The Door at the End of the World

by Caroline Carlson

  I did remember the snow we’d bumped into earlier that morning, but it had hardly counted; it had only lasted a few minutes. “That was an awfully feeble storm for the end of the world,” I said. “We usually get blizzards. The Gatekeeper told me she once had to dig her onions out from under eight feet of snow.”

  Arthur shrugged. “Maybe your end of the world is different.”

  “Maybe,” I said. But I didn’t think it was. “Have you lost anything in the past few minutes? Spare change? Socks?”

  We both checked our pockets, and I dug around in my rucksack. I couldn’t remember everything I’d tossed inside, but I thought I might be missing a glove, and Arthur said his wallet felt suspiciously light. “That’s a good sign, at least,” I said.

  “You and I,” said Arthur, “seem to have different ideas about what’s good.”

  Before I could explain that things at the end of the world were supposed to go missing, the bees came back. They were frantic. They swarmed around me in a panicky cloud, and it seemed like ages before they’d collected themselves enough to fly into formation. TROUBLE! they said at last. HURRY HURRY HURRY!

  I took off for the house, and Arthur ran after me. When I got to the front door, I knocked—it was hard to break a habit—but then I pulled myself together and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.

  Stepping through the doorway felt, for a moment, like arriving home. Although the furnishings were different, Florence’s house was laid out identically to the Gatekeeper’s: there was the same front room with its fireplace and wide windows, the same coat closet under the stairs, the same hallway leading to what I felt sure was a kitchen.

  Then I noticed the mess. It was more than normal untidiness—dirt tracked in from the garden, say, or laundry escaping its basket. Pink customs declarations, green returnee reports, and blue applications for otherworld travel were scattered across the room. The rug they’d fallen on was scrunched up in places, paintings hung crookedly on their hooks, and chairs were overturned. As I stepped inside, bits and pieces of something that might have once been a drinking glass made a crunching noise under my shoes.

  “There’s been a fight,” Arthur said at once.

  “Or a cyclone,” I murmured. But even at the end of the world, bad weather never came inside the house. The bees were right: this was trouble. “Florence?” I called. “Anyone? Hello?”

  There was another crunching noise, deeper inside the house this time. Then a girl came down the stairs. She had brown curls tied up in a blue bandanna, and she looked about thirteen, not any older than me. She moved carefully, as if she were worried the floorboards might slip out from under her at any moment. When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she stopped and stared at us, taking us in: the rumpled clothes I’d been wearing for three days now, Arthur’s uncombed hair, the rucksack, the sandwich crumbs, the bees.

  “Who are you?” she asked

  It was a reasonable question. “We’re from the other end of the world,” I told her. “I’m Lucy, and this is Arthur. I’m the Gatekeeper’s deputy.” I skipped over explaining who Arthur was, hoping the girl wouldn’t think to ask.

  The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Are you really? I’ve been to that end of the world a few times, but I don’t remember meeting anyone named Lucy. I do remember a plant, though. A fern, I think, in a big blue pot?”

  “Well,” I said, trying not to clench my teeth, “I sit next to the fern. And I only started working there last year. Are you Florence’s deputy?” If the Gatekeeper had ever mentioned her name to me, I couldn’t think of it, so I guessed we were even. “Where’s Florence? Is she all right?”

  The girl hesitated. “I wish I knew,” she said finally. “I’ve checked every room, but I can’t find her. If Florence is anywhere at all, it isn’t here.” She sat down on the bottom stair step. “I think something awful has happened.”

  The girl’s name turned out to be Rosemary, and she was as confused as we were. “I wasn’t here for any of this,” she said, waving her arms at the mess around us. “I was visiting my pa this week—he lives down in Centerbury—and I only got here half an hour ago.”

  “Maybe Florence just stepped out for a minute or two,” Arthur said hopefully. “To the market!”

  Rosemary and I both shook our heads. The nearest market—the nearest anything—was hours away. A gatekeeper would never leave for that long without warning, especially if her deputy was out. Besides, it didn’t explain the mess. And Rosemary was upset about something else, too. “It’s not just that Florence is missing,” she said. “It’s the door between the worlds. It’s stuck.”

  I dropped my bag on the floor. My heartbeat started thumping in my ears, and I could feel my face flushing with worry. What was going on? What were the chances that the doors at both ends of the world would stick shut in the same week? Or that both gatekeepers would go missing? “We’ve got to see that door right away,” I told Rosemary. “Where is it? Outside?”

  Rosemary shook her head. “Upstairs. Here, I’ll show you.”

  The door that led to South was built right into the side of the gatehouse, at the end of a short, dim hallway, and closed with a heavy padlock. “The lock’s open,” said Rosemary, twisting it to show us. “It was lying on the floor when I got here, actually. I hung it back up.”

  Gatekeepers aren’t the type to leave their locks lying around if they can help it. “And only Florence has the key?” I asked.

  “I think so,” said Rosemary. “I hope so. But the lock doesn’t make a difference one way or another, anyway, because the whole door’s jammed shut.”

  She was right. I tugged on the knob myself, and then Arthur tugged, and then we both tugged together. Nothing happened.

  Behind us, the bees were moving quickly. THIS IS BAD, they said. TERRIBLE. INAUSPICIOUS. CALAMITOUS. DIRE. CATACLYSMIC. They must have been panicking; I’d never seen them use so many synonyms before. And I didn’t feel much calmer.

  “This can’t be a coincidence,” I said to Arthur. “One broken door might have been an accident, but two—”

  “Hold on.” Rosemary pushed her way between us. “What do you mean, two?”

  “The door to East is stuck shut,” I told her. “It happened three days ago, and the Gatekeeper is trapped on the other side of it. We thought it was our fault. That’s why we came here, actually—to ask Florence for help.”

  “Are you serious? That is cataclysmic.”

  Arthur had gotten down on his hands and knees to peer under the door. “I can’t see Florence,” he announced. “Actually, to be honest, I can’t see anything at all.”

  Rosemary blinked at him. “You think Florence went through the door?”

  “If she did,” I said, “I don’t think it was her choice. She wouldn’t have left this house while her deputy was away, would she? If she’s anything like the Gatekeeper is, you’d have to drag her out kicking and screaming.”

  Arthur sat back on his heels. “That would explain the mess downstairs.”

  “I can’t believe it,” said Rosemary. She looked from me to Arthur to the bees, as though one of us had played a prank on her and she couldn’t decide who’d done it. “You do realize this sounds crazy, don’t you? You think someone lured your Gatekeeper into another world, sealed the door somehow, came around to this end of the world, got in a fight with this gatekeeper, dragged her off somewhere, and sealed this door, too?”

  It hadn’t sunk in until Rosemary said it, but that was exactly what I thought. Both doors wouldn’t have broken at once unless someone had made sure it happened like that, and they’d wanted the gatekeepers out of the way while they did it. No wonder the bees were upset.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” I said, “not exactly, at least. But I think we need to get help. Professional help.”

  Rosemary winced, and Arthur looked worried. I didn’t blame them; the last thing in the worlds I wanted to do was to bring awful news to the Interworld Travel Commission, and I’d come a
ll the way out to Florence’s house to avoid it. But the situation had changed. As far as I could tell, our world was sealed off from both its neighbors, both gatekeepers were missing, and none of it seemed like an accident. There was no way around it: Interworld Travel had to be told, and as the Gatekeeper’s deputy, it was my job to tell them. It was Rosemary’s job, too, even though she didn’t look very happy about it. And we couldn’t exactly leave Arthur behind. “We’ll all go to Interworld Travel together,” I told them. “We’ll explain everything to them. The sooner they hear about what’s going on, the sooner they can do something about it.”

  Rosemary didn’t look as though she agreed, but she nodded and went to get her bag. Arthur and I walked back to the car to wait. “I don’t mean to be selfish,” Arthur said once we’d gotten there, “but won’t the people at Interworld Travel know I’m not supposed to be here?” He looked nervously back toward the gatehouse, as if he thought Rosemary might be able to hear him. “I’d really prefer not to be arrested.”

  I preferred that, too. “We’ll go to see my brother, Thomas,” I said. “He’ll listen to us, and he won’t get us in trouble.” At least, I hoped he wouldn’t. There were a few perks to being an Eberslee, and I was counting on that being one of them. “Anyway, we’re doing a good deed. No one will want to punish us for it.”

  Arthur stretched his arms over his head and looked up toward the sky. “If that’s true,” he said, “then your world and mine are much more different than I’d thought.”

  6

  No one ever asks for directions to the Interworld Travel building. That’s because no one has to. It’s impossible to miss: it’s built all of glass and stands eight stories high in the heart of Centerbury, connected by a footbridge to the golden-domed House of Governors. At night, the Interworld Travel building glows with electric light, and during the daytime it buzzes with business as diplomats, explorers, scientists, cartographers, and government officials all make their way through the glass hallways. There’s no sign at the entrance, just the Interworld Travel Commission’s logo etched onto the glass panels of the revolving door: eight circles linked together by lines, representing the eight connected worlds. That same logo is printed on every pink customs declaration, green returnee report, and blue application for otherworld travel, but I’d never been so glad to see it before. “We’re here,” I said. “This is the place.”

  “Thank goodness for that!” said Rosemary.

  We hadn’t had the easiest trip down the mountain. Neither Arthur nor Rosemary had been in much of a mood to chat, and the bees kept spelling out words like UNFORTUNATE and GRIM until Rosemary finally snapped that she’d gotten the point, thanks very much, and they buzzed away in a huff. To make matters worse, we didn’t get anywhere near as lost as we should have, and the weather near the world’s end stayed stubbornly normal: a blue sky brushed with clouds, a warm breeze, and only the slightest hint of thunder. Even the forest flowers were blooming in season. All this was worrying enough to dampen the spirits of even the most optimistic deputy gatekeeper, so I was hardly surprised when our car let out a long, exhausted wheeze and slowed to a halt just outside the city limits. Arthur asked Rosemary and me if we had any automobile fuel handy, but we didn’t, of course, so we gathered up our luggage, left the car by the roadside, and walked the final mile into Centerbury.

  The bees, naturally, had reached Interworld Travel first. They hovered by the entrance, saying HELLO and HOW DO YOU DO? to everyone who walked by (but pointedly ignoring Rosemary). A few people stared at them, but twice as many people were staring at the three of us: we were all covered in a fine layer of road dust, my rucksack was practically bursting open, the scarf Rosemary had tied over her curls was slipping down her forehead, and Arthur was staring up at the Interworld Travel building with his mouth open wide, as though he’d never seen anything quite like it. None of us looked much like we belonged in the stream of starched and dignified businesspeople flowing through the revolving door, but we joined them anyway.

  I waited until Rosemary was a few steps ahead of us before nudging Arthur with my elbow. “This is the world headquarters for Southeast’s Interworld Travel Commission,” I told him quietly. I didn’t want him blurting out questions and letting the entire building know he was a helpless Easterner traveling illegally; even Rosemary didn’t know that yet. “Each world has its own commission; they all talk to one another, but they’re independent. And I’m not sure any other world has a building as grand as this.”

  The lobby was vast and open, with high ceilings, glass-paneled walls, and a marble floor that made your footsteps echo as you walked over it. Travel officers in white button-down shirts and smart red ties stood behind a glass counter under a sign that said Information, and long hallways radiated out like tentacles, as if the building itself was trying to reach every world we knew about and several more we didn’t. Above it all, a huge glass sculpture of the worlds floated in midair: eight swirling, multicolored spheres joined into an octagon by thin lines of light. All three of us stared up at it.

  “That,” said Arthur, “is remarkable.”

  “It was a gift from South,” I told him. “All those spheres are held up by magic.” I’d seen the sculpture myself a few times before, but I still couldn’t quite believe there weren’t any hidden bolts or wires.

  “Look, though.” Rosemary pointed at the gold-and-green sphere closest to us, the one that represented Southeast. “Those two connections are out.”

  I squinted up. It was tricky to make out in the morning sun, but Rosemary was right: the lines of light that should have connected Southeast to East on one side and South on the other had both gone dim. None of the people bustling under the sculpture seemed to have noticed, though, or if they had, they weren’t concerned. “It might be a coincidence,” I said.

  “If you believe that,” said Rosemary sharply, “you’re twice as foolish as I thought you were.”

  My face went hot. “I’m not foolish.”

  Rosemary raised an eyebrow at me. Then she pushed her bandanna back over her curls. “Do you think they’ve got a washroom here? I’m going to go and find one.”

  Arthur and I watched her go. “I’m not sure I like her,” Arthur said quietly once she was out of sight. “She’s a little . . .”

  RUDE! said the bees.

  Arthur nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. I would have liked to march after Rosemary myself and ask her exactly how foolish she’d thought I’d been, but it wouldn’t have been professional, and anyway, her bad opinion was the least of my problems. “Let’s go and find Thomas.”

  We walked across the lobby to the information desk, where one of the bored-looking travel officers waved us over. According to the pin on her shirt pocket, her name was JEANNE. I smiled at JEANNE and cleared my throat, trying to sound firm and important. “I’m Lucy Eberslee,” I said, “the deputy at the Eastern end of the world, and I’m here to see my brother, Thomas Eberslee. Can you tell me where to find him? It’s extremely urgent.”

  Urgent or not, JEANNE didn’t seem to care. She took her time studying us—me, Arthur, and the bees—as if she weren’t entirely sure whether to call security. “Do you have an appointment?” she asked at last.

  “Well, no,” I said, “but—”

  “All visitors need to have an appointment.”

  “But it’s an emergency!”

  JEANNE gave me a thin, bland smile. “I’m sure it is.”

  This was too much for Arthur to take. “She’s his sister,” he said. “And we’ve got magical bees.” He pointed up at them. LET US IN! they said, before hastily rearranging themselves to spell PLEASE.

  “I can see that, sir,” said JEANNE. She didn’t exactly sound impressed. “Bees or no bees, however, you’ll have to make an appointment first. I’m not permitted to break the rules—not even for sisters.”

  This was so nearly what I might have said myself to an exasperating explorer at the end of the wo
rld that I almost laughed. “Rules are very important,” I told her. “I love them; I swear I do. And I promise I’ll make an appointment next time. I’ll make fifty appointments if you’d like, but right now, we can’t afford to wait. The doors at both ends of the world are broken, no one can travel in or out, both gatekeepers are missing, they might be in awful danger, and we think it’s all been done on purpose, so unless you’d like to create even more of a crisis, you’d better let me see my brother immediately.”

  I must have sounded even more firm and important than I’d hoped, because JEANNE took a few steps back and stared at me. She didn’t look at all bored anymore. “Are you serious?” she whispered.

  “Utterly,” I said.

  She tried to smile blandly again, but it didn’t quite work. “Please wait here, Miss Eberslee,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  JEANNE wasn’t gone long. “Excuse me, Miss Eberslee?” she said, coming back to the information desk a little out of breath. “Your brother is here. He’ll see you now—both of you. And those bees, I suppose.” She pointed down one of the hallways, where Thomas stood waiting in a crisp gray suit and polished shoes.

  I looked around for Rosemary, but she hadn’t come back yet, and I didn’t particularly want to go and find her. “If you see a girl with curly hair come out of the washroom,” I asked JEANNE, “could you tell her where we’ve gone?”

  JEANNE said she would, and we walked down the hall toward Thomas. He was shifting back and forth from one foot to the other, as though he were almost too busy to stand still, but he still managed to give me a smile and a quick hug.

  “Hello, little Goose,” he said. “It’s good to see you. Is this a friend of yours?”

  I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure friend was quite the right word for it. “This is Arthur,” I said.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Thomas. He sounded distracted, though; his shoulders were tense, and he barely even glanced at the bees. THE PLEASURE IS OURS, they said. I couldn’t help wondering if they were being sarcastic.