“Later,” James murmured at Rocky and Katie’s demands. He nodded toward the door, and they seemed to understand. He didn’t want to be overheard. It had to wait.
The next hour passed excruciatingly slow, and all three of them only got through one folder each. James could tell Rocky and Katie were excited—Rocky’s foot bounced up and down beneath the table and Katie kept fidgeting with the papers in front of her. James should have held it in, waited to tell them instead of teasing them like this, but the puzzle pieces fitting together had been too perfect, too explosive, to hold in.
Finally, Afectrus came in and relieved them of their duties. James was worried she would be suspicious that their pace had slowed so much in the last hour. But instead, she seemed happy to see only six finished folders in front of each of them.
“Great work, you guys. We really appreciate it. Rest up now. It will probably take a few more days to finish up.”
They walked back to the infirmary as casually as they could. James eyed the locked door as they passed, still wondering what lay behind it. As soon as they entered the infirmary and shut the door, Rocky and Katie whirled on James.
“What do you know?” Katie demanded.
“Where is it?” Rocky said.
James smiled. His excitement had dulled over the last hour of monotony, but it flared up again. He practically ran to Katie’s bed and pulled the rolled-up painting from its hiding spot.
“It’s this,” he said, unfurling it on the bed. “This is the key.” He stared down at the painting, wondering how he had missed it. No wonder the painting had stuck out to him when he first saw it—the dark mountains, the turquoise sky, the single figure, some lost adventurer staring with wonder at a shooting star.
“Are you going to explain?” Rocky said with frustration. “Or just stare at it like you have a crush on it?”
James pointed at the N.R. in the lower corner, barely visible against the gray stone. “I never would have noticed this if you didn’t point it out, Rocky.”
“Yes, great, now tell us what’s happening!”
“Nicholas Roerich.”
“Huh?”
“N.R. Nicholas Roerich. That’s who painted this! I was studying him for an art history assignment.”
“Are you sure?” Katie said, uncertain.
“Yes, it’s the same style as all of his paintings. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. But get this,” he said. “Roerich wasn’t just some random painter. He was a philosopher, a mystic, and an explorer.”
“Are you saying—”
“And he was well-known for his travels to Asia! That’s what he painted!” James pushed forward, too excited to be interrupted. He began pacing back and forth. “So he traveled all over Asia, right? And the official reason was to... spread Buddhism, I think. He painted what he saw. Mountains and villages, stuff like that. But in 1927, his expedition disappeared for an entire year. It reappeared in 1928, with no explanation. It didn’t make sense to me how an expedition is just gone for an entire year and nobody seems to question it.” He stopped pacing and looked at Rocky and Katie, who both wore bemused expressions. “And get this, I found this passage from Roerich’s diary. It went something like, ‘The Tibetan authorities stopped us and asked where we were going. When I answered to where the blessed one was born, a shout rang out, and we were nearly lost.’”
Rocky cocked his head to the side. “Why does that phrase sound familiar?”
“Remember, in Nepal, when we first found out about the stone and how it supposedly carried the wisdom of the blessed one?”
Rocky’s eyebrows rose. “Buddha is known as the blessed one.”
“Exactly, so where the blessed one was born must be—”
“Lumbini!” Rocky said.
James was thrown off. “What?”
“That lady told us, remember? The Buddha was born in Lumbini!”
“I must’ve missed it.”
Rocky shook his head like a disappointed teacher. “Pay attention in class, Mr. Bolt.”
“Wait, I’m lost,” Katie said. “What does this have to do with the stone?”
“Calico’s been following the wrong guy!” James said. “Shäfer went looking for the stone in 1938, right? But he never found the entrance to the city, and even if he had, he would have been met with this.” James held up the painting. “Because ten years earlier, in 1927, Nicholas Roerich found the stone. While transporting it, he was nearly stopped by the Tibetan authorities, but he must have escaped. And he brought it to Lumbini, Nepal, the birthplace of the Buddha. That’s where it is. The Chintamani Stone is in Lumbini!”
Rocky pumped his fist in the air, but Katie pursed her lips.
“What?” James said, faltering at her lack of excitement.
“I don’t know...”
“What do you mean?” Rocky demanded. “It all fits. I mean, what, we just happened to find a Nicholas Roerich painting where the stone should be, and he just happened to go on an expedition to Asia and disappear for a while?”
“I mean, sure, but why would he leave his own painting there when he took the stone?”
“You know how artists are. He probably couldn’t resist,” Rocky said.
“Okay, so we’re assuming Roerich himself left the painting there, which means he took the stone.” Katie held up one finger. “And we’re assuming he went straight to Lumbini with the stone”—she held up another finger—“and we’re assuming he left it in Lumbini for some reason, instead of keeping it for himself.” She held up a third finger.
James deflated slightly, but he pushed forward. “But the rest of the expedition is publicly documented, except for that lost year. Everything they brought back with them was examined. It all eventually went to museums and stuff. But there is no mention of the Chintamani Stone. You’d think a stone of great
