100 Cupboards (8 page)

“I got the mailbox open last night.”

“What?” Henrietta came back into the room while Henry was trying to shove his head through the sleeve of his shirt. “What was in it?”

“Some mail. I haven't looked at it yet.” He straightened his shirt out and pulled it on.

“Mail?” she asked. “Why would there be mail?” She picked up his rumpled blanket.

“It's a mailbox,” Henry said.

Henrietta ignored him. “Where is it?”

“Henrietta,” Henry said. “Last night was really weird.”

She dropped his blanket and looked at him. The two of them sat on his bed, and he told her everything, about the yellow room and the man's face and pushing the envelope back so it fell and reaching his arms through the cupboards and not being able to touch on the other side. “This hand is still muddy,” he finished, and held out his palm.

Henrietta was impressed. “You could see his face?”

“Yep.”

“And he had a mustache?”

“Yep.”

“And you could see through into a yellow room?”

“Yep.”

“Could he see you?”

“I don't think so. He stared right at me but didn't seem to notice.”

“And you weren't dreaming?”

“Nope. I dreamed later.”

Henrietta whistled through her teeth, then reached out and touched the poster-covered wall of cupboards.

“They're magic for sure. I didn't really think they would be. I wonder how we go through.”

“Go through?”

“Yeah. The whole point of magic doors is to try and go through them to somewhere else.”

“But they're too small.”

“Where's the mail?” Henrietta said. “Let's read the mail. Do you need breakfast?”

“Yeah, okay. The mail was on the bed,” Henry said.

“It might have slid off.”

Henrietta found the mail, and Henry put on his socks. Then the two of them headed down to the kitchen. Henrietta grabbed the milk while Henry picked his cereal. While Henry chewed, Henrietta examined the first piece of mail. It was the postcard. The picture was a black-and-white photo of a lake and a large boat. The boat was strange. People stood along a second-story deck, around three smokestacks. A huge paddle wheel was attached to one end. Unlike on the old American riverboats, the paddle was attached to the front beneath a swooping hull that looked like it belonged on a Viking ship.

Henrietta showed it to Henry, then turned it over. Everything was written in a tall and narrow cursive. She read slowly.

Sola 16

Simon,

The children are both ill, and the wind nips a bit at my thin bones. I shall give you electric catfish next time you visit. Come soon.

Love from Lake Tinsil,
Gerty

The two of them looked at each other.

“Wow,” Henrietta said.

“What does it mean?” Henry asked.

“I don't know. It's a letter. Grandpa's, probably. His name was Simon.” Henrietta squinted. “The picture looks old.”

“It says something else on the bottom, only it's printed.” Henry leaned over his cousin. “‘The proud
Valkr
in her mother waters.' Is that the boat? The
Valkr
?”

“Must be,” Henrietta said. “Which one do you want to do next?”

Two envelopes rested on the table in front of Henrietta. Henry recognized the long one he had pushed into the mailroom. The other was nearly square.

“But there were only two,” he said.

“I know that,” Henrietta said. “Which one do you want to read first?”

“No,” Henry said. “There was only the postcard and the long envelope.” He reached over and took both. “Where did you get this one?” he said, holding up the square envelope.

Henrietta shrugged. “With the other ones. They were all between your mattress and the wall.”

The square envelope was milk white and sealed with a glob of what looked like green wax. The long envelope was cream-colored and had handwriting on the back. The writing was tight and slanted, almost like calligraphy. Henry read it out loud, but slowly. “‘To the Master of the Seventy-seventh Box, Seventh Row of Lionesse, DX of Byzanthamum.' I don't think that's a proper address. What's the address here?”

“Eleven Grange Road,” Henrietta said. “It got delivered. Just open it.”

Henry slid his finger under the flap. The paper tore easily, and he pulled out a stiff folded sheet. The handwriting inside was the same. He squinted at it and began reading.

Midsummer

Sir,

In the course of our contempora ritualisms, we have discerned that certane of the lost byways have been both aired et stirred. We need not explain the means of our discernimentata, as you must be no strange face to our scientistics et were no doubt awarned that you had notified us of your presence as ripely as you had done so.

Former or freshe, master of the box you are. You fanger
-
grase the compassi, et you must kendle our intentions. Wake the old daughter of the second sire. We will not live for less. Do this et feel your freedoms breathe. Fail, et our order will sophistri in strength. See, the blud
-
eagle is no hen.

Darius,
First amung the Lastborn Magi,
W.D. of Byzanthamum

Henry put the letter down and looked at Henrietta.

“I don't think you read that right,” she said. “Give it to me.”

Henry slid her the letter and dribbled soggy cereal off his spoon while he watched her read.

“This doesn't make sense,” Henrietta said. “Whoever wrote it must have been nuts.”

“You don't think it's about us?” Henry asked. “I could be the master of the box. It's in my room.”

Henrietta raised her eyebrows and looked at him.

“What?” Henry asked.

“It's in our house,” she said.

“Yeah…?”

“You're not the master of anything, Henry.” She looked down at the letter. “And it wouldn't matter if you were. This is total gibberish. Whoever the master of the box is, he's supposed to wake up the daughter of a second sire. A sire is a king, right? Do you know any kings, Henry?”

“Maybe,” Henry said, stirring his cereal. “You wouldn't know.”

Henrietta laughed. “Right. I'm going to open the other one.” She picked up the square envelope and turned it over so the seal was up. The green glob shone in the light like glass. It had been stamped with a signet, and a thick lip bulged up around the image of a man's head. He was bearded, and his eyes were blank, pupil-less. Leaves grew in his beard and out of his nose and mouth. Vines crawled from his ears and were wrapped around his forehead like a crown.

“That's a little creepy,” Henrietta said. She tried to slide her finger along the paper to pop the seal off, but it wouldn't budge. She tried to tear the paper but couldn't so much as wrinkle it. She dropped the envelope on the table and stood up. “I'm getting scissors,” she said.

Henry shifted in his seat. “Don't bother,” he said. “They won't work.” He looked up at her. “It's just like Grandfather's door. You won't be able to get it open.”

He took the envelope in his hands and ran his fingers over the paper.

“I'm still getting scissors.” Henrietta turned away. She didn't take a step. A pop like the sound of a knuckle cracking had come from behind her.

She turned around. “What was that?” she asked.

“Um…,” Henry said. “I touched the seal.”

“What?”

“The seal. On the letter. I touched it.” Henry pointed toward the table.

The seal had divided through the green man's forehead, around his nose, and down through his beard.

“It's broken,” Henrietta said. “Split right in half.” She picked up the envelope and tried to open it. The paper wouldn't move.

“I think it's for me,” Henry said.

Henrietta looked at him, looked at the seal, and then handed him the envelope.

It was all one piece of thick paper, not an envelope at all, and it unfolded easily in Henry's hands.

He held the paper out. “Do you want to see, too?” he asked.

“Read it out loud,” Henrietta said, dropping back into a chair. Her hand snuck up to her mouth, and she began chewing on her thumbnail.

Henry looked over the paper, more than a little surprised at what he saw. The writing wasn't writing at all; it had been typed. And typed on what looked to be a very old typewriter. Every
T
and
K
stuck out high. It was much easier to read than the other letter.

Issuance from the Central Committee of Faeren for the Prevention of Mishap

(District R.R.K.)

Composed and Adopted under Emergency Guidelines

(
Book of Faeren, VI. iii)

Delivered via the Island Hill of Badon Chapter

(District A.P.)

To Whom We May Concern:

Testimony has been presented in the Hill of the Faeren (District R.R.K.) regarding certain gates that were once created without authority and were frivolously exploited to the great detriment of five of our most ancient districts and two civilizations. Said gates were believed to have been destroyed, and/or/perhaps severed or sealed.

Said testimony in said hill of aforementioned district established the following:

(a) That gates had either not been destroyed, nor severed nor sealed, or that gates had been destroyed or severed or sealed but have been rebuilt, repaired, or opened; (b) That beside said gates sleeps a male child, timid in all habit, who both snoreth and whimpereth in his slumber (henceforth: Whimpering Child); (c) That Whimpering Child is reprehensible and a shame to all who pursue wisdom or have earned gray hairs or fleshy scars, struggling to prevent mishap in the service of this district, past, present, and fut.

Having found the testimony sound, the Central Committee of Faeren for the Prevention of Mishap (District R.R.K.) issues the following notification, to be delivered by members of the Island Hill of Badon Chapter (District A.P.), who provided above testimony:

That if Whimpering Child through ignorant or malicious meddling shall unearth, unbind, or release evils long-defeated or evils young and undefeated, he shall be deemed fully responsible by the CCFPM of this district and be destroyed forthwith.

Let Whimpering Child beware.

When the seal has been broken, notice shall be considered given.

Notice has been given.

Ralph Radulf
Chair CCFPM

(District R.R.K.)

C and A under EG

(per
B.F. VI. iii)

Henry looked up at his cousin. “Someone knows I found the cupboards.”

“You don't know that,” Henrietta said. “It doesn't have to be about you.” She forced a smile. “You do whimper, though.”

“I don't think it's funny,” Henry said. “Somebody's been watching me. That's freaky.”

Henrietta shrugged, but she slipped her thumbnail back between her teeth.

Henry ate his cereal, and the two hurried back upstairs. They tore down the poster wallpaper and stood by his bed staring at the doors.

The doors stared back.

“I want to look in the little mailbox first,” Henrietta said. “But then I think we should just bang on them and see if they're stuck, like the first one was.”

Henry gave Henrietta the key to the mailbox. She pushed her hair out of her face and hunkered down so she could unlock the box and look through the little black space. Henry stood on his bed and used the butt end of the chisel to rap on all the metal latches and slides.

“Are you sure it was yellow in here?” Henrietta asked.

“Yes. But I think it might be in a different time zone. That's why it's dark now.”

Henrietta sat up. “I'm going to come watch with you tonight. I hope Anastasia and Penelope sleep hard. Have you tried all the ones near the floor? I want to see those. Let's pull the bed back.”

Henry got off the bed, and the two of them pulled it as far away from the wall as they could, which was only about a foot and a half. Henrietta pulled a rubber band out of her pocket and began twisting her hair back into a ponytail. “I like that one by the floor,” she said. “The black one.” The door was about nine inches square and extremely dark. The dust from the plaster stood out against it like chalk on a blackboard.

“Are you sure? You don't think it looks sad?”

“No. It looks magic.”

“But it's black.”

Henrietta smiled. “That's why it looks magic. It's more ebony, anyway. That's a nicer black.”

Henry looked at the black cupboard more closely. For some reason, he had avoided looking at it before. Of course, it had been late and he had been tired when he first chipped the plaster off it, but he hadn't really liked it then, moving on quickly and not looking back. He didn't know why.

“Did you try it?” Henrietta asked.

Now that she'd asked, Henry knew he hadn't.

“I don't remember,” he said.

Henrietta looked at him. “Well, try it now.”

Henry didn't want to. In the center of the door was a very small metal knob. He reached down and felt it. It was cold. He tried to turn it.

“It won't turn,” he said, and stood back up.

“Is it supposed to?” Henrietta asked. She squeezed past Henry, draped herself over the bed, gripped the small knob, and pulled. The door came off in her hand. A gold chain attached to the back rattled out behind the door.

Henrietta looked surprised. “I got it open,” she said.

Henry desperately wanted to leave the room. “I don't think it's a good door at all,” he whispered. A lump was forming in his gut. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

Henrietta wasn't listening. With her other hand, she pulled on the chain.

“It's attached inside the cupboard,” she said. “The whole thing just comes off and sticks back on. Oh, look at this.” She slid farther off the bed and reached into the dark opening.