He stood up to look at the compass locks and hoped that the combination for the cupboard Henrietta had gone through would be fairly close to the one the knobs were set to now. He looked at the strange figures around the two knobs, then looked at his grandfather’s journal. He found a combination four figures off from the knob on the left and two from the one on the right. He checked the number of the cupboard and found it on his wall. It was a normal-looking brown one. Its name tag said “Tempore.”
Before Henry set the combination, he made sure he had his knife. He pulled his backpack out from under the bed and tucked both of Grandfather’s journals inside it. He slid his arms through the straps and turned to the compass locks.
With a deep breath, he carefully twisted the knobs.
In Grandfather’s room, he shut the door most of the way and stared at the still-open cupboard. He went to the bed and pulled out the rope. He figured that the rope was supposed to be tied to the bed leg, so he just held the loose end. Then he turned off the light.
Henry stood in the dark for a moment to let his eyes adjust, then he got down on his knees in front of the small door. His knife was in one hand and the rope in the other. He didn’t fit very well with his backpack on, but he dropped to his belly and squirmed in.
A loud ticking surrounded him. The smell of a wood fire.
Henry worked his way farther in, and the ticking grew louder. He could see a room now, but firelight was reflecting off something in front of him.
He was behind glass.
Henry pushed on it and felt it bend. He tried to look above himself, but he was squeezed in too tight to turn. So he just pushed his head up. The top of the cupboard was gone. He put his forehead on the glass and tried to pull his legs in behind him. They came a little ways, so he moved his head higher and tried to work his way closer to vertical. The ticking was very loud now, though he wasn’t paying much attention to it.
He bumped his head on something heavy. Something else chopped at the back of his scalp. He yelped and tried to drop back down but only banged his head again. Noise filled the small space—rattling and bonging as chimes shook and met each other above his head.
I’m in a clock, Henry thought.
Something was moving in the room. It had stepped in front of the fire. Henry froze. It was walking toward him. Henry heard a voice on the other side of the glass. It was a boy’s voice.
“What are you doing?” it said.
“Um…,” Henry said, and tried to shift his weight.
“Why are you in the clock?”
Henry grunted. “I’m stuck.”
“Where’s the rest of you?”
“It’s stuck, too.”
The boy laughed. “But how did you get in there? How do you fit?”
“I don’t.” Henry heard a click, the glass pressing against his face moved, and his head fell forward. He levered himself with his elbows and squirmed out onto the floor. Then he looked up at a skinny, white-faced boy. He noticed first that the boy’s lips were large and second that his pants were pulled very high, up to his ribs. The legs only reached the middle of his shins.
“They always leave the key in it,” the boy said. “You would have been locked in if they didn’t. How did you get in there?”
Henry looked back at the clock. It was a grandfather clock, big but not enormous. The pendulum had already forgotten it had clipped Henry’s head and was swinging steadily. The weights were still shifting and bumping into each other.
“I came through from the other side,” Henry said.
“Is it a secret room?”
“No. I don’t really know how it works.”
“A tunnel?”
“No. The back of the clock just connects to somewhere else.”
“Is it magic?”
Henry wasn’t listening. He was looking around the room. The fireplace was wide, built from smooth stone, and a low, bulging couch and matching chairs squatted in front of it. One wall looked like it might be entirely windows but was covered with heavy purple curtains.
“Is it night?” Henry asked, sitting up.
“No,” the boy said. “Just winter.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not allowed to open the drapes. They’re supposed to keep the room warmer. I’ve been in here all day. They don’t let me out, usually.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Well, Annabee mostly. She brings me my meals, though. Most times. I’m going to have her sacked when I’ve grown.”
“Has a girl come through here?” Henry asked. He already knew the answer.
“Through the clock?”
“Yeah.”
“Today?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have mattered if you’d said yesterday. You’re the first one ever to come through the clock that I know of.”
Henry clicked his tongue and looked around. “I bet my grandfather did.”
“Was he a wizard?”
“No. I don’t know what he was. He called this place Tempore in his journal.”
“We call it Hutchins.”
Henry looked at the smaller boy. “I have to go now. I need to find my cousin. I don’t know where she went.”
“Might she come through the clock?”
Henry looked at the small clock cabinet. “I don’t think so. Anyway, I have to go.” He stepped back to the clock and looked in. The rope hung out the bottom.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked.
Henry didn’t look back. “Henry,” he said.
“Mine’s Richard. What’s your surname?”
Henry thought about this for a moment.
“York,” he said.
“Henry York? Is your father the admiral?”
“No,” Henry said. “I don’t know who my father is.”
“Oh.” Richard stepped just beside Henry. “Mine’s dead. That’s why the others all have to look after me.”
“Sorry.”
“My mother’s run off.” The boy bent over and looked in the clock. “My surname is Leeds, though I’m going to change it.”
“Sorry,” Henry said again. “I really have to go.”
“Right.”
Henry got down on his hands and knees and crawled into the clock. There was a back to it. Henry’s head pushed against it, and he went nowhere. He sat back up and took a deep breath to prevent panic. Richard watched as Henry closed his eyes, reached into the clock, gripped the rope with his left hand, and felt his way along it. To Richard’s eyes, Henry was crawling through solid wood. His shoulders disappeared as the backpack seemed to catch on something. Henry’s legs lowered themselves, and the pack vanished, followed by Henry’s legs and feet. Then the rope vanished as well.
Henry ran up the attic stairs, no longer trying to dodge the creaks and squeals of the old treads. He pulled the journal out of his backpack and dropped onto his bed in front of the compass locks.
“Faster this time,” he whispered to himself, flipping to the back of the journal, looking for the combinations. When he found them, he scanned the list and glanced up at the compass locks. The closest combination belonged to another small door, though made of a darker wood than Tempore’s. The name tag, in Henrietta’s handwriting, said “Carnassus.”
Henry set the compass locks and hurried back down to Grandfather’s room with his backpack on and his knife in his hand. He was very careful not to close the door all the way behind him. He didn’t want to be locked in.
“You would take the key with you, wouldn’t you, Henrietta?” Panic was knocking somewhere in Henry’s mind, and he was trying to ward it off with irritation.
“After stealing it from my drawer. Sock drawers are not public property.”
Nervous again and blowing out long breaths, he walked straight to the cupboard, grabbed the end of the rope, did not notice that the cupboard door was open when he had left it shut, and crawled in.
He didn’t know what he would be crawling into, so he
inched his face along, waiting for something to become visible. That something was a stone floor, cold beneath his hands.
Stone walls stood close to him on both sides. A wooden arch joined the two sides, an arch filled with a heavy black curtain. Henry pulled himself to his knees and glanced around. The whole space was about the size of a closet. The walls weren’t more than four feet apart, the curtain about six feet from the back. The only light was coming in above and beneath the curtain. It was a cold white light, but bright enough.
Henry stood up, stepped toward the curtain, and tried to look around it. It was piled up against the stone walls on both sides, so he hooked one edge with his finger and eased it back far enough for his eye.
He saw the moon. At first, that’s all he saw. Its large white face filled a window high on a wall. He did not know that the window, which was actually more of a light well, had been built to cast its light—on one day of the year and in the night’s middle—upon the dark curtain in front of him. He did not realize, at least for a moment, that the moon lit the black curtain and very little else. He drew the curtain farther back and looked around the room.
A huge gong rolled through the chamber, vibrating Henry’s bones. Something bumped him from behind. He jumped, stepped on his own foot, twisted, and fell out through the curtain and onto the floor. He’d dropped his knife.
“That way,” an old voice said, “has been closed for many years.”
The gong’s echoes were still dying. Henry didn’t say anything. He didn’t stand up. He looked around for the voice, running his hands over the stone for his knife.
“Name yourself,” the voice said.
Henry didn’t respond. His hand closed on the knife handle. Turning to where he thought the voice was coming from, he pushed off the ground and stood up. He gripped his small defense tight.
“Name yourself,” the voice said again.
This time, Henry answered. “I can’t,” he said.
The old voice laughed and said something Henry couldn’t understand. The sounds made his blood tingle and his cheeks hot.
Suddenly the room woke. Torches and trays burst into flame all around the walls.
Henry blinked. The room was an oval. At one end, steps led down into a hall. At the other sat a black polished dais. It was all square, cut with hard lines and no curves. On it, carved from the same stone, was a square-edged chair with arms but no back. A wrinkled bundle of cloth sat upon it.
Black curtains hung at intervals all around the walls in arches like the one Henry had come through. Between them, stands that looked like they should hold fake ferns instead held the trays of flame.
“If you choose to pick at words,” the voice said, “what is it that others named you?”
“York,” Henry said.
“This is not a room for lies.” The bundle on the dais took shape, straightening, growing, and then leaning forward. An old man wrapped in black cloth stared at Henry. A long white beard grew off the tip of his chin, and a thick neck stood out behind it. His hair was pulled tight to his skull. Except for his head, the man was small. His eyes were fixed on Henry’s face. “Your name is not York,” he said softly.
Henry shifted his feet. “My father is Phillip Louis York,” he said.
“Your father was never called York. I have seen him here before. No other ever came unbidden.” The man held a smooth shaft of wood in his left hand. His right hung over the arm of his chair into a bowl. He lifted up something white and moving, pinched between his fingers. Then he put it in his mouth and smiled.
Henry clenched his fists. “Did you take my cousin? I’m looking for her.”
The old man laughed. “Is she missing? Are you missing? Will she come to look for you? Or will it be your father? How is it that you found the way?”
“I don’t know which way it was,” Henry said. “There are lots of them.”
The man pointed his staff at Henry. “You do not know of many ways. You cannot. You are too young. The magic would collapse you.”
“I do,” Henry said, and felt around his memory, trying to see the list from his grandfather’s journal. “I know the way to Tempore. I have been there tonight. I know the way to…Mistra, to Badon Hill, and to Byzanthamum. I know the way to Arizona.” The man leaned even farther forward, his eyes hooded.
Henry grabbed for more, hoping the stranger wouldn’t know the difference. “And Boston, Florida, Kansas, Vermont, Mexico, Africa, and New York.” The man still looked at him, stiff and expressionless.
“I know the way to Endor,” Henry said, and saw surprise register on the old man’s face.
“Did your father tell you these names?”
“My grandfather wrote of them.”
“Tell me, what is this place called? I do not think many know that.”
“Carnassus,” Henry said.
The old man sat very still before he spoke again. “Where did your grandfather write these things?”
“In a book I have,” Henry said. “At home,” he lied.
“Where is home?”
Henry didn’t want to say Kansas again.
“Henry,” he said.
“Henry?”
“It is a place called Henry.”
“And you came from Henry to this place. How long did it take you?”
“Not long. I should go back now. I still need to find my cousin.”
The man sat back, lifted more from the bowl, and chewed slowly. “I did not think you would come. I believed the door was lost and would never reopen, despite the old words. And I have others to content me. But now that you have come, I cannot let you leave.”
“I need to find my cousin.”
“She is not here.”
Henry stepped back toward the black curtain.
“Doors can shut on both sides,” the man said. “You will not find it open.”
Henry pulled back the curtain. Richard stood just inside looking terrified.
“Sorry I bumped you,” Richard whispered.
Henry didn’t know what to say. He had been planning on diving through and running straight up to the compass locks before he could be followed. But he couldn’t leave Richard behind. He looked down at the floor and saw the rope.
“Go back right now,” he said. And he shut the curtain.
“The way is closed?” the old man asked. “You will be allowed to leave when we have talked more about your book. I will not keep you long. I do not want your father returning.” The man laughed. “It is strange that I did not know of all his sons. Of course, to have only six would have been a grief to him. I should have known there would be a seventh.”
“I’m an only child,” Henry said. But he didn’t really know anymore. Not after what he’d read. He heard footsteps and looked back at the hall. Two men were climbing the steps, both holding staffs. Henry let his knife fall open and gripped it tight behind his leg. They walked toward him with extended arms and began a low chant.
Heaviness drifted over Henry like a lazy breeze. They came closer and repeated the process. It felt heavier this time, but also seemed to pass right through him. They stopped in front of him, and one of them pulled a long knife out of his robe and waved it, muttering. The other one reached for Henry.
Henry brought his little blade around hard. The two men jumped back. The man with the knife tripped and fell over. Henry hit the other one in the head, but with his fist more than the knife. Then he dove behind the curtain and was grateful to find Richard gone. He scrambled to his knees and crawled as quickly as he could, one hand on the rope, back to Grandfather’s bedroom. Once there, he rolled out on the floor, jerked the rope through, and shut the door. Richard stood beside him, his mouth open.
“Be very quiet,” Henry said, and handed him the knife. “Don’t let anyone through. I’ll be right back.” Henry ran out of the room on his toes and straight up his stairs. Once he’d set the compass locks to an empty combination, he tiptoed as quickly as he could back downstairs. Richard was waiting for him
, looking moon-pale.
“A hand pushed the door open, and I kicked it.” Richard pointed. “I shut the door again.”
Henry squatted down, opened the cupboard slowly, and looked inside. The hand sat by itself near the back. There wasn’t any arm.
“Oh no,” Henry said.
“What?” Richard asked, and bent over to look.
Henry took a deep breath. “I cut his hand off.”
“How?”
“When I switched the cupboard.”
Richard looked at him. “What are you going to do with it?”
Henry thought for a moment. “I think I should give it back.”
“Well, it’s not your fault.”
“I know,” Henry said, “but I don’t want to have to go bury it in the backyard or something. Maybe they could put it back on. Listen. You sit down here, and I’ll go switch the cupboard back. I’ll only leave it there a second. As soon as you can’t see the back of the cupboard, push the hand through with your foot, okay? It’ll only be a second, so go fast.”
“Hold, uh, hold on, are you sure?” Richard asked.
“Yeah. Get ready.” Henry left the room again and creaked his way back up the stairs. He was sure he would probably wake somebody up, but he didn’t care right now. He took a deep breath in front of the cupboards, then set the knobs back to Carnassus. He counted to two, turned the knobs again, and went back downstairs. He didn’t hear any yelling, so he thought it had probably worked.
“That was disgusting,” Richard said.
“Did it work?”
“Yes, but you nicked the tip off my boot.” Henry looked down at Richard’s delicate leather shoe. At the very end, a slice had taken about an eighth of an inch off the toe. He looked back at Richard.
“Why did you follow me? You have to go back.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
“Well,” Henry said, “because nobody here knows that I can go to other places, and my cousin is missing, and I have to find her tonight. She could be in big trouble, and even if she isn’t, we’ll still get into trouble.”