The Empress's Tomb (26 page)

“My new assistant,” Lester Liu explained.

The man's eyes flickered back and forth between the two of us as if wondering how to respond to my question.

“Some will be put into storage, and others will be sent back to the museums that loaned them. The two that belong to the Met will be returned to their original galleries. Does that answer your question?”

“Why pack them so carefully if you're just moving them to another part of the museum?”

One question was bad enough, but two was unheard of. The little man looked stunned, and Oona rolled her eyes. I was in danger of pushing too far.

“These are priceless works of art. Even the frames are worth millions. My colleagues are often less conscientious,
but
I
would be this careful if I were merely moving them across the room. Now, Mr. Liu, may I show you the rest of the exhibit?”

While Dr. Jennings, Oona, and Lester Liu forged ahead, I paused to watch the workers finish preparing the crates. As a beefy man bent over to hammer a last nail, his shirt came untucked from his pants, exposing a spectacular plumber's crack—and the tattooed head of a crosseyed dragon. It was Fu-Tsang. I spun around to see if anyone else had noticed and found Oona staring at me from across the room, her eyes daring me to speak.

“Are you coming?” she growled.

•     •     •

Had my mind not been dancing with dragons, I might have been struck with the same awe the grave robbers must have felt when they first entered the tomb of the Empress. I stepped into a dark room that featured brightly lit glass boxes set on tall black pedestals. Inside each, a miniature world appeared to float four feet above the floor. There were perfect porcelain replicas of ancient palaces, mansions, and courtyards—each so detailed I could see the tiles on the roofs. Another case displayed a sprawling farm inhabited by bite-sized pigs, chickens, and ducks. These were the Empress's supplies for the afterworld. Anything a woman of her rank might have needed had been carefully copied and buried alongside her. Peeking into the next gallery, I saw an army of foot-high clay servants, all still awaiting orders from their mistress. Each room of the exhibit was designed to guide visitors
deeper and deeper into the Empress's tomb, until at last they reached the magnificent chamber where her mummy would be on view.

“The Empress is due to arrive on the day of the gala,” I heard Lester Liu announce. “I apologize for the delay. She and her coffin are extremely fragile. I have taken Mr. Hunt's advice and hired a team of experts to transport her from my home to the museum.”

“Of course, Mr. Liu. The Empress's room will be ready when she is,” Dr. Jennings assured him. “Shall we take a look?”

“Oh, Lillian!” Lester Liu called out. Oona shot me a warning look and hurried off in pursuit of her father. When at last she was out of sight, I slipped back to the entrance and watched the workmen load one of the crates onto a dolly. The tattooed man wheeled it away. As his coworkers shifted their attention to the next work of art, I followed the crate out the door.

I've done dumber things, but not many. Despite countless lessons from Kiki, my tailing abilities remained laughably bad, and I had only two drops of Fille Fiable to save me from the trouble I knew I was stirring. As the man pushed the crate through the empty hallways of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I kept a safe distance, ducking behind columns and accidentally groping a statue or two. My brain was working at double speed, and things were beginning to make sense to me. Rather than attempting to deactivate the museum's motion detectors and silent alarms, the Fu-Tsang were stealing paintings as they were moved from place to place. And there was no longer any doubt in my mind that Oona was involved.

The man turned a sharp corner, and I waited several seconds before peeking around the bend. The painting was nowhere in sight, and I could hear the creak of the dolly's wheels growing fainter.

“It's about time!” I heard someone exclaim. The voice seemed to come from the last of several galleries on the hall. “I've been waiting all night. Let's go!” I inched down the hallway, begging my shoes not to betray me. A floorboard creaked, and I froze in midstep. I slid off my flats, tiptoed to the gallery's entrance, and slowly poked my head around the corner. The crate lay open and the Fu-Tsang thug and three other men were hoisting the painting into the air.

“Now take it over there.” A man stood in the center of the room, directing the action with the self-importance of a pharaoh commanding an army of slaves. “Let's try to get it on the wall before dawn, shall we?” My head spun. The painting hadn't been stolen. It had only been moved. Once it was flat against the wall, I could see a plump nude with a massive derriere lounging in a Turkish setting. But there seemed to be something peeking over her shoulder—something that seemed out of place. When I shifted my stance, the object vanished. There was no way to get any closer. I'd have to return in the morning.

I slinked back down the hall and tried to remember which way I'd come. Bad luck struck, and the turn I chose led me straight to Mr. Hunt.

“Who are you?” he demanded as if he'd never laid eyes on me. “Come here this instant. Where in God's name are your shoes?”

I walked over to the man, hoping to get close enough to give him a whiff of my perfume.

“I'm Mr. Liu's assistant, sir. I was just looking for the bathroom, and I got lost.” I prayed the perfume could compensate for my pitiful excuse.

“You are no longer in my employ,
Miss Fishbein.”
I shriveled when I heard Lester Liu's voice. He'd come to look for me. “Mr. Hunt, would you mind asking security to deal with this troublemaker so that I can return to my work?”

“Not at all,” replied Mr. Hunt, with far more enthusiasm than the situation merited.

Given the choice, I would have preferred to spend the night in jail. Instead, the museum security staff called my mother. As I waited by the coat check for her to arrive, Oona and her father passed me on their way out. Lester Liu refused to acknowledge my existence, but once her father was out the door, Oona couldn't resist having the last word.

“What did you think you were doing?” she snarled. “This isn't a game. If it weren't for me, you'd be dead by now.”

“Don't do me any favors,” I spat back at her. “I don't associate with traitors.”

A good detective never lets even the tiniest detail slip past her. When solving crimes and saving cities, even the name of someone's pet chicken could provide a vital clue. (Though it doesn't in this book.)

The following test will help you determine whether you're ready for
action—or could use a little more practice. Keep in mind—in real life, there are no multiple-choice questions.

1. What is the name of Howard Van Dyke's pet chicken?

a. Nugget

b. April

c. Thelma

d. Extra Crispy

2. What time did your next-door neighbor leave his house this morning?

a. Exactly ten minutes and eleven seconds later than yesterday

b. Who knows? I decided to sleep in

c. I would
never
intrude on someone's privacy!

d. Come to think of it, I haven't seen him in weeks. Maybe I should knock at his door

3. Which of the following
cannot
be found in your trash?

a. The identity of your secret crush

b. Your best friend's unlisted phone number

c. Several empty jars of Marshmallow Fluff

d. That rather unpleasant note from your principal

4. Which statement best describes the hot dog vendor on the corner of Fourteenth Street and Sixth Avenue?

a. Purveyor of the tastiest processed meats in Manhattan

b. Spy for the Mongolian government

c. Criminal wanted for crimes against the animal kingdom

d. Friend of the squirrels

5. Which of the following will prevent you from seeming mysterious?

a. Scar- and tattoo-free skin

b. A name like Tiffany

c. A big mouth

d. The lack of a criminal record

6. Finish the following sentence: Based on what I've read so far, Oona Wong is a …

a. Dastardly double agent

b. Sweet-tempered girl with a heart of gold

c. Poltergeist

d. Pseudonym

Create a disguise that's good enough to fool an acquaintance using only the contents of your handbag or backpack.

You've been caught snooping on a suspicious relative (for the second time). Craft an appropriate non-apology. (Feel guilty later, if you like.)

Pull on some rubber gloves and remove the trash can from your sister's room. Examine the items inside and compose a list of her activities over the past two days.

ANSWERS:

1) b

2) a

3) If you've been paying attention, none of this should be in your trash.

4) c

5) c

6) d—You haven't read ahead, have you?

I've always admired movie heroines who, when captured by the enemy, refuse to divulge their secrets. Threaten, torture, or taunt them, and all you'll receive in return is a soul-stirring speech about honor, integrity, and the high price of freedom. In the end, they either escape from their tormentors or die heroically, leaving behind a handsome, heartbroken lover and inspiring an entire nation with their courage. As I waited for my mother to drag me home from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I promised myself I would behave with the utmost dignity. There would be no crying or pleading or begging for mercy. (And tragically, no devoted heartthrob to witness my bravery.) I carefully crafted the single response I would give to my mother's questions: One day you'll understand.

The problem was, there weren't any questions. And one glimpse at the disappointment on my mother's face reminded me that she wasn't the enemy. She was the mother of a sneaky, lying, untrustworthy girl who couldn't
or wouldn't explain her actions. On the ride home from the museum, there were no lectures and no talk of boarding school. My mother stared silently out the window, watching Fifth Avenue fly past. I saw what my secrets had done to her, and I wished I could tell her the truth. But I knew I had waited too long.

I felt slightly less sympathetic when I found two large suitcases on the floor of my bedroom, along with a note informing me that the next two days would be my last at the Atalanta School for Girls. My phone was confiscated, and my computer was missing. Even the windows had new locks. There was no way to contact the Irregulars. Until I could break free from Fishbein Fortress, Oona's treachery would remain a secret.

•     •     •

The next morning, things only got worse. When I started for school, I found my mother dressed and waiting by the door.

“You're not!” I uttered in disbelief.

“How else can I be sure that you get to school?” She smirked, holding the door open for me.

There are few things in life more humiliating than being escorted to school by your mother. What annoyed me most was that she had managed to foil the only escape plan I'd devised. She sat next to me on the subway and watched me out of the corner of her eye as we passed several newsstands hawking the morning papers.
Assassin at Death's Door!
screamed the cover of one.
Hero Doctor Tells All!
shouted another. When my mother delivered me to the front door of the Atalanta School, several
witnesses started to titter. Fortunately, Molly Donovan had been lingering outside, waiting for another chance to be tardy. With one look from Molly, eyes were averted, lips were zipped, and I was allowed to walk into the school with what little was left of my self-esteem.

“Whaddya do this time?” Molly and her curls bounced along beside me.

“I got caught sneaking around the Metropolitan Museum last night.”

“The museum? You're kidding!” If I hadn't had her respect before, I certainly earned it then.

“I wish.”

“You must be telling the truth. You're being watched, you know. They probably have you down as a flight risk.”

“Who's watching me?”

“Shhh. Just look around. Don't be too obvious. Let them have their fun. This is the most excitement these teachers have all day. Makes 'em feel like Nancy Drew.” One quick glance to both sides proved she was right. Every teacher we passed was stalking me with her eyes. I began to understand what it was like to be Molly Donovan.

“Maybe we shouldn't be seen together right now,” I murmured, trying to keep my lips from moving.

“Yeah, I guess hard-core gangsters like you can't afford to be seen slumming around with two-bit criminals like me,” Molly jested.

“Sorry. I don't know what I was saying. It doesn't matter anymore if I get expelled.”

“Funny, that's just what I wanted to talk to you about. You know that promise you made me? Do you think you could speed things up a bit? I'm getting a little desperate.

I've attracted the attention of a graduate student who works for my shrinks. She seems to think I'm her ticket to fame and fortune.”

“Her name wouldn't be Shiva, by any chance?” I asked.

“You've met the she-beast?” I nodded. “Well then you know what I'm talking about. My parents let her put cameras in my bedroom so she can study me in my
natural environment.
So you better act fast, 'cause if this goes on for long, I may have to kill her.”

“I don't know, Molly. I'm a little overwhelmed right now.”

“You have time to break into the Metropolitan Museum, but you don't have time to help out a friend?”