The 39 Clues: Book 8 (9 page)

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Suddenly, the pressure of keeping her real mission a secret seemed nearly as exhausting as the Clue hunt. Nellie slumped in her seat, hugging Saladin to her chest.

The guilt gave her no respite. These poor kids had been deceived practically from birth --first by their parents, who had hid their Cahill identity, then by Grace, who had withheld the truth about the fire. Next, the Clue hunt -- practically a double-crossers' convention. Who knew what lies Jonah was telling Dan right now?

And on top of it all, there's me --someone they trust. Someone who's supposed to protect them ...

If it ever came down to a choice between the mission or Amy and Dan--

Don't get ahead of yourself. Worry about today's problems, not what might happen tomorrow. Find Dan. Keep Amy from losing it--

After all, whatever Nellie's covert role, she was still an au pair. The kids were her responsibility. That included Dan's safety
and
Amy's mental health.

Keep her distracted.

She turned to Amy. "How's the book? Any leads?"

Amy shrugged. "Puyi was a Janus, all right. I recognize the type --spoiled rotten, nuts about art, totally self-centered. According to this, his life was basically one extended hissy fit after he was kicked off the throne. It wasn't so bad while they let him stay in the Imperial Palace. He still had eunuchs to worship him

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and servants to do his bidding. When he demanded a Western education, they brought him a tutor all the way from London. He loved the West--even took an English name: Henry."

"Emperor Henry," Nellie mused. "Has a nice ring to it. Like King Ralph."

"When they threw him out of the Forbidden City, he kind of fell apart. He turned into a real playboy, a do-nothing rich guy. Sound like anybody we know?"

"At least Jonah raps for a living," Nellie offered. "I mean, he's a world-class idiot, but he has a job."

There was a roar as the bus picked up speed. They were moving again.

"During World War Two," Amy went on, "the Japanese set Puyi up as emperor of Manchukuo -- the old Manchuria, where the Qing dynasty had originated. He knew he was just a puppet for Japan, but he needed to feel like a king again. He paid the price, too -- when the war was over, he served ten years in jail for it. And after they let him out, he spent the rest of his life as an ordinary citizen working in a library. He died in 1967."

"That's cold," Nellie agreed. "It's a big come-down from jewel-encrusted golden robes. Poor guy peaked at six."

"It's pretty Cahill, too," Amy pointed out bitterly. "They dump everything on your shoulders when you're just a kid. In our family, you don't get a childhood. We're too busy trying to dominate the world."

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And I'm a part of that,
Nellie reflected as the bus rattled over a pothole.
Pushing children into a lethal game.

She felt a sudden yearning to take the girl in her arms, to reassure her that everything would be okay, that she'd get to be a normal teenager one day.
Yet that would be deception, too.

Aloud, she said, "So when Puyi painted that silk and hid it in the secret attic, it had to be
before
he got booted from the Forbidden City. They wouldn't have let him back in and given him the run of the place."

Amy checked the time line at the front of the book. "That happened in 1924, when he was eighteen. Maybe Puyi sensed that his days were numbered in the Imperial Palace, and that's why he wrote the poem." She recited from memory:

'"That which you seek, you hold in your hand,

Fixed forever in birth,

Where the Earth meets the sky.'"

Her brow furrowed. "But what did he
mean?"

Nellie rolled her eyes. "What do you Cahills ever mean? More thirty-nine clues mumbo jumbo."

Amy frowned. "
What you
hold in your hand
can only be the page itself. And it's
not
what we seek, since the clue is someplace else.
Fixed forever in birth
-- well, nothing stays exactly the way it is the instant it's born. And
where the Earth meets the sky--"

"I've got news for you," the au pair said sourly. "The

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Earth meets the sky
everywhere.
That's how it works. Earth stops; sky starts. Face it, we've got nothing."

Amy raised an eyebrow. "We don't know what Puyi was trying to say. But we do know when he said it--1924."

"So?"

Amy pulled Dan's laptop computer from his backpack and powered it on. "So if we research major world events from the early nineteen twenties, we might be able to learn what Puyi was up to. One thing about Cahills --we make the news."

Nellie was skeptical. "The guy went from child emperor to rich slacker, to Japanese puppet, to war criminal, to librarian. What do you expect to find that isn't in the history books?"

"The Cahill connection," Amy explained. "Look, books say Amelia Earhart was trying to fly around the world.
We
know she was really following the clue hunt. I'll bet there's something similar about Puyi."

"Such as?"

On the laptop's encyclopedia, Amy set the yearbook function to 1924. "Okay, within a few months of the day Puyi was exiled, IBM was formed, Joseph Stalin came to power in Russia--"

Not for the first time, Nellie was amazed at the brilliance of the girl's logic. She peered over her shoulder at the screen. "Greece became a republic -- ooh, I'd love to go there. The islands, the baklava ..."

Her voice trailed off as the bus crested a ridge. For

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the past half hour, the terrain had been growing hill-ier, the rises steeper. Suddenly, it was laid out before them --the Great Wall of China.

Beside her, Amy gasped. The ancient barrier stretched up slopes and into valleys, farther than the eye could see in both directions.
Four thousand miles,
Nellie reflected --
long enough to go from Boston to San Diego, and then hang a left to Mexico City.

"I've seen pictures," Amy said in awe, "but the real thing --"

Even Saladin turned his attention from the chicken in the next row to gaze out the window at the giant structure that loomed up as the bus approached.

Nellie took the computer from Amy's lap and browsed to the Great Wall, glancing back and forth from the pictures on-screen to the mind-blowing reality. The only man-made structure that could be seen from outer space. Once guarded by more than a million men.

During construction, when a worker died, his body was built right into the Wall itself. No one knew how many corpses lay within the stone and mortar, but some estimates ran as high as three million souls.

It was a sight without equal anywhere in the world --unique because of its age, its historical importance, and mostly its unimaginable length.

Nellie's heart sank. To find a single person in such a place --even a celebrity like Jonah Wizard --would be like searching the universe for a grain of sand.

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CHAPTER 12

The orange robe looked somehow
right
on Dan --like he was meant to wear it.

"Can somebody take my picture?" He had his collection in mind. This would be the prized piece. He'd have it blown up to twenty feet wide. It would be an entire wall of his trophy room.

"Photography forbidden."

Dan was crushed. He opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. You didn't argue with a guy who could rip your arm out and beat you to death with the bloody end. "Can I at least keep the suit?"

His sparring partners smiled tolerantly.

The lesson began. Dan had envisioned himself flying through the air with the greatest of ease. But he was not surprised that it didn't happen that way. As a beginner, he started at the beginning--simple punches and kicks, and learning how to fall.

It doesn't get any better than this,
he reflected, slapping the mat in a break-fall.
Learning kung fu--wushu--in a secret part of the Shaolin Temple in the very heart of Mount Song.

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Soon they progressed to basic throws. Dan glowed when the monks praised his balance. And thanks to his extraordinary memory, he was a quick study, with perfect recall of everything he'd been taught.

The highlight of the hour was a sparring session-- Dan versus four of the most dangerous fighters in the world. Oh, sure, he knew they were letting him win. But the feeling of throwing a kung fu master was indescribable--even if the guy was mostly throwing himself.

All at once, Dan saw an opening. The monk in front of him was down, perfectly positioned for one of the holds Dan had just learned. This was it --a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a novice to star in real Shaolin competition.

As Dan pounced, two powerful hands reached up and grabbed the front of his robe. Suddenly, his opponent's foot was against his abdomen --not kicking, but launching Dan up and over him with astonishing force. Flying through the air, the triumphant thought flashed through his mind: J
just got schooled by a Shaolin master!
It never occurred to him that he was about to break every bone in his body.

The other three caught him and set him gently down on the mat. He did a quick self-inventory--two arms, two legs, everything still attached.

A colossal grin split his face. "That was
mad awesome]
How did you do that?"

His teachers looked vaguely pleased.

"This is the basis of all defense in wushu," the

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thrower explained. "The momentum of your adversary is your greatest ally."

Another monk arrived with a tea service and a platter of food, and the sparring was adjourned. Dan bit down on a deep-fried snack and chewed thoughtfully, trying to place the unfamiliar flavor. Not bad, he decided. Crispy, kind of salty--a little like pork rinds, but the texture was different.

"What are these?" Dan asked, popping another piece into his mouth.

"It is a delicacy made from the larva of the silkworm," came the reply.

Dan nearly spit the morsel clear across the room. "We're eating
worms?"

"No. The silkworm is the caterpillar of the
Bombyx mori--
the silk moth."

Like that was any better. Not worms, bugs. The effort to swallow required all the willpower he could muster. He knew he was imagining it, but he felt an entire insect zoo in his stomach, writhing and buzzing.

He struggled to unsteady feet. "I think I need some air."

One of the monks escorted him through the many twists and turns that led to the Chang Zhu courtyard. He murmured his thanks and staggered out onto the grounds.

I'd never make it as a Shaolin monk. Great martial arts -- but the meal plan!

Tourists and visitors regarded him quizically -- a Western boy in Shaolin robes. He was too nauseated

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to be impressed by the sights, but just walking helped to settle his stomach. Jonah was nowhere to be seen. The star was probably still inside the temple, signing autographs for his Shaolin fans.

Dan surveyed his surroundings. What was that? From a distance it looked like a miniature city. He drifted over and discovered that the structures were not buildings but towering brick-and-stone grave markers, shaped like Chinese pagodas, some of them thirty or forty feet tall. A sign declared that this burial ground was the Pagoda Forest--the final resting place for the cremated remains of centuries of Shaolin monks.

Pretty cool --unless you're trying to digest a couple of
Bombyx moris.

Just outside the temple grounds, by the side of the road, he noticed a line of coin-operated telescopes trained up Mount Song.

He left the Pagoda Forest and trudged along the path, fishing in his pocket for change. Another advantage of being part of the Wizard posse --Jonah had provided him with some Chinese money.

Exiting via a rear gate, he approached the line of telescopes. He squinted up at the mist-drenched summit of Mount Song. He could make out a distant monument, white against the gray sky. "What is it?"

An attendant supplied the answer. "It is the statue of Bodhidharma."

"You mean the eyelids dude?" Dan blurted.

The man pointed to the money slot. "One yuan."

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Dan inserted a coin, and the telescope whirred to life with the ticking of a timer. He peered into the eyepiece.

The statue was carved from white stone -- a bearded monk sitting cross-legged atop a brick pedestal. As far as Dan could tell, there were no missing eyelids, and the figure's lower body, shriveled or not, was hidden by robes.

But that wasn't what made Dan gasp.
I
know that guy!

Where would a Boston orphan have seen a statue that sat atop a remote Chinese mountain? On TV? The Internet? In a textbook at school?

He had a murky vision of the white sculpture surrounded by thick gray fur ...