The 39 Clues: Cahill Files: Silent Night

by Clifford, Riley

  “It’ll be dangerous,” said the major. “Awfully so. We’ll be headed across enemy lines.”

  Even better, Rupert thought to himself. Perhaps he’d find a way to send his father a telegram from a foreign post office, so he’d know that Rupert was already in the thick of it.

  “You say the word and I’m ready, sir,” said Rupert. “It would be an honor to serve King and country in whatev —” But then Rupert stopped. Because something caught his eye — a ring on the major’s hand. A ring with a crest on it. A blue crest with a white bear.

  That’s when Rupert jumped to his feet. “What do you want?” he blurted. A Tomas. This major was from another branch of the Cahill family. Rupert felt a rush of suspicion set every nerve in his body on high alert. This was far too much of a coincidence to be anything other than a trap.

  But the major merely took another sip of his tea. “Do sit down, Davenport. You’ll be much more comfortable.”

  “I’ll stay standing, thanks,” said Rupert. But the major pointed.

  “Sit now,” he said, in a tone that made Rupert do as he said. “Now, where were we? Right. You were going on about King and country. It’s bigger than that, although more of a family affair, cousin.”

  “Don’t call me that,” said Rupert.

  “Look,” said the major, tamping out his cigar. “I don’t like this any more than you do. You think I want to waste my valuable time trying to talk to some slimy Lucian? No, I don’t. But things happen, and here we are.”

  Rupert didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t paying attention. He was looking behind the Tomas, over his own shoulder, at his feet, trying to figure out where the blow was going to come from.

  “Stop fidgeting,” said the Tomas major.

  “I’m not fidgeting,” snapped Rupert. “I’m trying to figure out how you’re going to kill me. It must be something having to do with brute force. Your type aren’t known for their cunning or imagination.”

  The major’s smile was grim. “If I wanted you dead, Davenport, you’d be half-buried or half-eaten in no-man’s-land by now. Unfortunately, I need you alive for this. So stop your mouth, and listen to me. The Germans — they’ve kidnapped a Cahill.”

  Rupert folded his arms. “A Lucian? Because if not, it’s none of my concern.”

  The major’s face turned grim, like the way clouds boiled and roared before a storm. “It’s all of our concern. Not just the family’s. Not just one branch’s. It’s all of ours. They’ve got an Ekat.”

  “So?” said Rupert.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” said the major. “His name is Dr. Frederick Woolsey. He’s a chemist out of Oxford. And they’ve got him working on some sort of . . . I don’t know all of the details, and even if I did, I wouldn’t understand it. But it’s a weapon, and if he gets far on it, the war is all but lost. I know that Lucians are about as sympathetic as pond scum and as cooperative as spoiled toddlers, but this is important.”

  “I’m not interested,” Rupert said, and stood up. His family would hardly be impressed to learn that he’d spent his time on the continent rescuing an Ekat.

  “That’s too bad,” said the major. “I never thought I’d see such a coward amongst the Lucians.”

  Rupert froze. He bristled. He knew he shouldn’t dignify that with a response, but he really couldn’t help himself.

  “I’m not a coward,” said Rupert.

  “Then I suggest you stay. Unless you want your branch to be left out of the most important rescue mission in this century. It’s not going to be easy, Davenport, but it’s got to be done. This Woolsey is as genius as they come, and I don’t want to think about what they have him working on. We’ve got to get him back on this side of the line, and we’ve got to destroy his lab. It’s not a joke.”

  Rupert turned and glowered at the Tomas.

  “Believe me, I don’t like it, either,” said the major. “Let the fact that I’m asking you to do this be a testament to the seriousness of the operation.”

  Rupert sat back in the chair. The major made a good point. “Fine,” said Rupert. “I’ll deign to help you. But don’t you dare try anything.”

  “I swear on my favorite tea cozy,” said the major, putting one hand on his heart and lifting the other in the air. “Besides, there’s another cousin coming along. And I’ll need you around to keep me sane. If there’s anything worse than a Lucian, it’s a Janus.”

  A Janus. Rupert closed his eyes. If the war didn’t kill him, this was bound to.

  The next day, at dusk, Rupert and Major Thompson prepared to set off. Rupert had snuck over to the supply tents that morning and slipped a few cans of beans and packets of crackers into his rucksack, hiding them beneath his spare uniform. He didn’t have much else besides — a toothbrush, a woolen blanket, and two contrary cousins. Despite the absurdity of the situation, he was ready to do it. He’d had a moment to think things over, and he’d decided that this was his chance. He’d do something amazing on this mission, and then they’d all see him for how valuable he was. For how much he meant. This wasn’t just a war mission — this was a Cahill mission, which was infinitely more important than just some war stuff.

  Major Thompson’s plan was simple enough. They would leave the trenches. Then, in the orchards a half mile away, they would meet up with the Janus cousin. From there, they would sneak across the border between the armies. They would follow the trenches as they snaked across the border from France to Belgium, cutting across the Lys River. Major Thompson knew of a stretch right along the river where the trenches had all been destroyed in a bombing a few weeks back. They would use the quiet there to cross the river, sneak into the old factory where the Ekat was being held, destroy the lab, and then sneak the doctor back across.

  Rupert knew that the first part — leaving the trenches — might be the last as well. He began to shake, just thinking about it. But he promised himself, no matter what, he would not throw up on anyone this time.

  Rupert and Major Thompson waited until it was dark. They slipped along to the darkest part of the line, where there were no lanterns and no moonlight. It was a quiet night — there was a break in the fighting, and a stiff stillness had settled over everything. It was as if the dark was afraid to move around them, afraid of waking up the war again. The peace was artificial — Rupert knew, and everyone knew, that the stretch of land ahead was a graveyard of land mines and dead men.

  “Set, then?” whispered the major. Rupert tried to say yes, but he couldn’t speak. Instead he nodded, like this was no big deal. “All right,” said the major.

  And then, on the count of three, they heaved themselves up and over the edge.

  Rupert’s heart was beating so fast and so loud, he knew the Germans could hear it. With his cheek pressed into the cold mud, Rupert waited for the gunfire. He waited to die. But nothing came. They must not have seen us, he thought. There was no moonlight because of the thick clouds. He promised himself he’d never complain about bad weather again.

  He felt Major Thompson’s hand on his shoulder. The major tapped once, twice, three times, and at the third tap, the two of them slipped to their feet and took off in a crouched run. They were headed to the woods, to the safety of the tree line.

  Rupert tried to ignore everything around him. He tried to ignore the enemy that hid only yards away. He tried to ignore the dead bodies. He told himself Davenports kept their lips stiff and their eyes ahead. He tried to ignore the coils of wire waiting to spring at him, to snare him, to hold him down while other people shot at him.

  He could do this, he promised himself. He could show them. And maybe, he thought from a small back room in his brain, he could show himself, too.

  They moved quietly through the dark. But the same clouds that protected them from sight also nearly killed them. Because Rupert stepped in a miry, soggy pit from a mortar shell. The splash seemed to echo in the still, cold night, and from far too close, Rupert could hear the first German stir.

  “Wer ist da?” calle
d one of them.

  “Run!” Major Thompson hissed. Stealth was no longer an asset, only speed. A dull roar began in the back of Rupert’s brain, and it spread up around his head and filled his ears until all he could hear was the rush of his own heart and the thumping of his own legs. He splashed along behind Major Thompson. It felt as if they were only inches ahead of the German gunfire. It was just like delivering the messages, but instead of another trench, he was running for the tree line.

  Until he tripped. With a cry, Rupert was pitched forward. He landed on his face, his hands skidding out in front of him, and his mind went blank. The world faded into a white haze and the only thing he was aware of was his own body, his limbs in the dirt, and his heart, which was still beating, somehow. He lifted his head and it felt like he was moving through deep water, and it pressed down on him.

  With a great crack right beside his head, the whole world came back to him. Sounds and smells hit him again: the sharp bursts of gunfire, the earthy smell of water and dirt, Major Thompson’s boots against the ground growing farther and farther away.

  Rupert had to get up. He pushed against the ground, dug his boots into the dirt. And then he was running.

  When he passed the tree line, Major Thompson grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down into the soggy leaves.

  “Get off! Get off of me!” Rupert hissed, remembering only at the last minute to keep his voice down. So this was Thompson’s plan, he thought. He’d take Rupert out past the trenches, past the others who would see. And he’d kill him in the woods. That’s what a Cahill would do. It’s what Rupert should have thought about.

  “Shh!” Major Thompson put a hand over Rupert’s mouth. “You’ll get us shot, you idiot. Stop your thrashing! Hold still!”

  Rupert eventually did. But only so he could stop and think about a way to escape.

  “Now get up,” said Major Thompson, extending a hand down to him. “Our Janus ally won’t wait forever.”

  Rupert was confused. He looked at the major’s hand suspiciously, but took it and slowly got to his feet. His legs felt like jelly and his throat was dry. He couldn’t go on. He knew he couldn’t. Rupert leaned against a tree, his hands pressed against his chest. His heart. He could still feel his heart beating. He was amazed — he didn’t understand how he could still be alive.

  “Are you done? I said, let’s get going,” said the major. “We’ve got a ways to walk.”

  The woods were dark and cold, and Rupert felt very lost.

  “Where are we going?” Rupert asked. “Where are you taking us?”

  “To the meeting place,” said the major.

  “Where is that? You have to tell me these things or I’ll leave.”

  “Fine,” said the major. “Have fun getting back to the trenches. And then telling them where you’ve been.”

  Rupert gritted his teeth and continued on. He didn’t like when the major was right. Rupert tried to think ahead, but there was little appealing about camping outside in a forest in the middle of December. But at least, Rupert thought, there would be no puddles six inches deep, or rats running over you while you tried to sleep. At least, he hoped not.

  “There, ahead,” said the major. Ahead of them, about the length of two football pitches away, was a flickering light. Rupert’s stomach went cold — colder, that is.

  “That could be anyone,” said Rupert.

  “It’s not,” said the major. “It’s where we’re going.”

  Rupert wasn’t sure. It could be the Janus, but it could also be some Germans hiding out. Or angry Frenchmen with pitchforks. A person couldn’t just walk up to a lantern in the middle of the war and be sure who it shined for.

  Rupert looked over his shoulder. The woods were dark — the only light was from the moon, and even that was muted by the clouds. He could run for it. He could, at the count of three, take off into the woods, and the major would never find him. He could make his way to a village and pay someone to take him back to England and then forget about all of this.

  Or he could freeze overnight and be found on the side of the road in a week, half eaten by wild dogs.

  But then Albert would be right — they would all be right about him.

  Rupert rubbed one of the brass buttons on his coat between his fingers. It was sharp and cold. Better, he thought, to die a Lucian than as a no one on the side of a nowhere road.

  The building with the lantern was an old, abandoned barn. Rupert couldn’t see much in the bad light, but it was a rather sad place. He wasn’t sure it even had a roof anymore. When they were within a few yards, the major bent to find a stone or heavy stick amongst the underbrush. And then he threw it at the barn, where it struck the side with a clatter.

  The lantern vanished from the window, pulled inside by an invisible hand. The sudden loss of light was hard on Rupert’s eyes; he couldn’t see hardly anything.

  “Wer ist da?” came a gruff, deep voice from inside. “Qui est là? Répondez-moi! Vite! Schnell!”

  Rupert recoiled. Straight to the Germans. Major Thompson had taken them straight to the Germans.

  “Ta famille, ma cousine,” Major Thompson called back. “Tes cousins. Now let us in; it’s freezing out here.”

  The door swung open, and the lantern light spilled out. It was held, not by a massive German general or a French farmer with a pitchfork, but by a country girl who still wore her hair in braids. She didn’t look much older than Rupert.

  “It is not much better in here,” she said in a thick French accent. And then she stood aside to let the two Englishmen in, narrowing her eyes at them as they passed. Clearly, this Janus girl didn’t trust them any more than Rupert trusted the other two. He imagined the only reason that Major Thompson was so at ease was because he could crush the two of them with one hand.

  The girl set the lantern in the center of the barn in a space clear of hay; it cast wide shadows all around. The barn was, indeed, missing great swaths of its roof, and the rest of it was filled with old hay and moldy weeds.

  “You are late,” said the Janus, folding her arms across her chest. “I thought you must have had fear and decided that you would not come.”

  The major snorted. “Hardly. And if that were the case, I think it would be the other way around.”

  “Excusez-moi, cochon Tomas?”

  “What did you just say to me?”

  “What’s your name?” Rupert blurted over the noise. If they killed each other, he’d never find his way out of this forest, and then he would be a dead no one on the side of a nowhere road.

  The girl pursed her lips and slid her eyes back and forth between Rupert and the major, as if she was trying to decide if she really wanted to tell them. “Marie,” she said.

  “I’m Special Officer Davenport, son of Lord Winthrop Alfred Davenport, the Earl of Southington,” he responded. In a world of Cahills, it was best to make one’s station perfectly clear. “This is Major Thompson.”

  “Enchantée,” said Marie, but Rupert wasn’t sure she meant it.

  “This is where we are staying?” asked Rupert.

  “Oui — yes,” said Marie.

  “Aren’t you a local — isn’t that why you’re allowed to come along with us? Why aren’t we at your house, where there is a fire and beds? You do have a fire, don’t you?” said Rupert.

  Marie snorted. “You think I would let a Lucian and a Tomas in my house? You think I would let you follow me to my home? But I am not stupid, Monsieur Davenport.”

  “Special Officer,” Rupert corrected her. But Marie did not give him the satisfaction of a snarl, or an apology.

  That night, Rupert did the unthinkable. He went to sleep in a pile of wet, moldy hay. Of course, conditions in the trenches weren’t much better. But at least, if you snuck to the back of the lines, you could usually find a free cot and a blanket. What he wouldn’t give for a four-poster bed, a down comforter, and a valet to bring him a cup of cocoa before turning the light down.

  It was a restless night.
Major Thompson snored and Marie lay so still that Rupert thought she might be dead. And throughout the night, Rupert jolted awake, his heart pounding, certain that someone was moments from bursting into the barn or burning it down.

  He stared up at the half-worn-away roof. Of all the ways Rupert had imagined this adventure going — all of which had ended in the same way, with Father giving him the approving nod he gave Albert, with Mother telling him that he’d done a good job — Rupert never, ever imagined that he would find himself hiding in a derelict barn, about to take on a secret search-and-rescue mission with a Tomas and a Janus. He wondered what Albert would do in his situation. Would Albert sneak out on his own, steal the major’s plan, and rescue the Ekat before the others woke up in the morning? The major thought that he was Albert — so what did he expect him to do and what special skills did he have to offer? The only thing Rupert knew Albert was good at was being a smarmy pig.

  But thinking things like that about Albert didn’t give Rupert the same sort of satisfaction they had before. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and pulled his knees up closer to his chest. If blaming Albert for things that went wrong wasn’t going to make him feel better, then he didn’t know what to do.

  In the morning, Rupert’s coat was frozen into stiff pleats and a film of muddy ice had crusted around his boots, so thick that he couldn’t get to his laces. The others were awake. Marie had opened the top of the lantern and was heating a small thermos of water over the little flame.

  “Your major is outside doing leaps and nonsense,” said Marie, her nose turned upward. Rupert stood and stretched, and went to the window where the lantern had been last night. Major Thompson was out in the small open space in front of the barn doing calisthenics.

  “He’s not my major any more than he’s yours,” said Rupert, coming back to the lantern. “What have you got there?”

  “Café,” said Marie.

  Rupert reached into his rucksack and pulled out a half-squashed paper packet of soda crackers. “Would you care to share breakfast?” he said. She wouldn’t give him any coffee if he didn’t share something with her, he knew. And Rupert would have given his left arm for any kind of warmth.