Authors: Julia Watts
Frederica offered, “I know my way around pretty well, too, thanks to yet another school field trip. I think downstairs is best—I seem to remember there’s some sort of exit there.”
Frederica led the way and Liv followed, assuming the boys were right behind them. Halfway down, she heard rapid footsteps too far away to be Cal and Anthony. She looked back. The boys were gone.
She tried to reverse directions, but Frederica pulled her back. She struggled to break free. “They may have grabbed them!”
“And they may not have,” whispered Frederica, pulling Liv along. “And if they have, we must get out of here and call the police. We can’t do this alone.”
Reluctantly, Liv followed, and they looked around for an exit, then froze at the sound of staccato footsteps on the stairs—too loud to be made by the boys’ tennis shoes and too fast to be a tourist.
“Go!” hissed Frederica, but Liv was already in motion. They made their way through a series of twist-and-turn passages, stopping in front of an interior door labeled “China Closet.” The heavy footsteps pounded on the stone floor, slowing down as they came closer. Then there was quiet, even more chilling than the noise had been.
Liv tried the closet’s doorknob and to her surprise, it opened. She glanced at Frederica, who nodded, and in they went.
“We’re not safe here,” whispered Liv. “I’m pulling out the box.” She reached into her skirt and shawl bundle. “I can’t see— I’ll have to do it by feel. I’m just going to pull out the ones’ drawer a little. It should take us back a year or two.”
“That’s good. Everything will be the same. We’ll walk upstairs, step behind something, and come back to the present. Surely we can find the boys and some staff to help us.”
“Great plan. Hope you remember the way out of here.”
The shadows of feet appeared in the crack of light under the door, and Frederica quietly took hold of the doorknob. She pulled hard, grunting with the effort, but the knob turned and the door opened a quarter-inch.
Liv fumbled with the box, leaned her head against Frederica to make sure they had contact, and clawed at the drawers.
The doorknob stopped turning, and everything was quiet. “Do you think we’re locked in?” Liv breathed into Frederica’s ear.
“Let’s find out.” She turned the knob and pushed gently. The door opened and Frederica peeked into the hall. “I don’t see anyone.”
Linking arms and tiptoeing from the closet, they stepped into dim light, though it was mid-afternoon. They crept along the hallway, inching back toward the stairs.
Liv held the drawers of the box in position and showed them to Frederica—eighteen thirty-five. Frederica nodded and made a thumbs-up sign, then froze as a thin, reedy voice floated toward them from behind. The words were slow and deliberate, as if the speaker were writing as he talked to himself.
“Thursday, eighteenth June, eighteen hundred and thirty-five. Dined alone.” There was a pause, followed by a sigh and a wheeze. “Again.”
They went a yard farther, silent as the ghosts Liv could imagine might inhabit this place. If they could make their way up the stairs and past any hired help, they should be able to get outside, travel back to the present, and scream for help.
“You may as well step in here where I can see you.” The voice was stronger now, and Liv marveled that the man had been able to hear them.
“If you’re a robber, you can knock me in the head whilst you’re about it, and finish me off. I miss my late wife, and I won’t mind joining her.”
The girls looked at each other, shrugged, and walked toward the voice.
An old man sat in a chair, holding a quill pen and an open book. A short candle, fixed to a human skull, provided the only light. Wax had dripped and built up on the skull, giving it an odd little hat. Sir John Soane stated the obvious. “I was writing in my journal.”
Frederica stepped forward. “We’re sorry to have disturbed you, Sir John, and we mean you no harm. We came here, well, sort of by accident, and we don’t intend to stay.”
The old man’s skin appeared almost transparent in the dim light, and his face bore an unsettling resemblance to the skull candleholder. “I’ve been a collector of oddities and a student of secrets for a long time now, and I think I know how you came to be in my house.”
Liv stammered, “Uh, we just wandered in. The door was unlocked.”
Soane chuckled. “My dear children, I’m far too old and tired for games. I particularly enjoy the legends that surround things I collect, or would like to collect.
“There’s an intriguing story of a golden disk, cast by an ancient South American tribe. It enabled the makers to travel through time.
“In their wisdom, they knew it was too dangerous a thing to use much, so the secret was closely guarded. Only one elder at a time knew how to make a device to activate the disk.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “Hah! There’s my confirmation I see it in your eyes. I’d hoped the Quimbaya legend was true. I don’t suppose you’d want to sell it, would you?”
“Oh, no sir, we couldn’t,” replied Liv.
“I thought not.”
Curiosity got the better of her. “Even if you knew the legend, how could you be so sure we’d time traveled?”
He wagged a finger at them and grinned. “It wasn’t as much of a leap of logic as you might think. In fact, it was beautifully simple. You weren’t here, and then you were. Your accents are strange, your clothing is strange, and you’re. . .”—he poked the air with a finger, searching for the right word—“. . .cheeky.”
His expression sobered. “I have only two concerns. First, are you using this extraordinary gift in a frivolous fashion, or out of necessity?” He peered at them over the pince-nez spectacles perched on his long nose.
“We were running for our lives,” said Liv, “and trying to save three others.”
Soane nodded. “That, at least, is the truth. I hear it in your voice. Second—and it’s a self-centered question from a bitter old man—what about my work? All my beautiful buildings, and this house?” He waved his hand. “I poured my heart and soul into it all, and look at me. Feeble and lonely, hoping someone remembers me. Does anyone?”
Frederica moved a step closer. “Sir John, I’ll just tell you the truth, because I don’t think you’d respect anything less. There’s not much left of your public buildings, but you’re still regarded as a great architect.”
She raised her head toward the ceiling. “And this place is known all over the world. It’s been visited and loved and cared for by generations of people who appreciate what you did.”
“Well, now, that cheers a fellow up, doesn’t it? An ancient mystery solved, and good news about the future. I’m doubly glad you came.”
He pointed to the hallway. “The housekeeper has taken off early, so you may go anywhere you wish and travel back to your own time. There’s no one else in the house. For some reason, I can’t seem to keep live-in help anymore. No one wants to spend the night here. Pity—the house is wonderfully spooky at night.”
Sir John dipped his quill in a nearby inkpot and began to write again. “Spoke with time travelers after dinner. It seems the legend of Quimbaya is true.”
He closed the book, picked up the skull, and gave a start when he saw the girls still standing there. “Oh, I thought we’d said good bye. Thank you for an interesting evening, but you’d best be going. Good luck to you.”
“Thanks,” they said in unison.
They hurried along the hallway. “Let’s walk to the gift shop area,” said Liv. “When we go back, maybe there’s a phone at the cash register.”
“Right. Once we’ve traveled, you look for the boys. I’ll make the call and join you.”
The quiet of eighteen thirty-five was shattered by the chaos of the present. Staff and visitors had gathered near the stairs, yelling and pointing up to the loft area. Mobiles were everywhere, and two people were using theirs to take video of something happening above.
Liv looked up and saw Anthony, struggling with Nigel, trying to keep from being pushed over the railing. Cal was tugging at Eddie with one arm and pounding him with the other in an attempt to keep him from helping Nigel. If Anthony fell, it would be a multistory drop onto the stone floor.
She screamed, “No-ooo!” and ran toward the stairs. Shouts and footsteps came from behind her, and she was knocked aside. She heard the thud of her head hitting the iron railing, and everything went black.
When she opened her eyes, it surprised her to see that the floor had zoomed up to just below her shoulders. The walls and ceiling spun around merrily at first, then slowed as a pair of arms lifted her head and shoulders. She looked up.
It was Tommy. She tried to struggle and fell back, watching bright spots dance around his face. As they disappeared, she could make out more shapes. Frederica, Anthony and Cal.
None of them seemed worried about Tommy. She needed to save them all, but she felt so tired. She’d just close her eyes for a minute and save them after she’d had a little rest. . .
Bursts of static and unintelligible talk woke her, and she watched Tommy pull a walkie-talkie from inside his jacket. “This is Harper. Yeah, the kids are safe, but we need an ambulance for one of them.”
He looked down at Liv, but before he could speak, the yellow-green jacket of a police officer came into blurry view. The woman reached down and touched Tommy on the shoulder. “Sir, we have two mobile units and several officers on foot trailing Cumpston. The bug in his suit jacket is still working. We’ve been able to hear everything, even his mobile conversations. He’s chasing Morehouse.”
“Right. Let’s go the extra mile to save Morehouse if we can. It’s Cumpston and his goons we’re after.”
He turned to Liv. “Not the best timing, was it? You lot being pursued by Cumpston and friends just as we were closing in. Wish we’d been a day earlier.”
He grinned and pointed his thumb behind him. “But it worked out all right for your brother, didn’t it? My boys dashing up the stairs—a bit fast, but I hope you’ll forgive them for knocking you down on their way to save him.”
He pulled Liv up to a sitting position and motioned to the boys and Frederica. “Here, take care of her. And don’t let her go to sleep.”
The policewoman held up a hand for silence, and everyone listened to Cumpston’s voice, relayed through her walkie.
“He’s headed to the Silver Vaults. It looks like. . .yeah, he’s going in.”
“We’re on it,” replied a second voice. “Right behind you. The Silver Vaults, eh? There won’t be an easy way for him to get away from us.”
They could hear Cumpston’s labored breathing and he gasped, “That could get dangerous in a hurry.”
The second voice drawled, “Yeah, but it could also be a bit of fun.”
“Stop it. And be there by the time I get there.”
Cumpston’s phone beeped as he disconnected the call, and the room was filled with the amplified sound of his shoes hitting the sidewalk, closing in on Morehouse. Tommy said to the policewoman, “My team’s out of here. Truss Nigel and Eddie up like chickens and treat them as very dangerous. We’ll charge ’em with attempted murder of a child.” He spoke into his walkie. “I’m on my way. I want a couple of extra squad cars and an ambulance at the Vaults.”
He waved to Liv and the others. “Wish us luck.”
Morehouse wondered which would get him first—the burning in his lungs or the screaming of overtaxed leg muscles. A few years of the soft life, and he was out of shape. But even in his pirate prime, he’d’ve been no match for these pursuers. With their mobile phones and cars, they could run him to ground without exerting themselves.
The sidewalks of Chancery Lane, in London’s historic legal district, offered no cover, and the next tube station was probably a three-minute run. Too risky.
He jogged past the entrance to the Silver Vaults, where he’d done business a few times in the sprawling underground-safeturned-mall. Room-sized shops sold everything from old coins to fine jewelry, used teaspoons to precious silver antiques.
There were plenty of nooks and crannies for him to hide in, but they could fast become places to get cornered, and the way in was probably also the only way out. He tried not to think about that as he went in.
Passing several little shops, slowing his pace, he willed his heart rate to slow down and wondered what to do next.
At a jewelry shop window, he pretended to examine the selection of vintage watches while checking the glass for reflections of Lance or his boys. Satisfied, he moved on, matching his step to the meandering stroll of the few customers in the long hall.
With Lance nowhere to be seen, Morehouse entered a shop, empty except for an elderly merchant seated on a stool by the cash register. Browsing at a table near the window, he stood perfectly still. Something—some heightened awareness told him danger was coming.
Sure enough, two strangers came into view. Their senses must have been as hyped-up as his—one of them scanned the shops and his eyes locked on Morehouse. Without a word, he placed a hand on his buddy’s arm.
Morehouse’s mind raced. Who were these two? Where were Nigel and Eddie? If they weren’t here, they must have gone after the kids. He had to get out and find them.