The two of them stood on the ledge looking at the door as if staring at it would solve the problem. And in fact, it did give Ruthie an idea.
“I’ll have to get big again. You wait up here,” she said, then dropped the key and jumped to the floor as she grew—like she had done before she killed the cockroach. Then she got down on her hands and knees in front of the door. Ruthie saw space between the bottom of the door and where the carpeted floor started. She wiggled her index finger in the space.
“I think we can squeeze under the door when we’re small. Then we can just go under the other door and get to that part of the corridor. It’s only about four feet. We can go along the baseboards. I bet we’ll be too small to be picked up by the motion detectors.”
“Let’s do it,” Jack’s small voice said to her from the ledge. She lifted him down—that was a first for both of them. He tried to stay standing but found it too difficult. “Whoa,” he said as he fell into the palm of her giant hand.
“One more thing,” she said to the five-inch Jack. “I’ll get my cell phone. I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave this corridor without it.” She ran down to where they had piled their backpacks and grabbed her phone.
With her cell phone now securely in her pocket, she shrank again to fit under the door with Jack. The loops of carpet were large, soft lumps that gave way for them as though they were doing an army crawl through unmowed grass. It was a tight squeeze but they were able to just make it under the door.
“Piece of cake! I wish we’d known we could fit under. I never would’ve had to borrow Mr. Bell’s key,” Jack said.
“Yeah, but we didn’t know you could shrink before,” Ruthie reminded him.
Once on the other side, it was a bit of a challenge to run through the carpeting. Like beginning ice skaters staying along the edge of the rink for stability, they managed by hugging the baseboard as they went. A yucky-looking dust bunny in front of them was as large as a beanbag chair. Ruthie didn’t want to get too close to that. They arrived at the other access door and crouched down to go under.
“Wow,” Jack said. “This is a much tighter squeeze than the other door.”
“Sure is,” Ruthie agreed, but she was nevertheless able to flatten herself to go under. She looked around at their new surroundings; this was almost identical to the first corridor, only much shorter. High above them they could see the installations of rooms E5 and E4; the first three rooms would be just around the corner.
“Not again,” Ruthie said in her most exasperated voice.
“What … oh,” Jack replied, as he came to the same realization. They were five inches tall; there didn’t seem to be any boxes of books or useful stuff for building a stairway in this corridor. But Jack thought up a solution right away. He pulled a small wad of nylon cord out of one of the many pockets of his cargo pants. What doesn’t he carry in those pockets? Ruthie wondered. As he pulled on the cord to show how it stretched, he looked at her as if she should understand what he had in mind.
“So?”
“You get big and put me up there on the ledge. There’s got to be a nail or something to hang this cord from. Then you hold on to the cord right at the level of the ledge while you shrink. I bet you’ll end up exactly at the right place.”
“You really think that would work?” she said hesitantly.
“Well, you’ll have to hold on real tight,” he warned, then added, “But you’ll only have to hang on for a few seconds. It’ll be easy. I’ll spot you.”
Ruthie wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t have a better idea. She dropped the key, went to full size and placed the tiny Jack, string and all, on the ledge behind room E1.
“Okay, now look for something to secure this to,” he said, handing the wad to her. It was like fishing line in her hand.
“Right here,” she said, immediately finding a screw, just above the back frame of the room, that wasn’t flush with the wall. She looped the tiny piece of cord around the screw gently so that she didn’t break it. It hung down to about an inch above the ledge.
“Perfect,” Jack said. “Now hold the end while you pick up the key.”
He made it sound so easy. Ruthie was about to bend down and pick up the key when she had a thought: she wondered if her cell phone would work when it was small. Maybe it wouldn’t operate in a shrunken state—they had never tested it—and she didn’t want to find out the hard way. She decided to take it out of her pocket and leave it full size on the ledge.
Ruthie grabbed the string with her right hand. Then she bent down to reach the key on the floor and immediately felt the shrinking begin. This was the oddest and most hair-raising sensation yet—feeling herself being pulled up, up, up as she got smaller, and feeling the tension on the string, which stretched until it almost snapped under her initial weight. She felt like something that had just been shot by a rubber band. Jack, standing on the ledge, grabbed her and pulled her in and away from the edge.
“I’m not going to do that again!” Ruthie stated when her feet were firmly planted on the ledge. She brushed her hair off her face.
“But it worked!”
“Yeah, but it felt like backward bungee jumping!”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Ruthie just looked at him. “Let’s get to room E1,” she said as she walked toward the entrance of the room.
“Hey! Perfect!” Jack exclaimed suddenly.
Ruthie stopped and turned to look at him.
“It’s just what we need to test your theory!” Jack said, reaching down to pick something up. A screw had been left on the ledge, shoved off to one side. It was as big as Jack’s arm.
“It looks fake, doesn’t it?” Ruthie observed.
“It looks cool,” Jack proclaimed, holding it. “Let’s see what’s gonna happen!” He marched forward into the room like a knight holding a lance.
Entering the room from the back, they barely took notice of the room itself; their eyes were glued to the oversized object in Jack’s arms. They stood still for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen.
“The arrows vanished in seconds, Jack,” Ruthie said. “Nothing’s happening.”
“Maybe if you hold it …,” Jack suggested, and passed the screw to her. Again they waited.
“Well, I think that tells us we’re not safe from cockroaches in here,” Ruthie stated.
“I guess you were right: stuff from now can exist in the rooms, but stuff from the past can’t.”
“And things only shrink when they’re touching someone who is doing the shrinking.”
“So,” Jack continued with this line of logic, “that pencil must’ve shrunk with someone!”
“Exactly! I wonder who could’ve done that.” Ruthie pondered the idea. Was the key the only connection to the magic? She had so many questions and the only way to find answers was to search for clues in the rooms. “Let’s look around,” she added, putting the heavy screw down and finally observing the magnificent space.
Ruthie stood still for a moment to take it all in. The ceiling alone was like nothing she had ever seen before; it looked like carved lace. Elaborately detailed woodwork went halfway up the walls. In the back of the room was a tall wooden screen with carvings of battle scenes. A big stone fireplace was guarded by two complete sets of armor, and a statue of a sleeping dog lay on a fur rug in front of it.
“Hey, Jack—there’s the armor you’re so interested in.”
“Cool … too bad this dog isn’t real!” Jack stood in front of the suits of armor, examining them up close. They looked exactly like the real ones upstairs in the museum, and each had a tall spear, one of which Jack immediately grabbed hold of. He felt its impressive weight and looked at how the parts of the suit were made—they all came apart easily. He took the “hand” off one of them and tried it on, like a glove. He held it up, looking very satisfied.
“I bet I could get this whole thing on me. I’ve always wanted to try!” He didn’t wait for a response from Ruthie;
he had already unhinged the arm piece all the way up to the shoulder.
“Just make sure you can put it all back together, Jack,” Ruthie warned. Jack took the suit of armor apart and laid the pieces on the floor in front of him.
Ruthie looked around the room for clues, anything that might shed some light on how and why this magic worked. First she opened the heavy doors of a cabinet to the right of the fireplace; it was empty. Then she looked at the wall carvings to see if they told a useful story. She found a book lying on the long table in the middle of the room. Since this was an English room, there was no need to translate, although the handwriting was very hard to read. She was surprised to discover that it was a book about travel to Italy. Imagine—guidebooks in the sixteenth century! Her mother would love that. Another book sat on a little carved wood table. Ruthie opened it—it turned out to be a prayer book.
Next she turned to the window side of the room. The windows themselves were impressive enough, running nearly floor to ceiling, with small diamond-shaped panes. The view was lush and green; a few bushes grew just under the window and a lone tree stood in front of a low wall. Beyond that she saw a long expanse of gently rolling hills under sunny skies.
Then to her left she noticed something that made her catch her breath. Next to a beautiful silver candlestick on top of a tall table lay a locked leather-bound book. The table itself was finely carved, but what made her heart skip a beat was the design on the cover of the book. Embossed in gold was the same design as on the end of the key, a large C and M entwined in leaves. She reached into her pocket for the key to make sure, but something stopped her. Was she imagining it or did she actually feel warmth in her pocket coming from the key? Also, she felt an odd, hard-to-describe sensation while standing in front of this book. She had the feeling that if she touched the key now, something important might happen. She had to keep her wits about her no matter how excited she was.
“Jack! Look! I think I’ve found something.” She turned to see that both of his arms and his head were clad in metal. He lifted the visor on the helmet and smiled.
“What’d you find?” he asked.
“Come here and look!” She motioned for him to hurry.
Jack lumbered over to where she was standing. In less than a second he recognized the decoration on the book as the same design on the key.
“I need you to reach in my pocket for the key. I don’t think I should touch it. There’s something happening to it—it feels kinda warm and I don’t want to risk anything. Take those gloves off.”
Jack tried clumsily to take off one of the metal gloves with his other hand, which was still covered. “You’re gonna have to help me out here.”
“How did you get them on in the first place without help?” she asked impatiently.
“Talent,” he answered with a grin.
Ruthie ungloved his hand. First Jack lifted the helmet off his head and then he retrieved the key from her pocket.
“Funny, it doesn’t feel warm to me at all,” he observed. He held the key next to the book. “It looks brighter, doesn’t it?” The two of them hovered over the objects, knowing without a doubt that something important was happening. He slipped the key into the lock; it turned so effortlessly, it was as if the lock were unlocking itself.
Ruthie put a hand on the book to open it. She immediately pulled it back, feeling intense heat as her fingers made contact with the leather. They looked at each other.
“Touch it again,” Jack said.
Ruthie placed her fingertips lightly on the book and left them there this time.
“Well?” Jack asked.
“It’s getting hot under my fingertips.” Ruthie waited a few more seconds. “But it’s not spreading. It’s just where my fingers are in contact with the book. I think it’s okay.”
“Open it,” Jack said eagerly.
Even someone who knew nothing of the magic powers of the key would understand instantly that there was something special about this book. As Ruthie opened it a glow came off the pages and filled the air around the book, shining up onto their faces, making them feel warm.
“Do you hear something?” Ruthie asked.
“Yeah … what’s that sound?” Jack responded.
“I don’t know—I can’t tell where it’s coming from.” To Ruthie it sounded like far-off wind chimes blowing in a breeze, but slightly higher-pitched than that. A tinkling, glittering sound—like how she imagined stardust would sound if there were such a thing. And it seemed to be coming from everywhere. “It’s a beautiful sound, isn’t it?”
“Sounds like magic, for sure,” Jack said.
Like all the other texts she’d seen so far in the rooms, this one had been handwritten by someone with great skill. All the margins had detailed illustrations of plants and animals in fabulous colors, with lots of gold and silver throughout. Jack whistled in awe.
“Wow!” he said. “This handwriting is so fancy; it is English, isn’t it?”
“I think so. Is that a date?” Ruthie said, pointing to a heading at the top of the page.
“With all these curlicues I can’t read it,” Jack said, tilting his head as if that would help.
“Look right here,” Ruthie said, pointing to the first few words on the page. “I think it says ‘Gentle reader.’ That must be like ‘To whom it may concern.’ ” Ruthie was thinking out loud. It was difficult at first, but once her eyes got used to the script, she was able to make out most of the words. She read on.
Gentle reader,
On these pages lies my tale. It is told in truth to whoever shall behold these words. I caution you not, for if you are standing before this book, you have already proved yourself courageous. And for your bravery you shall be rewarded with the great gifts these pages offer. Who am I? I am Christina, Duchess of Milan, and I have but sixteen years….
“Jack, I remember reading about her in the catalogue! I can’t believe I didn’t figure that out—that the C and M on the key were her initials! That’s her picture!” Ruthie exclaimed, pointing at the wall to the left of the fireplace. Jack looked and saw a large, full-length portrait of a young woman, not much older than they were, dressed in black, gazing down with deep, dark eyes.
“I thought you had to be an old lady to be a duchess,” Jack said as he looked at the portrait.
“I guess not. The catalogue said something about how she was almost ‘offered in marriage’ to the British king, Henry the Eighth!” Ruthie turned around to point out a small portrait on the wall behind her. “That guy.”
“He’s the one who chopped off the heads of some of his wives, I think,” Jack added.
“Do you know every person in history who was beheaded?” Ruthie asked.
“Look, I don’t write the history, I just read it, okay? What else does it say?”
“You turn the page,” she directed him. She wanted to see what would happen if he touched the book. “Do you feel anything? Is it warm?”
“Nothin’,” Jack said. “Stone cold.”
The next page contained even more elaborate colors and decorations. Ruthie read on.
Though my age and girlhood leave me powerless among the powerful, I have discovered certain friends … friends who are wise and knowledgeable. I have discovered that knowledge is the only property that endows its owner with power. Therefore, though I be of tender age and gender, I am no longer governed by those weaknesses.
“Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?” Jack asked, perplexed.
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to read it again.” Ruthie read it over a few times to see if it would sink in. Her father had taught her to do that with riddles, and this seemed sort of riddle-like. She took the sentences apart to make sure she understood each word.
“Well, it’s obviously her life she’s writing about,” Ruthie began.
“And she’s sixteen years old—just two years older than Sophie.” Jack was also working hard on this. “But what about these ‘friends’ she mentions?”
Jack turned the pages and they read on. Some sentences were easy to understand, but others were pretty complicated. The book was thick, but much of it was decoration, with only a few sentences on each page. The actual written part would have made about a ten-page story.
Ruthie and Jack learned that Christine came from Denmark and as a very young girl had been married to the Duke of Milan in Italy. But she had never actually lived with him. He died when she was thirteen years old. Ruthie could hardly believe that people ever married at such a young age! Then King Henry VIII of England was looking for a new wife and tried to marry Christina. She did not want to marry him, because (Jack had remembered correctly) he had already beheaded one of his wives.
“It’s just like how Sophie was going to have to get married so young!” Jack said.
“I guess that’s what they all did back then. Maybe that’s why she wrote that she is ‘young and powerless,’ ” Ruthie suggested. They continued reading.
At this point in the story Christina wrote about meeting some “friends versed in alchemy and charms” through whom she “came to understand powers that set her free.”
“Why didn’t she write in plain English?” Jack complained.
“I wonder why it’s in English at all,” Ruthie said. “What do they speak in Denmark?”
“I think Danish, maybe,” Jack guessed. “And is she talking about magic when she says ‘alchemy and charms’?”
“I think so. Let’s look at the last pages.”
Decorations like the ones on the key and the cover of the book appeared all over the margins of these next pages. What they read explained a lot, although it took them quite some time to understand the complicated words. One phrase, however, stood out. It was written larger than all the other lines and it said simply:
My key is the key.
Below that, the last entry in the book read:
With a charmed mixture of gold and silver, my conjuring friends have fashioned a spell, a hex, an illusion most real.
The Sixty-Eight Rooms Page 10