The Secret Cipher (10 page)

“Hey, Batgirl, watch where you're going,” one of them snarled.

Maybe I was being rude with all the pushing but I didn't care. Some things were more important than manners. Like saving the world from being zombiefied.

I reached the end of the aisle, turned the corner, then hurried up the next aisle. More booths, more people, but no girl with sparkly red braids. I felt like screaming. I felt like going back and kicking those stupid Klingons in their hairy shins!

An announcement filled the hall. “Elvish Language Workshop will begin in ten minutes in Plaza A. Also, tickets are still available for tonight's Steampunk Ball in the Plaza Ballroom.”

“Ethan, where is she?” I was seriously starting to panic. “Do you see her?” My eyes zipped back
and forth as I wove around princesses, aliens, and galactic soldiers. Then, just as tears began to sting my eyes, she appeared. I don't think she noticed us in our bat costumes, because as she hurried past, her leather bag brushed against my arm.

The urn. I felt it.

It was a sensation I'd longed to forget. Immediately, like a mother whose child has gone missing, I needed to hold the urn, to protect it from the rest of the world. I could feel it calling to me, pulling me like a moth to light.

I am the protector of the urn
.

I broke out in a cold sweat. There was no doubt about it. The urn of Hope was here, at the festival. She'd taken it from Great-Aunt Juniper!

Then the girl stopped in her tracks, spun around, and looked right into my bat eyes. “Go home, Jax. This is too dangerous for you.”

I didn't know what to say.

First—how had she recognized me? I had a black latex mask pulled over my head!

Second—I wanted that urn!

Ethan stood beside me. His gaze moved quickly between my face and hers. I didn't tell him that I'd felt the urn when the bag brushed against me.
I didn't tell him that I was scared. Last month, I'd carried that urn in my arms, I'd even slept beside it, not knowing what it could do to a person's soul. But now I knew. I knew that if she wanted, she could open her bag, uncork the urn, and in an instant, everyone in the hall would collapse to the ground, including me and Ethan. Darkness would overtake us, drowning us in sadness. I took a long breath, trying to steady my trembling legs. The urge overtook me and . . .

I grabbed the bag!

The tug of war lasted about one second. She was way stronger. “Go home,” she repeated, hugging the bag to her chest.

The Batgirl mask suddenly felt suffocating so I yanked it off. I didn't need to hide my face any longer. My hair was plastered to my forehead with sweat. “You stole the urn from our great-aunt. I am its protector. Give it back!”

She frowned. “You are mistaken. I did not steal the urn. Your great-aunt gave it to me willingly.”

What a total liar! “She gave it to you because she's confused. She thought you were . . .” It sounded so crazy.

Ethan took off his Batman mask. His face was
so red and shiny, it looked like he might be getting a rash. I thought he was going to say something, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, which was ringing. “Hello?”

Even though the conference floor was loud, Tyler's voice boomed out of the speaker. “What's going on in there? I've circled the block a dozen times. Do you have the freakin' urn or what?”

“We're talking to her now,” Ethan said.

I stepped between the girl and Ethan, summoning every ounce of courage I could find. As long as I didn't touch the bag again, the weird feelings would go away. The urn had taken over my mind in Washington, DC, and I'd thought that everyone in the world was going to steal the urn. I'd tried to sneak away from Ethan and Tyler. I'd tried to keep the urn for myself. But this time I would be more careful.

“Look, I know you have it,” I told her, keeping my arms at my sides. “But why did you bring it here? Are you meeting someone? Is someone paying you?”

She glanced around. Who was she looking for?

“If you give it back to us right now, we won't call the police.” Of course we'd never call police.
The last thing we needed was for the urn to be taken into custody as evidence or worse—uncorked because they thought it contained drugs.

She didn't flinch. She looked me right in the eye. “Do not interfere with my quest, Jax Malone. Return to your home before you get hurt.” It didn't sound like a threat. It sounded like she actually cared about my safety. She turned and continued up the aisle, the bag slung, once again, over her shoulder.

I groaned with frustration. She'd called my bluff. All I could do was hurry after her, Ethan at my heels.

Then she stopped in front of a booth. Its banner read,
The Puzzle Master
.

“Hey,” Ethan said. “Tyler mentioned this, remember? He told her to visit this booth if she came to the festival.”

I nodded. But why, after stealing a magical urn, would she stop here?

The shelves were filled with board games and jigsaw puzzles. People stood around a table, working on different puzzles, some wooden, some made from metal. Rubik's Cubes were stacked to the ceiling.

“Are you the puzzle master?” the girl asked a woman who was sitting on a stool. The woman was very plump, with frizzy black hair sticking out of a red scarf. Her big, golden hoop earrings and white blouse made her look like a pirate wench.

“The one and only,” the woman said.

“It was told to me that you are an expert in puzzles.”

“That's true.” Then she pointed at a little boy. “Hey, kid! Don't open the box unless you're going to buy it!” The boy put the box down and darted away.

Ethan and I stood to the side, watching as the girl reached into her black bag and pulled out a brown leather belt. She straightened the leather belt and held it in front of the woman. The puzzle master pursed her lips. “I don't sell belts,” she said. “Costumes are in aisle five.” The girl flipped the belt over and the puzzle master's eyes widened. “Oh, I see.” She leaned close to the leather. “What language is this?”

“Greek,” the girl answered.

“I'm afraid I don't read Greek.”

“I do, but this message makes no sense. The letters form no words.”

The puzzle master tapped a finger to her round chin. “It would appear that what you have is a cipher.”

“A cipher?”

“Indeed. A cipher is like a code, however it requires a key. Let me show you.” The puzzle master slid off her stool, then pulled a box from one of her shelves. After opening the box, she removed a wooden rod and a long strip of leather. Ethan and I stepped closer so we could see what was going on. “When ancient armies needed to communicate, they often used a cipher. The commanders would carry identical rods. After winding the leather around the rod, a message was written along the length of the leather. You see how it says, The enemy is near?”

The girl nodded. So did Ethan and I.

The puzzle master continued. “Once the message was written, the leather strip was unwound and the blank spaces filled in with other letters. Thus, when the leather strip lies flat, the message is indecipherable to the naked eye.” She unwound the leather and showed it to the girl.

“It makes no sense,” the girl said.

“Exactly. That is the genius of a cipher. Only
those with the proper key can
decipher
the message.” She rewound the leather onto the rod. “
Voilà
. The message appears once again.”

The girl took her leather belt and began to wind it around the wooden rod. “It doesn't fit,” she said.

“It will only work if you find the correct size key, both in length and width.”

“What does this have to do with the urn?” I asked Ethan. We were standing shoulder to shoulder, watching as the girl tucked the belt back into her bag.

“I don't know,” he said, reaching into his pocket. His phone was ringing again.

“Tell Tyler to quit calling. We're trying to accomplish something!” Seriously, Tyler had zero patience. All he had to do was wait in the car and be ready to drive at warp speed. We were doing all the work. But how were we supposed to focus when he kept interrupting?

But Ethan pushed the telephone in front of my face. The screen read,
Ricardo.

FACT:
There are two types of stress—acute and chronic. My nosebleeds came from acute stress, which is a temporary reaction to a situation or event—like lying to my parents or getting a phone call from a mysterious evil villain. Chronic means living in a constant state of stress. I was heading in that direction, thanks to the urn situation.

T
he tickle in my sinuses began the instant I read the screen.

Incoming Call from Ricardo.

I didn't wonder how he'd gotten my number. So
many people assume we still have privacy. That is an illusion. Any time you do anything online, or by phone, you make yourself traceable, trackable, contactable. What I was trying to figure out was—should I accept or decline?

It rang again.

“Don't answer it,” Jax said. She shuffled in place. “I mean, why would we answer it? We don't want to talk to
him
. Then again, maybe we should answer it. Would it hurt to answer? I don't know what to do.” She looked at me, her face all scrunched up as if she was about to get sick.

“If I answer the call, he'll hear exactly where we are,” I said. “Although there's also a GPS tracking unit in my phone.”

“What? Why do you have one of those things?”

“They come with the phone,” I told her.

“Then
don't
answer it.”

The phone stopped ringing. We both gasped as a message popped onto the screen. From Ricardo:
We must talk about the urn. Meet me at the concession stand. Now.

“He's here?” Jax cried.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. The tingling was stronger now. The bleeding would start soon.

“I knew it!” Jax said. “She came here to meet him. She's working for him. If we don't get that urn, she's going to give it to him.”

“If she's going to meet him, then why is he calling us?” I asked, pulling a wad of Kleenex from my pocket.

“I don't know. This whole thing is crazy.” Jax whipped around. “Ethan? Where did she go?”

The girl was no longer in the Puzzle Master's booth.

“Do you see her?” Jax asked. We hurried down the aisle. “She could have reached the exit already.”

“But Ricardo's at the concession stand. Wouldn't she go there?” I held the tissues to my nose.

“Concession stand! Of course!” Jax led the way down the aisle. “This is a really bad time for a nosebleed, Ethan.”

“There's no need to point out the obvious.” I checked the tissues. Phew! There was no blood. I'd applied enough pressure. “Are we really doing this? Are we really going to meet Ricardo?” I asked.

“What other choice do we have?”

I started to list a half dozen other choices, but Jax was too far ahead of me to hear any of them.

The concession stand was actually a bunch of different vendors whose booths were lined up along the back wall. The scent of fast food filled the air.
Every table was crowded, the conversation level high. A group of Pokémon characters sat eating mini pizzas. The Fabulous Four were slurping noodles. Jax ducked behind a display of energy drinks that had been stacked like a pyramid. “Put the mask back on,” she said.

As much as I dreaded the mask, I pulled it over my face. Ricardo probably knew exactly what we looked like, thanks to the Camels. If he'd been following us, then he also knew what we looked like in our bat costumes. Hiding seemed impossible.

I imagined what would happen if Ricardo opened the urn. It would be like a scene from a comic book. The tornado would whip through the hall, churning up everything in its path. Characters would fall to the floor, waiting for someone to save them. As the urn took all the hope it could find, Ricardo would laugh wickedly. Batman and Batgirl would be powerless to help. We'd be stupefied like everyone else.

“Do you see her?” Jax asked.

“No.” And since we didn't know what Ricardo looked like, I didn't see him, either.

“Call Tyler. Warn him that the girl might be leaving the building. Tell him to follow her, even if he has to leave without us.”

I unlocked my phone and was about to press
Tyler's number, when it rang again.
Incoming Call from Ricardo
. Jax grabbed it and pressed
Accept
. Then she pressed
Speaker
. “Leave us alone. We don't have the urn!”

“Hello, Jacqueline. There is no reason to be afraid of me. I am here to help you.” His voice was exactly as I remembered from when we hid in the Camels' hotel bathroom. It gave me the chills then, and still did. He sounded like he could turn things to ice. “You are in great danger. You must give me the urn.”

“Why are we in danger?”

“The urn will hurt you, as it hurt your cousin. Give it to me and I will destroy it.”

He wanted to destroy it? I looked at Jax. Maybe he wasn't a bad guy after all. Maybe he was on our side. But Jax narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “We don't have it.”

“That is a lie,” he hissed. “You will not leave the Seaport World Trade Center until you give me the urn.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Jax was trying to sound calm but her voice was trembling. “We're not at the Seaport whatever-you-just-called-it.”

“Do not play games with me, Jacqueline Malone. I followed you here. I know you have the urn because I can sense its presence. It is close. Very close. You will
surrender or face the consequences.”

“We're not afraid of you!” Jax said, then she hung up.

“Jax?” My voice cracked. The tingling was peaking, and the nosebleed would start any second now. I grabbed her arm and pointed.