenbloom was a world-famous scholar with a bestselling book. He got calls all the time.

The answering machine was turned up, and the accented voice was clear and crisp.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Rosenbloom.”

“Hungarian,” Jake said.

“Czech,” Atticus corrected. Jake was terrible at accents.

“This is Katja Mavel, from the Library of Philosophy and Cosmology in Prague. Perhaps … ah … you’ll remember me from your last visit.” The voice had suddenly dropped in a flirtatious way.

Jake rolled his eyes. Atticus sighed. Sometimes it was hard being a skinny nerd with glasses in the Rosenbloom family. Mark Rosenbloom tended to make librarians weak in the knees. Jake had inherited every bit of his dark good looks.

“We shared a cup of coffee and you were zo informative about cataloging our object collection… .”

With a sigh, Atticus got up to turn off the volume on the machine.

“In any event, I thought I would contact you directly about two students of yours who say you sent them to us. A brother and a sister. They looked rather young … but I know that you do work with younger students. Perhaps they are prodigies like your son.”

Atticus stopped. Jake sat up.

“Sarah Teague, she said her name was. They said they were researching Johannes Kepler? The Mysterium Cosmographicum – the one that was rescued from Neuschwanstein Castle after the war. Odd, because I did not think this was quite your field. We could not let them in without the proper letters of introduction. I am zo sorry if this becomes a problem. If you could call me directly, I’m sure we would be able to clear this up. Good-bye, Dr. Rosenbloom … Mark.”

Jake threw aside his book. “It’s them! It’s those Cahills!”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Atticus said.

“Of course it is. Stop protecting him!” Jake fumed. “Now they’re probably using our father’s name and reputation to steal something else!”

“You don’t know that they’re going to steal anything!”

“Atticus, come on! They stole a priceless manuscript! They’re crooks!”

“A thief doesn’t say he’s sorry. Dan said that to me! And he really meant it! He didn’t want to take it.”

Jake shook his head sadly. “Buddy, you’ve got to stop hero-worshipping this guy.”

“I’m not!” Atticus’s throat felt tight.

Jake stood up. “I’m going to call Interpol.”

“They didn’t believe you last time.”

“This time I’ll be more convincing.” Jake crossed the room in three quick steps. “Who knows what they’re going to steal next? The Mad King’s body?!”

Atticus froze. “What did you say?”

“Neuschwanstein Castle. It was built by Ludwig the Second. What you don’t know about history after A.D. 100 scares me.”

Atticus felt the words hit him like hard punches, like when he used to get beat up at his locker before his parents took him out of middle school.

Jake had his hand on the receiver. Atticus leaped across the room and threw himself at his brother. It was like a small twig battling a redwood. “You can’t!”

“Hey!” Jake backed up. “What is it with you?”

“You can’t,” Atticus repeated desperately. How could he convince Jake not to call in the authorities? How could he tell him that everything had changed when he’d mentioned the Mad King?

Atticus’s thoughts whirled. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It just couldn’t.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as the memories lit up his brain. The night she died. A memory he always blocked, because the sight and sounds of her dying were so terrible he never wanted to revisit them.

Until he had to. Right here, right now.

That night, everyone else had gone from the hospital room where they had been sitting vigil for three days. Astrid had been sick for weeks with a mysterious illness the doctors could not identify. Suddenly, she had taken a turn for the worse. She’d collapsed at her office and had been rushed to the hospital. She hadn’t regained consciousness.

Jake took their exhausted father to get coffee downstairs. Her devoted assistant, Dave, had finally listened when Mark told him to go home to bed. There was only Atticus in the room. He was hungry and tired, too, but they all knew that they couldn’t bear to leave her alone. As though if they did, she would die.

She died anyway.

At first, he thought he was overhearing her dreams.

“V-One. He’s V-One! Vespers …”

Then she’d come fully awake. He was holding her hand when he felt his being squeezed.

“Mom!” Tears spurted into his eyes when he saw her smile.

“Atticus.” She wet her lips. “So thirsty.”

He gave her a sip of water. “I’ll get Dad.”

“No! You must listen. Last chance.”

“You’re going to get better.” Atticus choked back tears.

She squeezed his hand. “Listen. Very carefully. Remember the bedtime story? The one I used to tell you?”

Atticus nodded. He didn’t remember the story very well, not really, but he wanted her to calm down.

“The ring. The ring. Do you remember? They can help you. But they don’t know who we are! I am passing along guardianship to you.”

Guardianship? Of who? Jake? Jake was seven years older than he was. Of course, Atticus always told Jake he was way smarter, but he was joking. Half joking.

“You are a guardian. You must continue. Tradition. So much at stake. Follow the sparrow to the Mad King’s castle.”

It was strange how calm and focused she seemed, even though her words were crazy. “Sure, Mom,” Atticus said soothingly. His gaze darted toward the door. He wished his father would get back. “The Mad King’s castle. Got it.”

“Darling boy …” Suddenly, her gaze unfocused and she tightened her grip as the pain came.

“Nurse!” Atticus shouted.

“Promise me,” she whispered.

“I promise, Mom.”

“My papers. Look in my papers. Promise.”

“I promise.”