Passenger (Passenger #1) - Alexandra Bracken Page 0,68

And, should she perish, she will have at least deciphered this for us to use.”

A folded sheet of notebook paper emerged from the same pocket of his robe, and he handed it to Etta with a look of keen interest. “My agent uncovered this in your home. I believe there’s a manner of reading it that’s…peculiar…to your family, and that the clues themselves pertain to the Lindens. I’ve only been able to pull a single thread from it.”

The letter itself, which began with Dear Etta, my sweet little star, was…gibberish. The phrases themselves made sense, were complete thoughts, like The trees look lovely today. But that was followed up by Ask yourself if unknown gods exist. There was no meaning behind the words, no sense to the composition of it.

With a sickening jolt, Etta knew exactly what she was looking at—she knew exactly how to read this letter, because her mom had been coding letters and messages for her this way for years. There was no second sheet to layer over it—sometimes her mom didn’t have time to cut out the shape, in which case, she’d use the clue in the first few lines.…

Dear Etta, my sweet little star…

While that was a nice sentiment, her mother had never called her something so sentimental in her entire life. Which meant, then, tracing a star over the letter would reveal the full message.

She wrote this for me.

Only her.

Etta can handle this.

Etta kept her eyes on the page until she was sure she wouldn’t give herself away. Cyrus had managed to extract one meaningful phrase from the jumble of words, but the rest of it was lost to him. He didn’t know there was a key to bring the nonsense together, tie it together into the message buried beneath. Tracing a star over the letter would give her the rest of the phrases she’d need. It was only bad luck that he’d been able to pull any line out of it and recognize its connection to the Lindens.

She wants me to find the astrolabe.

She doesn’t want anyone else to.

This was what she’d meant when she said it was Etta’s time, wasn’t it? Rose didn’t just know she would travel back in time at one point, she knew she would one day travel back for this purpose, and if Etta had to guess, because Ironwood had willed it.

“As you can see, this was written for you to find. The fourth line down,” he said. There was a single phrase underlined, the words spread across one line, where, if Etta had to guess, the widest part of the star would be. “Tell tyrants, to you, their allegiance they owe—that is the one that interests me.”

“What about it?” she asked, all innocence.

“It’s a famous song in this period about the execution of Nathan Hale, the American spy,” Cyrus explained. “After a time, I finally placed where I had heard the phrase.”

Nathan Hale—the I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country Nathan Hale? He had been an American spy caught behind enemy lines during the Revolution, and was hanged for it.

“I’d prefer you not reveal—” Nicholas began.

“How positively adorable that you think I care a whit for your preferences,” Cyrus snapped. “I recognized it, in fact, because Benjamin Linden was annoyingly fond of singing it when he was deep into his cups. Surely it couldn’t be a coincidence, given its connection to her only family. But imagine my surprise when I discovered that history didn’t have a record of the exact site of his execution. I had to make my way here to determine it for myself, and, lo, there was a previously unknown passage waiting just across the way. It is my belief that there are clues within this letter that will lead from one passage to another, connecting in a trail that culminates at the correct location and era where the astrolabe may be found.”

In other words, each clue pointed to the location of a passage that would need to be taken in order to find it. Sort of like…connecting flights, in order to arrive at a desired destination. Only she needed to find the right planes.

Etta forced herself to swallow, to keep her expression neutral, as she ran her fingers over her mother’s journal. Ironwood caught the movement, and pulled the journal out of her hands, tucking it back under his arm.

“Tomorrow is Hale’s execution,” Cyrus said. “We’ve had to wait months and come to 1776 Manhattan ourselves