Edison's Gold (5 page)

“Colb, we're a crew. This is what we do,” said Noodle. “Tom's the crazy daredevil. You're the levelheaded brainiac. And I'm … the smooth operator.”

“No, you're the idiot.” Colby was shaking her head. “This is how you guys always get me in trouble. With your stupid schemes.”

“It's spring break. What else are we gonna do?” said Noodle.

Colby raised her hands. “Look, it doesn't matter. I know I'm never going to convince you this is a dumb plan, so I might as well just save myself the headache and go along with it.”

“So you'll come with us?” asked Tom.

Colby rolled her eyes. “Yes, but that's it!”

It was settled. The three would head to the museum tomorrow on a preliminary recon mission. Without Tom's dad.

As Tom crept back into his father's study, he realized that slight nagging feeling had grown into a riptide pull.
Every slight against his family name, every lost job, every failed invention, it all bubbled over onto that Firestone photo. Tom was meant to find this clue. He was sure of it. And he was going to do whatever it took to unlock its secrets and prove to the world that the Edison name was not a punch line but a badge of honor.

And so, the trio was once again off on a new adventure. Tom prayed it would not be their last.

Y
our timing is quite terrible, you know,” muttered the wizened gremlin of a curator as he led Tom, Noodle, and Colby through a room of Italian Renaissance paintings. “The Science and Mysticism exhibit doesn't open until next month.”

The curator waved his magnetic ID badge in front of a glass door, which unlocked it.

“Whoa,” said Noodle as they followed him into the dark exhibit. “Do you ever feel like you're the commander of the starship
Enterprise
?”

“Sometimes.” The curator chuckled.

Tom was thankful he had Noodle. The kid could charm a troll, and the term
off-limits
simply wasn't in
his vocabulary. At first, the curator had been less than thrilled to let three seventh graders into a closed exhibit. That was, until Noodle went into a long-winded story about their extra-credit history project on medieval sorcery, peppering in heart-wrenching details about how it had been his great-grandfather's dying wish to see a copy of
The Alchemy Treatise
in person, as well as Noodle's own life-changing field trip to Sir Isaac Newton's alchemy lab in England. None of it was true, of course. But it got them access to—

“The Curt Keller exhibit.” Colby read the name off a metal placard affixed to the entrance archway. Tom's neck hairs prickled at the name. Curt Keller? Could it be the same Curt Keller who'd just laid off his father? The man who was responsible for his family's move?

Inside, the exhibit was incredible. Gold-painted star maps covered the walls, and glass cases displayed manuscripts and illustrated texts from all over the world. It was hard to miss the overriding theme of this exhibit. Most of the precious objects were related to one thing—alchemy. There were oil paintings of dour alchemists in their labs, plus a group of shelves filled with golden weighing
scales and antique vials used for distilling liquids.

“Do all these pieces belong to Mr. Keller?” Tom asked.

“Most of them,” said the curator. “His interest in the occult is widely known. And he's especially fascinated by alchemy. Much like yourself, Mr. Zuckerberg.”

“I'd like to meet this Mr. Keller,” said Noodle, surveying the room with a scholar's seriousness.

And then Tom saw what they had come here for, open and displayed inside its own sealed glass case—
The Alchemy Treatise
. So stunning, it almost made him swallow his gum. Its pages were razor thin, its edges dipped in gold leaf, and lavish paintings of astrological imagery adorned the borders of its calligraphy text.

Tom touched his nose to the glass. His fingers itched to turn a page.

“Hands to yourself!” the curator loudly reminded him from across the room. “That's a five-hundred-year-old artifact.”

“Er, sorry.” He jammed his hands back into his pockets.

Mouth twitching in suspicion, the curator glided a
little closer to Tom to give him a quick once-over.

“Tom, I think I found something,” whispered Colby as she tugged on his sleeve and nodded toward the adjoining room. Her eyes were alive with excitement. “You'll definitely want to see this.”

I
t was an oil painting of a well-known mustached politician hanging on the far wall of the room. The plaque next to it read:
PORTRAIT OF
THEODORE
ROOSEVELT, 1915
.

“It's a painting of Teddy Roosevelt, Colb. Big deal. There's probably a million of them.”

“The question is what it's doing in an exhibit on science and mysticism,” she whispered with a glance toward the unsuspecting curator. “Look closer.”

Tom followed her finger, which pointed to the familiar circled rose symbol—the same one that had been stamped beneath the camera's riddle had also been painted in red strokes just above the artist's signature.

“It's gotta be connected to the photo somehow,” Tom
whispered back. He was getting that all-too-familiar butterfly feeling, the same one he got when he was close to an experimental breakthrough. “We need to know if this symbol is anywhere in
The Alchemy Treatise
.”

“Salvatore?” squawked the walkie-talkie that was hooked to the curator's belt.

“Yes, Amanda?” he answered.

“Buford Bixby is in the foyer.”

“Tell him I'll be right down.” Salvatore approached Tom and Colby with his hands clasped behind his back and a phony smile plastered to his face. “I'm afraid our time is up, kids.”

Tom shot a pleading glance toward Noodle.
Work your magic
.

“Five more minutes?” said Noodle, picking up his cue as he approached the curator from behind. “Please? My great-grandfather would've wanted that.”

“I'm terribly sorry, but I've already broken enough museum regulations for one day. And the exhibit will be open to the public next month. You can come back then.”

Next month?
Tom might already be at a new school in Wichita by next month, but there was no more bargaining with Salvatore. That was quite clear.

Salvatore doesn't know he's messing with an Edison
, thought Tom as he stopped to retie his shoe and plucked a crinkled gum wrapper from his pocket. As he ran to catch up with the group, he slipped the wrapper over the door's latch.

“Good luck with your report, young man.” Salvatore mussed up Noodle's hair like a friendly uncle before heading toward the escalators.

“So what now?” Colby asked. “Wait till next month?”

“We're going back in,” said Tom, spinning on his heel once the curator was safely out of sight.

Y
ou're certifiably insane, you know that? This is just like the time you got me in trouble for helping you calculate the combustion ratios for that hot air balloon.” Colby was not pleased about sneaking back into the exhibit. Especially when she was 110 percent positive they were going to get caught.

“That balloon would've worked if we'd bought more propane,” said Tom while he inspected
The Alchemy Treatise
's display case, trying to figure out the best way in.

“It didn't work because you lost interest. Like you do with everything.”

Colby had a point. Where Tom's dad was thoughtful and cautious, he was slapdash and distracted. He loved the joy of discovering something new. So much so, he
usually couldn't find the patience to see any of his projects to the end.

“Chill out, Colb.” Tom had his Swiss Army knife out and was unscrewing the bolts of the display case. “It's not like I'm gonna steal the thing. Just doing some investigation is all.”

“As the smooth operator of the group,” said Noodle, “I'm gonna have to agree with Colby. I really don't wanna end up in upstate juvie like my third cousin Marty.”

“Just stand guard and make sure no one's coming.” But no sooner had Tom nudged the glass off the case than a shrill alarm began to sound and swirling red lights were triggered.

“What was that?” Colby squeaked.

“I think I set off one of the sensors!”

“Then why are we still standing here?” yelled Noodle, who was already moving toward the exit.

“Noodle, no!” Panic had crept into Tom's voice. If they got caught, the search would be over like that. “It'll be crawling with guards out there.” He quickly replaced the display case and scanned the room for another exit. “We'll have to go through the air-conditioning vents.”

“No way. Uh-uh,” said Colby, already backing away.
“That's not even close to a normal exit strategy. Once we're in the vent, how would we even get out?”

“I'm sure the ducts lead to, like, a central room or something,” Tom assured them. But his friends didn't look too convinced. “Guys, I can't afford to get busted again. My parents'll crucify me.”

“This isn't school, bro!” Genuine fear held Noodle's face. “We could get in serious trouble. Like police trouble.”

“I promise I can get us out, but you've gotta trust me.” There was no more time to waste. Security would be here any second. Tom had his knife out, and within seconds had pried off the vent cover.

“I cannot believe we're actually doing this,” Noodle muttered, even as he squeezed into the opening in the wall after Tom. Colby was not far behind.

T
he siren had grown fainter, and within moments the threesome was enveloped in total darkness. The only sounds they could hear were the clumsy clunking of their elbows and knees against the aluminum vent.

“Betcha anything Salvatore'll just think we set off the alarm on our way out,” Tom said into the darkness. He was hoping to calm his friends' nerves as well as his own.