The Empress's Tomb

by Kirsten Miller

• • •

  The classroom grew quiet as Betty approached the podium. She held up a portrait of a hideous woman whose fleshy jowls sported a faint five o’clock shadow. Judging by the woman’s curly black wig and blue silk dress, the painting dated from the mid-eighteenth century. I suddenly knew the subject of Betty’s lecture, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Can anyone identify this unfortunate-looking woman?” Betty asked, her accent perfect once more. No one raised a hand. “Very well. This is a former governor of the British Colony of New York. His name was Edward Hyde.”

  The class burst into laughter.

  “Not only was he a poor excuse for a governor, Mr. Hyde loved to dress like his cousin Queen Anne. Unfortunately, as you can see, he did a very poor job of that as well. Today we will be reviewing a few techniques Mr. Hyde might have used to make his costume more convincing.”

  For the first time that day, I was almost beginning to enjoy myself when the door opened and a lemurlike fourth grader passed a note to the substitute teacher.

  “Ananka Fishbein,” she said with a touch of pity in her voice, “you have been summoned to the principal’s office.”

  • • •

  Molly Donovan had just returned from walking the plank. I saw her shuffling out of the principal’s office with her head hung and her spirit crushed. I took her arm and guided her around the corner.

  “What’s wrong?” I whispered. “What just happened?”

  “I’m never getting out of here,” Molly moaned. “I told my calculus teacher where she could stick her protractor, and all I got was a ten-minute lecture. Wickham said my parents’ donations don’t make any difference to her. She says I’m still here ’cause I have potential.”

  “I’m so sorry, Molly. Maybe you should tell her why you want to get expelled.”

  “You really think that would help?” Molly despaired. “These people are all the same. If they think you have potential they want to suck it right out of you.”

  “I don’t know if the principal’s like that,” I argued. “She might want to help you.”

  Molly snorted. “Face it, Ananka. I can’t trust adults. You’re my only hope.”

  • • •

  The principal was at her computer when I entered. I could see the screen’s reflection in her glasses. She was looking at the file of an Atalanta student. I didn’t need to ask to know it was mine.

  “Please close the door, Ananka,” she ordered. “I wasn’t aware that you’re friends with Miss Donovan.”

  “You heard us talking?”

  Principal Wickham looked up and smiled slyly. “My sight may be failing, but my hearing’s as sharp as ever. So am I to understand that Molly would like to be expelled?”

  “She wants to get out of New York. She says her parents think she’s special.”

  “But Molly is special,” said the principal.

  “Special enough to be brought out at parties to entertain her parents’ guests? Special enough to see her shrinks three times a week and have cameras put in her bedroom?”

  “Oh dear.” Principal Wickham took off her glasses and nibbled on the frame. “I’ll have to think about what to do with Miss Donovan.”

  “I hear the Borland Academy’s accepting new students.” If I had to go, maybe I could take Molly with me.

  “I appreciate the information, Ananka. But I didn’t ask you here to discuss Molly Donovan. I would like to have a little chat about you.”

  “Yeah, about that …” I grimaced as I said it. “I’m sorry for skipping school yesterday. I know you tried to help me. I apologize for letting you down.”

  “Yes, it was very disappointing, Ananka.” Somehow her voice didn’t match her words.

  “And I’m sure my mother told you about the museum incident. Everyone’s been watching me like I’m going to make a run for Mexico.”

  “Your mother seems to think you might leave school a little too early today. But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. I’ve just finished reading your essay, and I thought it merited a discussion.”

  I hadn’t thought of the essay in more than a week, and I was mortified to remember what I had written. “I’m sorry for that, too. I’m sure it wasn’t what you were expecting.”

  “That is true. But it’s nice to know that after fifty years at Atalanta I can still be pleasantly surprised.”

  “You liked it?” I had never suspected she might take my work seriously.

  “It’s a remarkable piece of research. When Mr. Dedly returns, I’m certain he’ll be pleased. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you receive an A for the semester. But tell me, how did you happen to find the Underground Railroad stop beneath Bialystoker Synagogue?”

  “I do a little exploring here and there,” I managed weakly.

  The principal laughed. “You lead an interesting life, Ananka. You know, when I was a child, my grandfather used to tell stories about hidden rooms beneath Manhattan. He claimed to have visited some in his youth, though I doubt he was on any noble mission. Apparently he was a bit of a rogue.”

  “He must have been one of the few who survived the plague,” I said.

  “I’m sorry? Which plague was that?”

  “That’s a whole other essay, Principal Wickham.”

  “Well, I’d love to read it when you’re finished. I believe we might be able to have this one published.”

  “No!” I said it a little too quickly. My heart skipped when I thought of Kiki’s reaction. “I wrote it for you. I don’t want anyone else to read it.”

  “It’s your essay, Ananka, but I urge you to reconsider. Information like this should be shared with the whole city. But I do believe we’ve discovered the source of your academic woes. You have a gift that has been ignored. We may need to take another look at your schedule.”

  It was nice to know I was gifted, but I didn’t think it made much of a difference. How many IQ points does it take to milk cows and make cheese?

  “But, Principal Wickham, tomorrow’s my last day at Atalanta. Didn’t my mother tell you? I’m leaving for the Borland Academy on Thursday.”

  Principal Wickham frowned. “This is all news to me,” she said, picking up the phone. “I must have a word with your mother. Would you mind excusing me?”

  “Sure,” I said. Whatever she had planned, it wasn’t going to work.

  • • •

  When I hit the hall, I knew one thing for certain. In fortyeight hours, I’d be in West Virginia. There was no point in fighting it. As soon as the Irregulars knew the truth, there would be nothing left to keep me in New York. In a stunning display of recklessness, I had confessed a secret to someone I barely knew, thinking nothing could possibly come of it. Now the Shadow City was once more in danger of discovery, and it was all my doing.

  I couldn’t face Betty, so I ditched class and made my way to the library. I took a seat at a computer terminal, intending to type out my confession. My elbow hit the mouse, and the screen illuminated. An earlier visitor had been reading the daily gossip columns online. An item in the New York Post announced that Queen Livia of Pokrovia would soon return to the city to search for her long-lost niece. I signed on to my e-mail account, and with my fingers poised above the keys I paused to think. My disgrace was inevitable, but though the Irregulars wouldn’t be my friends for long, I had to help them while I could. I e-mailed the gossip column to Kiki, brought up a new Web page, and typed in the URL of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

  The Empress Awakens had replaced an exhibit entitled From Venus to Vargas: A Celebration of the Female Form. I had no doubt that it had been quite popular. It took little searching to identify the painting I had seen being moved. Odalisque in Grisaille was even lovelier than I remembered. But when I printed out a color copy, I saw no evidence of anything but a pillow behind the woman’s shoulder. Paging through photos of the other works that had been on display, I found nudes lounging on sofas, nudes enjoying picnics, and nudes prancing through parks. Judging from the
artwork, there seemed to be no shortage of things one could do without clothes. As I stifled a yawn, I happened upon a painting of a large blond woman gazing into a mirror. I didn’t even need to read the name of the artist. It was the painting Siu Fah had described. It was the one she had copied.

  I had barely finished printing out images of the paintings in the exhibit when the bell rang. Racing through the crowded halls, I managed to catch Betty before the next period started.

  “You shouldn’t have skipped my class,” she huffed when I found her. “You might have learned something.”

  “Sorry, but I was making good use of my time. I brought you copies of the paintings from the exhibit that The Empress Awakens replaced. Have a look at these two—they’re still at the Metropolitan Museum. See if you notice anything strange.”

  “Want to give me a hint?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I’m just working on a hunch. I want you to see them with fresh eyes.”

  “Okay. I’ll meet you in the girls’ room during lunch.” She took the printouts and tucked them away in her bag. “By the way, I heard a couple of your classmates gossiping about Oona.”

  “You did?” I’d been too busy to pick up on the latest gossip.

  “Uh-huh. I guess Oona’s the prize guest these days. All the rich girls’ parents are desperate to have Lester Liu’s daughter over for dinner.”

  “Figures.”

  “Yeah, but here’s the thing. It sounds like Oona hasn’t accepted any of their invitations. She keeps snubbing them all.”

  “She’s smart. Turning them down once or twice will make her even more irresistible. There’s nothing these girls respect more than someone who snubs them. It’s all part of her plan.”

  “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. It just hurts to think that Oona would really turn traitor,” Betty said miserably.

  A few hours earlier, I might have replied with a catty remark. Now I kept quiet. Oona wasn’t the only one who’d betrayed the Irregulars.

  • • •

  When the lunch bell rang, I grabbed a hummus sandwich from the cafeteria and it exploded when I took my first bite. I was washing the nasty stain out of my sweater when Betty walked into the bathroom, looking like she’d seen a ghost. Her eyes were glassy, her long black wig was askew, and her diamond nose ring was missing. A seventh grader on her way to the sink stopped to gawk at Betty as if she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the picture.

  “Fix your hair,” I ordered under my breath.

  “Huh?” It was as if I had woken Betty from a dream.

  “Look at yourself in the mirror,” I demanded. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked while she adjusted her costume.

  Betty gazed into the distance, and I wondered if I should slap her like they do in the movies.

  “You can leave now,” I informed the seventh grader, who had finished washing her hands.

  “I saw Odalisque in Grisaille,” Betty finally said.

  “Yeah? And?”

  “You were right. There’s something in it that isn’t supposed to be there. Behind the woman’s shoulder. You can’t see it if you look straight at the painting. You have to be standing in just the right place.”

  “Anamorphosis.” I was pleased to know I hadn’t been hallucinating at the museum.

  “Ana-what?”

  “That’s what those hidden images are called. They’re optical illusions. You can see them only from certain angles. So what was it?”

  “A squirrel.”

  We stood in silence, watching each other in the mirror. The painting I’d seen showed a woman in a Turkish setting. There was no reason for a squirrel to be there. I didn’t even know if they had squirrels in Turkey.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I’m sure. There was another painting from the exhibit with a hidden squirrel. It was called Venus and Adonis. The squirrel was sitting on a tree branch.”

  “Do you think …”

  “I don’t think, Ananka. I know. Those are Kaspar’s paintings.” And then she started to cry.

  • • •

  During last period I planned a daring after-school escape. My fate might have lain in the mountains of West Virginia, but I had to find a way to postpone it. At four o’clock, I bolted for the exit without waiting for Betty. I didn’t know where I would go, but as soon as I was safe, I’d contact the Irregulars. I hurried down the path that led to the school gates only to find my mother leaning against a parking meter.

  “Going somewhere?” she asked.

  “Home?” I sighed. It was time to admit defeat.

  The subway was crammed with home-bound students, but only one had a parental escort. To hide my humiliation, I practiced the vacant stare of the jaded commuter, my eyes skimming the ads that ran along the top of the train. The most disturbing featured side-by-side pictures of an anonymous man’s head. The before head was little more than a barren patch of scalp, while the after sprouted thick, luxurious hair. A brand of synthetic spray-on hair took credit for the improvement. For sixty blocks, I read and reread its tagline: They’ll never know the difference! Hidden within those words, a mystical meaning eluded me. By the time the train doors opened at Spring Street, I knew what it was.

  That evening, I sat in my room, staring at the wall for hours on end, without any means of contacting the outside world. I hadn’t bothered to fill the two suitcases that still sat on the floor of my room. I didn’t care if that meant leaving town with just the clothes on my back. I was the only person who knew that a terrible crime had been committed. I couldn’t stop dwelling on five simple facts:

  1. Lester Liu was a crook.

  2. Oona Wong was a traitor.

  3. So was I.

  4. Something bad was about to happen.

  5. There was no way I could leave New York.

  The door to my room opened, and someone stepped inside.

  “Go away,” I said. “I’ll pack later.”

  “I hear West Virginia’s lovely this time of year.” I turned to see Kiki sitting at my desk, looking completely at home. She unbuttoned her long black coat and threw one boot-clad leg over the other. “Send us some gouda when you get settled in.”

  “Do my mom and dad know you’re here?”

  “Shhhh. Of course not. But they couldn’t lock every window in the apartment.”

  “How’s Verushka?”

  “She’s awake and looking a little more human. It’s too soon to say for sure, but I think Mrs. Fei may have saved her.”

  “That’s wonderful.” I smiled weakly. “Did you get the story I e-mailed you? Livia’s coming back to New York.”

  “We’ll worry about that later. How are you?”

  “Miserable. This may be the last time I see you till summer.”

  Kiki raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to hand you over to the cows just yet. I heard you had an interesting time last night. Want to tell me what happened?”

  “Didn’t Betty tell you?”

  “I missed her first call. By the time I finally reached her, she was too upset to make much sense. Besides, I figured it would be far more entertaining to hear it from you.”

  “Well, when I went to see the Empress exhibit with Oona there were still some workmen in one of the galleries. They were packing the paintings from the previous exhibit. One of them bent over, and I saw he had a Fu-Tsang tattoo. When he loaded a painting onto a dolly, I followed him to see where he was taking it. But he didn’t steal it. He just delivered it to another part of the museum. I watched them hang the painting, and I thought I saw something strange, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “So this morning I went online to check out the paintings from the earlier exhibit. All of them were nudes. One was The Toilet of Venus—the same painting Siu Fah was copying before she escaped. Betty went to see two of the others this afternoon. She said they both had squirrels where there shouldn’t be squirrels. She’s convinced that Kaspar painted them.”

  “Yes, she managed to get that mu
ch across. What do you think?”

  “I figured it out, Kiki. I know what’s going on. Lester Liu and the Fu-Tsang have stolen some of the paintings from the naked lady exhibit. He used the Empress to get into the galleries when the alarms were turned off. Somehow they switched the artwork. The ones the workers put up last night—or shipped back to other museums—are all fakes. That’s why the Taiwanese kids were kidnapped. He was forcing them to make reproductions. Now that they’re finished, there’s no telling what he plans to do with them. And I think Betty’s right. I think Kaspar is with them. Who else would add a squirrel to a Rubens painting? It was a secret message for us.”

  “Excellent work, Dr. Watson,” said Kiki. “But I know something you don’t.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You saw Cecelia Varney’s art collection the night of the dinner party. If Lester Liu already owns enough art to fill a museum, why would he need to steal more?”

  “Good question.” She was right. It didn’t make sense.

  “Did you ever consider that he might not be stealing the paintings for himself? Remember when we heard that Livia and Sidonia were staying with that Russian gangster?”

  “Oleg Volkov?”

  “That’s the one. I did a little research when you told me. You say the stolen paintings are all nudes?” I nodded. “Since he made his fortune, Volkov’s become one of the biggest art buyers in the world. He’s been on a spending spree for quite some time. But his taste is very specific. He doesn’t care about style or period. I don’t even think he cares if the art’s any good. He only purchases paintings of naked women. The bigger the ladies, the better, it seems.”

  “You think Lester Liu stole the paintings for Oleg Volkov?”

  “How else could Volkov complete his collection if the paintings he wants aren’t for sale?”

  “What about Sergei Molotov? Where does he fit in?”

  “He must be in on it, too. Maybe he’s not in New York just for me.”

  “What do you think they all want?”

  “Money, power, revenge—or some mixture of the three. I suspect we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “There’s one other thing, Kiki. You’re not going to like it. Oona knows what’s going on. She saw the Fu-Tsang guy at the museum, but she didn’t do anything. She’s got to be in on the scheme.”