Frau Hamel remained rooted to her stool in the ticket kiosk as the campers made their way past, twice, in quick succession. She narrowed her eyes as they jogged to the storeroom to gather their things, and again a few minutes later as they returned to the parking lot. Birdie felt the heat of her gaze each time she measured them up, this strange semi-annual crop of American tourists intent on invading Burg Rheinfels.
Did they look different from the others? They were teenagers – but odd ones – too quiet, too lost in thought. Had Frau Hamel ever measured a group so silent at the end of a day at camp?
But then, what was left to say?
Birdie lingered on the curb in the bright sunlight with the others, waiting for their parents as day-trippers descended on the fortress – completely modern day-trippers – intent on snapping shareable photos and buying souvenirs at the gift shop. It was as if the past few hours hadn’t happened, as if they’d been a dream.
The morning, after all, had been so ordinary.
But if Frau Hamel or the other tourists looked closely, they’d see dirt clinging to their clothes and determination in their eyes, the only clues that something had gone awry that afternoon. They’d faced actual danger in the tunnels and the cave, and she sent up a silent thank you that Friedrich’s whistle had worked.
“See you tomorrow.” Sophia ducked into the back seat of her parents’ rental car behind Sam. “At breakfast?”
“Sure, sounds good.”
The Hennesseys were making their way to the main gate. Ryan tapped Rich on the shoulder, then sprinted back. “Hey, are you guys doing the sleepover tomorrow? I was going to see if I could skip it, but now—”
“Probably. I think my mom expects me to.”
“No way out of it.” Kayla tented her hand over her eyes and watched a small, sagging car approach the curb. “My grandparents already paid.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow then.” He sprinted back to rejoin his siblings.
“Later, Birdie.” Kayla opened the car door.
“Did you say Birdie?” Helga leaned a fleshy arm through the passenger window, a wide smile brightening her face. “I wondered if you might be here! Look, Harry! It’s Birdie Blessing!”
“Hello.” Birdie bent a little and waved at Harry, with his unmistakable bushy white mustache, in the driver’s seat.
He gave her a wink as Helga asked, “Where are you staying?”
“Just down in town. In Sankt Goar.”
“We’re a couple of towns down from here. Tell your mother we said hello!”
“Will do.” She straightened as Harry stepped on the gas.
Her mom arrived a few minutes later, and Birdie exhaled as she slid into the front seat.
“How was camp?” Mrs. Blessing contemplated a group of leather-clad motorcycle riders ambling toward Frau Hamel.
Now there was a question. She buckled in. “Okay, I guess.”
“Hmm… just okay?” She shoved the stick shift into gear and eased away from the curb. “You can tell me all about it at dinner. Herr Mueller arranged a bike rental for us, and I thought we could ride to Bacharach and eat at one of Marty’s recommended restaurants.”
Bacharach. That was where the Hennesseys were staying. “How far is that?”
“Not too far. Six miles or so?”
Birdie settled deeper into the bucket seat, glad to be off her feet, to be leaving the ruins.
Her mom slid a glance her way. “Does that sound okay?”
Birdie shrugged. A bike ride felt like a foreign concept. It seemed so… normal.
As they drove through the main gate, she peered up the sidewalk to the spot where the trailhead met the road. Marielle was somewhere in that forest, deep in another time, hiding from the guards. She prayed they hadn’t found her.
“Unless you’re too tired.” Her mom had continued talking. “But I thought we could check out some of the other castles along the Rhine. Herr Mueller said we can see them from the bike trail that runs along the river. We can take our sketchbooks and, oh, wait, whoa—” She slowed as they approached an underpass and pointed to a sign with two cars on it. “That means the other car goes first. I learned that the hard way earlier today. Let’s just say I’m glad I don’t understand German very well.”
They waited until a black BMW zoomed out of the underpass, then inched through and down the hill to the public parking lot.
“I can walk to camp tomorrow.” Birdie closed the car door and pointed to the hulking ruin on the cliff above them. “There’s a trail, and a few of the other kids are walking.”
Her mom eyed her over the roof of the car. “Are you sure? I figured I’d have to twist your arm to go back.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Unless you’re saying I don’t have to go to camp at all.”
She laughed and closed the door. It sounded good to hear her laugh – a real laugh, not the least bit touched by sorrow. “No, I’m not saying that. You’re going.”
They wandered down the main street, which was called Heerstrasse, on the way to the hotel. A few tourists shuffled in and out of shops and cafés near the small town square, while others posed beneath a whimsical statue of two boys who dangled beehives high above their heads.
“So what about the bike ride?” her mom asked as they skirted around the statue to avoid photo bombing an elderly couple.
“Yeah, okay. But I want to get cleaned up first. We got pretty dirty exploring the ruin.” Between the tunnels, the cave, the bats, and the underbrush, her skin was crawling. When they reached the hotel, she washed up and changed her clothes while her mom completed the arrangements for the bikes. She adjusted her bangs over her bruise, which had turned the yellowish green color that meant it would soon fade away.
That meant there was only one thing left to take care of.
She plucked her shorts from the floor and dug around in the pocket. The aventurine was cool, the golden chest shining like it belonged there. No one would suspect the image shifted and changed at will. She found the soft cloth from Bruges, wrapped the glass, and stowed it deep in her roller suitcase, zippered into the compartment that held her extra socks and underwear.
She exhaled as the closet door clicked shut. She needed to figure out what to do with the aventurine, she knew that. But there were no simple answers. She could tell her mom, but who knew if she’d believe her? She wouldn’t believe it herself if she hadn’t seen its power with her own eyes.
She could ditch it – throw it in the river – but there were no guarantees that another person wouldn’t find it, that it wouldn’t wash up on shore and cause just as much havoc for someone else – someone else who would use it for their own gain.
She sighed. There were no simple answers. She swapped her jacket for her sketchbook and pencils and slung her pack over her shoulder. She glanced at the closet door to make sure it was closed and left the room.