Clue by Clue

by Catherine Hapka

  “I told you, I was out at the time—I take my morning constitutional every day at precisely ten a.m., rain or shine,” Weston-Blather said, puffing out his ample belly and frowning at Devineaux over the tops of his spectacles. He waved a hand at the mess surrounding them. “Imagine my consternation, arriving home to find this! My beloved collection—plundered!”

  Devineaux glanced around. Collection? It looked more like a jumble of old junk to him. “And yet nothing of value was taken?” he said.

  “What?!” Weston-Blather puffed up even more, his bulbous nose going red with outrage. “I already told you, sir: a valuable old parchment is missing!”

  “A parchment, eh?” Devineaux was starting to wonder if this was a wild goose chase. Still, if there was even a chance that Carmen Sandiego had been here . . .

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, grimacing when he saw that it was Julia Argent calling. It really rankled that she’d horned in on his job offer . . .

  “I expect you to retrieve my property posthaste, sir!” Weston-Blather’s loud voice interrupted Devineaux’s thoughts. “Have you any leads?”

  “Er, of course.” Devineaux glanced around again. “Why do you suppose she didn’t take the jewels, or the gold coins? Are you sure none of those are missing?”

  “She?” The man peered at him sharply. “She who? Do you have a suspect?”

  Devineaux knew better than to share leads with a civilian. Best to change the subject, give himself a chance to think . . . “This . . . ah . . . parchment you say has gone missing,” he said. “It’s valuable, then?”

  “Quite!” Weston-Blather said proudly. “The Times recently ran a feature story about my collection of pirate paraphernalia—featuring that very parchment! Although . . .” He leaned forward, glancing from side to side as if ascertaining that nobody would overhear. Since the only other soul in sight was a small, scruffy dog sniffing around the base of a heavy velvet curtain, he seemed satisfied that he could continue: “. . . there was one detail I kept secret. You see, that parchment is the only known copy of a map—to a treasure that has never been found!”

  Devineaux frowned, once again wondering if he was wasting his valuable time. Treasure maps? Pirates? What foolishness!

  “Very well,” he said. “Perhaps that is all I need to—”

  “But it’s not just any treasure map!” Weston-Blather interrupted. “It was hand drawn by the seventeenth-century pirate Cal Cutlass! He sailed with the notorious Captain Goldtooth’s crew, and one day he stole the entire ship’s bounty and spirited it away. Not so much as a single doubloon of that treasure was ever seen again!”

  “That may be,” Devineaux broke in. “Now really, sir, I must—”

  But once again, Weston-Blather cut him off. “Naturally, I’ve been studying the map ever since I acquired it,” he said. “But it shows only a small area of beach and sea, with no hint as to its location.” He shrugged. “Well, unless it’s in code—there are some crude symbols drawn at the top of the page . . .”

  “Ridiculous!” Devineaux burst out, unable to contain his impatience any longer. “Why would Car—er—why would anyone bother to steal such a thing?”

  Weston-Blather was staring into space, not seeming to hear Devineaux’s comment. “And what a bother that this should happen only a day before Cal Cutlass’s diary goes on display right here in London!” He clasped his meaty fists. “If only I’d gotten a look at that diary first, perhaps it might have offered some hint . . .”

  “Eh?” Devineaux perked up. Now, this could be a clue! “Diary, you say? What diary? What display? Where?”

  “The British Museum recently acquired a diary said to have been written by Cal Cutlass himself,” Weston-Blather explained. “It’s to be unveiled as part of a special exhibit at the Tower of London. For you see, many pirates were imprisoned in the area while awaiting their turns at nearby Execution Dock, and so—”

  “The Tower of London?” This time Devineaux was the one to interrupt. “And this diary is there now, you say?”

  “Why, yes, it should be. As I mentioned, the exhibit opens tomorrow.”

  For the first time since his arrival, Devineaux smiled. “Then that is where Carmen Sandiego shall strike next!” he cried, striding toward the exit so fast that he nearly tripped over the little dog, which was still nosing around the curtains. “I’m afraid I must go, monsieur. Good day!”

  Weston-Blather watched him depart. “Interpol certainly is hiring some odd ducks these days,” he commented. Then he shrugged and hurried out of the room himself.

  As the man’s footsteps faded, a figure stepped out from behind the curtains. Carmen’s eyes twinkled as she glanced out the window after Inspector Devineaux, who was already nearly out of sight and moving fast.

  “I’m impressed,” she murmured to the little dog, bending to feed it another treat. “Inspector Chase Devineaux is getting to know me pretty well!”

  The dog barked and wagged its tail. Carmen gave it one last pat, then straightened up.

  “Player, you there?” she said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Chapter 5

  On the Road to the Tower of London, Midnight

  The old-fashioned black London taxi peeled around the corner onto another nearly deserted city street. “Take it easy, Zack!” Carmen exclaimed. “I want to get there in one piece.”

  Zack grinned at her, his eyes twinkling in his freckled face. “Hey, I’m s’posed to be a cabbie, right?” he said in his thick Boston accent.

  “You’re a London cabbie, bro,” his sister Ivy informed him from the back seat. “They’re, like, way more genteel than the ones back home.”

  Carmen smiled. The two former Boston street kids might seem loud and goofy and even a little crazy to some people, but she knew she could count on them for anything. They were just as important to her team as Player in their own ways.

  Speaking of Player . . . “Find anything else on our pirate?” she asked through her earpiece.

  “Pirate?” Zack glanced over so fast the car veered halfway into the next lane. “What about pirates?”

  “That’s whose diary we’re after,” Carmen told him and Ivy. “A pirate named Cal Cutlass who sailed with Captain Goldtooth.”

  “Cool—I love pirates!” Zack exclaimed. “Tell me more!”

  Carmen nodded. As Player told her what he’d learned, she repeated it for Zack and Ivy. “Apparently Cal Cutlass was one of the most notorious members of one of the most dastardly crews in pirate history. It’s rumored that he plucked out his own eye to scare his victims, and that was why Cal always wore an eye patch.” She grabbed the armrest as the taxi peeled around another corner. “Captain Goldtooth’s crew cut a swath of looting and destruction throughout the Caribbean and beyond.”

  “That’s right,” Player said in her ear. “They amassed a huge amount of treasure—which suddenly went missing. Cal Cutlass was fingered for the dirty deed and betrayed in turn by his crewmates by being turned over to the authorities. He was dragged off to stand trial right there in London, but ended up escaping. Neither he nor the treasure was ever seen again.”

  “Wow,” Carmen said. Then she told the others what Player had said.

  “Really?” Ivy looked interested. “So that map you snapped the pic of . . .”

  “Might be Cal Cutlass’s treasure map,” Carmen finished for her. “But the trick is, where in the world is the beach on the map?”

  She grabbed her phone and scrolled over to the enhanced image of the parchment Player had sent her earlier. The map showed ocean, beach, trees, rock formations . . . but nothing else. No X-marks-the-spot where the treasure might be buried. And nothing specifying anything else about the location. Just a line of mysterious little pictures and symbols at the top of the page. A code? If so, neither she nor Player had any idea what it might mean.

  She lowered the phone and stared out the window at the twinkling lights of London, thinking hard. “VILE wanted that map badl
y enough to send one of their best operatives to get it,” she mused aloud. “Which means they think they can use it to find Cal Cutlass’s treasure.”

  “Yeah,” Player agreed. “Maybe this diary can help us beat them to it.”

  “Hope so. Unless Tigress gets her greedy paws on the diary first.” Carmen grimaced at the thought.

  “I’m not sure VILE even knows about the diary, Red,” Player replied. “I hacked into security footage at Heathrow, and Tigress left on a charter flight a couple of hours ago.”

  “Interesting,” Carmen said. “Maybe they know something we don’t know. Like where that beach is located.” She glanced forward. There wasn’t much traffic at this late hour, and they were making good time. A stone fortress was already rising into view up ahead. “But we’ll have to worry about that later. I think I see the target.”

  “The Tower of London, you mean?” Player said. “Pretty cool, right? It was built by William the Conqueror around 1078 or so. Over the years since then it’s been a lookout, a palace, a treasure vault, a prison—even a private zoo!”

  “You know I love your history lessons, Player,” Carmen broke in with a smile. “But we’ll have to pick it up after I grab that diary, okay? Because we’re here.” The cab screeched to a halt beside a tall stone wall. “Okay, wish me luck,” Carmen told her crew, stepping out of the car. “Meet you around the corner in a few minutes.”

  “We’ll be waiting.” Zack gunned the engine of the cab and took off.

  The streets around the Tower were deserted at this hour. But Carmen pulled her red fedora down to hide her face, just in case Player was wrong and VILE was watching. Then she headed for the high stone wall, already reaching for the grappling hook tucked into the lining of her trench coat.

  “Security cameras disabled, right?” she murmured.

  “Right,” Player responded in her ear. “But you’ll have to hurry. I put the footage on a loop, but someone’ll probably notice at some point.”

  Carmen didn’t bother to respond. She sent the grappler flying into the dark, listening until it hooked into place with a soft clink.

  Seconds later, she was landing on the ground inside the tall stone walls. “Wow, this place is cool,” she commented, glancing around. The moonlight offered a pretty good view of the ancient fortress grounds, which consisted of various inner towers, walls, and buildings, along with grassy areas and pathways. It was like stepping back in time! Well, except for the electric safety lights and the signs pointing the way to the gift shop, of course.

  “The pirate exhibit is in Wakefield Tower,” Player told her. “It’s over near the river—you can cut across to get there. You’re looking for the round building next to Bloody Tower.”

  Carmen followed his directions, moving quickly past some ancient buildings into a central green. To her right stood the White Tower, one of the oldest parts of the ancient fortress, located at the center of the complex, but Carmen barely spared it a glance as she hurried on. “Hey, check out the birds,” she said as she spotted several large, shiny black birds snoozing inside a modern enclosure nearby. “Those must be the famous Tower ravens, huh?”

  “Yup,” Player said. “There’s a legend that if the ravens ever leave, the Tower—and the entire kingdom—will fall. But never mind that. You’re almost there.”

  “Copy that.” Carmen followed a sign pointing the way to the special pirate exhibition. Once inside, she scanned the room and soon spotted an ancient book with a leather cover. It was enclosed in a clear display case. “Okay, I’ve located the target,” she told Player. “Preparing to acquire it.”

  “Roger that,” Player said. “Cameras and alarms still offline.”

  Carmen whipped a small item out of her trench coat. It looked like an ordinary tube of mascara, but it was actually a glass cutter. One quick slice, and the case was open—and the diary was in her pocket.

  “Got it,” she hissed, backing quickly away.

  “Good. Now get out of there!” Player urged.

  She took his advice, sprinting out of the exhibit. Up ahead, one of the ravens let out a sudden, rusty caw. Carmen skidded to a stop, listening. What had awakened the bird? Was someone there?

  “Think I’ll take a shortcut, Player,” she whispered, turning and racing toward the closest exterior wall, located beside the famous Traitors’ Gate that led out to the Thames. “I’m not sure I’m alone. Inspector Devineaux could have tipped off the guards that I might be here tonight.”

  “Doesn’t seem like his style. He wants to take you down himself, right?”

  “Better safe than sorry. I’m out of here.”

  She wasted no time sending her grappling hook flying. Soon she was landing softly on the lawn outside the main wall. The River Thames lay just a few yards ahead. Carmen took a step toward it, admiring the way the moonlight sparkled on the current. Sometimes she got so busy trying to take down VILE that she forgot to stop and admire the scenery . . .

  “Excusez-moi!” a voice rang out immediately behind her. “Stop right there, Carmen Sandiego!”

  Carmen gulped. She knew that voice . . .

  She spun around, cursing herself for losing focus, as Chase Devineaux stepped out of the darkness. She’d known he was likely to be lurking about—why hadn’t she kept a better lookout for him?

  “What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, pretending to be surprised to see him.

  He smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know my secrets?” he said. “No, the only important thing for you to know is that you are under arrest, by the authority of Interpol!”

  Carmen raised an eyebrow, carefully keeping just out of arm’s reach. “What are the charges, monsieur?”

  “What are the . . .” Devineaux sputtered for a few seconds, stalking toward her as she backed toward the river. “Are you kidding me, Carmen Sandiego? I just caught you breaking into the Tower of London! What did you steal—the Crown Jewels? Perhaps St Edward’s Crown?”

  Carmen patted her pockets. “Nope, no crown in here.”

  Devineaux rolled his eyes. “You think you are so clever, eh? Well, tell me—how clever is it to commit your dastardly crimes while wearing that silly bright red hat and coat?”

  “Hmm, you may have a point.” Carmen shrugged. “Then again, I wouldn’t want to be without my tools.” She reached into one of the coat’s interior pockets. “Like this, for instance . . .”

  She pulled out a small canister of super-slick grease. Devineaux squinted at it.

  “Is that a weapon?” he demanded.

  “Not exactly.” Carmen bent and sprayed the sidewalk between herself and the inspector. “It won’t hurt you—as long as you stay where you are until it dries.”

  “What?” Devineaux sounded outraged. “You cannot tell me what to do, Carmen Sandiego!” He took a step forward. “Mon Dieu!” he cried in alarm as he immediately slipped halfway across the riverside walkway.

  Carmen took a step backwards. “No, seriously,” she said. “You might want to stand still. Otherwise . . .”

  “Are you not listening to my words?” he exclaimed. “If you are not careful, I will have you on resisting arrest as well, Carmen Sand—argh!”

  He took another step, which sent him flying across the rest of the walkway. He hit the waist-high railing separating land from river, arms flailing as he scrabbled at the railing, fighting to catch his balance.

  “Careful!” Carmen called. “Just grab the—oops, too late.”

  She winced as Devineaux tipped forward over the railing, feet flying, then disappeared from view . . .

  SPLASH!

  “What was that, Red?” Player hissed in her ear. “Is everything going okay?”

  “Swimmingly, Player.” She stepped forward and glanced down. Devineaux was sputtering with fury while treading water in the murky, chilly Thames. Oh well—he couldn’t say she hadn’t warned him . . . “Where are Zack and Ivy?”

  “Corner of Water Lane and Lower Thames Street,” Player replied. “Want me to se
nd them to pick you up?”

  “No, that’s okay—I’ll find them. Tell Zack to start the engine.”

  Chapter 6

  VILE Academy

  Tigress stalked into the faculty lounge. “Why did you make me come back here?” she demanded, glaring at Professor Maelstrom and the other four teachers seated in their high-backed chairs. “I already have the map. I’m ready to find that treasure!”

  “Easy, kitten,” Maelstrom said with a smirk. Tigress could be impertinent—nearly as much so as another former student—but he couldn’t help but admire her spirit. “All things in time, mmm?”

  “Yeah, Professor Maelstrom thought you might need a little backup on this one,” Coach Brunt put in. Then she let out a sharp whistle.

  Hearing footsteps behind her, Tigress spun around. There in the doorway stood several of her fellow operatives—Le Chèvre, El Topo, and Mime Bomb.

  “What are they doing here?” she demanded, spinning around again to face Maelstrom.

  “As Coach Brunt mentioned, I’ve decided it would be best to make this one a group effort,” Maelstrom said. “Consider these three to be your loyal pirate crew for the duration of the operation.”

  “What?!?”  Tigress’s shriek was so loud that Dr. Bellum’s glowing green virtual screen flickered. “I don’t need help—I work alone!”

  “My decision is final.” Maelstrom’s voice was calm but held an edge of steel that even Tigress couldn’t ignore. “With Carmen Sandiego hot on your trail, there is no time to lose. Besides, this is a treasure hunt—that means you’re likely to need someone who can dig.”

  Tigress shrugged, realizing he was right. El Topo’s name was Spanish for “The Mole” because his specialty was digging. As in, digging for treasure. Why wear herself out when he could do the dirty work?

  El Topo stepped forward with a flourish and squared his broad shoulders. “It will be my pleasure to work with you again, my feline friend.”

  “And I shall act as your lookout,” Le Chèvre proclaimed. “The treasure map shows several large rock outcroppings, and who better to climb them for a better view, oui?” Le Chèvre, also known as “The Goat,” was all about climbing buildings and mountains and any other kind of high places.