Century #4: Dragon of Seas (9 page)

The professor turns toward the door to make sure no one has come in.

“Naturally, it took us a long time to believe her story, especially the fact that the young woman could be over a hundred years old. Her reply to that was very simple: when you become a master of the Pact, even to the smallest degree, you age more slowly than other people. That’s the gift Nature gives us for undertaking the task.”

The professor looks around nervously and goes on. “As I was saying, in 1907, we had only one master and only the tops as clues. And we did nothing, or practically nothing. We failed the
Pact, just as our master’s companions had done, and their masters before them. But then we realized that the Pact was more than a simple secret agreement among men. We discovered that Nature had some kind of … punishment in store for us.”

Alfred Van Der Berger holds up a photo of an ice-covered valley.

“June thirtieth, 1908, in the Siberian town where our master lived, there was an enormous explosion that flattened two thousand square kilometers of forestland. Even now, no one can explain what happened that day.”

Another photo: buildings and cities in ruins.

“The same year, on December twenty-eighth at five twenty-one in the morning, Messina, Irene’s city, was struck by one of the most devastating earthquakes in its history. The resulting tsunami submerged the coast for miles. At least seventy thousand people died. During the earthquake, Irene’s back was injured, as were her legs. She could still walk, but only thanks to her incredible willpower and the force of Nature that flowed through her veins. The more she aged, the more painful and difficult it became for her to move.”

Alfred Van Der Berger puts down the photographs and stares straight into the camera. “The four of us could only think one thing: that it was our fault. That we didn’t do what we were supposed to do. We had special powers, but we didn’t put them to good use. Walking down the streets ravaged by the earthquake, I could hear the Earth weep. At that point, we started searching, even though the time wasn’t ripe anymore. We learned to use the tops, and with their guidance we found the Ring of Fire in Rome and the Star of Stone in New York. We spent a long
time searching Paris and just as long searching Shanghai, which in those years was war torn. But that’s as far as we got. And so, we put everything back in its place and created a series of clues to do what we were instructed to do: choose four successors and give them the clues without saying anything else. But things unexpectedly came to a head. That’s why I’m making this tape. The last time we saw each other, we were in Iceland. It was an important moment; we could feel it in our bones. The century was coming to an end and the chosen ones had to be selected from among the ones on the list we brought with us. Zoe was the last to arrive, and when she did, she told us the Pact would begin in Rome.”

Professor Van Der Berger’s face moves offscreen for a moment. He’s picked up an inflatable globe from the floor.

“The four cities aren’t simply four cities. They’re symbols of the four elements: Fire, Earth, Air and Water. They’re all north of the equator, below the polestar and the constellations of Draco and Ursa Major. That’s why the chosen ones are also called the Children of the Bear. The constellation contains seven stars, and there are just as many tops. What do the stars have to do with it? It’s simple.…”

Mistral listens to Professor Van Der Berger’s words, unable to breathe.

“I believe that by studying the stars, the Chaldeans discovered man. The same laws apply to men and stars. This is the meaning of the signs of the zodiac. I believe their scholars—the Magi, as we call them—discovered something they kept secret, protected by this succession of masters. A secret, yes. A secret that we gradually forgot, failure by failure. But the failures of those who came
before you won’t prevent you from discovering it. I’m convinced the students can surpass their teachers.”

There’s a knock on the door. Frightened, the professor spins around in his seat. Then he looks back into the camera and whispers, “May Nature be with you, children. And may it protect you always!”

Alfred Van Der Berger gets up from the couch and switches off the camera.

Mistral and Cecile stare at the blank screen.

“We’ve got to show this to the others,” Mistral says.

Cecile nods.

“In Shanghai,” the girl adds, holding up the passports.

W
HEN
E
LETTRA OPENS HER EYES, SHE
’
S SITTING IN THE FRONT SEAT
of her father’s minibus. Outside the window are the lanes of the Grande Raccordo Anulare, Rome’s ring-shaped highway. She blinks, surprised.

“Hi,” Fernando Melodia says from behind the wheel.

“What’s going on? Where am I?”

“We’re going to the airport,” her father replies, perfectly calm.

“The airport?”

“You have to leave for Shanghai, don’t you remember?”

“But …” Elettra looks around, bewildered. “I’m supposed to leave tomorrow.”

“It’s already tomorrow.”

Then, slowly, the girl remembers the elevator, the light in the well, the room in the basement, her aunt Irene showing up.

“I can’t believe it, Dad!” she exclaims. “I was at home. And Aunt Irene was there, too. We were—there’s a room with a phone, below the well! The elevator goes straight down there!”

“Oh, sure,” Fernando says. “We’ve got a couple Martians up in the attic, too!”

“Dad, I’m not kidding! Aunt Irene is … one of them!”

“One of who?”

“She’s one of the four … Sages … the masters … the Magi! The ones who got us tied up in all this.”

Fernando skillfully passes a Japanese car. “Could be,” he admits, returning to his own lane.

Elettra stares at him, stunned. “You know about it, too,” she guesses. “You’ve always known.”

“Known what?”

“Stop playing dumb!”

“Oh, great. Your mother always used to tell me that, too.”

Elettra crosses her arms, furious. “You guys can’t keep treating me like a little girl.”

“Well then, try to calm down. Otherwise you’ll make the minivan’s engine boil over.”

“You know about that, too?”

“What? That you let off fire and flames whenever you get mad?”

“That I
really
do it. Literally.”

Fernando drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s hard not to notice.”

“And you’ve never said anything about it? You can’t pretend nothing’s happening, Dad. Aunt Irene claims she’s over a hundred years old, do you realize?”

“I hope I make it that long.”

“That’s not the point. The point is that down in that room
under the well, there are photos of all of us. Of me, Mistral, Harvey, Sheng … and another boy, too. A boy I’d never heard of before, but maybe … Of course!” Elettra shouts, pounding her fist on the dashboard.

“Hey, are you trying to set off the air bag?”

“And then I was fast asleep,” Elettra remembers, struck by the memory. “Just like that, I was fast asleep.”

“Yes, you were fast asleep until a minute ago. And it might’ve been better if you’d kept on sleeping all the way to the airport.”

“Last night, Aunt Irene called you, you went down to get me, you loaded me into the minibus and now you’re sending me away to Shanghai so I won’t find out anything else about that room. Which I bet you’ve cleaned out already.”

“You’re sounding a bit paranoid, Elettra.”

“I saw it! There were pictures of me with comments from you guys. You even know I like Harvey.”

“That’s no big secret, if you ask me.”

“And you’re wondering if I have stronger feelings for him, like I was a lab rat under observation. I can’t stand you! You or Aunt Irene!”

Fernando whips his head around. “Now you’re going too far, Elettra.”

“Why won’t you tell me what you guys did to Aunt Linda, then? What did you tell her? Where did you send her?”

“How should I know? I was in Paris with you!”

“Oh, right, sorry!” Elettra grumbles. “You never know anything. You’re always the one who’s never told anything. The artist! The man hopelessly wrapped up in his novel, which he’ll never finish writing!”

Fernando Melodia stares at the road without replying. Elettra does the same, obstinate and furious.

“You have no idea what it’s like to feel this way,” she says after a while.

“You need to get something from under your seat,” her father says.

The girl leans over, gropes around and pulls out an old cookie tin. “This?”

“Open it.”

Inside the tin are dozens of Chinese coins in different sizes.

“Aunt Irene wanted me to give them to you.”

Elettra picks up a few of the coins and studies them. They look—and are—very old. They’re in different shapes and colors, and some of them have holes in the center.

Beneath the coins is a red-lacquered wooden tile with four black-bladed knives painted on it, along with a folded letter and a passport tucked inside of it.

“What’s this for?” she asks.

“The letter should explain everything,” Fernando says, still driving.

When they land in Shanghai, they make Harvey get off the plane last. The burly steward brusquely escorts him to a back room in the customs area.

“We’re going to have some fun, just wait and see,” the steward whispers, shoving him inside.

The room is almost completely bare. There’s just a small desk
with a little man sitting behind it. Behind him, a large portrait of the Chinese president, who’s smiling. In front of the desk, a terribly uncomfortable-looking chair.

“Have a seat, Mr. Miller,” the little man says in English with a strong state official’s accent.

Harvey does as he’s told, his teeth clenched. The steward and the man begin to speak to each other in Chinese so he can’t understand them. From time to time they point at him. After ten minutes of this, the official takes a large sheet of paper out of his small desk. Then he picks up the phone and dials a number.

“Listen,” the boy pipes up, “I need to call my mother. And my father.”

The steward cuffs the back of his head. “No cameras in here,” he sneers. “We’re going to have some fun, wait and see!”

Harvey tries to stand up, but the man plants both hands on his shoulders, pinning him in his seat. Just then, the little official talking on the phone turns pale. He motions for the steward to leave the boy alone.

Harvey stands up, rubbing his neck. “You big ox.”

“Don’t get smart with me!” the man threatens, pointing his finger at him.

“Quiet!” the little official orders them both. He hangs up the phone and waits.

Another ten minutes later, the door opens. The official snaps to his feet, his face pale.

The newcomer is a lean Chinese man dressed entirely in black. His shaven head reveals a glimpse of a circular bull’s-eye
tattoo. He has four fingers on his left hand and wears strange cork rings on the others.

Ignoring both Harvey and the steward, the man with the bull’s-eye tattoo points at the man behind the desk and utters a few incomprehensible words powerful enough to persuade both the little man and the burly steward to leave the room.

Harvey smiles, relieved.

“Do you feel better, Mr. Miller?” the Chinese man asks.

“Yeah, actually. Would you let me make a phone call?”

“Please.”

Harvey dials his home number. He’s surprised to hear a man answer.

“Heh, heh, heh! Young Mr. Miller!” Egon Nose exclaims from the phone in New York. “What a pleasant surprise! You have a nice home, I must say! What a shame there’s nobody here. Nobody at all! Care to tell me where you’ve all gone?”

“Nose!” Harvey shouts. “What are you doing in my house? Get out, now! I’m calling the police!”

“Oh, really? You want to call the police? In Shanghai?”

The Chinese man puts his finger down on the telephone’s cradle, ending the conversation.

“I think that is enough,” he says, his voice monotone. “We are going.”

“Going where?” Harvey says, waving his arms and trying to make another call. “You don’t understand! There’s a man in my house!”

The Chinese man whips out a sharp knife and presses it against the young American’s rib cage. “I think you are the one who does not understand, Mr. Miller.”