The Secrets of the Stone A Lottie Lipton Adventure Read online

  To Charlie & Isaac.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Glossary

  Did You Know?

  Crack the Code

  Chapter One

  London, 1928

  BANG!

  Lottie jumped at the noise, almost spilling her cocoa on her cardigan and skirt. The sound echoed off the walls of the museum library’s reading room where she was reading her favourite magazine, True Mysteries. The story was about Detective Inspector Victor Blade of Scotland Yard who was hot on the trail of a local burglar called Bloomsbury Bill. Lottie loved to read about DI Blade and couldn’t decide whether to be a detective when she grew up, or an archaeologist like her parents. Maybe both, she thought.

  Lottie climbed out of her special reading nook, looking for the source of the bang. It looks like I’ve got a mystery of my own to solve, she thought.

  Lottie had lived in the British Museum since she was four, when her archaeologist parents were killed on a dig in Egypt. The museum was a huge building packed with precious artefacts from thousands of years of world history. It was dark now. The winter sun had set and the museum was closed to the public. Lottie left the library and peered down the dark corridor. Where had that noise come from?

  “Urrgghhh…”

  Lottie froze as she heard a low, deep moan coming from the South American section. She grabbed a nearby pole that they used for opening high windows and tiptoed closer to where the noise was coming from, holding the pole like a weapon. Just in case, she thought.

  “Urrrrgggghhhhh!”

  There it was again! With a deep breath, she pushed the door open with her foot and leapt out into the room. She raised the pole above her head like a spear, ready to strike.

  “Lottie?”

  Lottie turned on the lights to discover a large man in a linen suit and bow tie lying on the floor.

  “Uncle Bert?”

  Lottie’s Great Uncle, Professor Bertram West, the Curator of Egyptology at the British Museum, was lying flat on his back and grimacing.

  The door opened again and Reg, the museum’s kindly old caretaker entered. He was holding his trusty mop, which was about as thin as he was.

  “Evening all!” he said cheerily. “‘Ello Professor West. What are you doing down there then?”

  “I fell,” said Uncle Bert. “Your dratted floor is too slippery!”

  “Just polished her tonight, with my own special mixture,” Reg grinned proudly. “Brings the floorboards up a treat, it does.”

  “Far too much! I could’ve been killed!”

  The two old men bickered as Lottie played at sliding along Reg’s wonderfully polished floor. She had long ago learned that the trick was to kick off your shoes and run at full speed. She could slide the whole length of the room if she just wore her socks.

  “Lottie my dear,” said Uncle Bert. “Why do you have that large pole?”

  “I thought you might have been a burglar.”

  “A burglar! The very thought. This is one of the most secure buildings in Britain. No robber would ever dare to break into this old place!”

  Lottie shrugged.

  “Shame. I’d quite like an adventure.”

  The two old men continued to bicker about the polished floor as they all made their way to their rooms to go to bed.

  CRASH!

  The sound of a window smashing and glass shattering on the floor made the three of them stop dead in their tracks.

  “Lottie my dear,” said Uncle Bert. “I fear we may yet have that adventure you wished for.”

  They walked briskly to the source of the noise and found a side window broken. Below it were some muddy footprints.

  “A clue!” smiled Lottie.

  Lottie noted it down in her trusty detective’s notebook and the three of them followed the footprints through the museum. The thief must have been fast, just a few minutes in front of them. The footprints led them toward a vast main hall and Lottie knew precisely where they would stop. Having grown up in the museum, she knew the layout better than anyone and often boasted that she could navigate it blindfolded (she tried it once, but came very close to knocking over an ancient Roman vase. She didn’t try it again). The main exhibit in the hall was –

  “The Rosetta Stone!” gasped Uncle Bert.

  In the centre of the room was a large black rock on a plinth, covered in three different types of white writing. The rope barrier around it had been knocked over. The stone seemed unharmed, but Uncle Bert ran towards it and fussed over it like it was a toddler who had fallen over in the street.

  “There, there,” he whispered soothingly. Reg and Lottie exchanged a glance and then burst out laughing.

  “You big softie,” said Reg. “It’s not hurt, it’s a rock! Never understood what’s so special about it anyway.”

  Lottie knew all about the stone, having heard the tour guides talk about it.

  “It has the same message in three different types of writing engraved on it; Egyptian hieroglyphs, Demotic and ancient Greek. Experts were able to use it to learn to read hieroglyphs. So the stone is a great big code breaker, unlocking the world of the ancient Egyptians.”

  “Right,” said Reg. “So it’s pretty important then?”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” said Uncle Bert. “Lottie my dear, can you put the rope barrier back up please?”

  Lottie bent over to retrieve the rope from the floor and noticed something on the stone. She lowered herself down and lay on her back, looking up at the side of the stone.

  “There’s a secret message written on here! The thief must have known exactly where to look and how to reveal it. They’ve uncovered a message which was once painted on to the stone. Now if I can just catch the light at the correct angle…”

  “The Trident of Neptune,” said Uncle Bert in a whisper. He stood with his eyes wide. Reg and Lottie exchanged confused glances.

  “Pardon?” they said.

  “A mythical object, belonging to a Roman God. It was lost and stories passed down over the centuries claim that clues are etched on other important artefacts, pointing the way to its resting place.”

  “Like a treasure hunt,” said Lottie.

  “Or a wild goose chase,” mumbled Reg.

  Just then, the three investigators were startled by a bright light being shone in their eyes. A figure holding a torch approached and Lottie saw the face of Sir Trevelyan Taylor, the Head Curator of the museum. He was a serious man and for some reason he had taken an instant dislike to Lottie and Uncle Bert. He hated them living in the museum.

  “I should have known it would be you three. I was passing and saw the lights on. What are you playing at?”

  Uncle Bert explained about the break-in and the myth of the Trident of Neptune. Sir Trevelyan scoffed at him.

  “Really Bertram, you’re losing it. Archaeology is about hard work, not riddles and treasure hunts. Do you really think the Trident of Neptune exists?”

  “I’d be prepared to bet my reputation on it,” said Uncle Bert proudly.

  “You don’t have a reputation, except for poor taste in bow ties. But perhaps…” said Sir Trevelyan, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll make you a bet. You get the Trident for the museum by tomorrow and I’ll double your pay. If you don’t get it, you’re fired.”

  Lottie gasped. Uncle Bert would be a fool to agree to a bet like that.

  “Deal!” said Uncle Bert. Before she could stop him, he was shaking Sir Trevelyan’s hand.

  “You have until midday tomorrow t
hen,” said Sir Trevelyan, walking off with a smirk on his face.

  “What did you do that for?” said Reg.

  “I couldn’t help it. He insulted my reputation. No matter, we’ll find the Trident, I’m sure of it. What does the message say?” said Uncle Bert.

  Lottie crawled back down and quickly scribbled the hidden message onto her detective’s notebook:

  “Crikey!” said Reg. “That’s trickier than the weekend crossword. What’s it mean then?”

  “It means that we need to solve the riddle before the thief cracks it and he’s got a head start,” said Uncle Bert.

  “Then what are we waiting for gentlemen?” said Lottie, hitching up her socks, ready for anything. “Let’s get cracking!”

  They stared blankly at the riddle on Lottie’s notebook for a few moments. Nobody said a word.

  “Come on, it can’t be that hard!” said Lottie. She began to pace up and down the hall, as she sometimes did when she wanted to think. Reg and Uncle Bert copied her, like a strange game of follow-my-leader. “Let’s take it step-by-step.”

  “Alright,” said Uncle Bert. “‘The Queen resides by the mighty flow’. I suppose the ‘mighty flow’ could mean a river.”

  “Well that’s wrong for a start,” said Reg. “The Royal Family lives in Buckingham Palace. That’s nowhere near the river.”

  “Hmm,” said Lottie, pondering. “‘With apparatus to make it sew’. They’ve spelt ‘so’ wrong. They’ve put ‘sew’, like you do with a needle and thread.” Lottie stopped pacing, causing Reg and Uncle Bert to crash into each other behind her. “Needle! That’s a sewing apparatus. And it doesn’t mean our Queen. It means an old Queen, like Cleopatra.”

  Uncle Bert was excited now, almost jumping up and down on the spot.

  “‘From ancient lands, leave no stone unturned’. Of course! It means Cleopatra’s Needle. It’s a large stone monument that sits on the riverside in London.”

  Reg looked confused.

  “So what does ‘You’ll find your prize when it has been earned’ mean?”

  “I think it means we’ve got a lot of work to do before we get our hands on that Trident,” said Lottie. “So we’d better get a move on. Let’s go!”

  Chapter Two

  Lottie quickly grabbed her coat and hat. She put on her shoes, which were really far too big for her (Uncle Bert always bought her shoes a size too big so she would grow into them). Together with Reg and Uncle Bert, they clambered into the only transport they possessed. Reg’s car was old and seemed to be made from four ripped leather seats bound together with rusty metal. Lottie sat in the back of the convertible car in the freezing night air, bouncing up and down as Reg hit every bump and curve in the road.

  “Reg, where did you learn to drive?” she shouted from the back seat.

  “A bloke down the pub taught me! Not bad eh?”

  Lottie gulped. “What do you mean, he ‘taught you’?”

  “Well, he sort of described what to do and I worked out the rest.”

  Lottie grabbed hold of the door handle and hoped that they were nearly there.

  As they pulled around a corner, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. Another car, at this time of night? The streets were deserted (just as well, with Reg at the wheel), but a strange black car seemed to be…following them? Lottie shook her head at the silly notion, telling herself off for letting her imagination run away with her.

  Cleopatra’s Needle was situated next to the River Thames, set on top of a plinth, which described how it had come to be there. To each side was a grand sculpture of an Egyptian sphinx, while the needle itself sat in the middle. A giant stone obelisk, it weighed 224 tons. There were hieroglyphs carved into each side of the needle and the whole thing looked mightily impressive in the moonlight as Reg pulled up beside it. As they got out of the car, Uncle Bert looked quite ill.

  “Are you alright Professor?” said Reg.

  “Can I make a request?” said Uncle Bert. “On the way back, can Lottie drive? She can’t be any worse a driver than you.”

  Reg laughed and slapped Uncle Bert on the back.

  “I’ll ignore that. Crikey!” he said, seeing the needle for the first time. “That thing looks older than me!”

  Lottie skipped up to its base.

  “It’s nearly 3,500 years old, which means it was actually built one thousand years before Cleopatra was born.”

  They all peered up at the needle, which was covered in markings. If they were looking for a clue, it was well hidden.

  “How do we know if the thief has been here already?” said Reg.

  “We don’t, but they had a head start, so they’ve probably been and gone. We’re playing catch up.”

  Lottie circled the needle a few times. How do you hide a clue to find a legendary object? And if the needle has been around for thousands of years, why has no one else ever found the clue before? she thought to herself. She looked over to Reg and Uncle Bert, who stared up into the night sky.

  “I’ll begin to decipher the hieroglyphs on its side,” said Uncle Bert with a sigh. “But I warn you, my Egyptian isn’t what it used to be, so it may take a while. Reg, be a good chap and shine the headlights over here, will you?”

  Reg leapt up to the car and manoeuvred it so that the headlights shone onto the needle. Lottie sat on a step while Uncle Bert got to work. To pass the time, she read a small sign, which was situated close to the base of the obelisk:

  CLEOPATRA’S NEEDLE IS A MAJOR BRITISH HISTORICAL LANDMARK. IT WAS GIVEN BY MUHAMMED ALI, RULER OF EGYPT, TO PAY TRIBUTE TO THE BATTLE OF THE NILE, WHERE LORD HORATIO NELSON TRIUMPHED. IT WAS TOWED HERE IN A SPECIAL CONTAINER, BUT ALMOST SANK IN THE BAY OF BISCAY IN 1877.

  As she read it, she saw that the headlight’s rays caused a reflection on some of the letters on the plaque, as if someone had used clear paint to underline the letters. Lottie tingled with excitement as she realised that this may be the clue they were looking for. She pulled out her detective’s notebook and began to note down the message.

  “Got it!” called Lottie with satisfaction, after a few minutes of staring at the plaque.

  “Got what?” said Reg.

  He was standing at the base of Cleopatra’s Needle, with Uncle Bert balancing uneasily on his shoulders. Uncle Bert was leaning against the obelisk and copying down the hieroglyphs in his own notebook.

  “The next clue!”

  “Where?” Reg started to walk over to her, making Uncle Bert wobble on his shoulders. They tottered about for a few seconds, before both falling to the floor in a heap, Reg breaking Uncle Bert’s fall. After some moans of pain and a lot of bickering, Uncle Bert took the notebook from Lottie.

  “It was in plain sight the whole time!” said Lottie.

  “Now you tell us,” said Uncle Bert, looking at the piece of paper. It read:

  “Why can’t the clues be easier?” moaned Reg. “Something like ‘Go back home, I’ve hidden the treasure under the doormat for you’?”

  “I think I know what it means,” said Lottie, but the two old men didn’t hear her. They were too busy guessing about the clue’s meaning for themselves.

  “Perhaps it means something about constellations? Stars in the sky?” said Uncle Bert.

  “No, I think it means –” Lottie said, trying to get their attention.

  “Or maybe a church?”

  “No, I think it’s –”

  They were all interrupted by a loud noise.

  Bong! Bong! Bong!

  They jumped and span around to look down the river. The Houses of Parliament were silhouetted against the night sky. The clock rang midnight.

  “Are you two going to listen to me?” asked Lottie, wild eyed. “A bell in the sky could be –”

  “By Jove! That’s it!” said Uncle Bert. “Big Ben!”

  “That’s what I was saying!” yelled Lottie, jumping up and down. Reg and Uncle Bert stared at her, shocked.

  “Goodness me Lottie, if you have something to say,
just spit it out. You know we’ll always listen,” said Uncle Bert. Lottie grunted in frustration.

  “Never mind! The night’s drawing on fast. We only have twelve hours and the thief could have the Trident already. Somehow we’ve got to get to Big Ben.” Lottie pocketed her notebook and leapt up the steps and into the car. “Come on, let’s get moving!”

  Chapter Three

  After another hair-raising journey in the midnight air, they pulled up to the Houses of Parliament in the heart of Westminster. Although it was the middle of the night, Reg was confident that they would be able to get into the grand clock tower that rose 316 feet high above them.

  “I know the caretaker, Jim.”

  “Do all caretakers in London know each other?” asked Lottie as they got out of the car and walked briskly across to a small door set into the door of Westminster Palace.

  “Mostly. We play poker together every Tuesday. Jim here owes me a favour,” said Reg. “And a few hundred quid, come to that.”

  They hammered on the door and Jim, a bleary-eyed small man with a moustache, opened it. Reg started to explain that they needed to get in, but poor Jim was falling asleep on the spot. He let them in and went back to bed, neither knowing nor caring why they wanted to climb the clock tower in the middle of the night. So Lottie, Reg and Uncle Bert found themselves tiptoeing around the darkened corridors of the Houses of Parliament without a guide.

  Inside, it was cold, echoey and a little bit spooky. The only light came from a small oil lamp that Jim had given them, so the shadows on the walls were large and exaggerated. After a few wrong turns, they finally came to a door and Reg paused.

  “Here we go. I hope you’ve got a head for heights!”

  They entered and looked up to see a staircase which led up and up and up to the top of the clock tower.