The Secret of the Key

by Marianne Malone

Oliver looked confused, and Jack explained that aspect of the magic. “They’re the things that make the rooms portals to the past,” Jack continued. “If that object is taken from the room, the portal closes. Until that object is put back.”

  Oliver nodded slowly and took the letter opener from his pocket, staring at it as his eyes welled with tears.

  Ruthie had almost lost Jack once, and she too had felt the panic of being blocked temporarily from reentering a portal. But to have lived with those feelings for an entire life was unimaginable! The magic key had brought her so much excitement, but Ruthie was determined to prevent such heartache from happening to anyone else again. But how?

  Then, from his other pocket, Oliver brought out the object that Ruthie had noted on his bookshelf. Now she saw that it was made of stone, about eight inches long. The color ranged from the palest minty white to deep shades of rich leaf green. Ornate swirls and fine details of floral patterns were engraved in the surface. “I’d better give you this too.”

  “What is it?” Ruthie asked.

  Oliver shook his head. “I’m not sure. I took it from the Chinese room.”

  Mrs. McVittie answered the question. “It’s called a ruyi, or scepter.”

  “Like a magician’s scepter?” Jack said.

  “More like a rabbit’s foot. They are a traditional Chinese symbol of good luck. Ruyi roughly translates to ‘as you wish.’ This one looks quite old.”

  Oliver swallowed hard. “I suppose it might be … one of those animators. I’m sorry.”

  The room was silent for some time. Ruthie turned her gaze to the long walls of old books that led all the way to the window at the front of the shop. Hot beams of late-afternoon light illuminated the dust floating in the air. Ruthie wondered how much time it took a single speck to alight somewhere, how long it had traveled, and where it had started its journey.

  Finally Oliver Brown asked, “Why didn’t you bring her back?”

  “She wanted us to find you first,” Ruthie answered, not mentioning her suspicions that Rivy might opt to stay.

  “Are you going to see her again?”

  Ruthie nodded.

  “She’s waiting to hear if we found you,” Jack answered.

  “Could I … does the magic work for people like me?”

  “We can make that happen,” Ruthie said.

  “THINK ABOUT IT,” JACK SAID, climbing up onto the bus. “Everything that’s happened since 1977!”

  It was the middle of Friday morning, past rush hour, so the bus wasn’t jammed with riders. Ruthie found two empty seats next to each other.

  “Elvis died,” Jack began, “the first Star Wars movie came out, the first female astronaut went into space, personal computers started, there have been five presidents—including the first African American one, Barack Obama—a sheep was cloned, September eleventh happened, and we have the Internet, cell phones, video games, robots on Mars … there’s lots more.”

  Ruthie agreed it was staggering to think how much had happened since Rivy disappeared. “I thought for sure she’d want to come back, but now I’m wondering … maybe she won’t.”

  “Once she sees her brother, there’s no telling how she’ll feel. What time is he going to meet us?”

  “We said one o’clock.”

  “That should give us enough time,” Jack said.

  First they planned to make a quick stop in the Chinese room, to put the scepter back. Ruthie tried hard not to let her imagination run wild, but she couldn’t help herself; it might be a missing animator, trapping someone in China of long ago. They had to return it.

  After that, they would find Rivy, to give her some advance warning about seeing her brother for the first time in nearly forty years. The last thing they wanted to do was surprise her, especially not in front of the Brownlow children.

  Ruthie had also been feeling unsettled, not only since finding Mrs. Thorne’s letter but also since hearing about what had happened to Rivy and Oliver. The Browns had found themselves in an unthinkable situation because they hadn’t understood how the magic worked. Had she and Jack been lucky so far? Would their luck hold?

  She must have been frowning because Jack asked, “Something wrong?”

  “When we first found the key, I thought we would have exciting adventures only. But now … now it feels dangerous, like what are we going to run into today?”

  “I know. It feels like we’re walking through booby traps every time we go back in time,” Jack said. “Too bad the key didn’t come with instructions.”

  “I wonder what happened to the key after Oliver dropped it,” Ruthie pondered aloud. “He never saw it again. The next person to use it was Dr. Bell.”

  “The next person that we know of,” Jack pointed out.

  “Exactly. That drives me crazy; wondering who could have found it, and how it ended up back in the corridor for Dr. Bell to find.”

  “Yeah,” Jack agreed.

  “You know what else makes me crazy? If you’d been wearing shoes from 1867, Rivy never would have suspected that we were from this century and we might never have gotten to the truth.”

  Jack shook his head, looking at his feet. “It’s always the shoes, isn’t it?”

  When they arrived at Gallery 11 they found it wasn’t too busy except for a tour group and docent standing in front of the first European rooms, near the alcove. So Ruthie and Jack meandered to the American rooms, in the center of the gallery.

  Standing in front of a row of California rooms, some of the last that Mrs. Thorne had created, Jack felt warmth coming from his pocket where he kept the key. He elbowed Ruthie and pointed to it. She understood.

  “Is the scepter doing anything?” Jack asked.

  Ruthie reached into her bag. The scepter was cold.

  Jack moved down the wall, toward some rooms from the South. “The key’s cooler here.” He stepped back. “Warmer again. Weird.”

  The voice of the docent quieted, so Ruthie looked around the corner. “All clear. Let’s go.”

  They let the key’s magic work and in a few minutes they were in room E30, the Chinese room, the scepter safe in Ruthie’s bag.

  The room had no diorama, no garden or street scene around it. Instead they found a small opening in the framework that led them directly to a back corner of the room, not visible from the viewing window.

  Ruthie could tell the room was already alive. The way the air moved across her skin, the subtle difference in the light and temperature, and scents that smelled strange told them that the room was a passage to another time. Ruthie exhaled deeply and thought how glad Oliver was going to be, knowing he hadn’t trapped someone else by taking the jade scepter.

  Now all they had to do was decide where to leave the scepter before going to find Rivy. Ruthie didn’t remember seeing it in the catalogue, so it would be best to leave it in a drawer or another spot not visible to the public. Room E30 was more like a group of six interconnected spaces, each partially visible through walls that were solid on the bottom with open latticework on the top half. There was a lot to look at—every surface was carved or decorated with colorful inlays. Small stone carvings rested on black lacquer tables under silk tapestries.

  “What’s the time period for this room?” Jack asked.

  “That’s kind of a problem; the catalogue doesn’t give a time period. It only said the room is ‘traditional’ and that it could be from any time in a two-thousand-year period. Mrs. McVittie said the scepter might be thousands of years old.”

  “Sheesh. That’s not very helpful. A thousand years would mean all the way back to before the time when Columbus sailed to America, you know—knights, the Dark Ages.”

  “I know.” Ruthie subtracted another thousand years from the Dark Ages—back to the time of ancient Rome. She wasn’t sure she’d want to visit that far back in time. Not without preparation anyway. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re just going to find a spot for the scepter, right?”

  Jack didn’t answer. He was study
ing a brush painting on one wall, with calligraphic characters running down the side.

  “Can you read any of those?”

  “We haven’t gotten that far in class yet. We’re still on the basics.”

  Ruthie led the way to a small sleeping area. A canopy bed that looked more like a carved wooden box with curtains was in the center. Instead of a mattress, Ruthie counted five thick folded blankets, stacked like pancakes, and made of colorfully patterned brocade. Two pairs of the smallest shoes she had ever seen were on the floor in front of the bed: one pale green with pink trim, the other black with white trim. They were smaller than Ruthie’s hands in length. The toes were very pointy, so they didn’t look at all like children’s shoes—just for someone with very, very small feet. Ruthie reminded herself how tiny they must have been to Mrs. Thorne’s craftsmen—unless, of course, they had been magically shrunk.

  To one side they saw a dressing table with a silver hand mirror on it, and next to that a wooden chair with a metal bowl where the seat would be.

  “Must be a toilet!” Ruthie said.

  “I guess this room is from before plumbing,” Jack surmised. “Hey—do you hear that? Voices!”

  They followed the sounds to a door that was carved with cloud-like shapes and had a large brass knob. Jack put his ear to the door, holding his finger to his lips.

  “I’ll just take a quick look.” Jack turned the shiny brass knob and eased the heavy door open wide enough for them to see out.

  They saw an empty courtyard, enclosed by a high brick wall. “We’ll be invisible for sure,” Jack said. The voices came from beyond the courtyard.

  They took a couple of steps.

  The ground was covered in pebbles that made a soft crunching sound under their feet. Above the courtyard’s wall they saw the tiled rooftops of other buildings, very close together. The voices had quieted for a moment and it was eerily silent. In the middle of the courtyard wall was a door with a black iron latch. They approached and Jack lifted the latch.

  “Wait!” Ruthie felt prickles of caution rising. “We were just going to put the scepter back.”

  “Yeah, but … when are we going to get a chance to go to China?” Jack replied, and opened the door.

  Outside was a narrow alleyway paved in cobblestones. The world out there smelled like dust, moist stones, and cooking aromas that Ruthie couldn’t place. Jack stuck his head and shoulders out, looking first to the left and then to the right. He leaned a little farther when voices screamed out, and in an instant Jack was violently swept off his feet and carried away.

  Ruthie pulled back instinctively, although no part of her had passed the doorway. A gang of eight or ten people had appeared out of nowhere, while Jack was looking in the opposite direction. Before they disappeared—with Jack—around the corner, Ruthie saw that they were big and muscular and had on matching dark clothes with tall leather boots. They wore hats that looked like fabric strips wrapped and wound in several layers.

  She had no choice but to follow them.

  As she rushed into the alley, the men were twenty feet or so in front of her, Jack’s torso partially visible through the raging tangle of fists. Mrs. McVittie was right—the danger was real.

  They turned a corner, and after passing a few doors, they pushed one open. Ruthie reached the door just as it slammed shut. She pushed hard but it was no use.

  The men were shouting. She heard nothing coming from Jack.

  Ruthie stood paralyzed, fear finally catching up to her.

  Then she heard a faint cry: it was Jack, saying something—in Chinese! But the response came as mocking laughter. That shook the fear right out of her. There was no one else who could help. She raised her fist to knock.

  “Wait!”

  Astounded by hearing an English word, Ruthie spun around and came face to face with a Chinese boy her own height, dressed from boots to hat just like the mob that held Jack.

  “I can help.” He reached out a hand to hers and squeezed it. “Please. Out of the way.”

  Ruthie stepped aside, too stunned to do otherwise.

  The Good Samaritan pounded on the door and shouted insistently until the door finally opened. A grizzled face appeared. They spoke a few sentences back and forth until the door opened wider, allowing them to enter. The boy grabbed Ruthie’s arm and pulled her along. They were now in another courtyard, similar to the one they’d left.

  Ruthie stifled a gasp when she saw Jack sitting on the ground, a purple hue blooming around one eye. A shouting match ensued between several members of the mob and the boy, who was gesticulating like a fiery politician.

  Two of the men got in a shoving match, obviously in disagreement over what should be done. Finally, when the men were more consumed with arguing among themselves than with watching Jack, the boy helped Jack up. The threesome shot out the door and back to the alley.

  “Are you all right?” Ruthie looked Jack over.

  “We have no time! Come this way,” the boy directed.

  It crossed Ruthie’s mind that they shouldn’t follow, that they should go directly back to the courtyard that held the portal. But the boy’s hand was already around Jack’s arm, helping him along. They turned into an even narrower alleyway, and then through a door covered in peeling and chipped paint.

  They entered a small, dark room. As Ruthie’s eyes adjusted she saw that it was one of two rooms, partitioned just like the Thorne Rooms. Only there was no carved or glistening woodwork, just rough, cracked timbers with a dank smell in the air. A mat covered in tattered gray fabric lay in one corner.

  “Who are you?” the boy demanded, his tone suddenly stern. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

  Jack had finally steadied. “I’m Jack Tucker.”

  “I’m Ruthie Stewart.”

  “Missionaries?”

  “No. Just visiting,” Ruthie answered.

  “During the rebellion? Are you crazy? Where are your parents?”

  Jack answered fast. “We got separated. Our dad is here to study the Chinese language.”

  “You tell the truth?”

  “Why would we lie?” Jack responded.

  The boy stared at Jack, then moved his piercing gaze to Ruthie.

  “If you are lying …” He didn’t finish; instead, he reached to take off his hat. Long hair tumbled out! “We all have reasons to lie!”

  “You’re … a girl!” Ruthie exclaimed.

  The girl nodded. “They would never let a girl join.”

  “Join what?” Jack asked.

  “The movement. The Righteous Harmony Society.”

  “Where’d you learn English?” Jack asked.

  “My older sister works as a maid in the embassy. She teaches me.”

  “And what did you say to the men to let me go?”

  “I told them I know you.”

  A gentle snore emanated from the other side of the partition.

  “Shh. My grandfather sleeps.”

  “Do you live here?” Ruthie spoke softly.

  “Yes.”

  “How old are you?” Ruthie asked.

  The girl paused. “Eleven, I think.”

  “What’s the movement?” Jack wanted to know. “And how long has it been going on?”

  “It’s to keep foreigners from running the country and forcing their religion on us. It started about a year ago. Some say we can’t go into the twentieth century without being free.”

  “But why did you take the risk to help me?” Ruthie asked.

  “I saw a girl like me who needed help.” Then, with a hint of a smile, she said, “Oh, and my name is Ling. It means … delicate.”

  There was a drop of silence before all three laughed. Ling nodded toward Ruthie’s messenger bag. “Do you have food in there?”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I am always hungry!”

  “I don’t have any food … but …” Ruthie thought about the scepter, wondering if it would be of any value here. She reached into her bag and held it
up. It still looked old, but not quite as old as it had when she placed it in her bag this morning. “I have this.” She offered it to her.

  Ling grinned. “A ruyi!” She took it in her palm, inspecting it. “A good one too!”

  “Can you get money for it?” Ruthie asked.

  “My sister can. Someone in the embassy would offer good money.”

  “Then you keep it.” Ruthie closed the girl’s fingers over it. “For saving Jack.”

  “WE’RE STILL OKAY ON TIME,” Jack called up to Ruthie as she untangled the climbing ladder to hang from the ledge behind E4. Even though the hazardous detour into China felt epic, it had only taken about fifteen minutes. Jack took this moment to wander off down the short but dark corridor. Ruthie secured the ladder and was about to shrink when she heard him yell, “Help!”

  She rushed around the corner.

  It was too dark for Ruthie to see what had happened, but her first thought was spider—Jack had gotten caught in another web.

  She could make out that his arms were waving to her, but the bottom half of him was frozen in mid-stride.

  “What is it?”

  “One of the rodent traps! My feet won’t budge. I’m glued in place!”

  Ruthie knelt down to get a look in the dim light.

  The trap was a flat, glue-covered tray, about six by four inches, roughly the dimensions of a bathtub for tiny Jack. The surface of the black adhesive and the black plastic frame of the tray were nearly invisible against the dark floor. A couple of flies had landed on it, never to take off again.

  “I’ll just take my shoes off.”

  “But you’re going to need your shoes. You can’t walk around the museum without them.”

  She might as well have saved her breath because while she was talking Jack had bent over and lost his balance. He now sat awkwardly, thoroughly stuck. “Oops. At least my hands are free,” he said sheepishly.

  “Let me try to pull you off.”

  She grabbed hold of Jack’s torso between her thumb and index finger and tried lifting him.

  “Ow!” he shrieked. “You’re going to break a rib!”

  “Sorry.”

  It was no use; as she lifted him, the trap came up with him, and he felt stretched in two directions. “I think you’re going to have to grow your way off of this.”