The maze of bones

"We will," Amy promised. "And the sheet music..."
She spread her hands over the adagio score.
"It's an ingredient, too," Nellie guessed.
"I think so," Amy said. "That's how you can tell the
big
clues. They give you an actual ingredient. We just don't know how to read this one yet."
"But how do we find out?" Dan protested.
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"The same way we did with Franklin. We find out about the person who wrote it. The composer was
-- " Amy stopped abruptly.
Coming down the street was a familiar figure -- a thin balding man in a gray suit, carrying a cloth
suitcase. "Mr. McIntyre!" Dan cried.
"Ah, there you are, children!" The old lawyer smiled. "May I?"
Amy quickly folded the first and second clues and put them away. Mr. McIntyre sat with them and
ordered a coffee. He insisted on paying for their breakfast, which was okay by Dan, but Mr. McIntyre
seemed nervous. His eyes were bloodshot. He kept glancing across the Champs-Élysées as if he was
afraid he was being watched.
"I heard about last night," he said. "I'm so sorry."
"It's no big deal," Dan said.
"Indeed. I'm sure you'll be able to backtrack. But is it true? Did the Kabras really steal the second
clue from under your noses?"
Dan got annoyed all over again. He wanted to brag about the sheet music they'd found and the iron
solute thing, but Amy cut in.
"It's true," she said. "We have no idea where to go next."
"Alas." Mr. McIntyre sighed. "I fear you can't go home. Social Services are still on alert.
Your aunt has hired a private detective to find you. And you cannot stay here. Paris is such an
expensive city."
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His eyes fixed on Amy's necklace. "My dear, I do have friends in the city. I know this would be a
desperate measure, but I could possibly arrange a sale for your grandmother's -- "
"No, thank you," Amy said. "We'll get by just fine."
"As you wish." Mr. McIntyre's tone made it clear he didn't believe her. "Well, if there's anything I
can do. If you need advice -- "
"Thanks, Mr. McIntyre," Dan said. "But we'll figure it out."
The old lawyer studied them both. "Very good. Very good. I fear there's one more thing I must ask of
you."
He reached down for his cloth bag, and Dan noticed the claw marks on his hands.
"Whoa, what happened to you?"
The old man winced. "Yes, well..."
He plopped the bag on the table. Something inside said,
"Mrrrp!"
"Saladin!" Amy and Dan cried together. Dan grabbed the bag and unzipped it. The big silver cat
slinked out, looking indignant.
"I'm afraid we didn't get along." Mr. McIntyre rubbed his scarred hands. "He was not
happy when you left him with me. He and I... well, he made his feelings quite clear that he wanted to
be returned to you. It was quite a task getting him through customs, I don't mind telling you, but I really felt
I had no choice. I hope you'll forgive me."

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Dan couldn't help grinning. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed the old cat.
Somehow, having him here made up for losing the vial. It even made him feel a little better about
losing his parents' photograph. With Saladin around, he felt like his family was complete. For the first
time in days, he thought maybe, just maybe, Grace was still looking out for them. "He's got to come with
us. He can be our attack cat!"
Saladin stared at him as if to say,
Show me some red snapper, kid, and I'll think about it.
Dan expected Amy to argue, but she was smiling as much as he was. "You're right, Dan. Mr.
McIntyre, thank you!"
"Yes, er, of course. Now if you'll excuse me, children. I wish you good hunting!"
He left a fifty-euro bill on the table and hurried out of the café, still looking around like he expected
an ambush.
The waiter brought milk in a saucer and some fresh fish for Saladin. Nobody at the café seemed to
think there was anything strange about sharing breakfast with an Egyptian Mau.
"You didn't tell Mr. McIntyre about the music," Nellie said. "I thought he was your friend."
"Mr. McIntyre told us to trust no one," Amy said.
"Yeah," Dan said. "And that includes him!"
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Nellie crossed her arms. "Does that include me, too, kiddo? What about our agreement?"
Dan was stunned. He'd completely forgotten that Nellie had only promised to come with them on one
trip. His heart sank. He'd started taking Nellie for granted. He wasn't sure what they would do without
her.
"I... I trust you, Nellie," he said. "I don't want you to leave."
Nellie sipped her coffee. "But you're not going back to Boston. Which means if I go back, I'll get in
huge trouble."
Dan hadn't thought of that, either. Amy stared guiltily at her breakfast.
Nellie inserted her earbuds. She watched a couple of college-age guys walking down the road. "This
hasn't been a bad job, I guess -- I mean, if I
have
to work with two annoying kids. Maybe we could make a different deal."
Dan shifted uncomfortably. "A different deal?"
"Someday when you find your treasure," Nellie said, "you can reimburse me. For now, I'll work for
free. Because if you kiddos think I'd let you fly around the world and have fun without me, you're crazy."
Amy threw her arms around Nellie's neck.
Dan grinned. "Nellie, you're the best."
"I know that," she said. "C'mon, Amy, you're messing up my street cred."
"Sorry," Amy said, still grinning. She sat down again and brought out the music score.
"Now, as I was saying -- "
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"Oh, right, the composer," Dan remembered. Amy pointed at the bottom of the paper.
"Look." In the right-hand corner below the last stanza, Dan made out three scrawled letters in faded
black ink:
W. A. M.
"Wam," Dan said. "Wasn't that a band?"
"No, dummy! Those are initials. I told you some famous people made music for Benjamin Franklin's
armonica. This guy was one of them. Toward the end of Franklin's life, he must've met this composer. I

think they were
both
Cahills. They must've shared secrets. Anyway, I looked it up. This was the composer's last piece of

chamber music. Its official name is KV 617."
"Catchy title," Nellie muttered.
"The thing is," Amy said, "there are lots of copies of this adagio. And there's still the version carved

in stone on that pedestal. The other teams will figure out the clue eventually. We have to hurry and get to
Vienna."

"Whoa, hold on," Dan said. "Vienna, Austria? Why there?"
Amy's eyes twinkled with excitement. "Because that's where Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart lived. And
that's where we'll find the next clue."
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CHAPTER 20

William McIntyre made his appointment just in time.
He stepped out onto the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower. The day after a heavy rain, the air was
clean and fresh. Paris glistened below as if all its dark secrets had been washed away.
"They didn't trust you," the man in black said.
"No," William admitted.
His colleague smiled. "They learn quickly."
William McIntyre kept his annoyance in check. "Things could have gone worse."
"They could have gone much better. We will have to watch them more closely, don't you think?"
"Already taken care of." William McIntyre took out his cell phone. He showed his colleague the
screen -- the last number he had dialed in Vienna, Austria.
The man in black made a low whistle. "Are you sure that's wise?"
"No," William admitted. "But necessary. Next time, there can be no mistakes."
224
"No mistakes," the man in black agreed. And together, they watched the city of Paris spread out
below them, ten million people completely unaware that the fate of the world hung in the balance.