No Escape by Julie Moffett

 

Chapter Thirty-Seven

 

Gio

 

It rang a vague bell, but Italian literature had never been my strong suit.

“I’ve heard of it,” Vittoria volunteered.

I grinned. Of course she’d know—she’d been a literature major at the university and now, as a teacher, she always had her head in a book.

“Dante’s Inferno and his nine levels of hell,” she explained. “Heresy and lust are two of the levels, right?”

“Yes, Vittoria, you’re right,” Father Armando said. “There are nine levels of hell in his inferno. But, if I recall the levels correctly, lust is the second circle and heresy is the sixth out of the nine. So, it seems as if the word order is reversed on the cone, if we’re presuming the reference to Dante’s Inferno is correct.”

I may not have known Dante, but I was familiar with hell. “Why not just turn the cone upside down so that hell is down and not up?” I suggested. “Isn’t that the way it should be anyway? Hell at our feet.” I lifted the cone off the desk and turned it over. “Look, there’s a frame under here and a marble-size hole that enters into the desk.” The frame was clearly designed to hold the cone mounted upside down. I carefully slid the cone in the frame that was anchored to the desk. Once inserted, the cone rested several inches above the desk, with the hole in the cone aligned directly over the one in the desk.

As I inserted the cone, Winston pointed out that the spiral ridges were reflected on the inside of the cone as well. Our excitement attracted the rest of the team. They abandoned their searches and gathered around to watch us.

“Put the marble in the ridge and see if it works,” Father Armando suggested.

I picked up the marble, placing it at the top of the ridge. This time the marble spun faster and faster as centrifugal force pushed it out against the walls and kept the marble on the track.

Finally, at the bottom, the marble dropped out of the cone and into the hole in the desk. A faint click sounded. I grabbed the handle on the desk drawer and pulled it open.

“Success,” I said, holding up a round, light-blue weight marked with the number four.

Clarissa frowned. “That seemed counterproductive. Why did we have to go through the whole spiral thing? Couldn’t we have just dropped the marble in the hole and been done with it?”

“Maybe,” Winston said, shrugging. “However, it’s also possible the marble tripped something during its spiral. And what if we were wrong? We might have lost the marble and not been able to try again. So, Gio, what’s next?”

I suddenly realized everyone was looking at me. Somehow, I’d been put in command. I suspected that was less because of any perceived skill at escape rooms and more because of my military training. I didn’t mind so long as it kept us on track.

“Let’s get back to looking around,” I said, taking a page from Romeo’s playbook. Looking for clues seemed the best way to go about this. “There are certainly more clues to find.”

Everyone dispersed again. Alessa pulled up all the sofa and chair cushions looking for a clue, while Winston studied the large map on the wall near the card catalog.

Father Armando, Clarissa, and my love, Vittoria, diligently searched the bookshelves, pulling out occasional tomes, looking for hidden compartments or clues. I was beyond impressed by how enthusiastically she participated in every challenge, giving it her all, even though I knew she must be exhausted. I was seeing a new side of her, and I loved it.

“Gio, I found something,” she cried, holding up a torn strip of colored paper. “It was just lying here on the shelf. It has numbers written on it: 4075/1450 H15.”

I walked over to check it out. “Does anyone have any idea what these numbers might mean?”

No one answered, but I didn’t want to discard it just yet. “Even if we don’t know what it means, let’s assume everything is a clue.” I handed the scrap of paper back to Vittoria. “Put it in front of the scale so we don’t lose it. That’ll be our spot for any additional clues or weights that we need to evaluate at a later point.”

I’d just started examining a picture on the wall when Stefan called out. “Hey, guys, check out this old-fashioned card catalog. I haven’t seen one of these in a long time. I presume it has information on all the books in this library.” He pulled out a card and held it between his fingers. “Interesting. The information is printed in English on one side and Italian on the other. I wonder if this might allow Mr. Zachetti to reconfigure the room from Italian- to English-speaking groups by simply pulling out the drawers and turning them around. Clever.”

I agreed. “Keep looking through the card catalog for anything out of place or any other clues. If the cards are in two languages, that must mean something.”

I started to turn away and then had another thought. “Hey, Stefan, see if you can find any books that have titles relating to clues or weights. It’s just a hunch, but we might get lucky.”

“Great idea, bro,” Stefan said. “I’ll see what I can find.”

For the first time, I noticed a sign above the card catalog that read Please Return All Books. Curious, I walked over and lifted the sign. Sure enough, on the other side it read, Si Prega Di Restituire Tutti i Libri.

Perhaps another clue.

“Guys, look for books that are out of place or not shelved,” I called out.

Clarissa walked past me and plopped down onto a couch. “Like these books?” She picked up a stack of three books sitting on the end table. She put them on her lap, opening the first one and flipping through it.

I started looking through the drawer of the other end table.

“These books are written in Latin, too,” Clarissa said. “Might that be important?”

I shut the empty drawer and sat next to her on the couch. I checked out the top book, confirming it wasn’t in Italian. “Father Armando, can you check these books to see if there is any significance to them?”

Father Armando joined us, sitting on the other side of Clarissa. He examined the books and then started looking through them. “They are indeed in Latin. The top one is The Aeneid by Virgil, the second book is TheDivine Comedy by Dante, and the third is Il Principe by Machiavelli.”

“Well, we already figured out the significance of The Divine Comedy with the marble and the cone,” Clarissa said. “These two other books are also written in Latin and penned by famous Italians or Romans.” She took one of the books from Father Armando’s lap. “But there’s no library reference number on the spine of this book. There are on all the other books on the shelves.”

I walked over to the shelves to confirm. Sure enough, all the books had reference numbers on the spines. Impressive. “I think you may be on to something, Mrs. Carmichael.”

“Please, call me Clarissa,” she said.

Lexi’s mom was not only beautiful, but she was observant and clever. My brother would certainly have his hands full with two accomplished women in his life. Now that I thought about it, so would I.

“Maybe those are the lost books you’re looking for,” Stefan offered from across the room.

“Maybe,” I said. “But how do they reshelve the books if they don’t have reference numbers?”

“Let me see if I can find the books listed in the card catalog by title,” Stefan said. “Maybe we can determine where they go.”

“There are signs above some of the sections,” Alessa called out. “That might help. Here’s one that says, ‘World War II History.’”

“There are some signs over here, too,” Winston said from over by the scale. “These two bookcases that flank the scale have signs that say, ‘Roman History and Culture’ and ‘Greek History and Culture.’”

“See if you can find a section called ‘Italian Greats or Masters,’” Stefan called out to us, still rummaging through the card catalog. “I bet that’s where they belong.”

“Found it,” Alessa called out a few seconds later. She pointed to a sign on the second level on the back left wall that said “Italian Masters.”

“Gio, can you check if there are empty spaces for the books to go there?” Stefan asked.

“I can.” I strode over to Alessa and looked up at the sign. “Let me push the ladder over here, and I’ll climb up and see what’s there.”

Father Armando put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll go. If there are more Latin books, it might be easier for me to figure out where they belong.”

Made sense to me. “Sure.” I pushed the ladder next to the section, made sure it was locked in place, and swept out my hand. “All yours, Father. I’ll spot you at the bottom.”

“Thanks, Gio. I appreciate that.”

“Just don’t break your neck, Father,” Vittoria called out. “Or we’ll never get married before the baby comes.”

Everyone laughed as Father Armando began climbing the ladder. While he began his search, I glanced around the room to see what everyone else was doing.

Winston had wandered over to the display of WWII airplanes. I’d glanced at it earlier, noting there were aircraft from all the major countries that took part in the war. Most of the aircraft were fighters, and the craftsmanship was extraordinary. Clarissa was flipping through the books on the shelves near the scale, presumably looking for hidden compartments in the book covers or spines.

I glanced up the ladder and saw Father Armando surveying the array of books in the section. “Gio, can you move the ladder a little to the left, please?”

“Okay, Father. Hold on.” I released the lock and slowly pushed it to the left until Father Armando told me to stop. “Do you see anything?”

“I do,” the priest said, sounding excited. “I can see gaps where it looks like the three books have been removed. It appears the books have been organized alphabetically by author’s last name.”

I watched as he stretched and slid a book into place. I hoped something would happen, but nothing did.

“On to the next one,” Father Armando said. He found the gap and slid another book into place. Again, nothing happened. “That’s odd. I’m sure these are the right places for the books.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Maybe all three have to go on the shelf before anything happens.”

The priest replaced the last book, and we waited. Nothing occurred—no sign. Father Armando started climbing down the ladder when he spotted something on the bookshelf adjacent to the book he had just replaced.

“Gio, you told me to let you know if I saw something odd. I don’t think The Godfather by Mario Puzo belongs in the ‘Italian Masters’ section.”

“Au contraire,” Stefan called out. “I consider that book a masterpiece of fiction.”

“But does it really belong here?”

The priest reached over and pulled the book off the shelf, and a loud chime filled the room.