CHAPTER 8

“WHAT IS IT?” TOM SAID nervously.

“I… don’t know.”

I showed him the letter.

An oath was made, a promise sworn,

To those who wished to bind him.

But he returned, and offered scorn,

And so they come to find him.

You will know the key when you see

the truth. Remember Paris.

M O I U R H J B X A M G X B H B L L

Tom looked at me, worried. “What does this mean?”

I had no idea. I read the whole thing again, mind racing.

And so they come to find him, it said. Find whom?

Me?

I’d returned. And someone had said they’d come for me. The Raven. Dead or not.

But as I read the letter over, I couldn’t make the rest of the rhyme match. Had I sworn an oath to anyone? And then “offered scorn,” whatever that was supposed to mean?

I couldn’t recall anything like that. So far, I’d kept every promise I’d made.

So if the riddle wasn’t meant for me… then for whom?

“Simon, maybe?” Tom said.

Someone had attacked him. But I wasn’t sure he fit the “returned” part. “I don’t think Simon’s ever been to London,” I said.

Tom thought about it. “What about the king? Charles returned to the throne, almost six years ago. And he gets threatened a lot.”

That was a definite possibility. I mulled it over.

You’re missing something in the message, Master Benedict said.

He was right; once again, my brain was a jumble. I’d got so hung up on the riddle, I’d forgotten the even more curious part.

“We should solve the cipher,” I said. “There might be more of a clue in there.”

“Do you know how?”

“Well… the line above the code says we need a key. And that we should remember Paris. So…”

“Use the Vigenère’s square cipher!” Tom said.

“You remembered,” I said. “I’m impressed.”

“It’s the hat. Makes me smarter.”

That made me laugh. “All right, monsieur. What’s the key that’ll solve the code?”

“Er…”

This was always the tricky part. “Let’s write out the square to start.”

I had a quill and ink in my sash, but there was no paper in our room, other than the letter itself, which I didn’t want to write on. So, taking Bridget with us, we went to find some.

And quickly got lost.

All the corridors looked the same to me, with their paintings and curios and carpets. Twice we were shuffled out of what was clearly someone’s private chambers, the second time by a lady shouting, “Out! How dare you! Ruffians!”

“This place is a maze,” Tom said, flustered. Fortunately, a passing servant, an elderly gentleman with a dignified bearing and ponderous speech, took pity on us.

“May I be of assistance, sirs?”

“Could you send some paper to our room, please? And… um…” I looked up and down the hall. “Could you maybe also tell us where our room is?”

“Certainly, sir.” The man, whose name was Dobson, already seemed to know where we’d been housed, which impressed me. Keeping track of the ever-changing guests living in the palace couldn’t be easy.