One False Note (The 39 Clues, #2)

by Gordon Korman

Saladin let out a disapproving “Mrrp!” Dan Cahill, Amy’s eleven-year-old brother, looked up from the page of sheet music he was examining. “I’m with you, dude. I can’t believe we had to take the slowest train in Europe. We’ve got to get moving! The competition has private jets, and we’re wasting time on the Loser Express. Are we going to stop in every podunk town in France?” “No,” Nellie told him honestly. “Pretty soon it’ll stop in every podunk town in Germany. Then every podunk town in Austria. Look, it was cheap, okay? I didn’t agree to babysit you guys on this quest—” “Au pair us on the quest,” Dan amended. “—just to have you drop out halfway through because you blew all your cash on snapper and expensive train tickets,” she concluded.

“Any luck?” Amy asked him. “Zilch,” he told her. “Are you sure this Mozart dude was a Cahill? I mean, Ben Franklin hardly blew his nose without planting a coded message in the Kleenex. This is nothing but boring music.” Amy rolled her green eyes. “ ‘This Mozart dude’? Were you born a dweeb, or did you have to get a diploma? Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is considered the greatest classical composer who ever lived.” “Right, classical. Boring.”

Dan unzipped Nellie’s duffel and removed his laptop computer. “You can stare at musical notes until your eyes bug out,” he said, plugging in the 220 adapter and powering up. “If the answer’s anywhere, it’s online.” Amy was disgusted. “You think you can Google the solution to all the world’s problems.” “No, but I can Google Mozart.” His eyes widened. “Wow — thirty-six million hits! Look at this one — Mozart, the most famous Wiener of all time. I’ll bet the Oscar Mayer people would give them an argument about that.” “I’m pretty sure it’s my job to tell you to grow up,” Nellie said absently, gazing out the window.

The Cahill kids were told not to touch anything in at least six different languages. Every security guard in the building took one look at Dan and immediately knew he was capable of trashing the place.

Dan looked concerned. “I think we might have to sell some of Grace’s jewelry so we can afford snapper again.” All at once, Amy let out a little gasp and grabbed his arm. “Okay, fine,” Dan began. “Keep her necklace—” “No, look. There’s a library in the basement! A Mozart library!” “Amy, don’t do this to me! The antidote for boring isn’t to find something even boringer!”

Nellie Gomez had never been a cat person. And that was before she’d become chief caregiver to an Egyptian Mau on a food-free diet.

Amy sighed. “I don’t care about the high life. But sometimes it bugs me just how rich the competition is.” “Grace was rich.” Dan’s brow clouded as he remembered the fire that had destroyed their grandmother’s mansion on the day of her funeral. “Anyway, I’d rather be poor and normal than a rich idiot like Jonah or the Cobras.” “Yeah, but money is a big advantage in a contest like this,” his sister argued bleakly. “It can open a lot of doors that we’ll have to find another way around. We’re really outclassed, Dan.” “That’s what cheating is for.” He surveyed the expansive parlor. “Now, if I was a stuck-up idiot with my head on a Pez dispenser, where would I hide the diary I jacked?” Amy smiled in spite of herself. “We’d better search the whole place.”

Irina looked annoyed. “What is it your business, so long as she is returned to you?” “It’s not our business at all!” Amy agreed swiftly. “Just get her out! Thank you!” “I require better thanks than just words. Shall we say the item you removed from the hotel room of our obnoxious cousin Jonah Wizard?” “No deal!” Dan barked. “A word of advice,” Irina told Amy. “You should not let this impetuous little boy speak for you. Perhaps you should not let him speak at all. In the KGB, we found duct tape to be both effective and affordable.”

Shortly after two, they reached Salzburg — a small city of gleaming spires, baroque architecture, and picturesque gardens nestled in green hills. “It’s beautiful!” breathed Nellie. “It’s bigger than I expected,” Amy put in ruefully. “We have no idea what we’re looking for, or even where to start.” Nellie shrugged. “Seems pretty straightforward. The song is ‘The Place Where I Was Born.’ We’ll get a guidebook and find the actual house where Mozart grew up.” The moaning from Dan was even louder and more pitiful than Saladin’s constant complaining. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not dragging me to another Mozart house. Not when I haven’t even recovered from the last one!” “Grow up,” Amy said sharply. “We’re not tourists. We go where the clues are.”

Amy peered at the collection of very old buildings topped with steeples and crosses. “A church?” Dan looked miserable. “Like Mozart wasn’t boring enough.” “The last church we were in wasn’t boring,” Amy reminded him. “We both nearly got killed.”

They entered through the gate, and Amy chose an English brochure from the rack. “Wow,” she breathed. “This place is more than thirteen hundred years old. The monastery was founded in 696, but they think the Romans were here even before that.” “Romans?” Dan showed a stirring of interest. “Those Roman legions had some super-sweet fighting skills.” “That’s why you find Roman artifacts all over Europe,” Amy explained. “Their armies were so powerful that they conquered most of the known world.” “Unstoppable,” Dan agreed. He frowned. “So why the church?” “That was built later, in the twelfth century — long after the Romans had gone. The oldest graves in the cemetery date back to around that time.” “Cemetery?” Dan beamed. “This place is starting to grow on me!”

“Jackpot!” Dan exclaimed. The black expanse of floor gave way to a narrow rectangle of radiance. “A secret passage!” He lowered himself into the tight opening. “I’ll bet there’s a ladder somewhere….” A yelp was followed by a muffled crash. “Or maybe not,” he groaned from below. “Get down here. I think I found something.”

Through an archway in the never-ending passage, they could make out a heavy stone pillar. Propped up against it was— “A ladder!” Amy breathed. They rushed over and gazed up through a thick iron grate. “Sunlight!” she hissed. She had never expected to see it again. Dan scaled the wooden rungs and pushed at the metal. “Give me a hand, will you?” Amy joined him on the ladder. Slowly, the two of them were able to budge the heavy grill enough to heave it over. A loud gonging sound resonated. They scrambled through the opening and hoisted themselves into the room. The large space was lined with small neat cots that rested directly on the stone floor. But that was not its most notable feature. At the foot of every bunk stood a black-robed monk with a shaved crown. Forty pairs of startled eyes were fixed on the Cahills. Forty mouths dropped open in shock. The Benedictine monks of St. Peter’s gawked at the Cahills as if they could not believe such creatures existed. An older monk, his tonsure ringed with gray, noticed the parchment clutched in Amy’s hands. The cry that issued from him was less than human.

The au pair was bug-eyed. “What happened back there?” “It’s not our fault!” Dan babbled. “Those guys are crazy! They’re like mini–Darth Vaders without the mask!” “They’re Benedictine monks!” Nellie exclaimed. “They’re men of peace! Most of them are under vows of silence!” “Yeah, well, not anymore,” Dan told her. “They cursed us out pretty good. I don’t know the language, but some things you don’t have to translate.” “We found a clue,” Amy explained breathlessly, “and they didn’t want us to take it. I’m positive it’s something important!” She thrust the parchment into Nellie’s arms. “Can you tell us what it says?” “Why don’t we put some distance between ourselves and the abbey first,” the au pair advised, wheeling through the narrow streets of Salzburg. “How’d you like to have to explain to the rental company that their car was trashed by an army of deranged monks?” Dan was impatient. “We’ll buy the rental company and the abbey, too! This time, we scored the big enchilada!” By skirting downtown, Nellie was able to avoid most of the traffic and get over the bridge quickly. They made a few twists and turns and pulled over on a quiet street. “Okay, let’s have a look at this ‘clue.’ “ She picked up the parchment. “We think it might be some kind of formula,” Amy put in excitedly. Nellie pored over the calligraphy, her eyes widening in amazement. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it!” Dan grinned. “That good, huh?” “But what’s it the formula for?” Amy persisted. The au pair read the p...

“So this is” — Dan frowned — “an eighteenth-century concert poster, starring Mozart?” “In Venice,” Amy finished. “That’s where the next clue must be hidden.” Nellie grinned. “I always wanted to go to Venice. It’s supposed to be the romance capital of the world.” “Sweet,” put in Dan. “Too bad your date is an Egyptian Mau on a hunger strike.” The au pair sighed. “Better than an eleven-year-old with a big mouth.”

Amy barely even noticed the slowdown. She was studying the Mozart concert announcement and had been since Austria. “What are you doing? Learning Italian by osmosis?” She ignored the joke. “There’s a name on here I can’t figure out. Who’s Fidelio Racco?” “Another musician?” Nellie suggested. Amy shook her head. “Mozart and his sister were a package deal. I never read anything about a third performer on their tours.” “Well, if it really is a concert poster,” Dan mused, “maybe this Racco guy is like a promoter.” His sister thought it over. “It makes sense. Not a promoter like they have today. But back then, visiting musicians gave private shows at rich people’s mansions. Maybe Fidelio Racco hosted Mozart and Nannerl. I wonder if we can find out where he lived.” “No problem,” Dan said sarcastically. “Just look him up in the 1770 phone book. Piece of cake.”

“Ah — you are American.” His accent was heavy, but he seemed eager to please. “I will assist you.” He took in her black nail polish and nose ring. “Punk, perhaps, is your enjoyment?” “More like punk/reggae fusion,” Nellie replied thoughtfully. “With a country feel. And operatic vocals.” The clerk stared in perplexity. Nellie began to tour the aisles, pulling out CDs left and right. “Ah — Arctic Monkeys — that’s what I’m talking about. And some Bad Brains — from the eighties. Foo Fighters — I’ll need a couple from those guys. And don’t forget Linkin Park….” He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. “There,” she finished, slapping Frank Zappa’s Greatest Hits on top of the pile. “That should do for a start.” “You are a music lover,” said the wide-eyed cashier. “No, I’m a kleptomaniac.” And she dashed out the door. He was so utterly shocked that it took him a moment to run after her.

“Whoa!” Dan pulled up short and just in time. The path ended abruptly. He had nearly given himself — and Nannerl Mozart’s diary pages — an unexpected bath in dirty canal water. “What are we going to do?” Amy squeaked. They watched as a motor launch pulled alongside the small pier they were standing on and tied up to a pylon. A young woman jumped out and ran into the row house that abutted the dock. She was obviously on a quick errand because she left the keys in the ignition and the motor idling. Amy took in the inspired look on her brother’s face. “That’s stealing!” Dan was already stepping into the boat. “It’s borrowing, and it’s an emergency!”

Amy’s vacuum-cleaner wheeze threatened to suck her brother in. “Okay,” she told herself. “Don’t panic—” “Why not?” he asked bitterly. “If there ever was a time to panic, this is it! What happened to the boat?” “Aw, Dan,” she moaned, “why’d you have to hide the Nannerl pages on something that can pick up and sail away?”

“Racco house, Mozart house,” he grumbled as they marched along the cobblestone streets. “Boring house would be more like it.” Amy was losing patience. “Why do you always have to say that? Boring this, boring that! If this house gives us the next clue, it’s the most un-boring place on the planet.” “Amen to that,” Dan agreed. “Bring it on, the sooner the better.” “We’re getting close,” Amy promised. “I can smell it.” Dan wrinkled his nose. “All I smell is canal water. Man, I might never get it out of my nasal passages.”

“Wolfram,” Dan mused, a far-off look in his eye. “I’ve heard of that from somewhere.” Amy was skeptical. “Are you sure you’re not thinking of Wolfgang?” “No, wolfram. Grace told me about it.” He rounded on his sister. “You’re not the only grandchild she told stuff to, you know.” Amy sighed. “All right, what did she say?” He looked stricken. “I was sort of tuning her out.” “That’s why she told most of it to me — because she knew you’d forget it all.”

Saladin was halfway through tin number two when Amy and Dan came bursting in the door. Nellie was beside herself with triumph. “Congratulate me, you guys! The hunger strike is over—” She took in the sight of Dan waving the lethal samurai sword around the tight hotel room. “Put that thing down before you slice your own ears off!”