“Look, let’s not worry about it,” he said. “I’ll figure it out eventually, won’t I? You said it yourself. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. So it will happen when it happens.”
Jia nodded, but still she was frowning. He didn’t like the look on her face at all.
Later, when he was alone, Matt tried to make himself dissolve, just as he had seen Quine do before. He tried to focus on his body, produce that feeling when he was having a seizure. He always thought of it as a fuzzy feeling, but also jarring, like he was being tossed around a room, hitting walls. Maybe that was his brain fighting it. If he could relax himself into it, maybe he could make himself disassemble the way Quine did.
Come on, he told himself. Break apart!
He felt nothing, except maybe a bit silly for trying to make himself disappear with nothing but the power of his mind. He was smart. He’d even concede he was a genius, but he wasn’t a freaking superhero in a comic book.
Comic books . . . someone he knew once really liked comic books. . . . Matt felt a tug somewhere in his chest, and a small voice in the back of his head saying, Don’t let go!
But it was getting harder to hold on. (Hold on to what?) Throughout that day and into the next, the fog in Matt’s brain only thickened. His memories continued to unravel. Some memories remained sharp and clear, like his favorite ice cream flavor (mint chip), the periodic table, and the first time he met Jia on the Vermillion. But other things were in a shadowy haze. More and more of the threads of his memory seemed to be disintegrating, along with the bits of time tapestries he kept with him at all times. He couldn’t remember exactly where they’d come from, but when he held them in his hand he felt the fog lift ever so slightly, and he remembered that he had a brother and sister. (Or was it two brothers or two sisters? And what were their names? Connie and Ruben? Rudy and Casey?)
The morning after his mother had left (Was she really his mother? Why did she leave him?), Jia brought up Alfred Nobel again.
“Why don’t you just read about him,” Jia said, handing him Pike’s book. “Maybe something will spark your memory. Or your forememory.”
So Matt read, more to appease Jia than anything else. Nobel was a brilliant student, quiet and serious. He spoke five languages. In his younger years he’d wanted to be a writer, a poet, but his father had demanded that he be practical and focus on academics. After many years of hard study and work, he had success in creating an explosive with nitroglycerin, a substance ten times the power of gunpowder. Unfortunately, in the fall of 1864 an accident with the nitroglycerin in his lab resulted in five deaths, including his younger brother, Emil Nobel. Devastated by his brother’s death, Alfred Nobel became a recluse. Few people saw or heard from him for several years, but in 1867, Alfred succeeded in the invention of a very powerful and more stable explosive, dynamite, which would make him very rich, but also heavily criticized. A French newspaper, mistakenly reporting Nobel’s death, printed “Le marchand de la mort est mort.” The merchant of death is dead. Nobel was reportedly horrified that this was how he would be memorialized. Most believe this is the reason why he left most of his large fortune to create the Nobel Prizes that would honor those who made significant advancements and contributions in physics, chemistry, medicine, literature, and peace.
Matt had to admit, after reading about Nobel, he felt a certain kinship to him and saw many similarities between them. They both spoke five languages, they were both scientists and inventors, and they both had invented something incredibly powerful that had changed the world—sometimes in tragic ways. Nobel had lost his brother. Matt couldn’t fully remember but he had the dim sense that he’d also lost a brother at some time or another. Had he been responsible for his death too? Did he really die?
That evening, after Jia and Matt had eaten dinner, Jia challenged Matt to a game of chess. Jia said it might help if they tried to take their minds off of things. Matt was thinking that was the exact opposite of what he needed, seeing as he couldn’t seem to keep his mind on anything, but he didn’t want to say no. He felt he’d done nothing but disappoint Jia ever since they’d come to China, and he hated the look she gave him every time he said something wrong, like that time he said something about Captain Vincent being his father. She reacted as though he’d just declared the devil himself was his father. It seemed a bit of an overreaction in Matt’s mind. Vincent wasn’t so terrible, was he? He’d always been nice to him, hadn’t he? And one day he would inherit the Vermillion and the compass from him. He was his heir. But he certainly wasn’t going to say any of that to Jia.
So here they were, playing chess. It was the Chinese version, which was much like American chess but with different pieces and slightly different rules. Jia explained it all and said he’d get the hang of it after a few games. Matt beat her on the first round in six moves.
“Okay,” frowning a little. “Good job. Beginner’s luck. Go again?”
The next game Matt went a little easier on her and won in eight moves, but she still seemed annoyed. He had a feeling she was used to winning this game. On the next round he let her win, but then Jia guessed he’d let her win, and she was even more annoyed. She said it was an insult to let her win. She insisted they play again and commanded Matt in her most princessy voice to do his very best. So he did, and he beat her in four moves.
Jia just laughed in disbelief. “How are you doing that? Are you cheating now? Did you cheat?”
Matt put up his hands. “No! I promise. The only time I cheated was when I lost on purpose.”
“Okay, what am I missing?” Jia said. “Teach me, genius. What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing wrong. You’re just thinking a little too straightforward. You’re only considering the present play, but chess requires you to think in terms of the whole—not just the present move, but forward and backward and sideways and even sometimes in a circular fashion.”
“Okay, that makes sense, I guess,” Jia said. “Like time travel.”
“What?”
“Time travel. You know, when you can time-travel you don’t just go forward, you can go backward, too, and sometimes sideways. Always when planning a mission, we had to think about that.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Matt leaned over, looking a little closer at the game board and the various pieces. Something about the way Jia compared this to time travel sparked something in him.
“Anything else I’m missing?” Jia asked.
“You need to make sacrifices,” he said, still focused on the board. “You’re too concerned with protecting all your pieces. You have to be willing to make sacrifices in order to win.”
A sacrifice must be made to win this game . . .
“Matt?” Jia asked. “Are you okay?”
Matt felt something shift inside of him and click into place.
“I’ve been thinking about everything all wrong,” he muttered. He’d only been thinking about going forward, how to move in a chronological way. But he was not in a forward-thinking, chronological game. This was an every-direction, all-time game! Forward, backward, sideways, up and down, all around and everything in between. This was time travel. This was eternity.
“Matt?” Jia repeated. “Are you feeling all right? You look a bit . . . fuzzy.”
He looked down at his hands. Indeed, they looked blurry, out of focus.
The front door opened. A servant hurried into the room, bowed to Jia, and handed her a message.
Jia opened it and frowned as she read.
“What’s wrong?” Matt asked.
“The emperor has asked to see both of us,” Jia said. “Immediately.”
23
The Emperor’s Will
Jia’s heart raced as they moved swiftly to the Hall of Supreme Harmony. There was something about her father’s message that felt off. She wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was their mixed-up surroundings. On their way, they passed a small village of Tudor-style homes, and then a flock of colorful birds she knew were not native to China, and o
f course there was the Eiffel Tower. It stood like some alien creature in the courtyard in front of the Hall of Supreme Harmony.
“Are we in Paris?” Matt asked, looking up at the tall spire.
“No,” Jia said. She could tell Matt’s memories were unraveling even faster than hers.
They mounted the steps to the Hall of Supreme Harmony, and the closer they came to the doors, the harder Jia’s heart pounded. When they arrived at the top, Jia reached in her vest pocket and took out her amulet, the one thing that had kept her connected to her home, her family.
“Matt,” she said, “I need you to take this.” She pressed the amulet in his hand. “You need to make sure to rescue my younger self, take me to the Vermillion, and give that to me. You can’t forget.”
Matt stared down at the amulet, then frowned at her. “Why? What’s going to happen to you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. But something was wrong. She could feel it. “You can’t forget,” she said again. “Promise?”
Matt nodded. “I promise.”
The guards opened the doors and ushered them through.
Jia approached slowly, trying to compose herself. She was in her tool vest and pants still. She should have changed before she came, but it was too late now.
Her father was sitting on his throne, but as she drew closer, she saw that it wasn’t the Kangxi emperor on the throne at all. It was Yinreng.
“Sister,” Yinreng said, a sly smile on his lips.
“Yinreng,” she said. “What are you doing? Where is Father?”
“He’s gone,” he said.
“Gone where?” Matt asked.
“Nobody knows. He has disappeared, along with many others.”
Jia glanced at Matt. What could that mean? Had he been displaced in time? Had Captain Vincent erased his existence? No, that couldn’t be, because if her father didn’t exist then she wouldn’t exist, or Yinreng.
“So you’ve gone ahead and made yourself emperor?” Jia said. “It is treason to act in the name of the emperor without his blessing, without knowing for sure what has happened to him.”
Yinreng only smiled at her. “Did you know,” he said, “that the emperor has a box, locked and hidden away, containing the name of his heir? It is only to be opened upon the emperor’s death, to name his successor.”
Jia had heard of this. It was meant to ensure that his will was carried out after his death, that his successor was named without any confusion or contention.
“Well?” Jia said. “Is it not your own name inside the box? Everyone knows you are the crown prince, heir to the throne.”
“I should be,” Yinreng said, his lips curling with derision. “But the emperor has been strange since you showed up. He speaks of you a great deal. ‘Is not Quejing intelligent?’ he says. ‘Doesn’t she seem like a strong, fair-minded woman?’”
Jia could not understand why these compliments would anger her brother so much. What was it to him if their father thought her intelligent? Yinreng was his heir, unless . . .
“You think the emperor changed his mind,” Matt said. “That he’s going to name Quejing as heir, not you?”
Jia’s heart began to pound. Surely the emperor wouldn’t name her as his heir!
“It’s preposterous,” Yinreng said. “A woman cannot rule China. But yesterday, before the emperor went missing, I heard him ask one of his advisers to bring him the box.”
“And?” Matt said. “Did you open it?”
“I can’t,” Yinreng said. “It is in the possession of Father’s advisers. Only they can open it, but I’ve asked them to wait.”
“Wait for what?” Jia said.
“I want to make certain assurances first. You’ve made the emperor believe you’re truly his daughter, somehow traveled back to him from the future.”
“I am his daughter,” Jia said. “You know I am.”
“Maybe,” Yinreng said, “but I couldn’t help but wonder, what would happen if the young Quejing were to tragically die? What would happen to you?”
Jia’s blood ran cold. She felt Matt grip her arm.
“You can’t do that,” Matt said.
“Can’t I?” Yinreng said. “No one would miss her. No one cares about her.”
Jia began to quake. This was true. With the death of her mother she had largely been forgotten, and there was no one in the Forbidden City who truly cared for her. No one who loved her. She needed to run. She needed to find her younger self, tell her to flee. But the instant she took a step, Yinreng made a signal and the guards standing on either side of them suddenly seized both Matt and her, yanking them apart.
“Bring me Princess Quejing, the younger one,” Yinreng told one of the guards. “She’s usually skulking around in the carpenter’s quarters or the blacksmith.”
The guard bowed to Yinreng and left.
“Jia!” Matt called. “Stop! Let me go!” He fought with the guards, his face wild with rage. One of the guards hit him across the face. Still, he fought. He twisted and kicked and pulled.
Jia could see him starting to shake, to flicker.
“Matt!” she called as she was dragged away. “You have to get to me, to my younger self! You’re supposed to take me to the Vermillion! You have to travel, Matt! Don’t fight it! Let yourself go! Fall apart!”
“Jia!” Matt shouted, but she was dragged away until she couldn’t see or hear him anymore.
She was locked inside a dark room with nothing but cold stone walls. She didn’t cry or scream. She knew those things would not help her. But what could? What could she do? Nothing, she realized. All she could do was wait and see. Either Matt would succeed—he would find her and save her life—or Yinreng would kill her.
Jia slid against the stone wall and sat on the floor. What had happened to her father? Where had he gone?
She was not sure how long she waited, if it was minutes or hours. She lost sense of time.
Her legs began to tingle. At first she thought it was just the sensation of her limbs falling asleep from being in her cramped position, but no matter how she moved, the tingling continued and intensified. It moved all the way up her body, to her arms and fingertips, even to her head. She felt like she was being pricked all over by a million needles. Was she dying? Disappearing? Had Yinreng killed her younger self? Was this the end of it all?
She started to have trouble breathing, and then she was hyperventilating. She felt like all the air was being sucked out of the room. She must be dying now. She rocked back and forth on the floor.
This was it. Matt had failed, and Yinreng had killed her younger self. Her existence was about to end. It’s all right, it’s okay, she told herself. Maybe this was the way it had to be in order to get Matt to do what needed to be done, to fix the lock, to save his family and the world. Like her father said, sacrifices needed to be made.
24
Falling Apart
“Jia!” Matt screamed. “Stop! Let me go!” He wrestled against the guards holding him. One of them struck him across the face, but the pain barely registered. He kept fighting. All he cared about was Jia. He couldn’t lose her. She was all he had now, but she was being dragged away, and he couldn’t get to her.
“Matt!” she called. She was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t hear above all the noise of the guards and his own spitting rage. “You have to get to me . . . don’t fight it . . . fall apart!”
“Jia!” Matt screamed, but she was dragged out of sight, and he couldn’t hear her anymore. He jerked his body, tried to kick one of the guards. They both yanked his arms so hard he was certain they dislocated both of his shoulders.
Matt began to tremble, his limbs twitching and jerking. Spots formed in the corners of his eyes. He was having a seizure. His head was suddenly filled with a strange buzzing. He was about to black out, but then he remembered what Jia had said.
What if your seizures aren’t really seizures? What if you could learn to control it?
He remembered the epip
hany he had, when he and Jia had been playing chess. This wasn’t a forward-thinking game. It was forward and backward and sideways. He needed to go in all directions. He couldn’t fight the seizure. He had to give into it. He had to let himself fall apart.
Matt released himself. His thoughts moved faster than light speed, a million miles a minute, and it wasn’t just his brain that was thinking. It was all of him. Every cell, every atom, was coming alive, realizing its own individual energy and power, yet still connected to the whole.
“What’s happening?” one of the guards said. “What is he doing?”
His hands felt tingly, like they were falling asleep. He held them up to his face. They were blurry. He focused on them and his fingers dissolved, disappeared, and then slowly came back together. Matt felt the connection in his brain. He could feel those individual cells separate, yet still communicate with each other. It didn’t hurt. It sort of tickled, and it took a great deal of concentration just to make his hands disappear, but once he did that the rest seemed to naturally come together, or apart, rather.
“Hold him!” Yinreng commanded.
“I can’t!” the guard said. “He’s . . . he’s melting!”
Matt dissolved right through the hands of the guards, slipping from their grip like fine sand.
“Where did he go?” said a voice. It sounded like it was coming through a tunnel. He could see the person, too, though it was like looking through a giant kaleidoscope, thousands of the same image in changing patterns, so it took him a moment to recognize who he was seeing. It was Yinreng. He was turning all around, looking like a boy lost in outer space.
“He just disappeared!” one of the guards said. “He turned to dust!”
Matt was dust. He was nothing, and yet he still existed. He was still alive and himself. He felt all his cells spread out around the room. It was a strange feeling, like swimming with a giant school of fish. Separate, but together. Wild and free, and yet instinctually ordered.
Time, too, was different. It felt different, and in this state he could see his own time tapestry spread out before him like an intricate web. There were holes in it, missing threads, but he found he could travel along as though being pulled in a current.
The Forbidden Lock Page 24