than a hobbyist level probably has the whole set. Bad news is, they’ve been reprinted over and over again since the 1970s. No guarantee the one I bought has the same interior and page layout as the one Arthur and his dead buddy had, which could make things complicated if this is their codebook. But the cover is the same, so that’s a good sign.”
“Fingers crossed,” Nell said.
The aroma of brown sauce and red peppers, salt-and-pepper shrimp and sweet-and-sour chicken, lid after steam-clogged plastic lid popping and adding new scents to the melody, flooded the tiny apartment. They laid out the trays, a banquet in the making.
“I also picked up—” Tyler paused, brandishing a foil bag of fresh-ground coffee. His gaze hunted along the counter. “And there’s no coffeemaker, is there?”
Nell set down a stack of paper plates. “Dinner will give us energy.”
“Or heartburn.” He looked to Seelie. “Careful with the dish on the far left. That’s Nell’s favorite, the nuclear Szechuan chicken. It’s mostly garlic, chili peppers, and death. And a little chicken.”
“I like what I like,” Nell said.
Seelie fished her notepad and pen out of her backpack. She flipped the pad open, reading through the group texts she’d copied from Arthur’s phone before they disintegrated into the digital ether. The three of them gathered around the kitchenette table. She set the pad next to her plate and picked up an eggroll.
“We know what a couple of these numbers represent,” she said. “If we start there—if this is the right printing of the right book—we should be able to figure out the rest of the code.”
“On it,” Nell said. She opened up Gabbard’s Fundamentals to the table of contents. “For starters, what’s the highest number in the code?”
“It looks like…the top end from the texts I wrote down was seven-seven-seven.”
“That’s a problem,” Nell said.
Tyler glanced her way. “Why’s that?”
“Because this book is only three hundred and ninety-eight pages long. If this is the right book, it’s not a page number. Let’s try something: Seelie, give me a number we can confirm.”
“We know Arthur was four-nineteen.”
Nell chewed on a forkful of broccoli while she hunted through the pages. Her eyes narrowed and she scanned the index in the back.
“The citations list other authors. I’m looking for anyone named Arthur, and coming up empty.”
“Maybe there’s a math trick involved?” Tyler said. “Maybe…no. Can’t divide the codes in half, most of them are odd numbers.”
Seelie stared at the notepad. The answer was here. It had to be. They hadn’t come this close just to get stumped now. What had Professor Ramis taught them about book codes? Benjamin Tallmadge wrote a customized book for the original Culper Ring, but other spies used common books, the kind you might find on any shelf. A farmer’s almanac, a family Bible…
“What if it’s chapter and verse?” she said. “Four-nineteen could mean the ninth word on page forty-one.”
The pages ruffled. Nell’s pursed lips drew to one side. “The word is ‘without.’”
“How about the ninth line?” Tyler suggested.
“‘The,’” Nell said. Then she perked up, drawing her finger along the dense print. “Wait a second. The line starts with, ‘the maneuverability of the King.’”
“As in King Arthur?” Seelie said.
“Give me another name, one of the people in the chat.”
“One-oh-eight.”
Nell flipped back through the pages. “‘When a Bishop is lost.’ Give me one more.”
“Three-three-one.”
“‘To uphold each Pawn’s integrity.’” Nell closed her eyes. “Either we’re completely on the wrong track, or these geniuses gave themselves code names. What other numbers can we verify?”
Seelie scanned down the page. “They talked about how Arthur just got back from eight-eight-two. That’s either Philadelphia or the specific place in Philly he visited.”
“Page eighty-eight, line two…” Nell smiled like a cat with a saucer of milk. “Got you. The author’s talking about a chess tournament held in Philadelphia. What else have we got?”
Seelie tapped her fingernail on the pad. 669 is out there and hunting.
“Page sixty-six, line nine,” Nell said, “refers to a move called ‘the Hessian offensive.’”
“That’s Dieter Rime,” Seelie said. “The Hessian. Which according to this, makes Leda zero-two-two.”
Nell speared a red pepper on the tines of her plastic fork. She popped it into her mouth and chewed, thoughtful.
“Page two. The book’s introduction. This bit is all about the ideal traits of a chess master. “‘Patient as a spider in her web.’”
“Sounds about right,” Tyler muttered.
“How about zero-nine-two?” Seelie asked. “That’s the stuff Arthur brought home from Philly. Which, if I’m guessing right, is that flask I grabbed from his office.”