Tower of the Five Orders Page 13
Something was going on. Brantley Letterford and the woman had left the library with Treemont a few minutes ago. When they returned, they were obviously excited about something. Treemont walked up to the Smart Board. He touched the corner of the screen and a new image appeared. It was a series of blue squares separated by brown lines.
“Remarkable,” said the tall woman.
“I would never have guessed,” said Brantley. “And a thirteen-year-old girl no less.”
Coly!
Case was now officially worried.
Treemont seemed more agitated than ever. “We now have the advantage. I don’t expect to lose it. There is obviously a message hidden in those squares.”
“For goodness’ sake, Treemont, we’re not experts in cryptology,” said the tall woman. Her tone was cool and calm. She did not seem the least bit intimidated by him. “And without a key of some sort, it will be nearly impossible.”
“We would simply be guessing,” pleaded Brantley.
Treemont turned and faced them. “Then either guess well or find the key—but be quick about it. I leave for London this evening.”
Case tapped the screen on his phone and captured a photo of Treemont and the others looking at the blue squares. It was time to contact Colophon. Whatever was happening was happening fast. He attached the two photos to a text to Colophon: “I’m in the house watching Treemont. He’s up to something. Look at the photos.” He hit send and then returned to watching Brantley argue with the woman. Brantley seemed in genuine anguish over the image on the screen.
Blackwell’s Booksellers
Broad Street
Oxford, England
Friday, June 15
2:17 p.m.
Ping.
James looked down at his phone. The girl had now received a text—apparently from her brother. Things were heating up.
He opened the message, looked at the attached photos, and smiled.
These kids were impressive. He was almost tempted to delete the message and see what happened.
But business was business.
He forwarded the text to Treemont, but not before adding a small message of his own.
Manchester, Georgia
Friday, June 15
9:18 a.m.
Ping.
Treemont looked down at his phone. Another message from Trigue James. He stepped into the hallway, closed the door, and opened it.
“Nice tie,” the message read.
Treemont scrolled down and looked at the attachments: photos of himself—one taken no more than two or three minutes ago—from within the library.
Bodleian Library
Oxford, England
Friday, June 15
2:18 p.m.
Colophon had located the tour group standing in a corner of the quadrangle. She made her apologies to Ms. Flynn, then stood quietly to the side as the guide discussed the history of the quadrangle’s construction.
Ping.
Colophon pulled her phone from her pocket. It was a text from Case. She took one look at it and gasped. The group turned and looked at her.
“Excuse me,” said Ms. Flynn, “but are you okay?”
Colophon’s face had turned white. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. She had to get away from the group and think. “I need to sit down.”
“Why don’t you go back into the entrance hall and have a seat?” said Ms. Flynn. “It’s nice and cool in there.”
Colophon nodded and headed inside. She found a bench near the security desk.
It can’t be, she thought. Maybe I was mistaken.
She opened Case’s text once again and looked at the photos.
She had not been mistaken.
Case had just sent her two photos. One of them showed Treemont standing in front of the image of the Matriculation Quill that she had taken at Corpus Christi College. But the second photograph upset her even more. It was a picture of Treemont standing in front of a photo she had taken mere minutes ago in the Tower of the Five Orders.
How was that possible?
Immediately she realized—someone was monitoring her phone. And whoever was monitoring her phone also knew that Case was in the house. And that meant Treemont knew.
Colophon’s stomach churned. She had to warn Case, but how?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Excitements
Excitements—Things that excite.
Manchester, Georgia
Friday, June 15
9:20 a.m.
Case had watched Treemont leave the room after receiving what appeared to be a text. He returned a few seconds later and asked Brantley and the woman to leave. He shut the library door behind them. He pulled a chair from the side of the room and placed it directly in front of the Smart Board, facing the camera. He then brought over a small side table and placed it next to the chair. He stepped out of view for a second and returned with a cup of coffee, which he placed on the side table.
What’s he up to?
Treemont sat down in the chair, took a sip of the coffee, and stared directly at the camera.
“Good morning, Case,” Treemont said.
Case could hear feet pounding above him throughout the house.
They were searching for him.
The Bodleian Library
Oxford, England
Friday, June 15
2:20 p.m.
Colophon stared at her phone. If she contacted Case, whoever was monitoring her phone would know immediately what she was doing. But she had no choice. She had to warn him and hope that he had time to get out of the house.
Her message was short and to the point: “They are spying on my phone. Get out. Now.”
Manchester, Georgia
Friday, June 15
9:21 a.m.
Case’s phone vibrated. It was a text from his sister. He read the message and then flipped back to watching Treemont, who continued to sit calmly in the library sipping a cup of coffee.
Case had to find a way out of the house. It was only a matter of time before they would discover him.
The footsteps continued to pound above him. He could also hear voices outside the house. And then he heard footsteps in the basement. They were headed toward the mechanical room.
He looked around the room. There was nowhere else to hide.
The footsteps were getting closer. And then there was silence.
Were they going back upstairs?
Suddenly the doorknob to the mechanical room shook violently. The noise caught Case off guard. His heart beat furiously.
“Does anyone have a key to this room?” a man yelled.
“Kick the door in!” another man yelled. “Treemont won’t care.”
Case considered making a break for the window and taking his chances in the open. But he could now hear voices just outside the window too.
He had only one chance, he realized. He pulled out his phone and pecked out a quick text to Colophon. He then sat back and hoped it would work.
The Bodleian Library
Oxford, England
Friday, June 15
2:22 p.m.
Ping.
Colophon looked down at her phone. The text from Case read: “Everything’s OK. I’m in the treehouse.”
Broad Street
Oxford, England
Friday, June 15
2:22 p.m.
Ping.
Trigue James looked at his phone. It was a text to the girl from her older brother.
He read it as he walked down Broad Street toward the train station. He stopped and dutifully forwarded the message to Treemont.
It was, after all, his job.
He placed his phone back in his coat pocket.
Clever kid, he thought. Very clever.
Manchester, Georgia
Friday, June 15
9:23 a.m.
Ping.
Treemont looked down at the text from Trigue James.
Treehouse? he wondered. What treehouse?
He left the library and went outside. He found one of the security guards standing by the side of the house.
“Do you know anything about a treehouse?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied. “We found it yesterday. It’s on the far side of the pasture hidden in the trees.”
“That’s where the boy is hiding,” said Treemont.
BAM!
Case cringed as someone kicked the door. The mechanical room had a fireproof metal door and frame—but they wouldn’t hold up forever.
BAM!
He heard the locking mechanism crack. One more good kick and it would burst open.
He waited for the next blow.
But it never came.
The next thing he heard was footsteps going up the stairs from the basement, then beating across the floor toward the front of the house. He heard the front door slam shut. The voice outside the window was also gone.
He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, made his way over to the window, and peeked outside. All clear. He opened the window and pulled himself up and onto the lawn. No one was around. He sprinted for the woods, then ran until he reached the far side of the property, where he collapsed beside a large pine tree. He gasped for air. His sides ached. His head pounded. But he was safe.
What would Treemont say when he realized the treehouse was empty? Case would have paid anything to see the look on his face.
Case started to laugh, but then it hit him.
He was safe, but Colophon was not.
Someone had been spying on Colophon. Whatever Colophon was looking for, Treemont seemed convinced that she was close.
Case needed to talk to his sister.
The Bodleian Library
Oxford, England
Friday, June 15
3:01 p.m.
Colophon paced anxiously at the entrance to the Bodleian Library. She had no idea if Case was safe, or if . . .
She didn’t want to think about the alternative.
She spied her mother walking across the quadrangle and sprinted to her. She had no choice but to tell her what was happening. Maybe she could call the police. Maybe she could do something to help Case.
“Mom!” she yelled. “It’s Case! We have to—”
But before she could finish her sentence, Meg Letterford thrust her phone at Colophon. “I know it’s Case,” she said. “It’s for you.”
Colophon took the phone and stared at it. How did her mother know? Was it the police? Had something already happened to Case? A million different horrible scenarios raced through her mind as Colophon held the phone to her ear and said, “Hello.”
“Afternoon, dorkette,” Case said. “Were you worried about your big brother?”
“Case!” She glanced at her mother, who eyed her suspiciously.
“I’m okay,” he said. “But it was close there for a moment.”
“But how . . . you said you were in the treehouse?”
“Never went there.”
She realized what had happened. Of course he hadn’t gone to the treehouse. “That was. . . . brilliant,” she said. “But you’re still a jerk. I was worried.”
“Listen, you need to be careful. I’m not exactly sure what Treemont’s looking for, but he’s convinced you’ve found some sort of clue.”
“I have,” she said. She knew there was a message hidden in the ceiling of the archives room. All she needed was more time to decipher it.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Case said. “Since someone was tapping your phone, they may also be following you. I’m flying to London tomorrow with Aunt Audrey. I’ll be there late in the afternoon.”
“I’m glad you’re safe, Case.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he repeated.
Chapter Thirty
Engagements
Engagements—Promises or agreements to be
at a particular place at a particular time.
Paddington Station
London, England
Friday, June 15
5:03 p.m.
“This train terminates at Paddington Station,” a voice announced over the intercom as the train eased to a stop. Colophon and her mother gathered their belongings and moved toward the exit.
The doors popped open, and the large crowd of people returning from Oxford streamed onto the platform and toward the exit. Colophon grabbed her mother’s arm and held tight as they made their way through the crowd.
“Coly!” a voice yelled.
She looked around.
“Coly!” the voice yelled again.
It was her father.
Mull Letterford stood by the exit waving his arms in the air. Maggie sat by his side on a leash. Her whole body wagged excitedly. Colophon rushed over and gave Maggie a hug.
“So only the dog gets a hug?” said her father. “I suppose she walked herself all the way over to the station to meet you.”
Colophon stood up and hugged her father. “I’m glad to see you too!”
Meg Letterford gave her husband a kiss on the cheek. “This is a nice surprise.”
“Such a beautiful day,” said Mull, “and the dog insisted.”
Colophon took Maggie’s leash as they headed for the exit. “How was work today?” she asked her father.
“Well, let’s see. One of our reporters was out sick, so I had the pleasure of interviewing a cat named Ms. Tootsy, who was apparently abducted by aliens while her family was on holiday at Cornwall.”
“A cat?”
“Named Ms. Tootsy,” replied Mull. “And did I mention she had been abducted by aliens?”
Colophon watched her father take her mother’s hand as they walked.
He deserves better than this, Colophon thought. It didn’t matter if Treemont kept the company and the house in Manchester. But the truth did matter. Her father wasn’t a liar, a fraud, or a cheat. The manuscripts were real. Marlowe or Shakespeare—it really didn’t matter who wrote them. Her father was a good man, and finding the real treasure—or whatever might be at the end of this search—would prove that.
Colophon pulled out her phone and sent a text to Julian: “Can you be at the house tomorrow? Reply yes or no only. Don’t send any other messages. I’ll explain later.”
Seconds later her phone pinged. It was a text from Julian that read simply: “Yes.”
Trigue James watched as the girl, her parents, and the dog left the train station in the direction of Clerkenwell, the neighborhood of the Letterford residence. If they intended to walk to Clerkenwell, he could easily beat them there in a cab. He had parked a van across the street from their home several days ago. It had served as his base of operations ever since.
Treemont had been very specific in his last instructions before departing for England.
“Don’t lose sight of them,” he had insisted.
But James knew how to do his job and knew that it would be too much of a risk to follow them on foot, particularly since they had a dog in tow. His best bet was to get to the house ahead of them and prepare. Whatever was happening, Treemont expected it to happen soon. James was concerned that Treemont was pushing too fast, too hard. He was becoming anxious—and James didn’t like anxious. Anxious people went to prison, and that was one place James never intended to set foot.
But a job was a job. And he would do his job.
Letterford residence
Clerkenwell, London, England
Saturday, June 16
10:33 a.m.
Julian sipped his coffee as he examined the photograph of the ceiling from the Tower of the Five Orders. Colophon had explained to him that the Keeper of the Archives was convinced that a message was hidden in the dedication.
Julian agreed.
Colophon then explained that Treemont had obtained a copy of the photograph just minutes after she had taken it, and that someone was clearly monitoring her phone.
That meant, Julian noted, that Treemont knew everything they knew.
�
��Almost everything,” Colophon said.
She handed him the card that the Keeper of the Archives had given her.
“Treemont doesn’t have this,” she said. Then she told Julian about the Roman numerals and Greek letters inscribed in the paneling in the archive room.
Julian examined the Roman numerals and Greek letters on the card. “Clever,” he said. “The Roman numerals aren’t in numeric order. So even if someone had a set of coordinates, they would still need to know the order of the numerals. But that brings us to another problem—we don’t have the coordinates.”
Colophon smiled. “But we do.”
She pulled four photographs from a folder and placed them on the table. Julian immediately recognized them as the sides of the silver presentation box in which the Matriculation Quill had been stored. Each photograph showed four sets of symbols—one from each side of the box.
AVIII ZII ΓVIII ZV
ZIII KIX ZVIII KIV
ΓII ZVII HI IVIII
KV ZIX KVII ZIV