Inside the Shadow City (37 page)

It was the closest Iris was going to get to an apology, but it was more than enough.

“Cranky?” she said. “I've met cannibals with better personalities. I'm just glad that I didn't miss all the fun.”

“What do you mean, all the fun?” I asked. “There's still more to come.”

“There is?” asked Oona.

I owed Kiki Strike. Not only had I been willing to believe the worst of her, I was responsible for everything that had happened. If she hadn't written the note that rescued me from public humiliation, the Princess would have never known she was in New York. The way I saw it, there was only one way to repay her for what she had done.

“We've got one more stop to make,” I informed the group. “Before we go home, we need to pay a visit to the Princess's house. It's time to return the royal jewels to their rightful owner.”

It makes no difference if you're a gullible young heiress, a budding cat burglar, or just a sucker for stones that sparkle, every girl should learn how to tell a real diamond from a fake.

The next time you come face-to-face with a pricey pebble, remember to think first and swoon later. Don't risk your freedom or your fortune on a common crystal or piece of glass. Instead, put your stone to the test. While none of the following seven methods is entirely foolproof, together they may help you spot a fake—and avoid making a terrible mistake.

1.
Give It the Scratch Test.
Before evil scientists began
making fakes in labs, diamonds were known to be the hardest substance on Earth. A real diamond will scratch a mirror or a piece of glass, but so will many impostors.

2.
Check for Signs of Aging.
Although most diamonds are over a billion years old, they tend to age more gracefully than their wearers. So take a magnifying glass and examine the surface of your stone. If you see scratches or chips, there's a chance it's a fake. Cracks
inside
the diamond, however, may be a sign that it's real.

3.
See Through Imposters.
Write the word
fake
in tiny letters on a piece of paper. Place your “diamond” facedown on top of the word. If you're able to read through the stone, odds are you've found your answer.

4.
Drop It in Water.
Some fakes, such as cubic zirconium, will appear to vanish when placed in a glass of water. A real diamond will always remain visible.

5.
Get It Steamy.
Turn on your teakettle and wait until it starts to boil. Use a pair of tongs to carefully pass your “diamond” through the steam. If the stone fogs up for more than a second or two, it's a fake.

6.
Make It Glow.
Most diamonds will either turn blue or glow when you put them under a black light. If your diamond doesn't glow, it's either a stone of exceptional quality—or a fake.

7.
Weigh It.
A real diamond will weigh far less than a cubic zirconium of the same size.

We left the Princess drooling on the floor of the opium den and prepared to climb down to the Shadow City. Above us in the warehouse, we could hear dozens of frantic Fu-Tsang guards waging a losing battle against New York's Finest. Eventually, the police would have arrived to rescue us, but we had no intention of waiting around. There was still work to be done—the kind of work that the police might not understand. If we wanted to finish what the Princess had started, our only choice was to make our way through the tunnels back to the exit in Iris's basement.

We had already cheated death twice that night, and there was no reason to believe that our luck would continue to hold. A herd of deaf and famished rats could be lurking in the tunnels, eagerly awaiting a bedtime snack. As I opened the door to the Shadow City, I silently prayed for a rat-free escape route. Shining my flashlight through a crack in the door, I spied a single mangy rodent. He
bared his fangs and scurried toward the door, willing to take on the four of us. But when the scent of Iris's repulsive perfume wafted past his snout, he squealed in disgust, turned tail, and ran.

With no beasts left to battle, I spent the long walk briefing Iris on the history of the tunnels and telling her about our discoveries. She wanted to know everything, and if we hadn't been in a rush, she would have insisted on opening every door.

“How did you guys find the Shadow City?” she asked.

“Sheer luck for the most part. But this book helped.” I showed her my copy of
Glimpses of Gotham
. “When this is all over, you can read it if you like.”

Iris shined her flashlight on the cover.

“Pearcy Leake III wrote that?” she squealed in surprise.

“Know him?” asked Oona with a condescending laugh.

“Maybe I do,” Iris shot back.

“Pearcy Leake disappeared more than a hundred years ago,” I informed Iris. “I doubt he's still up for making friends.”

“Disappeared? Well, he's not missing anymore.”

“What do you mean?” I insisted.

“I found him,” Iris said.

“Where did you find a hundred-and-fifty-year-old man?” Oona laughed.

“When I was following you guys, I had to sneeze. I didn't want you to hear me, so I stepped inside one of the rooms along the way. There was a skeleton lying on a bed. I needed something to wipe my nose with, and I saw that
the skeleton had a handkerchief in the pocket of his suit. So I took it.”

“You stole a handkerchief from a skeleton?” I asked.

“To wipe your
nose
on?” added Oona.

“I don't see what the big deal is.
He
didn't need it. But here, take a look.” She pulled a rumpled handkerchief out of her pocket and offered it to me.

“No offense, Iris, but there's no way I'm touching something you've sneezed on.”

“Oh, right,” she said sheepishly. She spread the piece of cloth out in her hand and pointed to a name embroidered along one edge.

“Pearcy Leake III,” I read in astonishment. “So he didn't disappear after all. The plague killed him. He died here in the Shadow City.”

“It was his gold we found,” said Kiki, snapping out of a thoughtful silence. “It must have been the money he made smuggling fabric for Augustus Quackenbush.”

“I think he would have wanted us to have it,” I said, surprising everyone, including myself.

“You won't hear
me
arguing,” said Oona. “As a rule, I never turn down treasure.”

“No, I'm serious,” I said. “We were the first people in more than a century to explore the Shadow City. We used his book as our guide, and we made it out alive. He would have been impressed.”

“In case you haven't noticed, we haven't made it out yet,” Oona said.

“But when we do, I think we should take the gold with us,” I said. “What's the point of leaving it down here again?”

I looked at Kiki. Since we had all accused her of stealing the gold, it seemed only fair to let her make the call.

“If you want the gold, take it.” She shrugged. “No one can say you haven't earned it.”

• • •

Before leaving the Shadow City, we grabbed the backpack filled with gold and paid a brief visit to Pearcy Leake to offer our thanks. I would have spoken a few words in his memory, but we hadn't a minute to spare. By the time we emerged in Iris's basement it was already six o'clock in the morning. The nanny was awake, and we could hear her thundering footsteps as she stumbled around the kitchen on the first floor. Something shattered, the nanny cursed, and Iris winced.

“We're not going to have any dishes left at this rate,” she muttered to herself. “Don't worry about her,” she told the rest of us. “Sounds like she has one of her hangovers. She won't even know we're here.”

We hid Pearcy Leake's gold inside a trunk in Iris's basement and crept up the stairs to the ground floor of the brownstone. The morning light hit us as we reached the top step, and I saw that the four of us were filthy. Oona's hair was gray with dust and her arms and legs were red and irritated from the duct tape. Black, greasy smudges covered Iris's pajamas. But Kiki had fared the worst. Her bloodshot eyes were the color of cherry tomatoes, and dark bags drooped beneath them. Whole patches of white hair shot straight into the air, as if she'd stuck a fork in a toaster. Her black pants had ripped across one knee, and a stretch of frighteningly
pale flesh flashed whenever she moved. If it hadn't been for the wicked little smile on her face, she could have been mistaken for one of the undead.

“Iris,” she whispered. “Get the supplies we talked about and meet us outside.”

The rest of us tiptoed out of the house and slid behind a parked car across the street. From where we were hiding, the Princess's house looked dark and deserted.

“Looks like we got lucky,” said Oona. “I don't think anyone's home.”

“Don't be so gullible. They never leave the house unguarded. If it were that easy to get inside, I wouldn't have bothered trying to break in through the Shadow City,” snapped Kiki, pulling a cell phone out of her bag. Oona looked at me and rolled her eyes. Now that we knew the cause of Kiki's crankiness, it was easier to ignore.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I'm going to see if I can reach DeeDee and Luz while we're waiting,” she responded.

I felt a twinge of guilt when I realized I'd forgotten about the others. I peered over Kiki's shoulder as she typed.

8 AM. Coffee shop. Hudson St. Betty?

The response was instantaneous.

Betty safe. C U @ 8.

“So far, so good,” said Kiki, flipping the phone closed.

Minutes later, Iris emerged from her house and ran across the street, sporting a pink ruffled dress that made her look like a giant cupcake. In one hand was a brown paper sack.

“What do you think?” She curtsied to Kiki. “My grandma made this dress for me.”

“Your grandmother has unusual taste. Does she work for the circus?”

“No, and her taste is fine,” said Iris. “She just wants me to look seven years old for the rest of my life. I
really
hope nobody sees me wearing this.”

“But you're adorable,” Oona joked.

“Not funny, Wong,” Iris warned.

“Quit bickering. Did you get the supplies?” asked Kiki.

“One large onion. One sharp knife.” Iris took the items out of the brown paper bag.

“Excellent. Time to see if you're as good an actress as you claim to be.” Kiki cut open the onion and held it under Iris's nose. Iris's eyes blinked rapidly, and plump, juicy tears began to roll down her pink cheeks. She sniffled and adopted a miserable expression. “What's wrong, little girl?” prompted Kiki.

“I locked myself out of the house,” Iris sobbed. “The nanny's asleep, and she won't open the door. May I use your telephone, please?”

“A little more snot next time, but otherwise excellent,” said a proud Kiki. “Okay, get going.”

A bawling Iris ran across the street and up the stairs to the Princess's front door. She pressed the doorbell and then stood back looking small and helpless. It was a brilliant plan, and Iris was the only one who could pull it off. She was still young enough to appear harmless, and the Princess's guards would be used to seeing her in the neighborhood.

A man opened the door of the Princess's house and glared at the little cupcake on the stoop. I gasped when I saw his slicked-back hair and perfectly polished footwear gleaming in the sunlight. It was Bob Goodman, the fake FBI agent.

“Friend of yours?” asked Kiki.

“He came to my house after you disappeared,” I admitted. “He said he was with the FBI. He told us you were an international assassin.”

“That explains a lot,” said Kiki. “For your information, that man's name is Sergei Molotov. He's my aunt's right-hand man. The same right hand, I might add, that put a bullet in Verushka's leg. I've been looking forward to catching up with him.”

At first the man shook his head and refused to let Iris use the phone. But when she turned up the volume on her sobs and threatened to make a scene, the man ushered her inside and shut the door. I worried that it might be the last time we would see our brave little friend, but a few seconds later, Kiki's cell phone vibrated. She let it ring a few times before answering it.

“Hello?” she asked in a tired voice in case Sergei was listening.

“Hello, nanny, it's me,” I could hear Iris's teary voice. “I locked myself out of the house. Can you come downstairs and let me in?”

“What a stupid thing to do,” Kiki scolded her. “Why do you always run off when we have a busy day ahead of us? What time is your macramé lesson?”

“One o'clock,” whimpered Iris. This was the code we
had devised. It meant Iris had seen only one person in the house.

“All right, then. Give me a second and I'll meet you at the front door.”

Kiki Strike, Oona, and I leaped out of our hiding place and raced toward the Princess's house. As Sergei opened the door to let Iris out, the rest of us barged inside. We found ourselves in a spacious marble foyer, standing beneath a crystal chandelier large enough to house a family of tree-dwelling monkeys. Surrounding our quarry, we backed him up against a wall. Sergei reached under his jacket, his hand fishing for his gun. It was missing. He patted himself down and frantically scanned the room.

“Looking for this?” Iris tossed him a gun. She had taken it from its holster as he led her to the phone. “Don't worry. I removed all the bullets. Didn't anyone ever warn you not to play with loaded firearms?”

“I taught her how to do that,” said Kiki Strike proudly. “She's a natural.”

Sergei threw the useless gun across the floor and laughed.