“If the levers have dials, what if that means there’s a numerical pattern here?” asked Zofia.
“Like a key,” said Enrique, nodding.
If they put the right numbers into the levers, the fireball should stop and the atrium would right itself.
“Although changed, I arise the same,” he whispered to himself before risking a glance at the ball of fire. It had doubled in size and now resembled a flaming carriage that would hit them within minutes.
Zofia dragged her finger through the dirt as she sketched something.
“Think, think,” muttered Enrique, stamping his feet.
He’d noticed the layout of House Kore’s gardens… the pieces of sacred geometry hanging from the trees, even the great spiral on the marble floor of its entrance room. But it didn’t help him with the pattern. Arising out of the same thing? But remaining the same? Did it mean something thatbuiltupon itself—
“A spiral,” said Zofia.
“What?”
“We’re moving in a spiral.”
He blinked. “Obviously, Zofia—”
“But we’re moving in aspecificspiral,” she continued. “It matches the pattern of House Kore’s floor. And the spiral fits with the riddle!Although changed, I arise the same. It’s a logarithmic spiral. That means the angle between the tangent and the radius vector is going to be the same throughoutallpoints of the spiral—”
His head was spinning, and not just because his square of floor seemed to be moving faster.
“But it would have to be something repeating,” said Zofia, talking fast now. “Something that has ancient roots too. A sequence of some kind—”
Enrique followed the spiral. Even the tremor in the ground seemed to move to a particularrhythm. Rhythm that might have been found in nature, or poetry. They were closing in on the levers now. He could see the jutting pedesetal.
Up ahead, Laila was crouched on a slab of stone, her body angled toward the pedestal with the thirteen levers.
“Don’t jump!” called Zofia.
Just then, the rocks lurched.
Laila teetered. Her rock tipped, canting sharply to one side. She rolled down the slab, just narrowly catching onto the edges. Her feet dangled over the icy river. A livid tremor ran through the atrium, as more light splashed onto the cave walls. The fireball picked up speed, and with it… momentum. From where Enrique stood, the fireball verged on leaving the tunnel behind and pummeling straight through the atrium.
“I’m fine!” called Laila, heaving herself onto the slab.
But her rock had been dragged into the churn of the spiral… and if they couldn’t stop the fireball in time, it would roll into the atrium, and Laila would be caught directly in its path.
“The riddles are a pattern; the pattern is a key,” murmured Enrique aloud. Every breath he sucked into his lungs felt stolen. The room grew hotter, and sweat ran down his back. “Thirteen levers. A riddle. A key. Moving floor.”
Slowly, an image shifted together in his head. There was only one historical sequence he could think of that fit the pattern.
“The Fibonacci sequence,” he said, his head pounding.
Enrique only remembered the sequence because he had tried to impress a lovely Italian girl in his linguistics class. Her fiancéhad not been amused, but he hadn’t forgotten the numbers…
“Zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one—” said Zofia rapidly. “Each number is formed by adding the two previous numbers. It fits the logarithm riddle.”
The pedestal swam into view, thirteen ancient levers and just enough space for two people to stand.
“It’s getting closer!” shouted Laila.
Enrique’s head shot up. The fireball moved closer and closer, and directly in its path: Laila.
She had hoisted herself just far enough onto the piece of rock so she wouldn’t fall, but she was stuck.
