The Accidental Keyhand (22 page)

Dorrie and Ebba dashed through the courtyard and then plunged back into the crowded inner room to fetch Marcus. Something felt different. The music had become faster and wilder and louder. The old man was looking with great antagonism at the musicians. Some guests had stuck their fingers in their ears, while others had begun to dance wildly. The man who'd complained about the symposium looked positively wrathful. As Dorrie watched, he marched over to one of the drums and gave it a mighty kick. The musicians' playing came to a dissonant halt.

“Let that be the last anyone ever has to hear of Timotheus.”

The drummer that Marcus had been talking to leaped to his feet. He had bits of leather and cloth braided into some of his long locks. “That's my best drum! How dare you?”

“How dare you inspire this company to ill-bred wildness with your uncivilized rhythms!” raged the drum-kicker.

“The only thing wrong with the rhythms is that they're ones you haven't heard before,” said Timotheus. “You old goat.”

At that, the “old goat” launched himself at Timotheus, and they fell crashing into the other musicians. A great shouting and jangling rose up as the other musicians fell upon Timotheus' attacker, and still more guests came to the aid of the man who'd kicked the drum. Seeing Marcus, Dorrie grabbed hold of him, and together with Ebba, they ducked and dived their way through the crowd toward the door—to the accompanying sound of breaking crockery and angry shouting—and then out into the courtyard.

Marcus looked back at the mayhem. “You don't think that's the Timotheus of Miletus, that I read about in that book, do you? Because if it is… then I just…uh-oh.”

Dorrie ducked as a wine bowl went sailing overhead.

They piled into the little library room and Ebba slammed the door behind them. Not even bothering to check and see if the corridor was empty, Dorrie sprang for the archway, with the others in tow. They landed in a tangle on the corridor's carpet. From his perch on the tattered couch, Moe greeted them with a luxurious yawn and turned over, all docile sweetness, his paws in the air. Ebba scooped him up.

“Anybody could be reading that page right now.” Dorrie scrambled to her feet and began to sprint down the corridor. Hypatia has to know the page is really gone.”

Dorrie sped up, summoning her courage. Telling Hypatia what she'd done would be much harder than facing any sword-wielding villain she could imagine. She flashed on her old problems in Passaic. They looked so tiny. A brother who was going to make her late for the Pen and Sword Festival? A sister who had poured a little bit of dirty water into Dorrie's orange juice out of…a little silver bottle. Dorrie skidded to a halt, the others ploughing into her. “Now what,” demanded Marcus.

Dorrie sucked in her breath. The bottle that had fallen into her lap in Athens was the twin of Miranda's. But where had Miranda found hers? Dorrie had never seen it before. It had been such a crazy rush of a morning, with Mr. Scuggans calling and books falling and her boot missing and the doorbell ringing.

A bolt of lightning seemed to fly right through Dorrie's chest. She stared at her thumbnail.

“Dorrie, what is it?” said Ebba. “What's wrong?”

“That man we saw on the street out in Athens. I've seen him before. In Passaic. He came to see Great-Aunt Alice.” Dorrie remembered now the way his gray hair seemed to absorb the sunlight and that he'd worn gloves on that warm June morning. Mr. Biggs he'd called himself. A feeling of horror stole cold and jagged through Dorrie. She shivered and closed her eyes, notions of past, present, and future sliding over each other, pieces of a puzzle grabbing at other pieces.

“How?” said Marcus, staring at Dorrie. “He'd have to time-travel, and only the lybrarians…” His words trailed off, leaving an awful silence.

“If he is time-traveling,” whispered Ebba, “is he a friend or an enemy, or someone who doesn't even know about Petrarch's Library?”

“I don't know, but he wasn't very nice,” said Dorrie. She pictured the man again as he snatched the silver bottle from her lap. His fingernails had looked odd. Not pinkish, but white. A dull perfect white. The white of chalk or paint or…. “And I think he was wearing nail polish.” She turned frightened eyes on Marcus, feeling utterly sick now. “Great-Aunt Alice couldn't be working against the Lybrariad, could she?”

Marcus shrugged. “I don't think she hated being a librarian
that
much.”

Without another word, Dorrie spun and resumed her sprint towards Hypatia and the Celsus, her legs moving faster than she ever thought they could. “We have to tell Hypatia. About everything! Before something terrible happens.”

***

Inside the main hall of the Celsus, neat stacks of paper lay on the tabletops in preparation for the next day's scheduled Keyhand Council meeting. When they reached Hypatia's office, chests heaving, Dorrie could hear voices rising and falling from inside. Feeling sick, she forced herself to travel the last few steps to the door, Marcus and Ebba beside her. She raised her hand to knock but hesitated as she heard Hypatia's voice. “You're absolutely sure about what you saw, Mr. Gormly?”

“Yes,” Dorrie heard Mr. Gormly say. “They went through the Athens archway. At first I thought they must have had been with one of the keyhands, so I just went about my business, but then I got to thinking that it just didn't make sense, and with things as they are, I ought to say something.”

Dorrie's heart sank. She gave Marcus and Ebba a despairing look.

“How much more proof do you need that Dorothea and Marcus Barnes are mixed up in something dangerous to the Lybrariad?” barked Francesco. “The people who trailed Kash were asking everyone they came in contact with about a small gray star. Just the size that would fit in that book of the girl's.”

Dorrie inhaled sharply.

“We shouldn't have trusted them,” said Francesco.

“You never did,” Dorrie heard Savi say. “But some of us still do. Being mixed up in something dangerous to the Lybrariad is not the same as intending us harm.”

Francesco went on. “The people who captured Kash had black nails. Callamachus tells me several historians now mention ‘Blacknails' in their books. Millie tells me that Ms. Barnes's thumbnail is black as night and has been since the day she arrived.”

The grim satisfaction in Francesco's voice began to turn Dorrie's fear into outrage.

Dorrie knocked hard on the door. Heavy footsteps sounded, and Francesco jerked it open. Hypatia sat behind her desk. Mr. Gormly stood to one side of it and Savi to the other. Even in her shame, Dorrie couldn't help but feel a stab of betrayal as she glanced at Mr. Gormly.

Dorrie forced herself to walk through the doorway, Ebba and Marcus at her heels. “I did go through the archway,” said Dorrie, finding Hypatia's eyes and then Savi's. “Mr. Gormly is right. That's what I came to tell you.”

A tense silence filled the room. From the window, Dorrie could hear the shouts and cheers of the crowds watching the stone-tablet relay races. On Ebba's shoulder, Moe dug around in her hair, chittering.

Hypatia slowly tapped one finger gently on her desk. “May I see your hand?”

Slowly, Dorrie extended it toward Hypatia. Hypatia turned it over gently so that the thumbnail showed. “It looks as though the aurochs stepped on it.”

“I…I thought I bashed it sword-fighting.”

Hypatia pressed gently at the base of Dorrie's nail. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” whispered Dorrie, wishing it did.

Hypatia released Dorrie's hand. “Did you realize before today that you could pass through the Athens archway?”

Sick shame rolled through Dorrie, mixing its stickiness with the anger. “Yes,” she finally said, her voice a near-whisper. “It's what I came to tell you about.”

“Oh, ho,
now
she wants to tell us about it,” said Francesco, his eyes icy. “After she's been caught red-handed.”

“Dorrie didn't even know that Mr. Gormly had seen us,” said Marcus.

Ebba turned pleading eyes on Hypatia. “Dorrie came to tell you about it because she wanted you to know!”

Hypatia leaned back in her chair. “Please don't shout, Ebba.”

“And return to the attics, at once,” added Francesco furiously.

“No,” said Hypatia. “I think we'd better hear from all three of them.”

“We can start,” said Francesco, “by having a very detailed discussion about what exactly you were doing in Athens.”

It was an awful conversation. Dorrie told them everything. About Marcus accidentally tearing out the page from the
History
of
Histories
book, about accidentally stumbling into Athens and dropping the page there, about trying to get it back and failing. She told them about how she'd been afraid to tell the truth at first out of fear of being marooned, and then because she wanted to train in the sword, and finally because she'd wanted so badly to be a part of Petrarch's Library. About how Ebba had encouraged her to tell the Lybrariad and how Dorrie hadn't wanted to jeopardize her chances of becoming a real apprentice.

Dorrie's insistence that she cared about the Lybrariad and was beyond sorry about putting it in danger sounded hollow even in her own ears. Savi insisted to Hypatia that he could vouch for Dorrie's best intentions, while Francesco accused her of outright lying about them.

“I know what I did was wrong, but I
wasn't
lying to hurt anyone,” Dorrie said, her chest tight with heartsickness, her eyes trained on Savi.

Listening, Hypatia's calm eyes had neither excused nor accused Dorrie and Marcus, but they seemed to contain deep disappointment. How terribly it had burned Dorrie to tell them about seeing Mr. Biggs and his disguised nails in Athens, and the fact that he had been in the Barnes' own home as a guest of her Great-Aunt Alice.

“Well, we know at least that the aunt is definitely working against us,” said Francesco. “We cannot afford to keep the question of the loyalty of these two young interlopers open.”

“We must, until and unless we can't,” said Savi.

Francesco looked at his pocket watch. “Kash's search team leaves in just a few minutes. I must go.”

Savi's jaw tightened.

Francesco leaned on Hypatia's desk and fixed her with his one good eye. “We have about forty-five minutes left to exercise…all of our options, if you know what I mean. After that we no longer will be able control the situation. I beg you, think of the Lybrariad's security.”

“I'll need to gather as many keyhands as I can on this short notice,” said Hypatia. “We'll need a formal decision.”

She turned to Dorrie. “I'd like you and Marcus and Ebba to go to your rooms as quickly as possible, get cleaned up and changed—your own clothes will do—then come back here. Bring the star book, please.”

Dorrie could feel her heart sinking, down, down, like an anchor into a bottomless sea.

Only Savi, mouthing, “It'll be all right,” kept that anchor from pulling her completely under.

Francesco pushed himself off Hypatia's desk, his triumphant eyes on Dorrie. He smoothed his moustache. “Mr. Gormly can escort them.” He strode out the door.

Savi's sword hand twitched, his eyes ablaze. He took a step forward as if he meant to hurry after Francesco and then looked back at Dorrie. He seemed to come to a difficult decision and turned his back on Francesco. “I'll go ring the emergency bell.”

SEEING STARS

Walking through the deserted library, Dorrie shot Mr. Gormly an angry look.

Mr. Gormly looked sheepish. He scratched his head. “I know what you're thinking, but don't look at me that way. I told 'em about that funny business for your own good. Best to have it all out in the open. You could get hurt going out on your own like that. Hypatia will stand by you.”

Dorrie stared straight ahead and said nothing. Mr. Gormly led them through the Gymnasium and into the room that contained the Roman bath. Dorrie looked up at the hole that led back into the Passaic Public Library. The flickering blue light around its edge seemed to be flashing out a message: “Game Over. Game Over. Game Over.” It seemed to overpower the gas lamp's warm glow. Again, Dorrie saw them pushing the wall at the back of the mop closet and discovering the little secret room for the first time. The dust-covered furniture, the little paintings, the books, and the strange floor with its network of lines connecting circles and triangles and—Dorrie stopped short, her throat almost closing as she remembered.
And
one
star. In the middle of the room. The dust around it brushed away.

“Wait!” she called out to the others, a few steps ahead. “That star! The one the people who captured Kash were looking for? I think I might know where it is!”

The others stared at her, mouths open.

“I think it was stuck in the floor of the little room!” she cried, pointing at the hole. “Before it exploded.”

Mr. Gormly's eyes went wide. His eyes darted around the Gymnasium. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“No. We've got to go back to Hypatia's office and tell her!”

Mr. Gormly rubbed his chin, looking troubled. “It's a long way back. If you're right, I hate to think of it sitting out there on its own when we could just snatch it back for the Lybrariad.”

“Let's get it,” cried Marcus.

Ebba's eyes widened. “But we promised Hypatia!”

Dorrie's heart pounded. If they could get the star back, perhaps it would tip the balance in favor of Dorrie and Marcus getting to become apprentices, after all. “I'll just stick my head through and see if I can reach it!”

Mr. Gormly looked around it. “I guess it'd be safe enough with me here.”

Dorrie and Mr. Gormly quickly climbed the stairs. Dorrie took a deep breath and reached toward the hole with one fingertip. It felt hot but passable. Suddenly, Dorrie felt herself grabbed from behind. Something hard and cold pressed was against the side of her neck. In another moment, Mr. Gormly's hand had covered her mouth. He spun her to face Marcus and Ebba where halfway up the stairs they stood gaping with raw, uncomprehending fear.

“Now,” said Mr. Gormly, smiling wolfishly. “Sorry to be so boorish about this, but I think I'd like that star for myself. Not to mention a horse to gallop away on.”

“Let her go!” shouted Marcus, bounding farther up the stairs with Ebba behind him, Moe clinging to her shoulder. They only stopped when Dorrie cried out as Mr. Gormly pressed the cold knife harder against her neck. Marcus's eyes found Dorrie's. His fists curled and uncurled, his face full of fear and rage.

“If you try to hinder me in any way, I assure you that I'm more than willing to cut Dorrie's pretty little neck and use you to get to Passaic, so no attempts at heroics.”

“Help!” Dorrie shouted with all her might.

Mr. Gormly shook her like a rag doll. “And definitely no more of that.” He thrust his chin at Marcus. “You first. I need all the Passaic keyhands.” Marcus's jaw worked wildly as he slowly made his way to the hole. “Don't worry,” said Mr. Gormly. “We'll be simply the best of friends on the other side. You'll see.”

“Why should they believe that?” cried Ebba, edging up another stair.

“Don't come any closer,” said Mr. Gormly, shoving at Ebba with a foot. With an angry hiss, Moe leaped from her shoulder at Mr. Gormly's face. Mr. Gormly roared and batted at Moe, sending him flying through the air.

“Moe!” shouted Ebba, hurling herself at the rough banister with outstretched arms as the mongoose sailed over it. He plummeted into the water, landing with a splash.

“Move!” growled Mr. Gormly, pressing Marcus and Dorrie forward.

“You better not hurt Dorrie, or I'll kill you!” Marcus shouted, as, wincing at the heat, he backed up the rest of the stairs and into the little five-sided room.

Mr. Gormly grinned at Dorrie. “Your turn, missy!”

She and Ebba turned petrified eyes on one another, and then unable to think of what else to do, Dorrie began to climb. The hole felt unbearably hot, like scalding bathwater. She hurried through into the Passaic Public Library, feeling half boiled alive, with Mr. Gormly hanging tight to her arm.

Without letting go of Dorrie, Mr. Gormly began to sweep his feet this way and that across the ruined floor of the little gaslit room, sending the broken bits of parquet clattering. Suddenly, he crowed and kicked at something in a mound of debris. It was a thick, little five-armed gray star. When he let go of Dorrie to snatch it up, she dived for the protection of Marcus's arms. Mr. Gormly didn't try to stop her. Instead, he began to plant loud enthusiastic kisses on the star. In between kisses he praised himself. “Oh, you clever, clever man! You canny, cunning, artful, wonderful dodger!”

Suddenly, Dorrie wanted to know very badly what Mr. Gormly knew that they didn't. “What is it?” she blurted out.

“This?” Mr. Gormly said, clasping the star against his chest and grinning so that there really wasn't any face left on either end of his smile. “This?” he repeated, holding the star out on his palm. It shined dully as though made of pencil lead.

Something chilly and unpleasant slithered through Dorrie. As she had suspected, the star was indeed the same shape and size as the space cut out in the book she'd brought from Passaic.

“This is my future, my front-row ticket, my place at the table of my choosing,” crowed Mr. Gormly. “This is butlers, and a carriage and eight, and a sea of champagne. This, my little friends, is additional and staggering proof of the bottomless fountain of my intelligence.”

During his speech, Dorrie had begun to edge toward the hole, pulling Marcus along with her. They needed help. They had to stop him. If they could just get back down the stairs with a head start.

“I have what I want, and you're no worse for the wear. I told you we'd be the best of friends on this side,” sang Mr. Gormly as he did a little jig. “It's about time I got to visit a new village. Three years in Petrarch's Library were three years too many.”

“Now!” Dorrie shouted. Holding tightly to one another, Dorrie and Marcus tried to sprint down the stairs, but only succeeded in falling into a tangled heap. Dorrie felt hard floor beneath her knees. She was resting on an invisible barrier. Far below, she could see Ebba racing along the edge of the bath. With a cry, Dorrie tried to reach toward her, only to bash her knuckles on what felt like rough, invisible stone.

“Oh, good,” said Mr. Gormly, watching Dorrie cradle her hand. “I was worried your special little power might be a problem.” He yawned and tucked his dagger into his belt alongside his sword. “Use a new archway while it's too warm and fresh, and you'll lock yourself right out of Petrarch's Library.” He tapped his head. “A little nugget of knowledge you pick up doing internal security.”

Dorrie stared at him with a burning, desperate hatred as she remembered the words of caution that Mistress Wu had shared about that so many weeks ago.

“Now thankfully, you won't be able to return,” He looked around the little room, his gaze stopping on the door to the mop closet. “And of course, without you, no one inside Petrarch's Library can get out. So that's that.”

“That's that!” shouted Marcus, sounding outraged. “They're going to think we're traitors and ran away or something!”

“Well, to be fair, I think they already do think you're traitors,” said Mr. Gormly, stepping over a pile of broken bits of wood.

“I was going to kiss Egeria after the play!” Marcus roared.

“Wasn't going to happen, chappy,” said Mr. Gormly. “Look on the bright side. I won't have a bunch of barmy lybrarians chasing around after me as I search for my perfect customer.”

“Perfect customer for what?” said Dorrie, already knowing the answer.

Mr. Gormly smiled and held the little star up in the palm of his hand. “It's sure to be horribly tricky to make, full of many difficult-to-find ingredients, and wonderfully powerful. I'm betting someone will give me the prettiest of pennies for it. Maybe that friend of your auntie's. That Mr. Biggs fellow.”

“Why would he want it?” cried Dorrie.

Mr. Gormly rolled his eyes disbelievingly. “Why would he—? Put the pieces together, girl. You set it on the ground and, pop, there's a rabbit hole into the heart of Petrarch's Library. That should make someone very giddy with desire, which will make this—” He cuddled the star close. “Nearly priceless!”

“You'd just
give
it to him?” Dorrie sputtered.

“Well, only if he paid a sufficiently exorbitant amount of money for it,” said Mr. Gormly.

“After the lybrarians saved you!” Dorrie cried.

“Well, it's not like they
meant
to,” said Mr. Gormly indignantly. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Though I admit it was nice to get away from the rats.”

“Rats are a thousand percent nicer than you,” said Marcus.

“Anyway,” said Mr. Gormly. “I'll be off now. Take a little look around, see the sights, taste the vittles, squeeze the wenches. Thank you again for holding open the door.”

Marcus blocked the door to the mop closet, outraged, his fists curled. “What if we try to stop you?”

“Well, I wouldn't recommend trying to get in my way by yourselves,” said Mr. Gormly in a friendly voice, his hand brushing against the knife in his belt. “You can try telling someone I abducted you at knifepoint from the hidden lair of a tribe of warrior librarians and see what that gets you.” Mr. Gormly pushed Marcus to one side and swung the door to the mop closet wide open.

Dorrie felt like weeping. “You can't sell that star! You can't! In the wrong hands it could destroy everything the lybrarians have created. The world could go back to being a place you wouldn't even want to live in!”

Suddenly, they all heard someone unlocking the staff-room door on the other side of the mop closet. Dorrie and Marcus froze.

“Suit yourself,” Mr. Gormly said placidly. “Must run.” He patted his breeches. “I feel the need for a new set of clothes coming on.”

He stepped through the doorway into the mop closet and collided with Amanda, who was hurrying into the closet from the staff room.

“Oh!” she said, her mouth hanging open in surprise.

“Oh!” Mr. Gormly said in his wolfish way. Without another word, he swung her down into an embrace, kissed her full on the lips, and plucked the key she held out of her hand. “I'm an adaptable sort,” he said, setting the speechless Amanda back on her feet and making for the exit.

Dorrie and Marcus crowded into the mop closet as Mr. Gormly disappeared through the staff-room door.

“We've got to stop him!” Dorrie said, stumbling over buckets and cans of paint. “He's going to destroy the Lybrariad!”

“The what?” said Amanda, as Dorrie ran for the door.

“Lybrarians from all over the place, all over time!” said Marcus, grabbing a plunger and leaping after her. “Seriously dangerous, endangered lybrarians.”

“But good dangerous,” added Dorrie.

“Petrarch's Library!” cried Amanda, clasping her hands together. “Is it real?”

“Yes!” said Dorrie. “And that guy who kissed you has this star thing—it's like a key to the lybrarians' hideout—and he's going to sell it to the lybrarians' enemies!”

Amanda paled, her eyes growing large. “We have to stop him. We have to get that star back.”

In that moment, the truth about Great-Aunt Alice came crashing in on Dorrie. “Oh, no!” she cried. “Great-Aunt Alice wasn't working with Mr. Biggs.” She tugged on the doorknob furiously. “Mr. Biggs came looking for Great-Aunt Alice because he thought she had the star!” she kicked at the door. “He's locked it!”

As Amanda pulled a ring of keys out of her pocket, Dorrie heard a familiar whispery sound. She looked down at her chiton and then at Marcus's. They were disappearing.

Marcus dived for the coatrack, and tossed Dorrie a trench coat. For a moment he vacillated between an enormous down parka and the eye-popping flowered raincoat. He took the parka.

“You have to warn Great-Aunt Alice!” cried Dorrie, as Amanda unlocked the door. “We'll find the star!”

Marcus yanked the door open, and they burst through it pell-mell.