The Sword Thief Read online

  Into the sun. Into the glorious smell of grass and earth.

  Splaying herself securely on the surface, she reached her arm back down. "Grab on!"

  "Heave ... ho!" Alistair grunted from below.

  Amy clasped her fingers around her brother's wrists and pulled. Dan was heavy, and she could only get his torso out -- but that was enough. Dan let go and shimmied through the hole.

  Quickly, Amy leaned over and called down, "Uncle Alistair! Can you stack any more of those boxes? You'll need to get yourself higher!" "I'm trying!" he called back.

  RRRRRO-O-OMMM!

  The entire rock shook. A section of it just to Amy's left collapsed downward. The rumbling seemed to be catching, following the line of a crack in the rock.

  "Uncle Alistair!"

  Dan shouted into the hole. "Are you all right?"

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  Dan put his ear to the hole. Amy could hear Alistair saying something, but the noise of the rumbling drowned out the sound.

  Reaching down into the hole, Dan screamed, "Just grab on! Jump!" But there was no response.

  Now Dan and Amy were both shouting his name. But the hole, which was only a couple of feet wide, began to split. The entire rock beneath Dan and Amy was breaking. They hurtled forward, down the side of the rock, and finally tumbled to the ground.

  As the entire W imploded, left to right in a wave, Amy and Dan leaped away, landing on their knees and covering their heads.

  A massive cloud of rock dust billowed upward, blackening the sky. Amy and Dan stared, numb, at the jagged pile of rocks that remained.

  Finally, Amy felt the words exit her mouth as if they had a will of their own. "What did he say to you?"

  "He said," Dan whispered, '"It's not schist.'"

  CHAPTER 1 7

  When Amy ran away behind the tree, Dan knew she was vomiting. And it didn't gross him out at all, because he was doing the same thing.

  Alistair had died -- inches away from them. Right underneath. He had given them his trust, his money, his advice, his comfort. And finally, his life.

  It didn't seem real. He should be behind a bush now, brushing himself off, strolling toward them, his pants somehow still crisply pressed. Well, that was an adventure.

  But all that Dan could see was dust. Dust and tourists and mounds of rubble and the flashing lights of police vehicles.

  And the feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had been through this before. That his whole life had been all about loss. That he had vowed never to get close to grown-ups, because it was so painful to lose them.

  And it had happened again.

  He was vaguely aware of his sister putting her arm around him. A cop was talking in accented

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  English, but Dan couldn't put together the meaning. "His name is ... " Amy was saying.

  "Was... Alistair Oh." "Age?" the cop said.

  The word "sixty-four" came out of Dan's mouth. He didn't know how he knew that, but it occurred to him that Alistair would never be sixty-five. That someday he, Dan, would

  be older than Alistair would ever be.

  "His clothing?" the policeman pressed, which seemed like a colossally stupid question under the circumstances.

  "Silk jacket... really nice shirt," Dan said. "Um, he always had these white gloves, too. And like a roundish hat -- " "Bo ..." Amy said. Her lip was quivering. "Bo ..." "Bowler," Dan said quietly.

  The cop took notes, but Dan knew he couldn't be treating this as a rescue operation. It was recovery. No one could have survived that collapse.

  As he walked away, murmuring a few words of sympathy, Amy stared out over the wreckage. "Dan ...?" she said. "Look... "

  Off to the right, a small entourage had just arrived. They didn't look like the other hikers and park visitors. Most of them were dressed in navy-blue suits with black sunglasses and black shoes, and their ears were plugged with headsets attached to squiggly cords.

  In the center was an elderly, thin man with an overcoat draped over his shoulders, a silk ascot tucked into an expensive-looking shirt, and a dark fedora tilted slightly to one side of his head. He moved with a lively step, using a walking stick that was encrusted with jewels. "That's the guy ... " Dan said. "The one we saw in Tokyo, outside the subway." "What's he doing here?" Amy asked.

  Dan's eyes widened at the sight of someone behind the old man -- a person he and Amy were even more familiar with. He had been there at the fire that consumed Grace's house. In Paris and Salzburg. He had never spoken a word, but somehow he was always there.

  Amy didn't need to be shown. She saw him, too. "The Man in Black ... " she muttered, shrinking away.

  Keeping low to the ground, she and Dan skittered behind a bush.

  "Can you hear what the old man is saying to him?" Amy asked.

  Dan stood. He pulled his hood over his head and edged closer, making sure to stay among the evergrowing crowd of gawkers. They were yakking away, too, but as he neared the old man, Dan could see him exchanging bows with the cop who had just spoken to them.

  But the Man in Black didn't seem interested in talking. He was walking slowly toward the collapsed rock, his back to Dan.

  The old man and the cop were talking now, and Dan could hear snatches of conversation, but it was all in Korean. They didn't say much, and the old man seemed angry and impatient. Finally, after some more bows, the cop left.

  With a sharp gesture to his entourage, indicating they should stay put, the old man began striding alone toward the mysterious black-clad stranger.

  The two men stood silent, facing the rubble. Dan glanced back at Amy, who had a look of terror on her face, gesturing for him to come back.

  But the men were turned away, so he moved closer.

  When the old man spoke up, his words were clear. And in English. "My nephew was in there," he said.

  The Man in Black moved his head, a slight shift of his mouth registering just a shadow of a reaction -- what? Sympathy? Triumph? It was impossible to read.

  They seemed to be arguing about something, but Dan could not make out the words.

  Then the old man turned, walking briskly back to his cohort. He nodded to no one in particular, but they all fell in step beside him. Together, the whole posse walked away from the site in the direction of the park entrance.

  As Dan slipped back toward Amy, he could see the Man in Black approaching the ruins. As he walked through the rubble, he stopped and leaned down.

  He seemed to have found something -- maybe one of Hideyoshi's relics, Dan thought. Before long, when the rocks were cleared, everyone would know about the treasures. There would be looting, maybe, fights about who the stuff belonged to. All the usual things you saw in the news whenever lots of money was involved.

  But for now, the whole thing looked like a big pile of rock. And what the Man in Black was pulling up from the debris didn't belong to Hideyoshi at all.

  When Dan saw what it was, a cry snarled in his throat.

  It was a bowler hat, crushed and misshapen.

  "Oh, my god, you guys, I thought you were dead!" Nellie screamed. "I heard about what happened. You look terrible!"

  Nellie raced toward Amy and Dan, clutching Saladin, as they trudged into the parking lot of Pukhansan National Park. She and Mr. Chung were being interviewed by the police.

  Amy's heart went out to Mr. Chung. He was not looking well at all.

  Nellie gave Dan and Amy an enthusiastic one-armed hug, squeezing the Mau, who let out a muffled

  "Mrrp" of complaint.

  Amy ran her fingers distractedly through Saladin's silver hair. "We escaped. It's a long story, but Alistair... "

  Her voice drifted off. Behind her, Dan wiped away a tear.

  "Yeah, I heard," Nellie said. She put a sympathetic hand on Dan's shoulder. "Come on, dude, let's go back."

  On the ride to Uncle Alistair's house, Amy told Nellie what had happened, right down to the sight of the bowler hat. Nellie nodded, listening, and then they both fell quiet for the re
st of the trip. Dan kept forming things to say, but they all sounded so stupid. He was a great man. He really cared about the Cahill family. We'll miss him.

  He realized he didn't really know Uncle Alistair. The old man knew a thousand times more about them than they did about him. He had betrayed them, but in the end he'd saved their lives.

  At Alistair's house, birds were chirping in the dogwoods and fluffy white clouds dotted the horizon. It seemed as if nothing had happened. Harold, Alistair's butler, met them at the door, his face drawn and grief-stricken. "I'm so sorry," Amy said.

  Dan, Amy, and Nellie removed their shoes and trudged wearily to the kitchen, where Harold had prepared sandwiches. As Nellie ate, Dan pushed his aside. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper and a large gold doubloon. "This coin was the last thing he gave me ... "

  "What's on the paper?" Amy asked.

  Dan smoothed out the sheet on which he had decoded the last hint. 156

  ALT SHAKE THE SKALA

  SHEA TALK

  LAST HAKE LAKE TASH ALKAHEST

  "That was it?" Amy asked.

  "Alkahest was the clue instead of Lake Tash?" Dan nodded. "Yeah. The word for philosopher's stone."

  "It's an alchemy word," Amy said. "How can it be a clue if it doesn't really exist?" Dan shrugged, flipping the doubloon in the air. "How should I know? Hideyoshi was an alchemy geek."

  The coin came down in his palm, revealing an Egyptian goddess and some cryptic writing.

  Amy's eyes widened. "Wait! Oh, my god! Give me that pen!" She grabbed the pen from Dan and scribbled one word on the paper, below his column:

  1

  AL SAKHET

  "What's that?" Nellie asked.

  Amy was nearly leaping across the table at Dan. "We did a unit on Egypt last year! 'Al' means 'of.' 'Sakhet' is an ancient Egyptian goddess." Nellie cocked her head. "Serious?"

  "The mirror's message ... " Dan said under his breath. He had to admit, for a dork she could be pretty smart. "Hideyoshi was pointing to the next clue "

  "Nellie," Amy blurted, "do we have enough cash to go to Egypt?"

  "Hey, the Kabras may have dumped you, but they never came back to collect the money they gave me," Nellie said. "I say, let's saddle up that camel and ride!"

  The room fell into an awkward silence.

  Dan shrugged. "It's ... hard to think about doing this. After what just happened and all.."

  "We don't have to think about it now," Nellie said. "Look, if you're not hungry, at least go take a shower. You smell like rotten eggs. Both of you. Dan, you can use Alistair's and Amy can use the one in the guest bathroom."

  Dan had to admit that sounded like a good idea. He picked up his napkin and walked into Alistair's bedroom. Egypt could wait. For a little while.

  It smelled nice in there, an Alistair-old-man-ish kind of smell, cologne-y with the scent of fresh laundry. Everything was neat, which was no surprise -- the photos lined up on the dresser, the stack of hardcover books on the bedside table, the pillows angled just so -- with just a few casual touches, like a pair of gloves thrown on the far side of the bed ...

  A pair of filthy white gloves.

  Dan detoured away from the bathroom and lifted the gloves. They were caked with

  dirt and grass and something else

  Charcoal.

  "Amy ...?" Dan called.

  "AMY, COME IN HERE!"

  A cry of happiness welled up but stopped in his throat, as his joy was knocked aside by a realization that made him see black. Somehow Uncle Alistair was alive. And he had ditched them again.

  EPILOGUE

  The old man shut the door of his office and sank into his leather chair. He swung around toward the window, propping his feet on a ledge. They hurt more than usual today. At his age, he disliked long walks.

  From below, the muffled sound of traffic wafted upward, the frustrated shouts of motorists, the frenzied calls of sidewalk vendors. A constant reminder of life's true desperate meaning -- speed, desire, possession. He was tired of it all. But it wouldn't be long now. The proper path was finally clear.

  He flicked on his music system. Richard Strauss's Death and Transfiguration. Oddly appropriate, after what happened today.

  A stressful day. What was necessary was not always pleasant. Ah, well. First the death. Now the transfiguration.

  He pressed a button on his intercom. "Eun-hee, please contact Mr. McIntyre for me. I have some news for him."

  He waited a few seconds but received no response. Strange. Eun-hee had been there when he walked in a few moments ago. She never left her desk in the outer chamber. "Eun-hee ...?" he tried again.

  The intercom crackled to life. But the reply was not at all what he expected. "Hello, Uncle," said a deep, silken voice that sent a knife of fear down his spine. "I trust your trip to the park was pleasant?"

  Bae Oh's bony finger began to shake. "Who ... who is this?"

  "Why, it's your heir," the voice returned. "What, did I spoil your day? And what a lovely day it was indeed, seeing me die and thus realizing you were spared the trouble of doing the job yourself."

  "But... " Bae Oh sputtered. "How could you have survived...?" "A lot of people are wondering this. But I guarantee that when I'm through with you, they won't be asking the same question."

  Bae Oh may have been in his ninth decade, but his reflexes were still unmatched. He leaped from his chair and opened the door to the outer chamber. The room was empty.

  The distant sound of footsteps on the outer carpet resounded, then stopped. He was gone.

  Bae Oh's knees crumpled. He propped himself on the edge of the desk, feeling his heartbeat race, as behind him, the music swelled.