This Isn't What It Looks Like

  She had just recognized the trunk. Underneath the layers of paper and grime, the trunk in front of her was the bandits’ treasure chest. She remembered the large brass lock that resembled a coat of arms. One of the bandits had broken the lock with his axe. If nobody had opened the trunk in the years since, somebody must have rebuilt the lock—and reinforced it many times over.

  “It’s from the Jester—it has to be,” she said, lowering her voice so her grandfathers wouldn’t hear. “I told him the fire station didn’t exist yet—I mean, in his time. He must have left instructions for it to circle around the world until closer to our time.”

  Together they examined the brass lock. It had an intricate pattern of diamonds and fleur de lis etched into it, but the basic design was simple. What had looked to Cass like a coat of arms was in fact four circles inside a square. On closer inspection, each of the four circles turned out to be a movable dial, two on top, two below. Each dial was marked with all twenty-six letters of the alphabet.

  “It’s obviously some kind of early combination lock,” said Max-Ernest. “But I’ve never seen a quadruple one like this.”

  “It looks like we only have to pick four letters. That shouldn’t be so hard.”

  “Oh yeah? You want to try all 456,976 different combinations?”

  “There can’t be that many.”

  “Wanna bet? Put it in a calculator. Twenty-six times twenty-six times twenty-six times twenty-six.”

  “All right. You made your point. So we have to narrow it down.”

  “You know the Jester. What letters would he put? Like names of his kids or something.”

  “He didn’t have any kids yet when I knew him.”

  “Well, anybody else? Think of it like we’re trying to find the password for his computer.”

  “There was Anastasia. But that’s too many letters.”

  “How about your name? That has four letters. At least your nickname does.”

  They tried it every way they could:

  And so on.

  None of the variations worked, but Max-Ernest noticed the faintest of faint clicks when he tried A and S as the top two letters.

  “I think the A and S on top might be right,” he said excitedly. “Can you think of anything they might stand for? Maybe A is Anastasia and the other letters are for other people?”

  They tried a few letters at random; predictably, they did not work. Then Max-Ernest noticed the time. He was late to relieve PC’s babysitter—his father.

  “I really don’t like to go into overtime,” Max-Ernest explained, heading out the door. “Then I feel like I have to pay them more. Plus, it’s just sort of disrespectful of the babysitter’s time.”

  “Your dad is not a babysitter,” Cass protested. “He’s your dad. And PC’s dad!”

  Max-Ernest shook his head. “One day you’ll understand. Life is different when you have a kid.”

  Cass watched the door close behind him, feeling bereft. She very much wanted to open the trunk before her grandfathers saw it, but she couldn’t imagine finding the right combination without Max-Ernest’s expert code-cracking help.

  Well, there was always the possibility he would call with another inspiration when he got home, like he did with the lodestone.

  The lodestone! That’s it, she thought. The lodestone is the key.

  AS ABOVE, SO BELOW.

  Max-Ernest was always telling her you had to read clues in different ways. Sometimes secret messages were more about language than anything else. And she suspected that was the case now. She’d been right about the Jester; for him, AS ABOVE, SO BELOW didn’t have any deep meaning. It wasn’t about alchemy. It was about the words: the word AS above the word SO.

  Trying to keep her hand steady, she turned the bottom two dials to the correct letters.

  For a moment, it seemed like this combination didn’t work, either. But that was only because the chest hadn’t been opened in so long. Eventually, the latch released—and she was able to lift the lid.

  Treasure.

  It was the last thing she’d seen in the chest; it was the last thing she’d expected to see again. And yet there it was. The coins and jewels, the goblets and candlesticks, they glistened and gleamed just as they had when the homunculus first lifted the tarp to show her the bandits’ hoard.

  Of course, there wasn’t nearly as much now. The bandits had given most of their bounty to the poor, but there was still plenty. Cass would be wealthy beyond measure—if she kept it all, that is. (Already, in her head, she was pushing aside thoughts of expensive vacations and fancy cars and thinking instead of the causes that she could donate her riches to: the environment, disaster preparedness, child slavery… not to mention the Terces Society.) Cass was pleased, thrilled even, that the Jester and Anastasia cared enough for her to leave her their fortune. At the same time, she felt oddly disappointed. Was this all there was to the Secret? Gold? The treasure made her feel a little like a bandit herself.

  She dug down into the chest. Perhaps she would find a note at the bottom. Or some other object that contained a clue about the Secret. She experienced a momentary spark of hope when she spied a corner of what looked like a piece of yellowing paper. But when she pulled it out, she found not an ancient Egyptian papyrus but a familiar parchment scroll.

  Cass unrolled it to reveal a crude sketch of a girl with pointy ears—her self-portrait. She looked wistfully at the drawing, thinking that Anastasia must have left it for her to find. Cass had traveled into the distant past in part to find out who her biological parents were. The Jester had been right: the quest made no sense, chronologically speaking. But in meeting the Jester and Anastasia, perhaps she had found the roots she was looking for anyway.

  * * *

  “I have a present for you,” said Cass to her mother later that night when they were together in their kitchen.

  She pulled her now-flattened self-portrait out of a folder in her backpack and handed it over. Her mother smiled in delighted surprise.

  “Cass! Did you draw this?”

  Cass shrugged. “I guess, I mean, if you could call it drawing. It’s more like a scribble.”

  “Thank you. I don’t remember the last time you gave me a drawing that you did. Probably when you were six years old. This is wonderful!”

  “No, it’s not. You don’t have to say that,” said Cass, embarrassed and already half regretting the gift.

  “I know I don’t. I’m saying it because it’s true. It’s very expressive and I think it captures the essence of you… although of course you’re much prettier!”

  “You don’t have to say that, either.”

  Melanie shook her head. “What am I going to do with you, Cassandra? It’s a very important skill to know how to accept a compliment.”

  “Oh well, I guess I’m not very skillful, then.”

  “Terrific—now I’m insulting you?” Melanie held Cass’s drawing up to the light. “This paper looks so old. Almost like parchment. Did they give it to you at school?”

  “No… I found it at the fire station,” said Cass, semi-accurately. “I don’t think Larry and Wayne even knew it was there.”

  “Well, I’m sure they would be glad to see it used so well…. What’s this tiny little scrap of paper glued to the other side?” asked Melanie, turning the parchment over. “See here at the bottom. I think there’s something written on it. It almost looks like hieroglyphics—”

  “Let me have that—!”

  Cass snatched the drawing out of her mother’s hand.

  “I just decided, I have to take the drawing back,” she said, not yet daring to look at it. “It’s, um… I just don’t think it’s finished yet and I’m afraid you’re going to put it up or something. Sorry.”

  Leaving the flabbergasted Melanie alone in the kitchen, Cass flew up the stairs to her bedroom and slammed the door shut

  “Cass, what did I do?” her mother shouted from downstairs.

  “Nothing! I love you, Mom!” Cass shouted
back.

  Then she locked her bedroom door for good measure.

  * * *

  Her hand trembling, Cass turned the parchment over.

  Sure enough, there was a little scrap of rough woven paper stuck to the bottom of the page. Cass was certain this was it—the papyrus on which the Secret was written. There was only one problem. The papyrus was rapidly turning to dust.

  THE END

  APPENDICES*

  YO-YOJI E-MAIL #1 (from here)

  Dude, just letting u know i will be offline for a wk. Camping w the ’rents on Mt Fuji so dad can finish that pollution study frum last yr. You know the rule—no electronic nothing in nature. (Not even music!!! Aaargh—Suckage!) Will check u out soon as I’m back. Hope Cass ok by then.

  YO-YOJI E-MAIL #2 (from here)

  Listen, Bro, u r being played harder than an air guitar in front of my bathroom mirror… Just got back from Fuji and saw yr e-mail about Benjamin. Sounded so random, the way he changed, so I did a little name search. Nohting… But then I looked up that school he went to, and guess who’s “head of school” at New Promethean… A guy named… drum roll, please… Luciano Bergamo. Uh-huh. Dr. Freakin’ L!!! Yep, Benjamin’s school was run by Midnight Sun! Dunno what it means… Spy??? Definitely NOT GOOD. Alert alert alert! Plz tell me when u get this so I can relax and go back to building game levels.

  POPULAR WAYS TO DISGUISE YOUR BOOK

  The Secret Series is meant to be secret! If you must carry your book in public, please disguise it first.

  Groucho

  Unknown Comic

  Burglar

  Ghost

  Elvis

  HOW TO BUILD YOUR OWN CAMERA OBSCURA

  The camera obscura that Cass, Max-Ernest, and Yo-Yoji visited at the Renaissance Faire was so large, their entire class could fit inside, but you can also make a camera obscura small enough to fit in your hands.

  What you’ll need:

  A small cardboard box— It should be about the size of a shoe box, but it should be a traditional brown corrugated box with four flaps on top rather than a lid.

  Tracing paper— or some similar translucent paper, like vellum

  Black tape— or other dark-colored tape

  A medium- to large-size nail— as in hammer and nail, not fingernail

  A blanket or large towel— a wizard’s cape or spare toga would also work

  To make the camera obscura:

  Tape up the bottom side of the box—including the middle and the corners—so no light can get through the cracks.

  Then take the nail and poke a hole in the exact center of the bottom of the box. The hole should be just big enough to let light through, and the edges of the hole should be as clean and round as possible. This hole is your aperture—a fancy word that means opening.

  Now set the box upright so the bottom is the bottom again.

  OK, this is the trickiest part. Notice that the top of the box has four flaps: two larger outer flaps, and two smaller inner flaps. Open the larger flaps and close the smaller flaps. Then tape the sides of the smaller flaps to the bottom edges of the larger flaps so that the smaller flaps stay flat (level with the top of the box), and so no light gets through.

  You should now have a box that is completely sealed except for one rectangular opening.

  Cut a piece of tracing paper a little larger than the opening and tape it over the opening, keeping the tracing paper as smooth and taut as possible. This is going to be the “screen” of your camera obscura.

  Construction is finished.

  To use your camera obscura, you should be standing indoors and facing a bright window. Throw your towel, blanket, or cape over your head. Then hold the camera obscura in front of your face with the “screen” facing you and with the open flaps to either side. The aperture should not be covered by the blanket. But all the sides of the camera obscura should be. You don’t want to see any light except what you see in your viewing screen.

  On your screen, you should now be seeing an image of the window you’re standing in front of. The image will be upside down. Wave your hand in front of the aperture: your hand will seem to wave in the opposite direction. Do not try to walk at the same time.

  ONE-WAY STARING CONTEST*

  SECRET SERIES F.A.Q.

  AKA Frequently Annoying Questions… Oh sorry, I meant Frequently Asked Questions

  Q: Why?

  A: Just why? You mean like why the Secret Series?

  Q: Yeah.

  A: Why not? (You knew that’s how I’d answer, didn’t you?)

  Q: OK, then, here’s a real question. Why do the Midnight Sun members wear gloves? Is it simply a sign of membership, like a badge or a Scout patch?

  A: No, they wear gloves because otherwise their hands will reveal their true age. For some as yet unknown reason, their powerful rejuvenating elixirs (which keep them alive for hundreds of years) do not work on their hands. Incidentally, this is why very young Midnight Sun members have no need to wear gloves.

  Q: Is everything you write true? Did it really happen?

  A: Yes. Well, no! I mean, I’m sorry, I can’t answer that. Just remember—all the names have been changed. For more information, I’m going to have to insist you speak to my lawyer.

  Q: Could you ever be friends with somebody who didn’t like chocolate?

  A: No. Well, maybe, if they gave me chocolate anyway. A lot of chocolate.

  Q: Do you ever read your books after you write them?

  A: Are you kidding? Don’t you think they’d be a little different if I did?

  Q: What is the Secret?

  A: I believe you’ve asked me that before.

  Q: Why won’t you tell us the Secret?

  A: Have you bothered to look up the word in the dictionary?

  Q: I thought you said you couldn’t keep a secret.

  A: OK, you got me.

  Q: Admit it, you don’t really know the Secret.

  A: A, that’s not a question. B, I wouldn’t tell you if I did.

  Q: I hate you.

  A: The feeling is mutual, I assure you.

  Q: I don’t really hate you. I just want to know the Secret.

  A: Then you’ll just have to read the next book, won’t you?

  Q: Can’t you give me a hint?

  A: Platypus.

  Q: That’s the hint? Platypus?

  Q: No. I just thought it sounded funny.

  Q: I take it back. I do hate you.

  A: I know.

  *A MANIFESTO IS NOT A FIESTA FOR A MAN. IN FACT, IT IS NOT A FIESTA OF ANY KIND. IT IS NOT EVEN A FIESTO. RATHER, IT IS A STATEMENT OF PRINCIPLES. USUALLY POLITICAL OR ARTISTIC PRINCIPLES. BUT YOU COULD WRITE A MANIFESTO ABOUT ANYTHING. FOR INSTANCE, CHOCOLATE OR CHEESE. A PSEUDO-MANIFESTO IS EITHER A FAKE MANIFESTO OR A MANIFESTO WRITTEN BY PSEUDONYMOUS BOSCH. SO PERHAPS I SHOULD HAVE CALLED IT A PSEUDO-PSEUDO-MANIFESTO. BEFORE READING FURTHER, WHY NOT WRITE YOUR OWN MANIFESTO? THEN YOU CAN SEE HOW MANY WAYS MY BOOK FAILS TO MEASURE UP TO YOUR IDEAS ABOUT THE WAY THINGS SHOULD BE. JUST DON’T TELL ME ABOUT IT.

  *ALWAYS CONNECT TO WHAT YOU’RE CLIMBING WITH AT LEAST TWO FEET AND ONE HAND OR TWO HANDS AND ONE FOOT. YOU MIGHT REMEMBER THIS HELPFUL RULE FROM A HIGHLY EDUCATIONAL AND FRANKLY RATHER BRILLIANT BOOK CALLED IF YOU’RE READING THIS, IT’S TOO LATE.

  *THIS WAS A DISTINCTION THAT MAX-ERNEST—WHO’D ALWAYS WANTED TO BE LAUGHED WITH, BUT WHO WAS FAR MORE OFTEN LAUGHED AT—WAS ONLY TOO AWARE OF.

  *IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT A STOOL SAMPLE IS, PLEASE ASK SOMEBODY ELSE. I’D RATHER NOT HAVE TO EXPLAIN IT MYSELF—IT’S TOO DISTASTEFUL A SUBJECT.

  *ANOTHER DISTINCTION THAT MAX-ERNEST, WHO’D ALWAYS LONGED TO BE FUNNY FUNNY BUT WHO WAS MOST OFTEN FUNNY WEIRD, KNEW ONLY TOO WELL.

  *THOSE WEREN’T ACTUALLY THE WORDS IN MAX-ERNEST’S HEAD—I’M AFRAID I GOT A LITTLE CARRIED AWAY—BUT I CAN PROMISE YOU THEY GIVE A SENSE OF WHAT HE FELT.

  *AGAIN I MUST APOLOGIZE FOR PUTTING WORDS IN MAX-ERNEST’S HEAD—AND FOR WAXING POETICAL (RATHER THAN PHILOSOPHIC
AL) AT SUCH A SERIOUS TIME. IT’S JUST THAT CHOCOLATE MAKES ME WANT TO RHYME. (GET IT—TIME, RHYME? OH NEVER MIME.)

  *I TELL THE STORY OF CASS AND SEÑOR HUGO IN MUCH GREATER DETAIL IN MY LAST BOOK, THIS BOOK IS NOT GOOD FOR YOU. BUT IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THAT BOOK, I’D ADVISE AGAINST IT. AS IT HAPPENS, THE TITLE IS SOMETHING OF AN UNDERSTATEMENT. I HAD ORIGINALLY AND MORE ACCURATELY CALLED IT THIS BOOK IS ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE FOR YOU, BUT MY PUBLISHERS WERE AFRAID THE TITLE WOULD SCARE READERS AWAY. THEY WANTED TO CALL IT THIS BOOK IS GOOD FOR YOU. I WAS ONLY ABLE TO SLIP IN THE NOT AT THE LAST MOMENT WHEN THEY WEREN’T LOOKING.

  *IN CASE YOU DON’T REMEMBER THE FIRST WORD OF YO-YOJI’S BAND NAME (IT DOES APPEAR LATER IN THIS BOOK) OR IN CASE YOU’RE THE LAZY TYPE, THE DECODED E-MAIL IS INCLUDED IN THE APPENDIX. AS FOR HOW TO DECODE A KEYWORD CODE GENERALLY, YOU’LL FIND INSTRUCTIONS AT THE END OF MY FIRST BOOK. AND IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT BOOK IS CALLED, WELL, YOU’RE NOT ALONE.

  *AS YOU MIGHT GUESS FROM THEIR ATTIRE, A FOP IS A FASHIONABLE YOUNG MAN—SOME WOULD SAY TOO FASHIONABLE, BUT I SAY THERE IS NO SUCH THING.

  *A JESTER’S OUTFIT, BY THE WAY, IS KNOWN AS A MOTLEY BECAUSE IT IS SUCH A MOTLEY MIX OF COLORS AND DESIGNS.