Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4 Dan could barely restrain himself from letting out a whoop that would have shattered every dish in the museum. Calm down. Finding the crest is the easy part. The trick was to figure out what it meant. The original temple had an open entrance, but in modern times a metal gate had been installed to keep intruders out. Cautiously, he edged up to the chain mesh and peered inside. The interior reminded him of a house right after movers had driven off with the entire contents— a hollow shell. It was empty, except for dust and a few crickets. He examined the barrier critically. He could probably break in somehow, but why bother? There didn't seem to be anything here. Besides, his sister would go nuts if he defiled a four

hundred-year-old temple. He smiled in spite of himself. For her, it was a short trip. He stepped back off the wooden porch, watching the crickets on the sloped roof. This place could use a Roach Motel, he reflected. Was there such a thing as a Cricket Motel? And then one of the insects disappeared. Huh? He paid closer attention. There must have been an opening in the roof tiles that the crickets were crawling in and out of. He returned to the security gate and peered inside. The temple ceiling was low, almost claustrophobic. Yet the roof was a tall A-frame…. An attic! A secret attic! With a furtive look around to confirm he was alone, he climbed onto the porch rail and began to shinny up the corner post to the eaves. A moment's hesitation— unobserved also meant there'd be no one to call an ambulance if he fell off the building. Mustering his strength, he reached past the overhang and hoisted himself onto the steep roof, holding on like Spider-Man to

the ancient yellow tile shingles. He clung there for a moment, catching his breath and listening to the steady pounding of his heart. No, wait— that wasn't his heartbeat! It was the thrum, thrum, thrum of marching feet. He flattened himself on the steep sloping roof and tried to disappear. In the pathway below, a unit of six soldiers trooped by in close-order formation. Security? No, they were dressed in red silk tunics with matching hats— like palace guards from back in the day when the emperors lived here. This was a ceremonial parade. The soldiers were trained to keep their eyes riveted straight ahead and never noticed the intruder on the roof. As they disappeared into the maze of crimson walls, Dan allowed his body to relax. And that was something you should never do on a steep incline. He was sliding before he even noticed. Frantically, he scrabbled for a handhold, to no avail. He was skidding slowly but inexorably toward a long drop. In desperation, he tried to wedge his fingers into

the gap in a broken tile— anything to gain some leverage. With the creak of rusty hinges, a section of shingles came away from the roof, opening like a mailbox. He hung there, stopped at last, his astonishment turning to triumph. A trapdoor! This was the way in. The discovery brought a hidden reserve of strength. Dan hauled himself up and over the lip of the opening and dropped down onto a dusty wooden floor. The chirping was all around him like church bells, so loud that he felt it below the line of his gums. Crickets. Thousands of them. The floor and walls crawled. Instinctively, he reached for the inhaler in his pocket. No, he told himself. You don't get an asthma attack from being grossed out. With effort, he forced away his revulsion and examined the hidden compartment. The attic was narrow, with decent headroom only at the center. In the corners, he had to duck. The place was empty except for the crickets.

Could crickets be the Clue? That made zero sense. There was no way these crickets could date back to some Chinese emperor. Then he realized that the place wasn't empty after all. On the floor in the far corner lay a piece of fabric about the size of a hand towel. He stooped and picked it up, shaking off several crickets and a puff of dust. It was a dull gold sheet of silk covered in Chinese calligraphy, with a large red signature stamp— a "chop," the tour guide had called it. He looked closer in the dim light. It wasn't all Chinese characters. With mounting excitement, he recognized the symbols for the four branches of his illustrious family, as well as the Cahill crest. His brow furrowed. The symbols were laid out like a mathematical equation: There was no question about it. This object was what had brought them to the Forbidden City. He had to get it back to Amy so they could figure out

what it meant. "Later, dudes," he breathed to the chirping crickets. He folded the piece of silk and stuffed it into his shirt. Then he stretched for the opening above and hauled himself back onto the roof. He was extra careful on the way down, pressing himself into the tiles as he shut the trapdoor. He practically oozed to the pillar that was his safe passage back to ground level. Perhaps he should have used some of that great care to scout the area first. For when he set foot on the pathway, he found himself in the grip of a uniformed guard. And this one wasn't wearing the ceremonial garb of centuries past. His jacket bore the red star insignia of the Chinese army. The man barked something in his own language, then took in Dan's Western features and switched to English. "This area is restricted!" "I lost my tour group—" Dan began. The officer began to pat him down, pausing at the soft bulge under his shirt. "What is this?" He pulled out the folded silk. Dan's mind worked at light speed. If he sees the