Page 37 of Us in Ruins

The pendulum slammed into Margot’s stomach. She let out a surprised oof and dropped the stone as the pendulum lifted her into the air. She wrapped her arms around its base, desperate for purchase.

Van watched, a preposterously accusing look on his face. “This was your big idea?”

“Sorry, this is only my second rodeo!” Margot hollered. “Grab the boulder!”

The pendulum rose higher and higher until she was certain she’d get flattened against the ceiling. She squeezed her arms as tightly as humanly possible, curving her spine against the pendulum’s blade, and pinched her eyes closed as she drew millimeters from the carved ceiling. Surely she was only seconds from being splattered like a bug on a windshield when Van hoisted the rock into his arms. The tile released, brakes churning overhead. Her back scraped the surface, but the pendulum froze.

Margot let out a relieved breath, but it didn’t last. One boulder wasn’t enough. They needed two or they didn’t stand a chance. Her gaze combed through the nave. There had to be something else they could use to offset the timing. Then, maybe, they’d be able to make it through without getting bludgeoned to death.

But there was nothing. Just columns dividing the pendulums, each one with two sets of clay tiles that triggered each swing.

Except. Van.

Maybe they didn’t need two boulders. They just needed two people.

Van returned the stone to the checkpoint, allowing Margot to swing back toward the ground. She hopped off the pendulum as it lowered. Rushing forward, she ran to the clay tile at the far end, and the second pendulum stopped midswing, creating a path for Van. His head whipped around, awestruck.

“The tiles control the pendulums,” she said. “We have to work together. One by one, we’ll pause the pendulums for each other until we get to the other side.”

The polished counterweight rolled back to Margot’s feet. She let it take her place on the tile while she jogged ahead. Like a relay race, Van rushed forward while his pendulum was frozen, and Margot darted off the tile seconds before the pendulum would have knocked her out.

Once, twice, three times, until Margot leaped past the last pendulum.

Van laughed, bright as a clarion bell. “That was...”

“I know,” Margot said, cutting him off. “Reckless, careless, dangerous.”

A slanted smile graced his lips. “Actually, I was going to say brilliant.”

Fizz spread through Margot’s veins like her blood was carbonated. When she inhaled, it was like she was breathing for the first time. She clasped her hands under her chin, nodding, pink and warm. “Then, thanks. Actually.”

She and Van speared through the doorway, which was less treasure trove of your wildest dreams and more forgotten storage closet. Shelves had been carved into the chipped walls, and only a few clay amphorae remained. If they uncapped them, Margot wondered if they’d find two-thousand-year-old olive oil.

There was really only one place for the Vase shard to be.

Van approached a stone chest, carved with delicate details. Dust wafted out as he pried off the lid. The movement triggered a clanging sound behind them as the pendulums halted in their tracks.

Margot peered inside the chest, but instead of a fragment of clay, hand-painted by Venus herself, there was absolutely nothing.

It wasn’t there.

Why wasn’t it there?

Margot deflated. Every bone in her body went limp, sagging in disbelief. “I don’t reckon there’s a secret, second treasure chest we can open maybe?”

Van worked a hand through his golden hair and chewed on his lip, thinking. He kept at it until his hair rivaled Einstein. And he walked. Walked back through the pendulum’s labyrinth, their blades all stilled. Walked through the hallways, backtracking through their winding turns until hazy light poured through the exterior door.

“Van. Van.” She stopped him with a hand on his shirtsleeve. “What’s going on in there?”

“In where?” he asked, surveying his surroundings like he was so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t registered them walking.

Margot tapped him on the forehead. “In there, dummy.”

Van sighed, a full-body movement. He rolled his neck, shook out his shoulders, slumped his spine, and shoved his hands into his pockets, all in one go. Like he’d rebooted his system. “The shard’s missing.”

“Obviously. Could your notes be mistaken?”

“I don’t make mistakes,” he said, tugging his journal out of his pocket and waving it like a white flag. “This journal is meticulous.”