Julian crashed hard against the wall and crumpled onto the small ledge.
“Are you OK?” called Colophon.
He lifted his head and peered over the edge into the darkness.
“I’m fine. Who knew that a stone wall would be so hard? Better than the alternative, I suppose.”
He stood up and brushed himself off. Then he quickly made his way down to the monument.
“Well,” said Colophon, “is there anything on it?”
He looked back across at her with a broad smile.
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
“It says ‘EX LUNA SCIENTIA.’”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means ‘From the moon, knowledge.’”
“Another clue,” she said, exasperated.
“Another clue,” he replied. “Expecting something different?”
“A treasure map would have been nice. Now we have another problem to solve.”
Julian stood by the edge and looked across at Colophon. “Actually,” he said, “we now have two problems to solve. One happens to be a lot more urgent than the other—at least for the moment.”
It took a second for the realization to hit Colophon.
Oh no! she thought. Julian couldn’t come back the same way he had reached the monument. The ledge had started to crumble—there was no way it would hold his weight a second time.
“I’m going to have to try and jump,” he said.
The gap between them seemed enormous. “You’ll never make it!” she exclaimed.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” he replied. “We have to get out of here.”
Colophon scanned the room with her flashlight. It was empty. She could not see anything that could be used to bridge the gap. There was only one way back across. Julian would have to jump.
“All right,” she said. “You can do this.”
He stepped back as far against the wall as possible and braced himself. “On the count of three,” he said.
“One.
“Two.
“Three.”
He took a short step and jumped. The jump was awkward, as was he. His lanky arms and legs splayed to all sides.
His right foot landed first, followed shortly thereafter by his left hand. He stood there briefly, balanced on one foot and one arm, at the edge of the hole. His left leg hung back over the abyss—his right arm was forward. He looked up at Colophon and smiled.
“And you were worried that I wouldn’t make it.”
The smile, however, faded quickly. He leaned backwards as his left hand came off the floor. As Colophon watched in horror, he started to pitch back into the darkness.
Palace Hotel, the basement
Wednesday, December 17, late evening
Mull Letterford sat on a metal stool, wrapped in a robe bearing the name of the hotel, with his feet soaking in a bucket filled with a mixture of baking soda, vinegar, and hydrogen peroxide. Case had found the recipe on the Internet—an all-purpose and powerful formula for odor removal—and it seemed to be working. They would probably be allowed back up into the hotel now that the smell had subsided.
Mull stared across the small utility room at his son. “Thank you,” he said.
“For what?” Case asked. “I didn’t do anything special. Anybody could have found a way to get rid of the smell.”
“No, it’s not just about the smell. I’m thanking you for being there for me today.”
Case turned and looked out a small window into a storage area beyond.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out,” he finally replied.
“It’ll be OK. There are other authors.”
Case turned back to his father. “But there aren’t others. There’s only one left. Isn’t that true?”
His comment took Mull Letterford by surprise. “How do you know that?”
Case explained to his father how Colophon had overheard the entire conversation in the library.
“And Coly sent you here to keep an eye on me?”
“Yes,” he replied.
Mull laughed. “You didn’t have to go to the museum, did you?”
“No. I’m sorry. I know you’re probably mad at me.” Case’s eyes were tinged with red.
“Mad at you?” Mull replied. “How could I be mad at you? You came here to help me—to help the family business. I couldn’t be prouder of you than I am right now.”
“But what if they take everything away from you—from us?”
Mull stepped out of the bucket and walked over to his son.
“It doesn’t matter. Really. As long as I have my family, that’s the only thing that matters. That’s what’s real.”
Case reached over and hugged his father. “You’re not going to tell Coly about this, are you? It could ruin my reputation as the mean older brother.”
“Not a chance.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Mull sat back down, grabbed a towel, and started drying his feet.
“You know,” said Case, “Coly has a theory about why all this bad stuff has happened lately.”
“And the theory is?”
“She thinks some guy named Tree-something is behind all this.”
Mull leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “Treemont,” he said.
“That’s the name. I told her she was crazy, but you know Coly.”
“I don’t think your sister’s crazy.”
“You mean it’s possible he did all of this?”
“Yes,” Mull replied. “I think it’s entirely possible.”
“So what did you do to get this guy mad at you?”
Mull paused. “I was born,” he finally replied. “He’s my second cousin, and he has always resented the fact that the company was going to be passed down to me.”
“Wow—this guy Treemont is your cousin?”
“Yes, but don’t let that fool you. Family means nothing to him.”
Case turned back around and stared out the window. “Dad, have you always wanted to own Letterford and Sons?”
“Hardly,” Mull said. “When I was your age, I had no interest whatsoever in running a publishing house. I mean, what self-respecting fifteen-year-old would?”
The answer caught Case off guard. He had assumed that his father had always wanted to run the company.
“So what changed your mind?” he asked.
“I simply realized at some point that running the company wasn’t an obligation, it was a privilege. I was born a Letterford, but I made the choice to be part of Letterford and Sons—no one forced me.” He paused. “And when the time comes, it will be your decision and your decision only.”
“Promise?” replied Case. He had never thought of it as a choice he could make—he had always viewed his birthright as a burden.
“Promise,” replied Mull.
Then he looked at his son. “I have a question to ask you.” His voice took on a serious tone. “Did my feet actually make someone throw up?”
Case grinned. “All over the floor in the elevator lobby.”
Stratford-upon-Avon
Wednesday, December 17
Colophon seized Julian’s jacket and held fast. She could feel herself being pulled forward into the crack with him.
“Let go!” he yelled. “You can’t hold me!”
Colophon stared into Julian’s eyes.
“I . . . WILL . . . NOT . . . LET . . . GO!”
Colophon threw all her weight backwards in one swift motion. She and Julian tumbled backwards and landed with a thump on the stone floor.
“You’re stronger than you look,” said Julian.
“And you’re heavier than you look,” said Colophon, as she stood up. Her whole backside ached from falling on the stone floor and from serving as a landing pad for Julian.
She glanced down at the illuminated dials on her watch.
“Run!” she cried. They now had thirty seconds to reach the door before it slammed shut.
Flashlight forward, they scampered quickly across the room and through the door into the hallway.
CLICK . . . CLICK . . . CLICK
The clicking noise echoed down the hallway.
CLICK—CLICK—CLICK—CLICK—CLICK
The pace of the clicks increased as they sped down the hallway and started up the stairs.
CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK
Julian made the final turn first and burst through the opening. As Colophon put her foot on the final step, she tripped and fell forward. Her flashlight fell from her hands, hit the wall, and rolled back down the stairs. As she watched, the light from the flashlight bounced against the wall of the stairs and then was gone. The alarm on her watch started beeping. The clicking had stopped.
“Julian!” she cried.
As soon as Julian made it through the door and into the mausoleum, he heard the thud behind him and Colophon’s cry. He turned back to the door. It was slowly closing.
Colophon tried to get to her knees, but she felt as if she were moving in slow motion. The light from Julian’s flashlight illuminated the opening into the mausoleum, but it was growing dimmer. The stone door was starting to shut. Suddenly the light was gone.
She was trapped.
Julian threw down his flashlight and thrust his arms back through the narrowing opening. He groped around for Colophon. Nothing.
Where was she?
Colophon was scrambling on her knees in the direction of the door, or at least where she thought the door was.
It was so dark
Was the door already closed?
Suddenly something grabbed her right hand.
This was no time to be delicate. As soon as he felt it, Julian grabbed her hand and pulled. Her feet barely made it past the stone door before it slammed shut. The sounds of metal bolts locking into place—for the final time—rang through the cold and dark mausoleum.
Julian and Colophon sat on the floor. Despite the cold, they were covered in sweat.
“You know, you’re stronger than you look,” said Colophon.
Julian paused and caught his breath. “And you’re heavier than you appear,” replied Julian.
They both laughed nervously. The laughter, however, ended quickly as the room filled with light and a deep voice from behind them announced: “What ’r you doing in here?”