Start the song that rings the rhyme.

I stand over the kitchen table, shaking a cardboard box of raisin bran so the flakes fall into my bowl. The cacophony of clinks is short-lived as I'm not that hungry. I pour almond milk over them until a small pool of liquid sits at the bottom of the bowl. Then, I sit down and dip my spoon into the cereal. The grains crunch in my teeth, not softened yet, while sugar seeps onto my tongue from raisins.

Click the clock to find the time.

I read D.C. Silverenn's words at least twenty times over last night. They're burned in my brain now, repeating as I fell asleep, when I woke up, and during my half hour practice session this morning. My brain must not think it's total gibberish. It must think meaning lies within the cryptic phrases — meaning that will lead to the treasure. What can I say? At least I acknowledge I'm desperate.

A door closes, and Emi slips into the room. She always looks tiniest when she first wakes up, swallowed by her giant pale-pink sleepshirt. Today, her back slumps, causing her messy black hair to hang in her face.

"Morning," I say.

"Morning." Her voice comes out as a scratchy whisper. She clears her throat and tries again. "Good morning."

I blow out a puff of air. "Not much 'good' today... or yesterday."

"Rejected again." Emi's muffled voice carries from the pantry. "What are we going to do?"

My grip on my spoon tightens, and I shove another bite of cereal into my mouth. It's mildly irritating that she assumes I didn't get into the orchestra. My conclusion was based on her crying, but what did she base her assumption on? I focus on chewing a raisin, the gnawing motion of my jaw, instead of her statement.

She probably assumed you'd be jumping for joy and rubbing it in her face if you got in. Which isn't entirely true. I might've raced to her room to celebrate with her, because if I got in surely she would've as well. But if I found out she didn't get in, I wouldn't rub it in her face. I know how much this job means to her.

Emi puts water on for tea, then joins me at the table. She has a toaster strudel and a bag of trail mix. I reach over automatically for the metallic, blue package, but she stops me, the faintest, saddest smile on her lips.

"It's okay," she says. "I got it this time."

I feel a swell of relief that she's no longer mad at me. I just wish our bonding could've been over success, not more failure.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. The bran flakes in my bowl have gone limp. It's the worst when they turn to mush, but I'm in no hurry to eat. I'm too tired to rush, tired of everything.

Water boils after a few minutes, and Emi pulls it off the stove. "You want any?"

"No, I'm good." I'd need to go caffeine-free for months to make up for the latte money I spent yesterday, but every little bit helps.

"I can't believe it," Emi says as she returns to her seat. She breaks off another blond piece of her pastry, bright red oozing from the sides, and pops it into her mouth. "Actually, I can believe it. Why didn't I see this coming?"

It's always harder on her than me, probably because she tries harder. All I can do is offer a sad, half-smile. She sniffs, sitting a tad straighter.

"So, anything new?"

"My students canceled," I say. "The ones I thought would at least. Haven't checked my email this morning, though, so maybe more dropped out."

"Same," Emi says. "Only one of those who didn't make it quit, but emails may still roll in. Two of my students did get in, though."

"That's good," I say through almond milk and soggy bran flakes.

"Yeah, I'm super excited about it. Though one of them quit lessons with me anyway."

"That's dumb."

Emi shrugs. "That's life — unfair, frustrating, and broke."

Broke, unless you get lucky.

I stare at my bowl, my spoon resting under the remains of my breakfast. I can feel raisins clinging to my molars, and I scrape my tongue against them to release them.

"What if there was something we could do about that?" I say quietly.

"About what? Life?" Emi scoffs. "You can't do anything about that. You can't even practice more. What we need is luck."

"What if we have that?" I meet her black eyes, which stare at me in confusion.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

I inhale a breath, already knowing that what I say won't go over well. Emi tilts her head back to drop a handful of trail mix into her mouth.

"Remember that music collection I bought yesterday?"

Emi's jaw halts mid-chew. She looks like she wants to say something, but can't for obvious reasons. My speech speeds up in hopes that by the time she can talk again, she won't be critical.

"Last night, I stumbled onto this Reddit forum where people were talking about Silverenn hiding clues to her treasure in the viola music she composed. You know, the Silverenn Songs, which I bought yesterday. We literally have her long-lost treasure hunt. And when you read the preface, it really does sound like there may be treasure hidden within the music. Like, it says, 'follow the clues and you won't lose.' That sounds like clues to me. And each line sounds like a clue, like 'Start the song that rings the rhyme. Click the clock to find the time.' And another one: 'Increase a groove up to the top. Let it crash into the—"

"Have you gone completely insane?" Emi says. "You don't actually believe a thread on Reddit?"

I finish my last spoonful of cereal. Slimy bits slink down my throat as I formulate my response. "I don't see the harm in believing it. We don't have much to lose."

Emi rolls her eyes. "That's not the point. It's a waste of time, time that could be much better spent."

"Doing what? Practicing for gigs we never have? Orchestras we never get into?"

"It's our job," she grits out.

"In case you didn't notice, we don't really have a job. This could be a real way to get some extra cash."

"What makes you blindly believe such tales? Might I remind you that these are anonymous, random people on Reddit of all places?"

"I'm not blindly believing anything, and you can get some pretty decent information from Reddit sometimes." Emi's jaw gapes, but I forge on. "If you read her preface, it genuinely sounds like a treasure hunt. Why would she write such an intro if it weren't?"

"I don't know. Maybe she just... just... I don't know. She..."

"Do you want to stay broke?"

Emi clamps her mouth shut for a second. Then she tilts her head back, letting almonds and cashews fall into her open jaws.

"Do you want to stay broke forever, Emi?" I repeat. "Because I don't. Following this treasure is a risk, but when have we ever been averse to risks? We're classical musicians for crying out loud, instead of doctors and financial consultants. With any endeavor, there's a chance of failure. But you know what guarantees failure? Not trying at all. There's no harm in poking around the clues to see if there's anything worthwhile. If there isn't, we haven't lost. We'll just learn a little more about the history of this town."

"Through the lens of a criminal," Emi mumbles.

"Look, I'm going to try to figure out the first clue no matter what. Whether it leads somewhere, or doesn't, I don't know, but I'm at least going to try. Now either you're with me, or I get to keep whatever I find all to myself. Don't come crying to me when I've moved into a sparkling mansion and you're still stuck in this dump."

Emi arches her eyebrows. A chuckle escapes her. "A mansion? Really?"

I grin. "It's the first thing that came to mind."

"You should really buy a mouth filter sometime."

"That means spending more money," I tease. Emi just rolls her eyes.

She doesn't respond for a long while. Her eyes are trained on the wooden grains of our table. Finally, she lets out a huge sigh. "I suppose there's no harm in looking at it. Just the first clue, to see if it leads anywhere."

"We'll know pretty quickly if the hunt is real just by searching for the first clue."

Emi lets out a sigh. "Fine. Bring it here, and we'll check it out."

"Great." I stand and start for my room when Emi gasps behind me.

"It's already nine o'clock!" she cries. "I need to get ready for my first lesson today."

Assuming it hasn't been canceled.

"We'll have to look at the music later," she says, racing for her bedroom. "Maybe you should get a head start."

I make it to my room and flop onto my bed. The folder sits beside my pillow, and I turn the first page to read over the preface.

Start the song that rings the rhyme.

Sounds like I need to start looking at a piece that's a poem or song. I flip to the next page. The title 'Sans Conductor' is written at the top in bold letters. The rest of the page is filled with music and accompanying words. I skim the other pages, noting that this is the only one that has lyrics. This must be where I begin. I think over the clue once more.

Start the song that rings the rhyme. Click the clock to find the time.

My brain can't process the second part of the clue, so I decide to focus on the words.

There was a train, silver and blue,
Its coat glimmered like morning dew.
It rode alone where it sped through,
A blur of motion none could view
For a lightning strike was the speed it flew.

I can't believe Silverenn's dramatic opening is a song about trains. It seems like a strange topic, especially when compared to classical music. I'm used to dramatic operas in French, German, and Italian, not such a meager subject matter.

Listen for the train,
Golden bells chime down the rail,
Every day it completes its sail,
Running with the summer gale,
Smoke escapes in every wail,
A never-ending search for the only grail.

That took an ominous turn. The last two lines almost make me feel bad for it. Then I remember that it's talking about a train, and the sentiment fades.

It sings a song in every pass,
Of metal screech and windy brass,
Long it takes to stop the mass,
Look to the left upon the grass,
Does the grail wait below the glass?

Grail—is Silverenn referring to the 'holy grail?' That's the only context I've heard the term used in.

What even is the holy grail? I stretch my arm toward my desk. My fingertips can just barely grasp my rubber phone case, and I nudge it off the table. It thumps to the ground, where I can reach it. I roll onto my back and search up the definition of "grail" in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

Noun: the object of an extended or difficult quest

So the train is searching for something, just like me. How fitting.

Listen for the train,
Golden bells chime down the rail,
Every day it completed its sail,
Even in the fiercest summer gail,
Smoke escapes with every wail,
A never-ending search for the only grail.

There's another verse,

The train goes about unseen,
Travelers wait in the town's Queen,
For none board the chugging machine,
Only the station knows the routine
Of metal coated in a smokescreen.

And another,

With none for caring control
Years take a continual toll,
Paint chips to reveal the soul,
And rust consumes it whole,
The train is rendered null.

And the chorus repeats again. All I can think about is how long the piece is. Perhaps it's a metaphor for my upcoming quest for Silverenn's treasure. I scan the final page of music, grateful that it's almost done.

The train sits in a field somewhere
Away from the station's empty glare,
Neither had continual care,
Both fell into disrepair,
Only one has worth to bear.

Don't exhaust for the train is lost,
But brick rubble still has trouble,
Pass along train's tale,
A never-ending search for the only grail.

If I thought the opening letter was cryptic, this is the Voynich Manuscript. I can't make heads or tails of what the lyrics mean. The writing is way overboard, in content and length, making it too much to digest. Pretty much everything may be a clue. How am I ever going to analyze it?

I suppose I should start with the opening clues and work my way through line by line. But it just feels so monotonous. Practicing feels like a cakewalk compared to deciphering this thing.

Perhaps what I need is a walk. If it can help digest food, maybe it can help digest the poem. I take a picture of the score then set about getting dressed. Hopefully I can figure out something to show Emi. Otherwise, she might not help me. And I already know that I want her by my side throughout this entire experience, even if it means sharing whatever lies in the end.