Stealing Magic (13 page)

“It’s somewhere along here, near a vent,” one man said. “Look, here it is.”

The two men were standing directly below them, inspecting the three strips of duct tape. One man scratched his head.

“Well, that’s the darnedest thing. Can’t imagine what it’s for.” Their eyes followed the strips from the floor all the way up to the vent. Ruthie and Jack withdrew out of sight.

Opening the toolbox, the men pulled out two flat-edged scrapers, using them to pry the tape from the wall. “Gonna take some time,” one said as they began dismantling the only escape route Ruthie and Jack had.

They crawled farther into the darkness of the vent. “That’s not good,” Jack whispered.

“Let’s just hope they haven’t been in the American corridor yet and taken down our climbing strip on that side,” Ruthie whispered back.

“We’ll have to jump if it’s gone.”

Ruthie groaned, remembering how hard they had hit the floor the last time they’d had to do that. “Might as well keep going.” She stood up. “Do you have your flashlight?”

“Didn’t bring it this time. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ruthie answered. The complete darkness made them feel even smaller as they headed into it. The first time they’d made this trek they’d been knocked flat by a gust of hot air, so they were prepared when it happened again—though this time the air was cool from the air-conditioning. They heard the rumble just before it hit them, and they crouched low. With the chilled wind at their backs, they proceeded.

About a hundred paces along they began to see faint light coming from the American rooms. They picked up speed and finally arrived at the edge. They dropped to their hands and knees and felt for the adhesive.

“It’s still there!” Jack said. “Ready to climb down?”

“Ready,” Ruthie responded.

Jack went first. “Ew,” he said halfway down. Not only had dust gotten stuck on the adhesive, but a couple of flies had alighted on the sticky surface and never escaped. They measured about the length of Ruthie’s forearm. Such close-ups of dead insects were something Ruthie and Jack hadn’t expected. The prickly hairs covering the inert creatures were stiff and spiky, the eyes—with their hundreds of individual globes—appeared fake, and their jointed legs looked more like mechanical inventions.

“But the wings are kind of beautiful,” Ruthie commented, wondering if one of them was the fly she had freed last time.

Now on the ledge, Jack suggested they go to Thomas’ room first. They hustled along the narrow path, stopping at A1 and the entrance to the side room, the one with the two low beds.

“Look around—do you see the ship anywhere?” Jack asked.

There weren’t many possible places for it to be, but they checked thoroughly, including under the beds and in a small chest. Then they peered around the corner into the main room. The ship was not visible; when they had the chance, they entered the room and opened the doors of the cabinet. It was empty. They checked behind the high-back bench and then exited into the entryway that led to the outdoors—and the seventeenth century. It wasn’t in this room either. Ruthie felt tempted to go out looking for Thomas. But then she noticed something.

“Jack, look.” She was standing at the door, looking out its window. “It’s not alive anymore.” Jack joined her. They saw a painted diorama, not the dusty street where they’d
been chased by a witch-hunting mob. They looked up and even saw a lightbulb creating the daylight. “It’s like the Japanese garden.”

“I wonder why.” They stared at the lifeless diorama. “Maybe the square isn’t bringing it to life?” Jack theorized.

“I don’t know. It worked in the Paris room—if it was the metal square making that happen.” She looked around, breathing the stuffy air. “I think it’s something else. Remember when we read in the archives what Mrs. Thorne said about objects animating the rooms? And remember my dad told us
animating
can mean ‘bringing things to life’?”

“The
Mayflower
,” Jack said, understanding what she meant.

“Exactly. Maybe the really old objects—like the
Mayflower
and Sophie’s journal—are what make these rooms time portals. It must be! Without the
Mayflower
in the room, the outside isn’t alive.”

“And Mrs. Thorne must have known.”

“Or at least one of her craftsmen,” Ruthie suggested.

“I’ll add that to the rules list: that something really old in the rooms animates the dioramas,” Jack noted.

“I wonder where the ship is.” Ruthie scanned the room.

“It’s not here,” Jack declared. “That’s for sure.”

“And without the
Mayflower
in the room,” Ruthie observed, “it’s like an entire world’s been stolen.”

Entering room A29, the South Carolina ballroom, was tricky. They had to use a side door, which was completely closed, so they couldn’t tell if anyone was looking at the room or not. They put their ears to the door, but that didn’t really help.

The door obviously hadn’t been opened for a long time—maybe not since Mrs. McVittie and her sister had visited—and the knob felt stiff and squeaked as it turned. Ruthie gave it a nudge and immediately heard a voice from the museum. She froze with the door open a few inches.

“Did you see that door move just now?” The voice sounded like that of an older woman.

An older man’s voice said, “I didn’t see anything. Maybe the air-conditioning went on and there’s a bit of airflow in there.”

“You’re probably right,” the first voice responded.

From where they stood, Ruthie and Jack could see reflections in an oval mirror hanging on the opposite wall. It caught the tops of heads as they passed by. Watching the mirror, they waited for their moment to go in.

Once inside, Ruthie was surprised by how small the space was; since it was called a ballroom, she expected it to feel larger. At the far end she saw an elaborately decorated piano, next to a graceful harp and another instrument that looked like a lyre (she’d seen one of those when they studied ancient Greece in school). A plump sofa covered in green silk sat beside the fireplace. Ruthie walked over to
a tall wood cabinet with gold trim, near the front of the room. Behind the panes of glass the doors were curtained, hiding whatever rested on its shelves. She felt an overwhelming impulse to open it.

A few chairs anchoring the corners of the rug had colors and designs that corresponded to the handbag. The handbag! She opened her messenger bag to check on it. Sure enough, the gems were faintly pulsing with light—not as bright as when the metal square had been hidden within the lining, but still, it was unnaturally bright. Since the metal square was in her pocket, Ruthie wondered, what was making it glow? She was about to reach into her pocket to see if the square showed any signs of warmth when Jack grabbed her arm.

“Uh-oh!” he pulled her across the room to a set of open French doors that led to a side porch. They hurried out just as three kids came into view through the glass.

They found themselves standing on a grand covered porch, painted white. Though the air was still and thick—much hotter than Chicago—the sounds of birds, voices, and other street noises couldn’t be missed. This world was alive!

They climbed the steps down from the porch and came to what looked like a freestanding front door facing the street. Neither of them had ever seen a front door that opened to a porch instead of into a house. Next to it an ornate wrought iron fence enclosed them in a very large garden adjacent to the house.

“Where are we?” Jack asked.

“Charleston, South Carolina, I’m pretty sure. That’s what the catalogue said. I think before 1835.”

“Cool. That’s before the Civil War.” Jack looked up and down the street. From where they stood, they had an expansive corner view of an intersection. It looked nothing like Chicago—from any time. “Look—palm trees!”

Besides palm trees, Ruthie and Jack saw a bustling town, with horse-drawn carts and carriages, gracious homes mostly painted white, and quite a large number of people going about their day. The women were wearing dresses with huge ruffled skirts and elaborate necklines, and bonnets on their heads. The men were wearing something like tuxedos. No one seemed to be dressed simply, despite the heat. Ruthie wanted to explore but realized that they would stand out too much in their modern clothes.

“If this is before the Civil War, do you think some of these people are slaves?” she asked Jack, noticing the large proportion of African American faces.

“I guess so,” Jack said. They saw dark-skinned people driving the carriages that light-skinned people were riding in. But they also saw a few people who might have been slaves who appeared to be selling goods from street corner stalls, such as handmade baskets with beautiful striped patterns.

Ruthie turned to look away from the street and into the garden in which they stood. “I wonder how far this
garden goes,” she said, and began to walk along a brick path lined with flowers and herbs. On the far end to one side, beyond some huge oak trees, stood two more structures that looked very much like the facade of the ballroom. In between, there was no grassy lawn; the entire area was lushly planted with aromatic flowers and shrubs. The rich and heavy smells had an intensity that was not familiar to Ruthie. They came across a rose garden, a small landscaped maze, and another area with a small fountain and benches. It was as though the outdoors had been designed with separate rooms, just like the interior of a house, all perfectly weeded and not a leaf out of place.

“This is so pretty,” Ruthie said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” a voice answered.

Startled, Jack and Ruthie spun around and found themselves face to face with a girl who looked to be almost their age. She had dark skin, her hair was braided in tight, even rows, and she was wearing plainer clothes than what they had seen on the people in the street. A dull brown dress that stopped just above her ankles and had a high collar was covered by a loose-fitting jumper—like an apron—made in a well-worn calico print. The girl held a large watering can. “You visiting the Smith family?” she continued, her expression a combination of curiosity and wariness. She spoke with a thick southern accent.

“Yes, that’s right,” Jack said immediately. “I’m Jack and this is Ruthie. We’re here from Chicago.”

“That up north?” the girl asked.

“Yes,” Ruthie answered. “But we’re not staying here for long. Just passing through.”

“Those traveling clothes?” The girl looked them up and down, especially their shoes.

“Yes,” Jack replied. “What’s your name?”

The girl appeared surprised by the question and stared at Jack for a moment before responding, “I’m Phoebe.”

“This sure is a beautiful garden.” Jack looked around at the greenery. “Do you work here?”

“Yes, I do. With my father. He’s in charge out here. We’re with the Gillis family.” Phoebe nodded to the grand house at the far end of the garden. “My mother works inside, and next year I will too.”

“Doing what?” Ruthie asked.

“Serving, of course!” Phoebe answered as though it were the silliest question she’d ever heard.

“We don’t live with servants in Chicago.” Ruthie hoped that might explain her question.

“Where do they live?” Phoebe asked.

“Ruthie means we don’t have servants at all,” Jack explained.

“Oh. I’ve heard about that. About up north.” She made “up north” sound like it was another planet. She shook her head the way people do when they hear something unimaginable. “How do people get on?”

“We get on just fine,” Ruthie answered, although she was not at all sure what Phoebe meant by the question. Was she asking how people got along with each other, or how they functioned on a daily basis without slaves?