The Rebirth of Wonder (12 page)

It didn't make any sense.

Maybe it didn't go anywhere; maybe it was a
fake, a practical joke. Or maybe it opened into a tiny little
clothes-press, inside the stone foundation wall.

He couldn't figure it out, and after a moment
he stopped trying and just started walking.

Chapter Twelve

“
Dad?”

Art's father looked up from his magazine.
“Hi, Art,” he said. “They quit early tonight?”

“
No.”

The elder Dunham glanced at his watch. “It's
only eight-thirty,” he said. “Seems early to me.”

“
They didn't quit
yet. I walked out. I'll go back to lock up later, I
guess.”

His father put down the magazine and sighed.
“What's the problem? They doing something illegal, or dangerous, or
something?”

“
No, it's nothing
like that,” Art said. “Just a... a personality conflict, I guess. I
felt like... well, there have been some weird things happening, and
I needed to think, so I took a walk.”

Paul Dunham looked at his son silently for a
moment. “Okay,” he said at last, “but I hope this isn't going to be
a regular thing. I want you in there, keeping an eye on the
place.”

“
I don't do all that
much of that anyway, Dad; I spend half my time in the basement
while they're doing mysterious secret stuff.”

Dunham frowned.

“
Anyway,” Art said,
“there was something I wanted to ask you about.”

“
What?”

“
That door in the
wardrobe room, the room next to the stairs, the black door in the
outside wall – none of the keys you gave me will open
it.”

Art's father frowned again, this time more
puzzled than annoyed. “What door?” he asked.

“
In the basement, in
the first storeroom on the left, with all the old costumes on
hangers.”

Dunham thought for a second, then said, “I
don't know what door you're talking about. There should be keys for
all the doors on that ring.”

“
Well, I couldn't
find a key to fit that one.”

Dunham sat for a moment longer, staring at
Art, then asked, “What do you want me to do about it? I don't know
what door you're talking about, or why you want it open at
all.”

Art explained, “Maggie Gowdie – she's one of
Innisfree's people – anyway, Maggie and I were downstairs looking
to see if we had a costume that would fit – she plays a witch – and
she asked if there were more costumes on the other side of this
black door, and I don't remember ever even seeing the door there
before. I tried to open it, tried every key on the ring, and none
of them fit.”

“
There isn't any
door there,” Dunham said.

“
That's what
I
thought, but we saw
it.”

His father stared at him for another moment,
then stood. “Come on,” he said. “Show me.”

They could hear the Bringers' voices even
before they reached the porch steps, but could not make out words;
father and son looked questioningly at each other. Normally, one
could not hear much through the theater walls.

Art shrugged and opened
the stage door, and they heard Kier Kaye shouting,
“...
isn't working
, Merle!”

Several other voices chimed in, as Innisfree
tried to reply and Art stepped in. He glanced back at his father,
who waved him on without saying anything.

They crossed the stage-right wings to the
basement door as the Bringers continued to argue among themselves,
but then, as Art grasped the knob, the argument suddenly ended. In
the abrupt silence the click of the latch was clearly audible.

Startled, the Dunhams turned to face the
Bringers, and the Bringers turned to see the Dunhams.

A rain of pink and red flower petals was
settling softly and noiselessly to the stage, and to the hems of
dresses and the laces of shoes and the seams of pants; Art did not
see where they had come from.

Maggie was not dressed as a witch, nor was
anybody else in a recognizable costume, though Granny Yeager still
wore her kerchief and Karagöz his turban.

“
'Scuse us,” Art
said. “Small problem in the basement.”

The Bringers stared at him, and then at each
other, as Art led his father down the basement stairs. By the time
they reached the landing the Dunhams could hear voices behind them,
speaking again but no longer shouting.

In the wardrobe room, the instant Art flipped
the light switch Paul Dunham stopped dead in his tracks and
stared.

“
Son of a bitch,” he
said.

Art didn't say anything; he waited.

“
Now, how the hell
did I ever miss noticing that?” the elder Dunham asked himself
aloud. “Art, I swear I never saw a door there before, but there it
is.”

“
I had the same
reaction,” Art said.

“
None of the keys
will open it?”

“
Nope.”

For a moment longer, Art's
father stared at the black door. Then he asked, “Where does
it
go
?”

“
I was hoping you
could tell me,” Art said.

Dunham shook his head. “Art,” he said, “it's
a complete mystery. I mean, it's obviously always been there, but I
swear I never saw any door there before this minute. Son of a
bitch. Must've been something hanging in front of it or
something.”

“
So what do we do
about it?” Art asked. “Do we hire a locksmith?”

“Yeah,” Dunham said, “I guess we do. It's not
an emergency, they charge extra for weekends – but Monday morning,
first thing.”

Art nodded.

“
Arnie Wechsler's
good,” Dunham said. “That's who I've always used in the business.
You want to call him, or should I?”

“
I'll call, I
guess,” Art said.

“
Good.” Still
staring at the mysterious door, Dunham began backing out of the
room. “Guess I'll leave it up to you, then, and get on
home.”

“
Okay.” Art decided
against accompanying his father; after all, he still had to lock up
after the Bringers left. And he wanted to talk to them, anyway – or
at least to Maggie.

Maybe he could do that immediately; the
Bringers hadn't looked as if they were doing anything terribly
secret. “I'll walk you upstairs,” he said.

Together, the two ascended the steps.

Innisfree was waiting for them at the top.
Behind him, onstage, the other eleven Bringers stood watching.

“
Mr. Dunham,”
Innisfree said, spreading his hands. “An unexpected pleasure to see
you here, a real delight!” His accent was almost Cockney this
time.

“
Mr. Innisfree,”
Dunham said. “I was, ah, just checking on something
downstairs.”

Innisfree smiled. “And is all in order and as
it should be?”

“
I'm not sure,”
Dunham admitted, “but it isn't anything to worry
about.”

“
Well, that's good, that's good, that's
fine
,
then.”

Dunham stared at the smiling magician. “Was
there something you wanted?” he asked.

“
Well,” Innisfree
said apologetically, “I'm afraid it's your son I need to speak
to.”

Dunham glanced quickly at Art, who shrugged
ever so slightly.

“
I'll get on home,
then,” Dunham said. “Call if you need me.”

“
Okay,
Dad.”

Dunham waved to the others as he walked
across to the stage door. He hesitated, looking back at his son and
the tall foreigner. Innisfree smiled, and Art waved good-bye.

Then Dunham was gone, out into the warm
summer night, and Art turned to face Innisfree.

“
Is there a
problem?” He wondered whether Maggie had said anything about his
storming out.

“
You might say so,
yes,” Innisfree said; he was eyeing Art contemplatively, as if
trying to determine not the best way to say what he had to say, but
rather, how much to tell.

“
I've been staying
out of your way,” Art said.

“
Indeed you have,
lad, and therein lies the problem.”

Art blinked.

“
It seems we
misjudged our capacities, and we do, indeed, need your help,”
Innisfree said. He paused, and quickly amended that. “Or at least,
we might.”

“
Um... just what did
you have in mind?”

“
Oh, we merely ask
that you not leave the building during our rehearsals. Working in
the cellars is fine; we can find you there easily enough. When you
took your walk tonight, though – well, it was
worrisome.”

“
Worrisome?” Art
looked around, puzzled. The other Bringers were still just standing
there, watching the conversation – didn't they have anything better
to do?

Perhaps they didn't. “Was there something you
needed help with?”

“
Oh, we managed, we
managed,” Innisfree said hastily. “We just wanted to ask you not to
leave the building during our rehearsals.”

Art stared at the tall man, trying to figure
this out.

The Bringers of Wonder had, right from the
first, made it absolutely clear that they didn't want any outsiders
around, and that outsiders included Art. Now they said they needed
him to be in the building.

Anywhere
in the building?

And they weren't asking him to help with
anything. They just wanted him in the theater.

Did that make any sense at all?

No.

This might finally be a chance to find out
just what the heck was going on, though.

Or maybe not; maybe it was just as they
said.

“
I don't
understand,” he said. “Do you want me to help out or not? Because
if you don't, what difference does it make where I
am?”

“
Well, we want you
close by, just in case,” Innisfree said with a
smile.

“
So how about if I
get some fresh air in the parking lot?”

The smile vanished.

“
We'd prefer it if
you stayed inside the building.”

“
Well, but I don't
feel like going back downstairs – it's sort of musty down there,
and my allergies are acting up.” This was a lie; Art had no
allergies.

Innisfree glanced over his shoulder at the
others.

“
I could sit and
watch,” Art suggested.

When Innisfree didn't answer immediately, he
added, “And once I've seen the play, I could help with lighting it
– I notice you haven't started rigging lights yet.”

Innisfree sighed.

“
We're not ready for
that yet,” he said. “Perhaps, if not the basement, there's
something to be done out in the lobby?”

Art considered.

“
All right,” he
said. “I can find something, I'm sure.”

Innisfree smiled again. “Fine! That's fine,
then! Thank you, Arthur, my lad!”

“
No problem.” He
closed the basement door, checked the lock, and made his way slowly
up the center aisle.

He could feel a dozen pairs of eyes watching
him.

He wondered whether Innisfree knew what he
was doing. Did these people not want someone watching just because
it would make them nervous, or was there something they really
didn't want him to see?

If the latter, they'd just blown it, because
in the little corridor behind the box office was a peephole with a
clear view of the stage. It was there so that ushers could let
latecomers in without interrupting anything important, so that
actors making entrances from the rear would know when to appear –
it was a normal and obvious feature of the theater. Ordinarily he
would never have used it to spy on the Bringers, if they had simply
told him they didn't want anyone watching, but all this nonsense
about not leaving the building, and sending him out to the
lobby...

Well, if they didn't have
the sense to realize he might be able to watch from there, it
wasn't
his
fault.

He smiled to himself, and almost skipped the
last few steps.

He was finally going to
see them rehearse
The Return of
Magic
.

Chapter Thirteen

It was odd to see the stage lit only by the
worklights from here – usually, he would only use the peephole much
farther along, after the lights were up. Everything was dim and
bare.

“
Places, everyone!”
Innisfree called. Voices did not carry very well through the
peephole, but Art could hear that clearly enough.

Except for Innisfree himself, the Bringers
dispersed, to the wings and far upstage – Art wondered whether
there would be sets of some kind hiding the three who now stood
along the back of the theater, right against the plank wall.