like he was steadying himself before going off a high dive.
“I know where Dad is,” he said. “And I know where the silphium is, too.”
Atticus refused to say another word until they were deep in the stacks of the Tunis library, where Dr. Rosenbloom worked. It was still well before dawn, but the night security guard recognized Jake and Atticus and let them inside. Atticus guided them down narrow corridors of books that got older and older the farther they went. Every few seconds, Atticus stopped to examine a book, hauling a few into his increasingly heavy backpack.
Finally, they found themselves in a cramped reading room with an antique table and a few rickety chairs. Atticus pulled the books out of his pack and arranged them on the table, going through each one in turn.
Amy was standing across from Jake, but neither of them came close to looking at the other. They glowered at the dark table, their lingering anger filling the room like a black cloud. Dan felt suffocated by it and by Jake’s words in the plaza. Amy was his sister. They always stuck together, no matter what.
And she did the right thing. Didn’t she?
“Att,” Jake said. “Seriously. We don’t have a lot of time here. If you know where they’re keeping Dad —”
“No one’s keeping Dad anywhere,” Atticus said, his eyes meeting Jake’s.
“What do you mean? Where is he?”
Atticus closed the book in front of him and took a deep breath. “This is going to sound crazy.”
“Atticus, would you just —”
“Dad’s in Atlantis.”
Dan had never heard a silence as complete or as awkward as the one that followed Atticus’s pronouncement. Everyone just sort of froze in place.
“Um . . . buddy,” Dan said as delicately as possible, “I know we’ve all been under a little stress lately, but Atlantis doesn’t, you know, um . . .”
“Exist,” Jake said.
Atticus pushed his glasses up and turned to look at Amy. “Back in the medina, when you asked the man to let my father go, he acted like he didn’t know what you were talking about, right?”
“These guys are well trained,” she said. “They know how to lie when they need to.”
“I know that,” Atticus said. “But did you believe him?”
Amy stared down at the table, her brow wrinkling in concentration. “Yeah,” she said. “I did.”
“Me too,” Atticus said. “In actuality, that’s when it became clear.”
“That your father is in Atlantis,” Dan said. “Doing what, Att? Hanging out with the mermaids?”
Atticus ignored Dan and held up Olivia’s notebook. “This is the page my dad was looking at before he left.”
“Names and gibberish,” Jake said. “We’ve been over this.”
Atticus held up a finger. “But what if they’re not gibberish? Look at the last sentence, the one that doesn’t seem to make any sense.
The twentieth Hafsid claims to keep the testament of the failed strategoi.
”
Atticus opened a massive leather book marked
Caliphs of Ifriqiya
. Dan could almost see the wheels turning in his friend’s head.
“The Hafsid was a dynasty that controlled Tunis, called Ifriqiya back then, from the thirteenth to sixteenth centuries. The twentieth Hafsid should mean the twentieth Caliph, or ruler. That was a man named Abu Umar Uthman ben Abul Hasan Muhammad. Uthman for short.”
“Okay,” Amy said. “So who’s the failed
strategoi
?”
“That was a little harder,” Atticus admitted. “A
strategoi
was a kind of general. The failed one could mean any number of them. But then I looked into those names from Plato’s dialogues and found out that he based his character Hermocrates on a real guy.”
“A general,” Dan said, suddenly feeling the excitement that always built up inside of him when he saw Atticus at work.
“Exactly,” Atticus said. “And apparently not a very good one. He was made a general but then had the title taken away because he didn’t win enough battles.”
“So . . .”
“So what Olivia is
“I know where Dad is,” he said. “And I know where the silphium is, too.”
Atticus refused to say another word until they were deep in the stacks of the Tunis library, where Dr. Rosenbloom worked. It was still well before dawn, but the night security guard recognized Jake and Atticus and let them inside. Atticus guided them down narrow corridors of books that got older and older the farther they went. Every few seconds, Atticus stopped to examine a book, hauling a few into his increasingly heavy backpack.
Finally, they found themselves in a cramped reading room with an antique table and a few rickety chairs. Atticus pulled the books out of his pack and arranged them on the table, going through each one in turn.
Amy was standing across from Jake, but neither of them came close to looking at the other. They glowered at the dark table, their lingering anger filling the room like a black cloud. Dan felt suffocated by it and by Jake’s words in the plaza. Amy was his sister. They always stuck together, no matter what.
And she did the right thing. Didn’t she?
“Att,” Jake said. “Seriously. We don’t have a lot of time here. If you know where they’re keeping Dad —”
“No one’s keeping Dad anywhere,” Atticus said, his eyes meeting Jake’s.
“What do you mean? Where is he?”
Atticus closed the book in front of him and took a deep breath. “This is going to sound crazy.”
“Atticus, would you just —”
“Dad’s in Atlantis.”
Dan had never heard a silence as complete or as awkward as the one that followed Atticus’s pronouncement. Everyone just sort of froze in place.
“Um . . . buddy,” Dan said as delicately as possible, “I know we’ve all been under a little stress lately, but Atlantis doesn’t, you know, um . . .”
“Exist,” Jake said.
Atticus pushed his glasses up and turned to look at Amy. “Back in the medina, when you asked the man to let my father go, he acted like he didn’t know what you were talking about, right?”
“These guys are well trained,” she said. “They know how to lie when they need to.”
“I know that,” Atticus said. “But did you believe him?”
Amy stared down at the table, her brow wrinkling in concentration. “Yeah,” she said. “I did.”
“Me too,” Atticus said. “In actuality, that’s when it became clear.”
“That your father is in Atlantis,” Dan said. “Doing what, Att? Hanging out with the mermaids?”
Atticus ignored Dan and held up Olivia’s notebook. “This is the page my dad was looking at before he left.”
“Names and gibberish,” Jake said. “We’ve been over this.”
Atticus held up a finger. “But what if they’re not gibberish? Look at the last sentence, the one that doesn’t seem to make any sense.
The twentieth Hafsid claims to keep the testament of the failed strategoi.
”
Atticus opened a massive leather book marked
Caliphs of Ifriqiya
. Dan could almost see the wheels turning in his friend’s head.
“The Hafsid was a dynasty that controlled Tunis, called Ifriqiya back then, from the thirteenth to sixteenth centuries. The twentieth Hafsid should mean the twentieth Caliph, or ruler. That was a man named Abu Umar Uthman ben Abul Hasan Muhammad. Uthman for short.”
“Okay,” Amy said. “So who’s the failed
strategoi
?”
“That was a little harder,” Atticus admitted. “A
strategoi
was a kind of general. The failed one could mean any number of them. But then I looked into those names from Plato’s dialogues and found out that he based his character Hermocrates on a real guy.”
“A general,” Dan said, suddenly feeling the excitement that always built up inside of him when he saw Atticus at work.
“Exactly,” Atticus said. “And apparently not a very good one. He was made a general but then had the title taken away because he didn’t win enough battles.”
“So . . .”
“So what Olivia is
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