by Renee Duke
This time, the eagle’s beak responded to him. The door gave a grating sound and swung open. Pushing aside the heavy tapestry in front of it, Jack led the others into what Dane was thankful to see was just a bedroom. The bed, a handsome four-poster with curtains around it, stood in the middle of the room. Except for some wooden chests containing clothes and bedding, the only other piece of furniture was a washstand with a large bowl and ewer.
“Look, Ned,” Dickon said as the secret door closed behind them. “’Tis the very chamber Master Wolverton did give to us. To think we slept in it last night without knowing it contained a secret passage.”
“Aye. Think, too, how Cecey sought to vex us by saying she, and Bess, and Mary, had grander quarters,” said Ned. “’Twill vex her to learn of this. Come, let us find her.”
He headed for the corridor, an eager Dickon behind him. Jack would have followed, but Dane pulled him back. “I’d love to go on with this,” he said, “but I don’t really think we should. Ned and Dickon are just kids. They didn’t ask us the kind of questions that grown-ups or nosy older sisters will. We’ve got to get out of here and back to our own time.”
“I suppose so,” said Jack, looking disappointed. “But, how?”
Dane thought for a moment. “We might just have to say the rhyme again. It’s worth a try. We’ll have to do it now though, before those two come back looking for us. We managed to talk them out of thinking some kind of evil power was working our torch, but if they hear us call up a mist and see us vanish into it, they’re sure to think we’re demons or something.”
There was another stone eagle hidden behind the tapestry. Jack twisted its beak to reopen the secret door. Feeling slightly safer inside the passage, Dane touched the medallion and recited the rhyme in the dramatic manner that had worked so well for him before. The sparks came almost at once. But as the mist surrounded them, and the spinning sensation began, he had an alarming thought. Was the medallion taking them back to their own time or transporting them to another?
He was still wondering about it when the spinning stopped, and he found himself staring into the beam of Paige’s flashlight.
“Dane! Jack!” she cried, leaping forward to hug them both. “I thought you’d been zapped into some other dimension.”
“Sorry,” said Dane. “I guess we should have come back right away, but it took us a while to figure out what happened. And then, well, we just got caught up in what we were doing.”
Paige gave him a strange look. “What are you talking about? You were gone less than a minute.”
“A minute? You’re crazy. I’d have said it was closer to an hour,” said Dane. “Maybe more.”
Breathing deeply to alleviate the nauseous feeling caused by the time transfer, Jack nodded in agreement.
Paige shook her head. “You’re the ones who are crazy. Don’t you think I’d have gone screaming to Mum and Dad if it had been a whole hour? I was just thinking about doing that when you reappeared, but I wanted to try wringing my hands and running around in circles first.”
“But we were gone a long time, Paige,” said Dane. “In fact, we went back in time.”
“Back in time?”
“Yeah, to the fifteenth century. We even met those princes we’ve been playing. They really did visit here, just like it says in the letters. Rosebank was brand new, and the Wolvertons were showing it off to the king.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, honest. That’s what happened. Listen!”
Paige’s eyes went wide as they told her their story. “Wow, I can hardly believe it. I mean, I do, because you did disappear but—”
“We can prove it,” Jack broke in. “If Dane says the rhyme again, and you hang onto him like I did, you can meet the princes for yourself.”
Paige shook her head. “I want to know more about how these time transfers work. We might not go back to the princes’ era. We might go to a different one.”
“I don’t think so,” said Dane. “I think we have some sort of time connection with them because of Dad’s documentary.”
“So do I, “ said Jack. “And remember the first verse? The one on the box? It said youth had to call its own. The princes are young, and so are we. That makes for a connection as well.”
“Maybe,” said Paige, nodding thoughtfully. “But even if that is the period we’re most likely to end up in, I think we should learn more about it. There’re lots of people we can ask, and they’ll think we’re just asking because of what we’re doing—which is good. Our parents may be history nuts, but they’re still parents. We can’t let them suspect we have a way to travel through time. If they did, they’d never let us. They’d say it was too dangerous.”
“Especially Dad,” said Dane. “And speaking of Dad, we’d better get back downstairs. He’ll go ballistic if the rain’s stopped and we’re not there to start work.”
The rain had stopped, but when the cast reassembled, it wasn’t the royal children who were missing; it was their devoted nursery attendant. Mr. Marchand refused to waste time looking for her. He ordered everyone back to work. No one argued, and with no interruptions from Cousin Ophelia to hinder them, the re-enactors were able to finish the arrival scene in just one take. By the end of the day, they had completed all but three of the outdoor scenes Mr. Marchand wanted. Pleased, he dismissed everyone and accepted Grantie Etta’s invitation to join her and the children in the house for biscuits and lemonade.
Mrs. Purdom went to the kitchen to fetch the requested refreshments, but came rushing back without them.
“What’s wrong, Lydia?” Grantie Etta asked.
“The keys to the old upstairs rooms. The fifteenth century ones. I’ve just noticed they aren’t on their hook. That annoying woman who’s gone missing was in the kitchen earlier. Do you think she might have taken them and gone up there?”
Mr. Marchand shrugged. “It wouldn’t surprise me. You’d better check.”
Mrs. Purdom hurried off. A few minutes later, she returned with a distraught Cousin Ophelia.
“I found her up on the top floor. She was banging on a door and yelling for help. We couldn’t hear her way down here.”
Cousin Ophelia’s family knew her to be a proponent of what she referred to as ‘inner calm’. It was rare for her to get in a state of perturbation, but her hands shook a bit as they reached for the cup of herbal tea Mrs. Purdom brought her.
“Oh, Alan, you’ve no idea how awful it was, being trapped in that room all afternoon,” she said between gulps. “I only went up there to find that strong sense of history you were telling me about at lunchtime. You know—the one you said you used to get in the most antiquated parts of the house before they were all shut up? I wanted to feel it too.
“I know I should have asked the housekeeper’s permission, but she might have wanted to go with me. I prefer to be alone when I’m involved in something deeply moving. The keys in the kitchen were all labelled, so I borrowed the ones for the oldest section and went upstairs to steep myself in atmosphere. It’s a good thing electricity was put in up there, and that Miss Wolverton decided to keep it on even though no one uses that part of the house now. I didn’t know where flashlights were kept, and it would have been hard to find my way about without some illumination. Having modern lighting did take away from the centuries-old feeling a bit, of course, but I managed to overcome that. Using the old medieval staircase helped. The spiral one, with the rope you can hang onto for balance. Going up that was an enchanting experience all by itself.”
“And a dangerous one,” said Mrs. Purdom. “That staircase was declared unsafe years ago. That’s why we have a modern one. Well, relatively modern. I think it was put in during the Regency Period.”
“Oh, I was very careful. But, to go on with my story, I found a room I thought had particularly good vibes, and went inside. I guess there was a draft or something, because the door suddenly blew shut behind me. The force of it must have caused the key to turn and lock me in, with the key
on the outside. I panicked for a moment, and rattled the handle so hard, the key fell to the floor. I could see it through a gap under the door, but I just couldn’t get at it. I called and called for help, but no one heard me.”
She suddenly stopped and looked at Mr. Marchand beseechingly. “Alan, I know you had to get on with your work while the weather held, but you haven’t finished all the scenes my character was in, have you?”
Mr. Marchand clucked sympathetically. “Afraid so, Bev. I guess those old Threads of Destiny you’re always talking about just had other plans for you.” He gave her a wicked smile and went off, whistling.
Chapter Seven
Rain fell heavily all of the next day. Mr. Marchand had to postpone his remaining outdoor scenes and settle for filming an armchair debate with Professor Hodges and Professor Clarke in Rosebank’s library.
Uncle Gareth offered to go along to help him keep things under control.
“You sure?” said Mr. Marchand. “You look a bit worn out.”
“I’m all right. Just fed up with all the bickering. Let’s go.”
Shortly after they left, the doorbell rang. Since Mrs. Marchand and Aunt Augusta were both upstairs, Jack opened the door for the tall, slightly built silver-haired, silver-bearded gentleman standing under an umbrella.
Just coming from the car had got the umbrella quite wet, and Great Uncle Edmond shook it before he stepped inside. “Welcome back, my dears,” he said to Paige and Dane as he set a battered leather satchel down on the dining room table. “You’ve grown a good bit since I last saw you. That’s only to be expected, of course, but old codgers like me think it their duty to say things like that.”
He handed his coat and umbrella to Jack and ruffled his hair. “My answering machine yielded up messages from your respective mothers saying you wanted to hear the story behind Grantie’s medallion. Being ever willing to oblige my charming nieces—and their equally charming children—I stopped in at Rosebank to pick it up. Mrs. Purdom gave it to me. Grantie was still in bed. Though she’d never admit it, I think the excitement of having all these film chappies about has been a bit much for her.”
He took the now familiar rose carved box out of the satchel and sat down at the table. “Grantie’s medallion is a Keeper Piece. That means it’s one of several items made from a melted down statue of an eagle that’s supposed to symbolize the power of some old fellow called the Keeper of Time.” He lifted the medallion out of its box and turned it over. “That’s him on the back,” he said, indicating the old man seated on the eagle. “Seems a bit haggard, doesn’t he?”
“The Keeper of Time,” Dane repeated thoughtfully. “That would make sense. Was the statue supposed to have some sort of control over time?”
Uncle Edmond nodded. “According to myth and legend, it held all the secrets of time. As with most ancient goings-on, there are a lot of gaps and inconsistencies in the tale I’m about to tell you. That’s because it’s come down to us as a mixture of fact and conjecture. One definite fact is that the statue’s last known owner was someone by the name of Zoravar—well, somewhat definite. Some sources refer to him as Vartan, and still others as Khatcheres, but it’s probably the same chap. It’s not uncommon to come across several different names for the same person when delving into the past. Whatever his name was, he was reputed to be a sorcerer, and was considered pretty hot stuff by the locals.
“Be that as it may, his spells couldn’t keep invaders from their door. Despite its somewhat inhospitable terrain, Armenia tended to get conquered by pretty much anyone who felt like it. By our friend’s day it was mostly just a buffer zone between the Roman and Parthian Empires, with Rome as its primary overseer. His town was out in the sticks and had no actual contact with Romans until some kind of official and a contubernium of soldiers showed up around seventy-seven AD. Not sure why. Country wasn’t under formal occupation or anything. Chance to do a spot of looting and bullying en route to somewhere else, perhaps. Whatever the reason, the townsfolk weren’t best pleased, and Zoravar-slash-Vartan-slash-Khatcheres made no secret of his distaste for the new arrivals. He spoke out against them every chance he got, and his rabble rousing didn’t go over too well with the Romans.
“The official, who went by the name Vibius Sestius Rullus, paid the irksome malcontent a call and suggested he keep his opinions to himself. But if he thought a personal visit from one of his exalted rank would prove intimidating, he was mistaken. The irksome malcontent just gave him one of those dark, brooding looks sorcerers are noted for and pointed to the statue. He said the Keeper of Time knew all the paths of men, and told him the power of Rome would one day crumble.
“Now, we know he was right about that, but Vibby was understandably miffed. No Roman worth his salt could ignore such an insult. Besides, the statue was pure gold. Vibby liked gold. He liked it a lot. That sort of talk gave him an excuse to take the statue into what he would have called safekeeping so people like our surly sorcerer couldn’t use it to stir up discontent.”
“Was Vibby the one who had it melted down?” Paige asked.
“No. Just before the Romans hit town, the sorcerer fellow had taken in an abandoned child named Varteni to help him with his magic. He’d become very fond of her, and she must have been quite devoted to him, too, because, once she saw how upset he was about the Keeper’s eagle statue falling into Roman hands, she liberated it from Vibby’s treasure house and stashed it somewhere.
“Unfortunately, Vibby noticed it was missing. He naturally suspected its former owner, but was told said owner had been laid low with some kind of sudden illness and wasn’t in any condition to have carried out a robbery. Still certain he was behind it, Vibby wasted no time in having the troublemaker’s young ward arrested and questioned in accordance with the brutal customs of the day. Which was actually something his superiors would have frowned on, as prisoners of tender age were usually exempt from that kind of treatment. He never got anything out of her, though. She said the statue was not for the likes of him, and steadfastly refused to reveal its location.”
“Did the sorcerer know where it was?” asked Jack. “If he did, he could have traded it for Varteni.”
“I’m afraid that’s another historic ambiguity. When he’s referred to as Khatcheres, accounts say he didn’t know, and, upon his recovery, was desperately seeking the thing. Those referring to him as either Vartan or Zoravar claim he did know, but couldn’t chance having it fall into Vibby’s hands again. Regardless of whether or not he knew of its whereabouts from the beginning, it did eventually come back into his hands. By then, however, Varteni had been shipped off to Rome as a slave. Devastated, he had the statue melted down and made into the pieces of jewellery now known as Keeper Pieces. All of them feature a special rose design which is believed to be in honour of loyal little Varteni, whose name means ‘rose tree’. They’re quite distinctive, and easily recognized by those who deal in ancient artefacts.”
Uncle Edmond took a musty old book out of his satchel and turned to a page with some black and white photographs. “Only four Keeper Pieces had been found when this book was printed back in nineteen-thirty-two. We have one, and the other three have been in and out of various antiquities collections.”
A photo of Grantie’s medallion lay alongside photos of a ring, a bracelet, and a brooch. Dane studied them for a moment and then said, “The picture of the medallion has some text under it. It says, ‘Displayed here by kind permission of the Wolverton family, in whose possession it has been for several centuries.’ The rest just have the names of the people who own them.”
“Owned them, dear boy. They don’t anymore. With the exception of Grantie’s medallion, the objects pictured there have all been acquired by a distant relative of ours who’d dearly love to have it as well. He’s even got a Piece that popped up later. Some sort of belt, I think.”
“Yeah, there are others. The book says one could be a belt—and obviously is if that guy has it now. There might be two more medallions as well, an
d a secret, unspecified, object scholars call the Arcanus Piece. According to legend, it does exist, but no one knows what it is.”
Paige frowned. “Two more medallions? Why two more medallions? If the sorcerer guy had some gold left over, why didn’t he just make a couple of other things to honour Varteni? Did he run out of ideas?”
“He didn’t want to merely honour her,” said Uncle Edmond. “His plans were much grander than that. The medallions are said to represent past, present, and future, and serve as the focal points for the mystical forces once contained within the Keeper of Time statue. Forces his spell decreed could only be tapped by youth. I don’t know why. Because Varteni was young, I suppose. Anyway, he kept one medallion himself and had the other two smuggled out of the country with the rest of the Keeper Pieces which, excluding medallions, originally numbered five. Legend has it that he believed one of those five items, working in conjunction with one or more medallions, would eventually save Varteni from a life of slavery.”
“Did one?” Paige inquired.
“Hard to say. If she was ever freed from bondage, there’s no record of it.” Uncle Edmond stood up. “There’s no actual record of the type of power Keeper Pieces are supposed to wield, either. The people who have learned how to harness it appear to have kept pretty quiet about it down through the years.”
He left them with the book and went off to talk to Mrs. Marchand and Aunt Augusta, who had just come back downstairs.
“Well, I guess we know what kind of power the medallion wields,” Dane said to the others, “but how are its time connections supposed to help Varteni? She was taken away before any of the Keeper Pieces were made. How could she be rescued by a kid from another time period if she didn’t have anything for the medallion to home in on?”
Paige shrugged. “The guy with multiple names could have got someone to take one to her. Or a message telling her the type of thing to watch out for. A girl who could liberate a gold statue from a treasure house wouldn’t have any trouble getting her hands on any likely looking little bauble that came her way.”