Into the Lion's Den

by Linda Fairstein

  “Exactamente,” Liza said. “I think I’m going to like Montezuma.”

  “Here’s the thing. The map that’s on display was stolen, Liza. It’s only been recovered recently.”

  “Where was it stolen from?”

  “From a book of sketches that was in the library at Harvard. It was sliced out of the volume by a knife of some sort,” I said. “How’s that for starters? It’s been restored for this exhibition.”

  “Wow!” Liza said, sitting bolt upright. “A map thief at an important library, cutting rare sketches out of old books. That’s the most exciting thing I’ve heard since we started on this, Dev. Your mom, Ms. Bland, Tapp, all the adults will have to take us seriously now.”

  “No kidding. This is big stuff,” I said.

  We both jumped off our beds and met in the middle to high-five each other.

  “This is just what we needed, Liza.”

  I climbed back onto my bed.

  “Now maybe people won’t think I was making something up,” Liza said. “What else are they talking about?”

  “Some of the bloggers are saying how great it is that this was recovered. Wish they could be there to celebrate that aspect of things but they live too far away. Stuff like that,” I said. “We’ve got to go to this on Saturday afternoon. Maybe it will draw the tall man back into the mix.”

  “Well, unless the librarian tells us what kind of books he was looking at on Tuesday, we don’t have any idea if the Americas interest him. Besides, what do you intend to do if he does show up?”

  “I’m sensing reluctance here, Liza. Just tell me if you’re afraid.”

  I couldn’t see her expression in the dark, from her side of the room, but she murmured a quiet no.

  “The exhibit is about a very rare map, from an extremely early period of mapmaking, and it’s got a whiff of scandal associated with it because it had once been stolen,” I said. “Of course the tall man will come. It’s got all the elements to attract him. It’s like putting a bucket of treats under Asta’s nose.”

  “Yes, but seriously, Dev, what would you do if you saw him again? What would you do if he walked into the Brooklyn library while we are there?”

  “I guess I’d call Sam, or Tapp. Get them to send in an undercover to work with us.”

  “Is that enough?”

  “We’ll have Booker with us, I’m sure. I’ll invite him.”

  Liza leaned back against her pillow. “That’s a smart idea.”

  I went silent as I typed a message.

  “What are you doing now?” Liza asked.

  “Just introducing LatinaCarta to the group.”

  “What did you say to them?”

  “I’m visiting from Buenos Aires and—”

  “You didn’t really do that, Dev, did you? I mean, it completely gives me away.”

  “No such thing. The foreign connection adds intrigue,” I said. “I mean, if you talk to people, they’re going to recognize your accent.”

  “You told me I hardly have an accent.”

  “It’s a slight one. People are always friendlier when someone has come a long way to be with them. Besides, you’re just going to be the daughter of LatinaCarta. We’re too young for anyone to take us seriously as members of a fancy map society. We just want to move around freely without posing an intellectual threat to anyone. Stealth-like observers.”

  “What else did you say?”

  “That I’m, well, that you’re especially interested in Dutch maps of the Americas.”

  “Why Dutch?”

  “Because there are so many early mapmakers who were Dutch. It increases our chances if we cast a wide net,” I said. “But I told them I really like things about Latin and South America, like the Hunt-Lenox Globe. And that I agree with what Montezuma said about Cortés—that he was a terrible person and they don’t want to be involved honoring his work—which is why he and a lot of other bloggers are going to stay away from the library on Saturday.”

  “Well,” Liza said, “those two about what kind of maps I like and agreeing with Montezuma about Cortés are true. I’m glad you said them.”

  “And I also wrote that unlike some of these Latitudes with attitudes, I find the idea of the theft fascinating,” I said.

  “You what?”

  “I’m walking the walk, Liza. Talking the talk. It might take a thief to catch one. My exact words were, ‘It’s always such a temptation when I’m alone in a room with a spectacular map.’”

  “You didn’t really?”

  “I did. I said I’d love to meet a map thief some day. I’d love to find out how one gets away with such a daring theft.”

  15

  Sam was waiting for the three of us at the front door of our building. After the Jack Williams encounter last night, it was clear we’d be driven to school, even though it was such a short walk from home, so that our day would start calmly. I knew my mother wasn’t worried about Jack because he was Natasha’s friend, but she’d be sure, because of having Liza in her care, too, to double down on watching over us the morning after.

  “Hey, Sam,” I said. He high-fived me as I climbed into the back of the SUV.

  “Devlin Quick,” he said, closing the door behind me, “are you going to need your own police detail now?”

  “That means Mom already told you about last night,” I said. “Good to know she took that chance encounter seriously after all. And that you’ve run a record check on Jack Williams by now.”

  “Clean as a whistle.”

  “There’s a first time for everyone, Sam.”

  Sam eyed me in the rearview mirror. I winked back at him.

  “You look like you had a rough night, Liza,” he said. “Didn’t you sleep?”

  “I, um, not really well, I guess.”

  My mother’s head snapped around. Liza had dark circles under both eyes. “Were you that upset, Liza? You should have told me.”

  “It wasn’t that, Ms. Quick. It really wasn’t.”

  I knew what had kept Liza up was my plan for Saturday and crashing the exhibition at the Brooklyn library. I didn’t want her to blow it for me at this point. “She’s just a bit homesick.”

  Liza turned her head and grimaced. “I am not. Not at all.”

  “Let’s call your mom right now,” my mother said, handing Liza her cell phone.

  “Really, it’s not necessary. I think that would just alarm her at this hour.”

  “Then we’ll do something fun tonight, okay? Let’s go out to dinner. I’ll check to see if I can get tickets to a Broadway show or something like that. Would you like that, girls?”

  “Nothing special on my account,” Liza said. “I’m really very happy doing what you all do ordinarily. I’m not homesick.”

  “I don’t want to go to a show, Mom,” I said. I couldn’t imagine sitting through two long acts of some lame musical when I could be talking to my fellow Latitudians online. “Let’s just pick a fun place to eat.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Liza said, trying to get back in my good graces.

  “That’s easy. What are you doing after school today?” my mother asked. “Natasha will be home studying whenever you get there.”

  “I thought I’d take Liza over to meet Lulu this afternoon.”

  My mother laughed. “That will make for a refreshing interlude, I promise you that.”

  “Just don’t make the same mistake I did,” Sam said, turning to look at us while he stopped at a traffic light. “Devlin was in one of her trickster phases when I first met Mrs. Atwell.”

  “Hey, I was only five or six years old at the time.”

  “No excuse, kid,” Sam said to me, then explained to Liza, “She told me to call her grandmother Lulu, just like she did. I almost had my head chewed off before I got two steps in the door.”

  “I’m the only one who can call her that,” I said to Liza. “Kind of a special thing between us, since the time I started to talk and couldn’t pronounce her name. She was trying to get me
to call her Granny Louella, but all I could manage was Lulu. Otherwise she’s pretty formal with people.”

  “Formal,” my mother said, “and formidable.”

  “Zip it, Commissioner,” Sam said to my mother. “Don’t poison the well for Liza.”

  “You’re right. That was rude of me. Louella Atwell is a remarkable woman, Liza. It’s very cool for Dev to take you to meet her. She’s got opinions about everything—very strong ones—and you should certainly get to know her.”

  “I’m looking forward to the visit,” Liza said.

  We had pulled up half a block short of the Ditch. I had worked out a deal with Mom and Sam that I didn’t get dropped off right in front of the school, like some kindergarten kid. It was one less thing for the mean girls to make fun of.

  “So I’ll tell Natasha not to expect you till close to six?” my mother asked. “Then we’ll all go out to dinner.”

  “Super,” I said.

  Sam checked the street for traffic. “The coast is clear, Devlin. Remember, kid, you’re off duty today.”

  “Only if you come to dinner with us.”

  “When Sam or any other responsible adults tells you to do something,” my mother said, “it’s not your opportunity to strike a bargain, Dev. You are off duty. Got that?”

  “Got it,” I said, stepping out of the SUV. “What’s your vote, Sam? Italian food or a good steak?”

  “I think the commish needs some red meat, Devlin,” Sam said, putting his sunglasses on. “We’ve got an overtime situation Saturday with a special noon session at the United Nations. The president may be flying in.”

  “Saturday? That’s a bummer, Mom. We’ll stay out of your hair,” I said, resisting the strong impulse to do a fist pump. “You won’t have to miss the picnic, will you?”

  “I hope not. I don’t think I’ll make it to your swim practice in the morning, though. We start at the crack of dawn.”

  “No worries, Mom. There are no swim meets till the end of summer.”

  “Thanks for letting me off the hook, Dev,” my mother said, blowing kisses to both Liza and me. “Tell your grandmother the Red Sox will be at the stadium at the end of the month. I’ll get the tickets if she buys the hot dogs.”

  I laughed as I turned away from my mother and Sam. “Those two are something to watch when they’re in action,” I said to Liza. “My mother is a die-hard Yankees fan. Lulu was raised in Boston and boos louder than anyone in the stadium. Ever hear of Boston Brahmins?”

  “Brahmins?” Liza asked as we crossed the avenue. “They were the highest-ranking caste in an ancient Hindu society, weren’t they?”

  “Yeah. And for more than a century, it’s what rich, elite Bostonians were called. And Lulu’s one of them. She didn’t exactly come over on the Mayflower, but that’s probably just ’cause the staterooms weren’t grand enough for her. That, and a few hundred years between the time it set sail and her birth.”

  “It sounds like your mom isn’t so fond of your grandmother,” Liza said.

  I hesitated for a few seconds before I answered. “I doubt that they’d even talk to each other if it weren’t for me,” I said. “I’m sort of the glue that holds them together.”

  “Why don’t they get along? Your grandmother’s family was wealthy, right?” Liza said. “Is it because, well, if you don’t mind my asking, your mother wasn’t from that kind of background?”

  “Oh, no. My mom grew up in a small town where her father was a firemen and her mother a nurse. Lulu thinks that firefighters and nurses are two categories of people who wake up each day just to do good in the world. She was fine with all that.”

  I held open the front door of the school and we walked inside. I did the mandatory bob in front of Wilhelmina Ditchley, gave it my best “We learn, we lead” in a firm voice, and then headed up the stairs.

  “I’ll tell you the rest later,” I said as we took our places in the World Culture classroom.

  I checked my iPad to see whether anyone from the Latitude Society had responded to my blog entry. I replied to Booker, who was shocked to hear about our encounter with Jack Williams, and then I got back to note taking for class.

  The second session was down the hall, in a much larger room, where we spent ninety minutes reliving the fall of the Bastille.

  As the class ended, the teacher planted herself in front of me. “You don’t seem yourself today, Dev. You were unusually quiet. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m fine, thank you.”

  “You seem distracted?”

  “No, no, I was paying close attention. It’s just such, such a sobering moment in history. All those beheadings, and people putting the governor’s head on a spike.”

  “On a pike, Dev,” she said, frowning at me. “I said it’s a pike. It’s a medieval weapon, different from a spike.”

  “Sorry,” I said, looking down to straighten my pile of books. I thought pike was a kind of fish and a spike was something with a dangerous pointy tip. Like my mother tells me, pay attention in school and you can learn something new every day.

  “Dev?”

  “I misheard you,” I said. Direct eye contact with her was difficult, since I’d actually been Googling subway directions to the Brooklyn Central Library when the Bastille was being stormed a few minutes earlier. “The man’s head was on a pike. Now I know that.”

  “Do you remember the governor’s name?”

  “I’m afraid that I don’t.”

  The frown deepened. “And the reason for the actual assault on the old prison … ?”

  “Was because of the abuses of the monarchy,” I said, parroting the words she had used. “The flashpoint of the revolution is what you called it.”

  “Very good, Dev. At least you were listening to me yesterday.”

  “I was totally concentrating on the lesson today, too.”

  “Then how many prisoners were actually inside the Bastille at the time it fell?” she asked. She was gloating now, sure she had landed the final blow, the coup de grace, which would cause her to move my seat to the front row tomorrow and allow her to assign me extra readings over the weekend.

  I lifted my head, about to acknowledge defeat. But there was my loyal friend Liza, just behind the teacher’s shoulder, holding her fingers in the air.

  “Seven. I believe that’s the number you told us. Seven prisoners. All common criminals”—that’s the part I had heard clearly—“not political powers.”

  Liza’s thumbs-up was an antidote to the teacher’s sour expression.

  “I’m so pleased you were able to focus, despite the difficult subject matter. There’s always been a bit of revolutionary spirit in you, Dev. But you seemed miles away today.”

  “Closer than you’d think, ma’am.” Brooklyn’s Central Library was an easier trip than I had guessed.

  “Good. You can go on to your next class now. See you in the morning.”

  I stood up and thanked her for such an enlightening lesson.

  Liza was already walking in the opposite direction. She turned her head, and I waved at her as I walked toward the school library. I ducked into the girls’ bathroom to call my grandmother—no cell phone use allowed at the Ditch, of course—and told her housekeeper that Liza and I would like to come to lunch.

  I was the last one into Miss Shorey’s classroom. I apologized for holding her up as she closed the door behind me.

  The eight of us were gathered around two long tables in the center of the room. “Before we begin our conversation,” the librarian said in her soft voice, “something Dev and I have been talking about this week sparked an idea.”

  All heads turned in my direction and I slunk down in my chair, fearing the disapproving glances of my peers.

  Miss Shorey walked to her desk. “Just because you like to read so much, Dev,” the girl closest to me said, “doesn’t mean I need another assignment this weekend. Thanks a bunch. Not.”

  “I know that three of you will be absent tomorrow,” the
teacher said. There was always a drop-off in Friday numbers for the kids who had somewhere to go on weekends. “I thought, since we’ll only be five, that it would be fun to have a field trip for the afternoon.”

  I smiled and straightened up. Best of all worlds. No more homework for the complainers, and a chance to be out of this building on a bright summer day.

  “There are so many wonderful things to see that can give you a tangible connection to the books we’re reading and to the men and women who wrote them,” Miss Shorey said. “I thought we might go to the New York Public Library and explore some of the treasures there.”

  It suddenly felt like someone was break-dancing in my stomach. No way I could go to the library and chance a run-in with Ms. Bland, who might complain about me to Miss Shorey. Or risk an encounter with the tall man without Liza and Booker at my side.

  She reached into her desk drawer and came up with a handful of papers. “I’ll need you each to have a parent sign a permission slip, of course.”

  Some girls had forged their mothers’ signatures on report cards and would do the same for this kind of thing. That was one felony beyond my imagination, but I couldn’t imagine asking the commissioner to authorize this particular trip.

  “You look disappointed, Dev,” Miss Shorey said.

  Again all the heads turned.

  “Not at all, Miss Shorey. I—I just want my project for World Culture to be a surprise,” I said. Best excuse I could muster was blaming Dickens’s poor old stuffed cat’s paw for my reluctance to revisit the scene of the crime. “A couple of these girls are in my World Culture class, too, and it would just spoil it for each of us.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, Dev. You can each tell me what your particular object is,” she said, nodding over to me, “so that I can arrange that they don’t have it on display tomorrow. I don’t plan to spoil your surprises. Besides, there are so many special places to see in that library. There’s a conservation laboratory where ancient books are restored, there’s a reading room larger than a football field, and there’s the Map Division, which has some of the rarest maps and charts in the world.”

  The break-dancer rattling my insides just did a backflip and landed in a split. The Map Division was one place I did not want to visit on a class trip this week.