"Nancy, every place you go, it seems as if mysteries just pile up one after another."
― Carolyn Keene, The Message in the Hollow Oak

Prologue

Ancient Japan

In the fifth month of Nagatsuki, former Samurai warrior, Ren Sayuri, makes arrangements for her death. She has left instructions to be carried out regarding all aspects of the ceremony: Shinomoto poems will be read by her mourners, while musicians play stringed instruments behind them. She is to be draped in silk. In five days, when the ceremony is over, they must return her to the ground. A cherry blossom tree is to be planted beside her burial plot, not far from the main house.

Having already outlived her two sons, she leaves the most precious of her belongings to her grandchildren.

To Akio, her oldest son's heir, she leaves the katana sword that had been her faithful partner in battle.

To Kiriko, her youngest son's daughter, she leaves the bridge –though weathered and old, much like herself- which once saved the village from invasion.

And to Haruka, Kiriko's younger sister, Sayuri leaves the red silk kimono given to her by the Emperor as a token of his gratitude.

. . .

Not long after, the Samurai died. All arrangements were followed to the letter. She was arrayed in ivory silk cloth, jade bracelets adorning her wrinkled wrists. Musicians played softly while visitors came to mourn their loss. And though it neared winter, a small sapling grew in the soil near her burial mound. All this the Sayuri would have found pleasing.

However, one aspect of the Samurai's will was not respected.

Chapter One

1949

Museum of Artifacts

River Heights, USA

The dark haired girl sat alone. She tucked a lotus-blossom comb behind her ear, watching while the other students filed passed in organized clumps. She hadn't exactly been welcomed with open arms by the students of River Heights High.

With her exotic features and accent she was a marked foreigner, a reminder of war. Of the enemy.

But, frankly, she was growing tired of the ostracism. A person could only take so much of others whispering, shooting wary glances at her as though she might bite. Even the teachers were guilty of treating her differently; in fact, some were worse than the students—either ignoring her entirely or making a point to call on her when some topic of The War came up. It was all very uncomfortable.

So when all the students in her class had partnered up for the Museum tour assignment, Meilin was not surprised. Ms. Forte had made an embarrassing scene trying to pretend confusion as to why no one would accept her in their group (though there were no stipulations to the size of them). Some kids looked away, ashamed, while others giggled openly to each other. But in the end, Meilin was left alone to shoulder the assignment herself.

She straitened the hem of her skirt and began to stand—ready to get the whole thing over with-when a girl with titian hair rushed into the room excitedly. She wore a tartan suit and was carrying a leather messenger bag. Meilin didn't recognize her, and might not have taken any notice except the girl smiled at her. A very unusual thing indeed. Meilin frowned.

The girl took a moment to catch her breath, apparently having run up the museum's stairs, before approaching the instructor. "Please forgive my tardiness, Ms. Forte. I've recently returned from a trip and only just found out this morning at school that our class was taking a field trip."

Ms. Forte, her face pinched as it often was, replied in a sneering tone. "Yes, we know what a globe trotter you are, Nancy Drew. Let's hope you can keep up with your education as well."

Nancy merely smiled in return. "That must always be a priority. What is life, if not something to learn from?"

Ms. Forte raised a brow. "Well, for the time, try and join someone's group. Though I suspect all the groups are made. Perhaps someone will take pity on you. Once you've joined them they can explain the day's assignment."

Nancy again chose to stay silent, though Meilin could tell from the wayward grin creeping on the corners of her mouth that there was something she wanted to say. Perhaps Nancy observed herself being watched, for she turned to lock eyes with Meilin.

The dark haired girl startled, and looked away, readying herself to leave the foyer—but soon Nancy had approached her.

"Hello," she said, extending an ungloved hand. (She'd removed it for the introduction.) "I'm Nancy Drew."

"Meilin Rae," she replied, touching the girl's hand hesitantly. She wanted to be more suspicious of a wolf in sheep's clothing, but something about the girl seemed so genuine. And it was nice to be talked to as a human being for once.

"Would there by chance be room in your group for me, Ms. Rae?"

…

A few hours later, Meilin and Nancy stood in one of the rooms displaying baroque furniture. Meilin took note of the dates on a placard, scribbling them onto her notepad, while Nancy busied herself elsewhere. Meilin looked up from writing for a moment to regard the other girl.

Nancy repeatedly traced her hands along the fireplace, carefully feeling along the marble edges. Her expression was one of concentration, as she bit down on her lower lip.

What was she doing? My, this girl was strange.

Meilin put down her pencil and approached the fireplace in time to overhear Nancy mutter, "I know it's here somewhere!"

"What's here, Nancy?"

But before she could reply, the wall answered for her. The ivory front of the mantelpiece parted, sliding away to reveal a set of stone stairs.

"Oh my," was all Meilin could say at first. And that was just a whisper.

But Nancy smiled triumphantly, already reaching in her bag for a flashlight.

"Um…Shouldn't we get help?"

Nancy shot her a surprised look. "What for?"

"Well, I'm not so sure we're allowed down there."

"We're allowed as much as anyone else." Since that alone didn't appear to convince her, Nancy continued. "Listen, there are two kinds of people in this world: the kind that find secret passages and enter them, and those that don't."

As if that was all the explanation necessary, Nancy tossed her titan hair back and descended the steps into who knows where, her heels click-clicking against the old marble.

Meilin shook her head, annoyed, before resigning to following the snarky girl. After all, what did she have to lose?

Turning to look at her in the dim light, Nancy smiled. "I'm glad you're the adventurous sort, Meilin; life wouln't be much fun otherwise."

(to be continued... if all goes to plan)

Note: I'm writing this for a friend, who wanted Nancy to go to Japan, but disliked "Secret at the Water's Edge." While a few historical elements are researched and accurate, most are either embellished or fabricated for the sake of the story. What do you think? Let me know! :)