“Where is the blue Sunstone?” Beth asked Mr. Whittaker. “It’s not inside the Imagination Station anymore.”
“I put it on the dashboard last night,” Mr. Whittaker said. “It was gone this morning. I think whoever wrote the letters took the Sunstone.”
“But how could that happen?” Beth asked.
“I’m trying to figure that out,” Mr. Whittaker said.
“I thought all the controls are here,” Patrick said.
Mr. Whittaker frowned. “I built a remote control for the machine,” he said. “I took it with me on my last adventure. I accidentally left it there.”
“Can’t you go back to get it?” Beth asked.
“I would if the Imagination Station would let me,” Mr. Whittaker said. “It won’t work for me right now. I’m trying to find out why.”
“But who is Albert?” Patrick asked.
“Albert is an ancestor of mine from many, many years ago,” he said.
“I want to write a family history,” Mr. Whittaker said. “I took trips in the Imagination Station to meet my ancestors. I met Albert, and now he’s in trouble.”
“That’s what the second letter says,”
Patrick said. “Albert needs more help.”
Mr. Whittaker reached inside the Imagination Station. A fancy ring appeared on his finger. It was a square of gold with a rose engraved in the middle. The square had eight tiny pearls around the edge.
“Your ring keeps appearing and disappearing,” Beth said.
“It was a gift from Albert,” Mr. Whittaker said. “You can only see it when my hand is in the machine.”
He picked up the letter and read:
More trouble for Albert. Lord Darkthorn is angry. The Roman monk’s silver cup is missing. We need it before the new moon. May God be with you.
Mr. Whittaker put down the letter. He took his hand out of the Imagination Station. The fancy ring disappeared.
“Is there anything special about the silver cup we have to find?” Patrick asked. “There might be hundreds of them in Rome.”
“It’s a monk’s cup,” Mr. Whittaker said.
Patrick suddenly smiled. “That’s why you have me dressed like this!” he said.
“A monk’s cup?” Beth asked.
“A monk’s cup looks like a goblet,” Mr. Whittaker said. “Some people call it a chalice.”
“What’s so special about it?” Patrick asked.
Mr. Whittaker said, “A monk would use one in a holy ceremony called ‘The Lord’s Supper,’ or ‘Communion.’”
“Well, we won’t find it sitting here,” Beth said. She wiggled in her seat.
“You’re right, Beth,” Mr. Whittaker said. “But first I have something else for you.”
He walked over to the computer desk and picked up two items. He brought them back to the Imagination Station.
Mr. Whittaker handed Patrick a wide metal armband. It had rubies in it.
“Wear that high on your arm.” Mr. Whittaker said. “Keep it hidden under your robe.”
“What’s it for?” Patrick asked.
“A man will ask you for something of value.” Mr. Whittaker said. “Use this.”
Patrick nodded.
Mr. Whittaker gave a little leather pouch to Beth. “This is birdseed,” he said.
“Birdseed?” Beth said. “Don’t Roman birds get enough to eat?” She tucked the pouch into her belt.
“You’ll understand when the time comes,” Mr. Whittaker said. He gave Beth a knowing wink. Mr. Whittaker closed the Imagination Station’s doors.
Beth pushed the red button.
The Imagination Station started to shake. Then it rumbled. It seemed to move.
Beth took a quick breath. She closed her eyes. The machine jerked forward.
Patrick felt as if he were on the subway. He pushed his body into the seat and waited.
The rumble grew louder.
The machine whirled.
Suddenly, everything went black.