“So!” Martina piped up, her voice quavering a little with nerves. Maybe she was trying to distract Flintlock before his staring contest with Theo turned into something worse. “Letters. Colonies. This is the right track.”
“Definitely!” Sam tried to back up Martina. If Aloha or Flintlock decided that Theo wasn’t being any help here . . . well, that might not be good for Theo. “But how can we be sure which is which?” he went on nervously. “I mean, is this M Massachusetts or Maryland?”
“I don’t think it matters. The poem says, ‘Look to the first.’”
“The first? First colony?”
“Virginia!” Martina crowed. “That was the first colony to be founded. We have to put the gnomon in the hole that’s under the V!” Martina announced.
“Do it,” Flintlock ordered. If he was excited, he wasn’t showing it in his expression. He looked single-minded. Ruthless.
The glass wing needed all three of them to lift it. Theo and Sam took the lower half, bracing with their legs, while Martina lifted from the top to keep it balanced. “Just don’t drop it,” Sam grunted, imagining bits of glass scattered all over the mountainside. Flintlock would probably go nuclear if that happened.
Plus, Sam would never find out if they’d solved the puzzle.
They shuffled toward the V-hole. As the spindle edged nearer, even Theo, Sam noticed, had started to sweat. “Careful. Careful, guys . . .” Martina gasped.
“I am being careful,” Sam grumbled.
Aloha grunted impatiently and moved over to stand in front of the sealed door.
“Just a little more,” Martina said. “To the right a bit.”
“I know that,” said Sam. “I do have eyes. You don’t have to keep telling—”
The glass spindle slid into the hole.
The light around them seemed to flare, and Sam stumbled back, blinking madly.
“What the—?” said Flintlock.
Then a scream filled the air. It came from Aloha.
Sam managed to see through watering eyes. A bright beam of concentrated light, like a laser, shot from the glass wing and toward the doorway where Aloha stood.
Sam had never been one of those sadistic kids who fried ants with a magnifying glass. But he knew it could be done. The lens took sunlight and focused it into a beam so strong it could start a fire. The glass wing had done the same thing, only the glass wing was way bigger than a magnifying glass.
Just like a grown man was way bigger than an ant.
The orange flowers on Aloha’s shirt burst into red flames. He howled in pain, staggering across the plateau, as the fire took hold.
Sam stood frozen, shocked. Flintlock quickly stepped back with a look of distaste. None of his other men, standing around the edge of the plateau, moved at all as their companion flailed in agony.
“Roll!” Martina shouted. “Stop, drop, and roll!” But Aloha wasn’t listening.
Theo took a step toward the burning man, maybe ready to shove him to the ground and try to slap out the fire. But Aloha was still holding his gun; it swung toward Theo as the man twisted and wailed. Theo dodged to the side as a bullet cracked on the air, and at the same moment Aloha’s left heel vanished off the edge of the cliff. He toppled and was gone, his screams lengthening.
Then silence.
Sam felt sick. “What happened?” he whispered, his mouth feeling drier than ever.
“Indeed.” Flintlock’s gaze, nearly as fierce as the beam of light that was still hitting the stone surface of the door, turned on Sam and Martina. “What happened, kids?”
“It’s the gnomon,” Martina said shakily. She looked as queasy as Sam felt. “It must be some kind of trap. If it’s in the wrong position, it focuses the sunlight right here near the door.”
“And then . . .” Sam swallowed.
“And then,” Martina agreed.
“Take it down,” Flintlock ordered, his voice curt.
The men standing around the perimeter of the plateau looked a little uneasy. None of them moved.
“You do it,” Flintlock told Sam, Martina, and Theo. “You’re the ones responsible for this.”
Sam stared. “You want us to touch that thing?” They’d just seen the gnomon set a man on fire, and now Flintlock wanted them to move it? The beam of light was still focused on the door like some kind of death ray.
“I believe my instructions were clear,” Flintlock answered.
“It’s okay, Sam,” Martina said. “We just have to stay out of the beam.”
“Sure,” Sam mumbled. “Fine. We’ll just stay out of the way of the killer laser beam.”
The three of them grouped themselves carefully around the gnomon. “On three,” Theo said softly. “One . . .”
Sam took hold of the smooth glass. Now he had more to worry about than dropping the thing. What if his sweaty hands couldn’t keep their grip? What if he or Martina or Theo slipped or stumbled into the light’s path?
“Two . . .”
He could still smell burned flesh in the air.
“Three!”
They heaved the gnomon up out of its hole, and the beam of light went out as if flipped off by a switch. Sam let out a huge sigh of relief. As they struggled to lay the wing gently on its side once more, Flintlock walked to the edge of the plateau and glanced over, presumably at the remains of his Hawaiian-shirted henchman. Smoke rose in a narrow wisp.
Flintlock shrugged, turned, and walked silently back toward the three kids.
“You said the wrong position?” he demanded, his cold eyes on Martina.
“Yes, that’s what . . .” Martina’s voice trailed off. “What I said,” she finished weakly. “It was wrong.”
“You were wrong.”
Sam didn’t think the girl’s face could get any paler, but it did. “Yes,” she whispered.
Flintlock took in a long breath and let it out slowly, studying her. He reached a hand inside his jacket and pulled out a gun of his own.
“I don’t know if you’re stupid enough to try and trick me, or if you’re really just a kid who’s out of her league,” he said at last. “But either way—I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen a second time. You.” He pointed the gun at Theo. “Stand in front of that door.”
Sam jumped forward. “What?” he blurted out. “You can’t—!”
Theo held up a hand and shook his head. Slowly, he walked over to stand right where Aloha had stood. His face looked calm and proud, without a trace of fear.
“You’re going to try again,” Flintlock told Sam and Martina. “And if you’re wrong this time, your friend’s going to burn.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“No!” Sam shouted. “You can’t do this!”
Flintlock pointed toward Martina. “Argue with her, not with me. Much more productive that way. We’ve already wasted enough time up here, and losing associates of mine makes me very cranky.”
Sam’s mouth opened and closed. In his mind he could see the flames eating away at the red and orange flowers on Aloha’s shirt. He felt like he could still hear the man screaming.
Sam looked over at Theo. Was he going to be next?
Sam walked slowly back toward the sundial and Martina. Now it wasn’t just her hands that were trembling.
“I was wrong,” she whispered.
“Yeah. It happens.” Sam stood staring down at the marks in the rock. Getting stuff wrong—it was a part of solving puzzles. Sometimes you had to guess wrong the first time to be right the second, or the third. But this was a lot more serious than sticking the wrong number in a sudoku.
“He’s dead,” she choked out. “That guy. He was kind of a jerk, but he died because I was wrong, Sam. And now—”
“Hey!” Sam interrupted her. She was freaking out. This was not good. If they’d ever needed Martina’s brain in full working order, it was now. “We both got it wrong. But that doesn’t mean we’ll be wrong again. Listen! We landed that plane, didn’t we? We didn’t make a mistake then. Right, Mar
ty? Right?”
He knew she was panicking when she didn’t immediately say “Don’t call me Marty.” She just nodded, shivering.
Sam lowered his voice. “Theo needs us,” he said. “We’ll get it this time.”
She nodded again, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she opened them, Sam was relieved to see the familiar know-it-all expression slowly coming back. “Okay,” she muttered. “We missed something. What? I know all about history. I’m sure I didn’t make a mistake with the first of the thirteen colonies. But there’s something we didn’t think of.”
Sam’s eyes were on the metal plaque in the ground. “With puzzles, sometimes the most important piece of information looks like it’s not important at all.”
“You mean, like, the devil is in the details.”
Actually, Sam thought, the devil might be standing over there in a three-piece suit. “Right,” he agreed. “Something that looks insignificant could be the key. We were thinking about the word ‘first.’ But maybe that’s not actually the most important thing in this poem.”
He risked a quick glance at Theo, trying to send him a reassuring message with his eyes. Don’t worry. We’ve got this.
To his surprise, Theo met his gaze and gave a quick nod. Like he had heard Sam’s thoughts and had replied, Not worried. I trust you.
Sam looked back down at the plaque, trying to read it with fresh eyes.
THOUGH YOUR CONSTITUTION MAY BE HALE,
YOUR QUEST SHALL BUILD A MIGHTY THIRST.
IF YOU WISH TO ENTER MY OASIS,
YOU MUST FIRST LOOK TO THE FIRST.
“Maybe a broken finger or two would speed up their thought process, boss?” said one of Flintlock’s men.
Martina held up a hand, as if the man were simply annoying her with his threats. “Quiet,” she said without looking up. Sam was impressed. The girl had gone from freaked out to focused in sixty seconds flat.
“Hale,” Martina muttered. “No, that can’t be it.”
Thirst, Sam thought. Yeah, he was thirsty all right. Oasis? That sounded good, but it didn’t offer him a clue.
“Constitution?” Martina thought aloud. “Hmm, that just means ‘health’ or ‘condition.’”
“Wait,” Sam exclaimed. “What if there’s a double meaning, like in a cryptic crossword? What if it also means the Constitution of the United States?”
Martina’s face lit up. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “The first! The first state that voted to approve the Constitution!”
“And it was . . . ?” Sam prompted.
“Delaware!” She frowned. “I think.”
Sam jumped when a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder and squeezed. “Better hope you’re right this time,” Flintlock muttered.
Sam swallowed. “You think, or you know?”
Martina swallowed hard. “I think I know.”
“That will have to do,” said Flintlock. He pointed to the gnomon. “Try it.”
Slowly Sam and Martina bent up the glass instrument again. They both strained, but without Theo’s help, they couldn’t get it off the ground.
“You. Give them a hand.” Mr. Flintlock waved a hand at the man with a penchant for breaking fingers. He sneered as he came across the plateau to help them.
As they lifted the gnomon from the ground, Sam glanced up and saw Theo close his eyes. His lips moved silently. He was ready for whatever was going to happen.
“Oh, Sam . . . ,” Martina said.
“We’re right this time,” he promised her.
“We’re about to find out.” Flintlock smiled. He pointed his gun at Theo. “Move an inch, big fella, and you’re dead anyway.”
The spindle slid into place. The glass wing stood upright, beautiful and deadly.
Martina gasped and Sam’s heart plummeted as a beam of pure white light sprang from the glass wing and shot toward the door. But Theo didn’t make a sound. The beam missed him by two feet, focusing instead on a small crack, about the size of Sam’s hand, in the rock next to Theo’s head. There was a groaning, grating sound of rock moving against rock—
And like a magic trick, the door behind Theo opened.
It moved like a normal door—How could it do that? Where were the hinges?—swinging inward to reveal only darkness beyond.
“Oh, thank you,” Martina whispered shakily. “Thank you, thank you.”
Sam felt weak with relief. Theo met his eyes and, for a moment, there was the ghost of a smile on his face.
Unfortunately, when Sam flicked his eyes over to Flintlock, he was smiling too. “Good,” he murmured, grasping Sam’s shoulder with a meaty hand. “Very, very good.”
Some of Flintlock’s men moved forward a few steps to squint into the open doorway, but Flintlock barked at them to stop.
“Haven’t you pinheads ever heard of the canary in the coal mine?” Flintlock sneered. “There might be other traps inside. Send in our little birds first.” And with that, he shoved Sam in the back, pushing him in the direction of the mysterious doorway.
So now it was Sam’s turn to be a guinea pig? He shot a glare at Flintlock and went to stand at Theo’s side, peering into the gloom.
“I can’t see a thing,” he shouted. “How am I supposed to—”
“Martina’s got a flashlight,” Theo said suddenly, a little too loud. Sam looked over at him—a question in his eyes. Theo winked.
“Actually, Sam has—” Martina started to say.
Sam knew, he just knew, that Martina was about to point out that Sam had his own flashlight in his backpack. He saw Theo give her a sharp warning look. The big guy was definitely up to something.
Martina was annoying, but she was no dummy. She got the point.
“Um . . . ,” she faltered, trying to figure out a way to finish that sentence. “Sam has . . . a rare fear of flashlights . . . so I’d better go over there.” Pulling out her flashlight, she walked over to join the boys. Flintlock followed, keeping a bit of distance between them, and his men began to gather behind him.
When Martina reached his side, Sam turned to her and muttered, “A fear of flashlights? That was the best you could do?”
Martina shrugged. “What? It’s a real thing. Selaphobia.”
Sam stared at her. “You are truly the weirdest person I have ever met.”
Martina held her chin up high. “I will take that as a compliment.”
Martina flicked on her flashlight. The beam reached inside the doorway, playing over nondescript rock walls within. “Not much to see,” she said.
“Sam.” Theo was suddenly right behind him, whispering in his ear. “On my mark, you’ve got to destroy that glass wing. Whatever it takes. Got it?”
Sam nodded, swallowing hard.
Theo suddenly groaned and doubled over.
“Theo! What’s wrong?” Sam shouted, trying to sound as alarmed as he could.
“What’s the matter with him?” Flintlock demanded.
“I don’t know!” Sam hovered over Theo, hoping he looked worried. He was never very convincing in drama class. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Theo’s fist close over a good-sized chunk of rock on the ground.
A couple of the men behind Flintlock shuffled backward. “I bet it’s some kind of poison gas!” one said sharply. “Keep your distance!”
Flintlock frowned, clearly skeptical, and stepped forward to take a closer look at Theo. A second later, Theo snapped upright, driving a fistful of rock into the man’s stomach.
“In!” Theo shouted, diving through the doorway. Martina stumbled in right behind him.
As Flintlock fell, Sam grabbed his own rock, whirled, and threw it hard at the gnomon, like a pitcher delivering a fastball. The rock hit its target, shattering it in an explosion of glass and light, and rock ground against rock as the stone door started to swing closed once more.
Flintlock was struggling back to his feet. “Stop them!” he shouted breathlessly, his face ugly with rage and pain. “Stop the door!”
“Come
on, Sam!” Theo yelled. But before Sam could make it to the doorway, a hand closed around his arm, nearly yanking him off his feet. One of Flintlock’s men had grabbed him and was pulling him back out into the open.
Something whizzed past Sam’s face, and then Martina’s flashlight cracked his captor right on the bridge of his nose. The hand around Sam’s arm loosened as the man howled. Sam wrenched free and threw himself back through the narrow slice of doorway, which was growing narrower by the second.
He stumbled straight into Theo, and they both fell hard to the ground, the stone door shutting behind them with a grating crunch.
The darkness was thicker than anything Sam had ever experienced before. He couldn’t see a thing. He tried to roll off Theo, thumped into a jumble of arms and legs that must have been Martina, seemed to be standing on his own hand for a second—how had that happened?—and then staggered upright with a yell of alarm as bright-white light blazed into his eyes, blinding him.
Another trap! Or . . . wait—nope, it was just Martina.
“Sorry,” she said, and the light moved away. Blinking, Sam realized that she had a sort of head lamp thing strapped to her forehead, the beam of light bouncing crazily around the cave as she looked around.
“Where did that come from?” Sam demanded. “No, don’t turn this way again!”
“My backpack, of course. Weren’t you ever a Boy Scout? Always be prepared? Hey, guys—look.”
She tilted her head and held it still. The beam from the head lamp fell on the door, and Sam gulped. It wasn’t closed all the way. Someone had wedged a rock into the crack, and already fingers were reaching through it, grasping at the air.
“Pull! Put your back into it!” Flintlock’s voice boomed.
“It’s only a matter of time before they get through,” Theo said, rising to his feet. “Let’s move.”
“Move?” said Sam. “Where? What is this place, anyway?” As they hurried away from the door, Sam tried to get a sense of the place. A narrow tunnel carved out of rough rock, longer than the beam from Martina’s head lamp could reach, stretched before them straight into the heart of the mountain.