Then again, it wasn’t unusual considering how much of a recluse its head had become. Sigismund Oliphant Bledsworth IX, well into his nineties, had all but disappeared from the world. Only a few photographs still existed of the man. Jake had found only one, taken when Bledsworth was much younger: a stick figure in a British military uniform. The corporation was an old one, its operations stretching back to medieval times. It was said the Bledsworth family had made their first fortune by selling false potions to protect people against the Black Plague. Since then they continued to prosper in pursuits both legal and less so, growing until their corporation was the richest company in England and the fourth largest in the world.

Jake wasn’t comfortable with such a corporation “keeping tabs” on his family.

Like Magellan circumnavigating the world, Jake finally crossed the book-strewn floor and reached the door. He pulled it open to discover Kady standing there in her pajama bottoms and an oversized T-shirt emblazoned with her current favorite punk-pop group, Atomic Vampire Puppies.

She pushed inside his room without waiting for an invitation. “Do you have it?”

“Of course I do. I wasn’t about to leave Dad’s pocket watch downstairs with Morgan Drummond in the house.”

Uncle Edward had invited Morgan to spend the night in one of the guest rooms. It was the only polite thing to do, at least according to Aunt Matilda. Jake knew his aunt and uncle had taken a shine to the big man, but Jake remained suspicious.

Still, it had been a long day of police sirens and ambulances. Wounds had been tended to and reports filled out. A squad car was still parked outside with two police officers on duty.

In case those brigands return, Edward had said.

With the house secure, Kady plopped on Jake’s bed, knocking over a teetering pile of research books.

“Careful!” Jake warned, and set about restacking the texts.

This particular pile contained information about Atlantis. Most of the texts were rubbish, pure fantasy; but Jake had a personal interest in the subject matter. He only had to look at his arm to know that Atlantis was real.

A seamless band of silvery magnetite circled his wrist. He couldn’t take it off. Etched into its surface were faint lines of Atlantean text. Jake had struggled to decipher the writing, copying it and comparing it to other lost languages.

So far he’d been unsuccessful.

The band had been a gift and a reward from the Elder of the Ur tribe, a group of displaced Neanderthals who also shared the prehistoric valley of Calypsos, a land protected by ancient Atlantean technology.

Kady had a wristband, too—though she’d gotten to calling it a bracelet and decorating it with charms of all sorts, using its magnetic properties to hold the trinkets in place. While Jake had frowned at such abuse, Kady’s exploration into jewelry making did reveal an oddity. It was not just iron that clung to the bands—any metal did: silver, gold, even platinum.