Dak showed the screen to his friends.
“Oh, boy,” Riq said. “That one looks like a doozy.”
“Exactly,” Dak responded. “Which is why I’m going to take the first crack at it.”
Sera reached out and ripped the SQuare from Dak’s hands. “Silly boys. How about we all do this together?” She sat down on the forest floor and held the device out on her lap for all to see.
Dak crouched over her shoulder and peered down at the glowing screen. “Should I read the poem out loud?”
“Go for it.”
A tale I’ll tell to all the world,
A tale not true to them unfurl.
To hide the truth, to lead astray,
Those who want the Breaks to stay.
The murders both are vicious, cruel,
An end unworthy, for wise nor fool.
The one who hides behind the deed,
Is one of evil, spiteful creed.
Search the clue to you I give.
Sift it, as sand through a sieve.
Find the traitor, find the one,
Who’d have our pattern ripped, undone.
After Dak read it, he scanned through the words again, hoping that something would pop out at him. But it really just seemed like a prelude to the pictogram below it. That’s what they needed to solve
“ ‘A tale not true’? So it wasn’t . . . what was his name?” Sera asked, looking over her shoulder at Dak.
“Attalas,” Dak answered. “Looks like someone else was behind the murders.”
Riq was kneeling next to Sera, intently studying the screen. “Maybe it’ll be obvious once we figure out the clue he left.”
“Looks hard,” Dak said, half to himself.
Riq nodded. “Like I said. A doozy.”
After several minutes of studying the pictogram, Sera finally clicked off the power to the SQuare. “My eyeballs are starting to hurt. Let’s take a break and let it simmer in our heads.”
“I recognize the images,” Dak said. “That’s Herakles and Perseus. But they’re mythological figures, not historical people. They obviously didn’t kill anybody. So what does it mean?”
“I just thought of something,” Riq said. “Aristotle wrote this clue, right? And Dak thinks the first thing we need to do is meet the old man. So why even bother with trying to solve this. Let’s just go ask the source!”
Dak’s first instinct was to take an opportunity to point out just how dumb Riq was. But he didn’t have the heart for it. After all, for a split second, Dak had actually thought the same thing.
“He won’t know any more than we do,” he said. “He won’t know anything about the murders or who was behind them until it’s already happened. That’s the whole point of why we’re here.”
Riq shrugged. “Yeah, but still . . . Once we explain who we are, why we’re here, and all that, we can show him what he created. Call me crazy, but I bet he’d be better at figuring out his own clue than we would be.”
“But,” Dak countered, holding up a finger, “imagine how impressed he’d be if we solved it first.”
“I think showing up with a time-travel device will be plenty impressive,” Riq replied. “But feel free to tell us the answer anytime you want. Maybe the Greek gods will help you out if you start praying to them.”
Sera had gotten to her feet, wiping leaves and dirt from her pants. She handed the SQuare to Dak, who slipped it back in his secret pocket. He knew he must look dazed now, because the wheels had really started spinning in his mind.
“Dak?” Sera asked. “You okay, there, buddy? You look like you’re gonna puke.”
“No,” he replied absently. “I mean, yes. I’m okay.” He shook his head back and forth as if doing so would put all the pieces into place. Something Riq had said had triggered a disturbing line of thought.
“Dak?” Sera asked again. “What’s going on? Seriously?”
He looked at her, then at Riq, then back to her again.
“I know who did it,” he said. “I know who the clue reveals — who was behind the murders.”
“That was fast,” Riq said.
Sera just raised her eyebrows, waiting for the answer.
Dak felt sick even saying it. “His mom did it. Alexander the Third’s mom arranged to have them killed.”
SERA STARED at her best friend, having a hard time believing what he’d just said. A soft breeze had picked up in the forest, bringing with it the smells of olives and pine. The day had gotten brighter, too, starting to get a little warm.
“What . . . where . . . how did you come up with that?” she asked Dak. “Plus, what kind of mother arranges for her son to be killed?”
The look on his face reminded her of a dam about to burst, trying to hold back too much. “Not many people know about Alexander’s mom. Her name was Olympias, and after a few good years with King Philip, they . . . went their separate ways. Which is a nice way of saying that he fell in love with Cleopatra and gave Olympias the boot. He exiled her. She and the kid were sent off to the countryside.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Riq said, rubbing his temples. “I might not be the historical genius you are — something you like to remind us about fifty times a day — but I know very well that Philip didn’t marry the most famous woman in Egyptian history.”
Dak sighed. “Not that Cleopatra. She won’t be born for another few centuries. This is a Greek woman. Cleopatra Eurydice.”
Riq nodded. “Oh. Yeah. Well, see? Maybe I’m good at history after all!”
“Congrats,” Dak muttered, then turned his attention back to Sera as if she were the only one intelligent enough to continue the conversation. “Anyway, so her name is Olympias. What does that name make you think of?”
“Greek gods and such,” Sera answered.
“Exactly. And she only had one son. And he’s the son of a king. Slightly important to her. So guess what she always called him? Her . . . nickname for him, I guess.”
Sera pictured the Art of Memory clue left by Aristotle, and then it clicked. She knew what Herakles and Perseus had in common — a father.
“You can’t be serious.”
Dak smiled. “Oh, I can be serious. She called the kid Son of Zeus.”
“Wait,” Riq put in. “You mean she called him Zeus?”