Adrian grinned, more to himself than to Nick and Hailey, as he carefully opened the top of the display case. They hadn’t gotten muskets or cannonballs. Instead, he’d brought them a few examples of Revere’s delicate metalwork; copper screws, silver plates, a few pieces of well-crafted jewelry, including a little necklace made mostly of silver, with an ornament attached to the links that shined like gold. And a stack of books, most in Revere’s own hand. Revere had been an obsessive bookkeeper, writing almost everything down. It was one of the reasons he was still so well known. Often, the most famous figures in history weren’t the most important. They were simply the ones narcissistic enough to write about themselves more than their peers, and smart enough to leave those books behind in places that were likely to still be around a couple of hundred years later.

Adrian ignored the copper, silver, and jewelry, and went right for the stack of books. It took him barely a minute to find what he was looking for: a small, bright red notebook, tucked between an almanac Revere had gotten as a gift from Ben Franklin, and a sheaf of records from one of his foundries.

The leather-bound notebook wasn’t particularly impressive to look at, but Adrian knew it by sight. And though he’d mostly forgotten about it before Hailey had read Thomire’s description of the thing in that copper-plated diary, the color of its cover had always stood out to him—even if its actual title had never meant anything to him before today.

He turned the book to show that title to Hailey.

“The Book of Bells,” she said, confused. “What do bells have to do with this?”

Instead of answering, Adrian opened the book and began scanning through the pages. Two years ago, Adrian had only given it a passing glance. He hadn’t really read it—if he had, as he did now, he would have realized what it was: Revere’s meticulous record of every bell he’d made.

Now, armed with what Charles had discovered, with what Hailey’s book had told them—Adrian wondered—was there more to it than Revere’s pedantic personality? Maybe this record of Revere’s bells was actually a log of experiments, conducted over a lifetime, all aiming toward one goal: his final bell.

Adrian had never given it thought before, accepting the common perception that the last bell Revere had made was the one hanging in King’s Chapel. But now—he quickly shuffled through the book, making his way to the last page.

His eyes widened as he reached the final entry.

My God.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Professor,” Hailey asked again, more insistent. “What do bells have to do with any of this?”