11

MAX leaped backward, hitting his head against a solid metal locker. Alex screamed. He scrambled to his feet and ran. When he got to the end of the hallway, he stopped.

Alex’s scream had turned into raucous cackling. “What’s so funny?” he cried out.

“I’m sorry!” Alex was squatting on the floor, holding her stomach and laughing so hard she was almost crying. Next to her, cocked at a strange angle, was the head of a reindeer with broken antlers. “I must have kicked the locker pretty hard. Looks like I shook loose Blitzen here.”

Max dusted himself off and walked back to the locker. Already a bump was growing on the back of his head. Ignoring Alex and the reindeer, he peered inside the locker.

Against the back wall, piled at least two deep, were tightly packed wooden file cabinets topped by stacks of white cardboard boxes marked REFORM CLUB. On top of those boxes were dusty old relics that looked like they’d been thrown in at the last minute—lamps, books, a bicycle wheel, several rusted spray cans, a fake beard, a basket of plastic fruit, a stack of old hats, and a solid black metal box.

A space remained, about the size of a mounted, stuffed reindeer head. Max did not have the urge to put it back.

“We’ll never find it in all this junk,” Alex said.

But Max’s eye was on the black box. It had a combo lock on it too. “Maybe we won’t have to look that far,” he said.

“Oh, sweet, another combo,” Alex said.

“Well, there’s one more thing in Queasly’s message,” Max said, reaching into his pocket.

Alex stepped into the cramped space. She watched as Max unfolded the note. “The letter Q,” he said. “Where he signed it. Or started to.”

Alex nodded. “Those guys were being so mean to him. He was trying so hard. He didn’t have a chance to finish.”

Max eyed the combo lock. Around the circumference, instead of numbers, were the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. He spun the dial, and then settled on the letter Q and pulled. “Ognib,” he said.

“What?”

“That’s bingo backward. Bingo would mean, ‘Yay, it works!’ Ognib means the opposite. ‘Boo, it doesn’t work.’ Want to give the box a kick?”

Alex thought a moment. “Maybe I don’t have to. Why would he be signing his name, Max? Just for grins? Queasly has seven letters. What if we try them?” She took the lock from Max and spun out Q, U, E, A, S, L, and Y.

With a solid click, the lock fell open. “Sometimes,” she said, “it’s easy.”

Max held his breath as Alex pulled out a manila envelope. In it were a few sheets of paper, held together with a rusted, old paper clip. The sheet on top fell to the floor.

Alex and Max both stooped to get it, but Max got to it first. He brought it out to the bright light of the hallway, where they both sank to the floor to read it, their backs against the lockers.

The Reform Club

London

To Whom It May Concern,

I write this with the full knowledge that it may only be read after I have shuffled off this mortal coil.

“Queasly danced on coils?” Max said.

“Shuffled off this mortal coil means ‘died,’” Alex replied. “He thought no one would read this until he died.”

I certify here that as club archivist, I have always discharged my duties loyally and without question. But I fear I have been forced to take action against a sea of ignorance.

For more than a century, the club has possessed an extraordinary work, left to us as part of an agreement with one Jules Verne—a list that summarized the account of a secret voyage, written in English, the fruits of which were to be shared by the club and Verne. Verne assigned the task to his nephew, Gaston.

It has been said that Verne held back the translation of this list, and by extension the release of the entire book, until an extortion payment was received. If true, this would have been a dastardly deed!

But, dear reader, it was not true. My grandfather, Septus Queasly, was a club vice president who kept the facts about this incident to himself. He knew Verne to be a fair, scrupulous man. No, in fact, it was our hallowed Reform Club that sought to cheat Verne of his payment! Half was promised before he left, and it was indeed paid. The other half, however, was promised upon delivery.

Verne was merely seeking what was due to him.

While Verne was on his voyage, it seems, the men had other ideas about the promised money. Rather than being held for Mr. Verne, every last farthing was spent on cigars, venison, parties! What to do upon Verne’s return? A plot was concocted. Verne was informed that the club would need to read the manuscript first. They would pay him only if “its findings could be successfully replicated”—in other words, only if he or someone else could perform the search successfully again.

Verne was aghast! Insulted! He knew the club meant to avoid paying him. So he turned the tables. He held on to Gaston’s work and instructed Gaston to produce a brief list—merely the basics—in code. Only if the club paid him—as agreed!—would Verne reveal how to read the text. In angry response, the club consigned the list to the chaos of its basement.

Whereupon I enter the story. Years later, upon the purge of documents, I was tasked with the destruction of this precious but cryptic work.

I could not do it. I have served the inebriated toffs of this organization with loyalty for my entire life, and they reward me with scorn and condescension. If they cannot comprehend the value of this list, it is up to me to preserve it.

The key to the reading of this has been lost to the ages. It was said that only one copy of this cipher existed. It was in the possession of Verne’s nephew, Gaston Verne, who alas descended into a terrible dementia. Rumor has it Gaston’s son inherited his possessions, which allows for the possibility that it still exists, passed down through the generations.

And the possibility that you, dear reader, will be the one to discover its secrets.

“Is this for real?” Alex said.

Max let the letter fall to the floor, reached into the box, and pulled out two sheets of paper, clipped together. They stared at the top one.

ZOUMF SGO SQAO IBBYAMS YD I

LUQIBAKYAR VYQKC TYEIFO

ZE YMO HAKOR TOQMO

“It’s gibberish,” Alex said.

“It’s code,” Max said. “If we can figure it out, we’ll know everything about Jules Verne’s search.”

“Any ideas how to get a code key that went missing generations ago?” Alex pointed out.

Max smiled. “Well, according to Queasly, we would have to find Gaston’s son’s son’s son. Or son’s daughter’s daughter’s daughter. Or son’s daughter’s son’s daughter. Actually, there are five more permutations—”

“Yes, and . . . ?” Alex said impatiently.

“And . . .” Max smiled. “One of those permutations might be the dancing guy with the droopy eye.”

He took Nigel’s note from his pocket and spread it out on the top of the cabinet.

“OK, that key decoded his message,” Alex said. “How do you know it’s going to decode this one?”

“I don’t,” Max said, fishing in his pocket again. “But let’s give it a try. We’ll need that little cheat sheet we made.”

He pulled out one last piece of paper.

vowels:

a e i o u y =

u y a e i o

consonants:

b c d f g h j k l m n p q r s t v w x z =

c d f g h j k l m n p q r s t v w x z b

Alex’s phone beeped, but she silenced it and stared at the two notes and the manuscript page.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Max said. “Say I’m Nigel, OK? I’m descended from this guy Gaston. My family has inherited the code key, so it’s been around now for generations.”

“If no one threw it out,” Alex pointed out.

“Exactly,” Max said. “So way back, Gaston’s kids or grandkids are like, dudes, we can decode this secret message—only they don’t say dudes, maybe more like old chums. They figure the feud with Verne is over, so they go back to the club. But the club guys get all fuff fuff-y and say ‘You can’t have it!’ When the family keeps trying, the club says leave us alone, we burned it! The family goes bonkers. But somebody learns the truth—maybe Queasly drops a hint, whatever—that the list exists, somewhere unknown. Boom, cut to the present. I, Nigel, hear that two kids found one of Jules Verne’s big secrets. I also hear about Basile’s funeral and I figure the kids will show up—which they do! These kids are so smart, maybe they’ll find the book. So I give them the code key—”

“And write a note using that code,” Alex continued. “A note that says ‘Gaston’s list lives.’ So number one, the kids will know the truth. Number two, in order to learn it, they will have cracked the code. And number three, cracking the code will make them ready to decode this list! That’s brilliant! Go for it, Max. Substitute those letters!”

Max took a pen from his pocket. “Each vowel shifts two vowels earlier, each consonant one consonant ahead . . .” Looking at the key, he replaced each letter, one by one:

ZOUMF SGO SQAO IBBYAMS YD I

BEING THE TRUE ACCOUNT OF A

LUQIBAKYAR VYQKC TYEIFO

MIRACULOUS WORLD VOYAGE

ZE YMO HAKOR TOQMO

BY ONE JULES VERNE