The Extraordinary Book of Doors

by Nydam, Anne

  “He probably didn’t come here through the broken door. He probably came by following us through one of our Books’ doors. Besides, maybe he’s been here like five minutes already. We’ve got to get out of here.” Flipping her Book open at random, Polly stuck in the key and opened the door. Chen hesitated on the threshold, but Polly gave him a shove and he stumbled through.

  They were in a sort of fancy old-fashioned shopping mall. Stores with elegant stone facades faced each other across a marble floor, and four stories above arched a glass roof supported by an ironwork lattice. Well-dressed adults strolled in both directions, some window-shopping, others walking more purposefully. Chen and Polly had appeared beside the window of a jewelry shop with a brightly colored display. They both looked around curiously. Chen wiped the drizzle from his damp face on the shoulder of his T-shirt.

  “Italian, I think,” he said, listening to the voices around them and reading the signs in the shop windows.

  Polly nodded. “That seems plausible. Okay, we need a plan. We need to find a safe place where we can figure things out. We need to solve these clues, we need to get that Ornate Book away from Mr Blank, and we need to get home. Two different homes, actually. So that’s five things. First the safe place so we can figure out the other four things. Any ideas?”

  The only idea Chen had was that the whole thing was hopeless. Safe place? Impossible – wherever they went, Ammon Blank would be able to pop directly to them as long as they had the Books. Solve Benjamin Franklin’s clues? Impossible – at least two of the clues weren’t even there to see any more, let alone to figure out the puzzles. Steal the magician-thief’s Ornate Book? More than impossible, that was just plain madness. They should be trying to stay away from him, not trying to figure out how to get near him again! And getting back to Massachusetts or Ohio? Impossible – even if they could remember every door of their path and retrace the sequence all the way back to the doors that would take them home, that would require them to go back through the lair of the very thief who’d threatened to murder them and from whom they were trying to escape, and back into an active police crime scene where they were suspected of stealing some priceless holy treasure. And even before that they’d have to go through a broken portal that might send them anywhere, or even leave them in limbo between doors forever, like a stuck elevator.

  Chen glanced at Polly impatiently. She was frowning hard, apparently lost in concentration, but Chen didn’t see the point of thinking about solving missing clues or battling the murderous bad guy. He was hungry, damp, tired, and he just wanted to get home - and none of Polly’s schemes seemed to get them any closer to a solution to that problem. Sitting here trying to think of this stuff was just a waste of time. A crazy waste of time by a crazy person. His eyes turned back to the shop window.

  “Hey Polly, these are the earrings for you,” he said bitterly, “Crazy. Bright colors, wild patterns. They’d go with your outfit.” To himself he added, “And your crazy ideas.”

  Polly looked over the earrings critically. “Yeah, I like the designs, but I don’t believe in self-mutilation.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t believe in self-mutilation,” Polly repeated, “That’s why I don’t have pierced ears. Piercing your ears is really no different from foot binding, is it?”

  Chen stared at his companion in disbelief. “Except for the fact that people with pierced ears can usually still walk just fine.”

  “That’s not the point,” Polly retorted primly. “It’s the principle I’m talking about. Deliberately slicing holes in your own flesh because you think it makes you more beautiful is just plain barbaric.”

  “Well, when you put it like that,” Chen said, grinning in spite of himself. She might be crazy, but there was always a certain logic to her madness. It had never occurred to him before just how strange it was that people punched holes in their ears, not to mention noses, belly buttons, eyebrows, and all. Trust the weirdo to point out when things were really weird.

  He relaxed a little, and his gaze moved to the shop across from them. “How about those high heeled shoes then? Wearing them really is practically foot binding! You could trade in your sneakers for stilettos. Do you prefer leopard print or purp-”

  At that instant he felt someone knock against his side. As he spun to look, the Dragon Book was wrenched from his hands and he caught a glimpse of an exceptionally ordinary-looking man disappearing through a doorway in the wall beside them. By the time he’d opened his mouth to yell, the doorway, too, had disappeared.

  “Quick, Polly! Quick!” he shouted frantically, “He took my Book! Hurry!”

  Polly already had her Book open and was riffling through the pages, oblivious to the stares of the shoppers nearby. She jammed the key into the hole in Plate XXXII and flung open the magical door. Immediately Chen jumped through. He didn’t even see where he was, but he saw Ammon Blank directly in front of him, and without stopping to think, he lunged for the Book in the magician’s hands.

  Mr Blank had clearly not been expecting Chen to be after him so quickly and was unprepared for the attack. Chen seized his Book and leaped back for the doorway where Polly stood, holding the portal open. She pulled him through, slammed shut the Wreath Book and gasped, “We’ve got to get out of here. We need somewhere we can hide and see him coming.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, but we’d better find someplace quick, because I’m sure he’ll be back any second now.” She had already turned to a new page in her Book, but she was struggling with the key. “It won’t go in!” she muttered angrily, “There’s something blocking the keyhole.”

  “Just forget it! Pick another door!” urged Chen, clutching his own Book tightly to his chest as Polly lifted hers to peer into the hole in the page.

  “I think this door must be bricked up on the other side,” she said, turning the Book back and forth in her hands in an attempt to see through the keyhole.

  That’s when an invisible doorway opened in the wall beside them once again. Ammon Blank darted out like a snake from a hole, snatched the Wreath Book from Polly’s outstretched hands, and disappeared again.

  As quickly as he could, Chen had his Book open to Plate XXXII again. “Come on, Polly! Quick!” He got the magical door open, and Polly jumped through after Ammon Blank.

  But this time the thief had set a trap. Polly had no sooner stepped into the portal than she collapsed to the floor of Blank’s study, walloped over the head with a heavy, brass-knobbed walking stick. Chen stuffed his Book under his arm, dropped to his knees in the doorway, grabbed Polly by the ankles, and pulled as hard as he could.

  “My Book! Get my Book!” she groaned.

  “I’m trying to save your life,” Chen grunted through clenched teeth as he gave another tug. He had her almost back through the doorway, but instead of helping him, she was straining back toward Blank, who was still brandishing his walking stick. He jabbed at Chen, who rocked back out of the doorway again, dodging the brass head of the magician’s cane.

  Blank shouted something incoherent and whacked at Polly’s head and shoulders, while Polly rolled onto her side, trying to shield her head with her arms. Chen grabbed her around the waist and with one last effort managed to heave her all the way back through the door. Instantly he pulled the key from the page and slammed the door shut.

  The well-dressed Italian shoppers had stopped to stare at the two children sprawled on the marble floor, as Polly cried, “He’s got my Book! We have to get the Wreath Book!”

  “Polly, the Book’s not that important – he might have smashed your skull! And the first thing we’re doing is going somewhere safer.” Polly began to protest, but Chen cut her off. “We can think about going back for the Book after we’ve found a safe place to stop and think… and get you patched up. You’re a mess.”

  He’d flipped to a fresh page in his Book and fitted the key into the keyhole when Polly squeaked in alarm. Chen glanced anxiously over and saw a narrow crack appear
in the wall, as if a secret hidden panel were opening. He grabbed Polly by the elbow and shoved her through the Dragon Book just as Ammon Blank appeared once more in the Italian shopping mall. Then the thief disappeared from view again as Chen followed Polly through the page and hastily shut the door behind them.

  They had come out in a large hall with antique wood-paneled walls that contrasted with the chrome desks at which sat people in dark suits typing away at high-tech computers. As soon as Polly and Chen appeared, heads jerked up to stare at them.

  Someone shouted something, and although Chen couldn’t understand the words, he recognized the tone of voice that means “Hey! You there!” in every language on Earth. It was pretty clear that this was not the sort of office where strangers were welcome. Every person here seemed to have a security badge of some sort, and an expression of professional seriousness.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Chen hissed to Polly, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling. They started heading briskly through the desks and cubicles that turned the high-beamed room into a maze. As more people began to shout, the children picked up speed, dodging between desks like Olympic slalom skiers and heading for the exit sign on the far side of the room. At least, Chen assumed it must be an exit sign. It was green and had a picture of a person going through a door. At least, he hoped it was a picture of a person going out a door and not something completely different, like directions for climbing into a large box or finding your way into the trash compactor. But whatever it was, he and Polly ran toward it as fast as they could.

  They were halfway across the room when a uniformed security guard stepped directly into their path and they had to slow down. Chen opened his Book to a new page and gripped his key, but just then another round of shouting broke out behind them. The security guard’s head lifted as he stared over their heads.

  Polly looked back. “It’s Ammon Blank,” she exclaimed, “Let’s get my Book!”

  “Are you nuts? It’s time to go!”

  Polly hesitated a moment while Chen grabbed her arm and said again, “Time to go. Now! We’ll get the Book later.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, and slipped under the guard’s arm as he lifted his walkie-talkie to bark something into it. She dashed down the row between more desks, and Chen followed. The guard, after one swipe at him, ran toward Ammon Blank instead.

  They were clearly in some sort of government office, and the guards who emerged from the stairway and elevator under the Exit sign were no mere museum guards. They wore black helmets and army flak jackets, and brandished alarmingly large guns. They shouted directions to the dark-suited men and women who sat at the desks and stood around the large flat-screen monitors mounted on the walls. They shouted at Chen and Polly, who understood the word “Halt,” but nothing else.

  Chen and Polly did not halt.

  As they neared the exit, more men in suits and dark glasses joined the security police to block the spaces between the desks. The children could hear even more shouting behind them, and Ammon Blank’s voice saying persuasively, “Gentlemen, let me explain. I’m a top FBI agent and we’re after those children, who have stolen a valuable historical book. They’re the ones you want!”

  They kept running and dodging.

  They were almost to the green sign and the elevator when suddenly there was nowhere to run. Every path was blocked. Chen and Polly glanced at each other, glanced at the desk in front of them, and gave each other a quick nod. Without another moment’s pause they charged at the man in front of them.

  He was broad-shouldered and red-faced, and they could see him frown and brace himself to catch them. But at the last second they swerved to the side. Polly dove to the polished parquet floor headfirst and slid like a penguin between the narrow chrome legs of a desk, while Chen vaulted across its smooth top, scattering trays of government forms in all directions. He kicked the rolling chair out of the way as he came across the desk and landed, staggering a little, as Polly whizzed out beneath him and scrambled to her feet. The chair shot away across the floor, hitting one of the oncoming men and momentarily slowing him as the children sprinted the last few steps and into the elevator.

  Polly jabbed randomly at every button on the panel, urging, “Get us a door, Ch-“

  “No!” Chen interrupted loudly, “Do not say zee names, Mademoiselle X! And keep zee ‘ead down in case of zee security cameras. We must not reveal zee secret identities!”

  Polly shook her head at his absurd attempt at a French accent, but she grinned, put up a hand to shield her face from any cameras, and replied, “Oui oui, monsieur. But ‘urry up wiz zee Book, s’il vous plait, for crying out loud.”

  Chen didn’t need any urging to hurry, and by now he had a portal open. He stepped through after Polly and shut the page firmly behind them.

  This time they were in a library. Polly looked around, panting. “Okay, this might work,” she said breathlessly, “The police back there will probably keep Ammon Blank busy for at least a few minutes. We need to stay away from walls where magic doors might reasonably appear, right? But if we hide among the stacks somewhere, doorways won’t open where there aren’t walls, so he won’t be able to portal through right next to us. We’ll be able to see him coming.”

  “Maybe,” Chen said dubiously. But at least she was no longer trying to get back to the thief or his lair, so he followed Polly as she strode purposefully between the rows of tall bookcases, limping slightly on her left leg.

  It looked like an old library, with ancient dark brown linoleum tiles on the floor and the varnish rubbed off the edges of the shelves. The books looked pretty old, too, mostly bound in worn cloth. It was a huge place, with rows and rows of stacks stretching off into the distance, intersected by aisles every forty feet.

  Polly wound up rows and down aisles with Chen following close behind, listening intently for the sound of footsteps. They passed only two people in the whole place, one hunched over a study desk at the end of a row, and the other peering at the faded call numbers trying to match the slip of paper in her hand.

  When Polly finally found a place that satisfied her, she stopped and sank down onto the floor with her back against the tall bookcases. Ugly red bruises were already appearing on her arms and forehead, and one of her wrists was bleeding just above the palm.

  “Scraped it on the floor when I first fell, I think,” she replied to Chen’s look of concern. She unzipped her hip pouch and rummaged around until she found a bandage. “Can you stick this on for me? It’s kind of hard to do one-handed.” While Chen placed the bandage she continued, “So, we’ve got to go back and get those Books – both of them. If we-”

  “Polly,” Chen interrupted, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I know you really want that money, but I think we’re out of our depth with this guy. He’s willing to kill us. This isn’t a fun little puzzle or a game any more. Ammon Blank is willing to murder us. As in dead. Probably with a lot of terror and pain along the way. The money’s just not worth that. Besides, he said he wants it for his brother. Maybe he’s really just like you: just trying to help someone he cares about.”

  Polly shook her head stubbornly, and Chen saw the glint of tears in her eyes. Not that he would blame her for crying, he thought. He felt pretty close to crying himself right now, and he hadn’t even been beaten with a big stick.

  “How can you say he’s just like me, Chen?” she said unsteadily, “Do you honestly think I would murder someone?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that,” Chen replied hastily, although he couldn’t help wondering just how far Polly would go to get the treasure. Feeling terrible for driving her to tears, he added tentatively, “Fun art fact brought to you by the Department of Prints and Rare Books: wood block printing was originally invented around two thousand years ago, not for books or fine art but to print cloth, like the paisley designs on your shirt.”

  He was rewarded with a tremulous smile from Polly, but she was not to be deflected. She continued, “Well, anyway, you’re rig
ht that this guy is more than just playing around. And that’s exactly why we can’t give up. Look at this.” She pulled another crumpled piece of paper from her hip pouch, unfolded it, and handed it to Chen. “It was on Mr Blank’s table.”

  It was a sheet of notes. At the top was written the heading “For Tournament” and what appeared to be Blank’s scheme for using the Book to make himself disappear and reappear in his stage act.

  “You have to admit that would be pretty impressive,” Chen remarked. “After all, it really is real magic, not just a stage illusion.”

  “That’s not the problem,” Polly replied, rubbing her bruised forehead tenderly. “Although don’t you think it’s cheating to use real magic in a stage magic competition?”

  Chen stared at her, shaking his head in disbelief. “You want us to chase down a murderous magical maniac just to keep him from using real magic in a fake magic show? If he has real magic, won’t he be the only magician there who isn’t cheating?”

  “It’s an unfair advantage, and that’s cheating. But I said that’s not the problem; I was just thinking about it. Keep reading.”

  Next came a list under the heading “Targets.”

  X gold salt dish with 4 nymphs

  Louvre

  “Mona Lisa,” da Vinci

  Venus de Milo (too heavy?)

  Regent diamond (easy to carry)

  “The Cheat with the Ace of Diamonds,”

  de la Tour (to keep)

  X St Salvator’s mace

  explore other doors

  The next section outlined Mr Blank’s scheme to plant one Book in a chosen location so that he could transport to it later. A subheading here said, “Additional Targets – just about anything!” followed by some specifics that made Chen gulp.

  Martinka & Co

  Robert-Houdin House

  International Museum of the Conjuring Arts