by Nydam, Anne
A slight frown crossed Ammon Blank’s nondescript face at this, but the others stared in utter dismay.
Polly turned to the magician desperately. “You’ll do what you promised now, though, right? You can’t wait until tomorrow. Please!”
“Shut up,” he hissed.
“But tomorrow might be too late!”
“I said shut up. I’m not going to discuss this. When I get what I want, then you’ll get what you want.” Carefully smoothing his expression back into polite neutrality, he turned to the bank manager. “Thank you for all your help, Mr Rajagopal. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He let himself out of the office.
The others rushed out of the office after Ammon Blank, leaving Mr Rajagopal standing behind his desk, polishing his glasses and murmuring, “Interesting.”
In the lobby Polly grabbed Mr Blank’s arm and whispered, “Please, Mr Blank! You can’t leave him there to die! We’ve given you everything we could, you’re gonna get the money, and you’ve got to do what you promised.”
The magician’s features remained carefully neutral, but his voice was twisted with fury. He hissed vindictively, “You’ve given me nothing so far. I still don’t have the money and I still don’t have all three magical Books. And if your interference here today has fouled up my chances of getting the money from that suspicious, nosy little banker, I swear you will never see your friend alive again.” And with that he jerked his arm from Polly’s grasp and disappeared out the door onto the street.
Back in Tobal’s living room, the wizard shook his head grimly. “Even if there aren’t any other problems, the soonest Ammon Blank could possibly get the money would be tomorrow morning after the bank opens. And we can’t leave a man locked in a vault overnight.”
“Okay, this shouldn’t be too hard,” Matias began, and Chen smacked his face into his hand in dismay. “No, seriously,” Matias protested, “We know the vault door must be in the Ornate Book, right?”
“Well, we assume it is,” muttered Chen.
“So we all portal through plate thirty-one, storm his office, and take it!”
“Right, and then we order pizza,” Chen muttered sarcastically.
For a moment Matias looked hurt, and Chen felt guilty for snapping at him, but then Ms Whitaker declared, “This isn’t the time for brute force, my dears. This is the time for cat burglary!”
Polly pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Only a little. I mean, we’ll only take back what he stole in the first place, right?”
Polly brightened up immediately. “Right! Of course! We can lure him out of his apartment, and then sneak in while he’s gone.”
Chen found himself once again saying, “I’m not sure it’s really that easy…” Polly, Pearl, and Matias all sighed at him, but Tobal gave him an encouraging smile and he continued, “Last time Polly and I went through the portal to the Ornate Book, we still couldn’t find it. You’d think if you portaled straight to a Book it would be sitting right there in front of you, but Mr Blank must have some way to hide things.”
Polly shook her head eagerly. “No, that part’s okay. I know where he was hiding the Book before.”
“Then why didn’t you get it?!”
“We ran out of time. But when we go back I know right where to look. There’s a secret compartment at the back of that big wardrobe. I’m sure of it. That must be where he’s hiding the Books and the other stuff he stole: that gold sculpture from France and the church mace thingy.”
Tobal was looking at Polly curiously. “How do you know there’s a secret compartment if you didn’t open it?”
“Well, it was Uber first of all. She wanted to sit and wait at the back of the wardrobe. See, every time Uber goes dashing through a door, she always comes back to wait right outside it until someone lets her back in. And if she dashed through the Book, I figure wherever she was waiting must be where the Book was. And then when I climbed into the wardrobe after her, I could feel it.”
“You could feel the secret compartment? Like a crack around the door, or a lever or button or something?”
“No, more like the secretness of it. I get this tingly feeling around secret cubbies and stuff. I always have.”
Tobal and Matias glanced at each other, black eyebrows raised.
Polly shrugged. “Yeah, I know; it’s weird.”
Tobal replied, “No, I’d trust that feeling. So we’ll send Polly back to Ammon Blank’s apartment to find the Book.” Before Chen could sputter out any more objections, Tobal continued calmly, “We will not, however, go crashing into danger trusting to mere luck. It’s time to make a plan…”
XVIII. The Plan
It was 5:52 PM. Chen and Matias were stationed back at the Cleveland Museum of Art, standing in the Asian gallery beside a fierce wooden figure grimacing down at them. Matias held a worn, leather-bound book.
Ms Whitaker, who had insisted on being involved this time, sat on the gallery’s bench with her big synthetic straw purse beside her. She had her back to the boys and was staring intently at a brochure. She had wanted to dress like a secret agent, but had finally agreed that a spy would, in reality, wear the most normal clothes she could find. She didn’t think Ammon Blank had gotten much of a look at her as he’d barreled through her kitchen, and she reluctantly admitted that being a harmless little old lady was probably the best disguise possible.
Polly waited out of sight around the corner, looking at the twisting cat painted on a Korean box, and scuffing one polka-dot sneaker restlessly against the smooth wood floor.
Ammon Blank had complained in the bank that he “still” didn’t have all three Books, so they were sure he would try to steal the Dragon Book at the first opportunity. Now the Book’s magical key was off the spine, and they were ready for the thief to make his move.
Sure enough, it wasn’t too long before Chen whispered, “There!”
A crack of light was opening in the museum wall beside a set of carved Japanese masks, and in a moment Ammon Blank slipped through, scanned the room quickly, and strode toward the two boys with the Book.
Ms Whitaker stared at her brochure even more intently and pretended not to notice.
Chen and Matias darted out of the room, a few steps down the hall, and into Polly’s room, where all three squeezed as far back into the corner as they could, crouching behind the pedestal on which the Korean box was displayed. They listened as Ammon Blank’s footsteps came pounding along behind them. They held their breath as his footsteps paused while he looked quickly into their room. Not until he had strode on down the hallway to the next gallery did they breathe again.
Chen whispered urgently to Polly, “Get through to his apartment. Quick!” Then he and Matias darted back out of the Korean gallery and hurried down the long hallway in the opposite direction from Ammon Blank. Matias looked back over his shoulder and saw Blank at the doorway to the West Wing. He had turned at the sound of their footsteps, and now spun to give chase, but at least Chen and Matias had a head start now. They walked as quickly as they could down the long, straight corridor toward the East Wing.
The door to the Wreath Book opened and Polly stepped through. She paused just inside Ammon Blank’s bedroom, listening intently, but all was still. He was safely away at the Cleveland Museum of Art, chasing Chen and Matias.
Polly crossed to the large wardrobe and found the doors unlocked. She opened the left side door and paused again. A shiver tingled up her spine leaving her trembling slightly, but she was not afraid. It was that special secret door feeling, and this wardrobe was a particularly beautiful and exciting example. She stepped up into the wardrobe and pushed aside the red and black magician’s capes to examine the back wall.
The rich, dark wood of the wardrobe was smooth and polished. This in itself was unusual. Polly had seen enough antique furniture to know that backs and insides of furniture are usually rougher and unfinished. She ran her hands around the edges of the back wall, feeling for cracks or catches. There was nothi
ng. Humming tunelessly under her breath, she knocked gently as she moved her knuckles across the wood. Tok tok tok tok tok. It sounded hollow, but of course it would sound hollow even if it were just the ordinary back of an ordinary wardrobe.
Climbing back out, she scanned the front and sides of the wardrobe for buttons or levers. The piece, although meticulously crafted, was quite plain. Simple, elegant panels on the front enclosed expanses of richly polished wood grain with no fancy decorations in which to hide secret catches.
She glanced over at the alarm clock beside Ammon Blank’s bed. 6:13. She had been here about five minutes. She should still have plenty of time, but she was beginning to feel increasingly impatient. She knew the Book had to be in the wardrobe somewhere, but every minute she spent trying to figure out how to get to it was a minute Raphael spent locked in a safe, getting hungrier, thirstier, and more desperate.
Chen and Matias walked briskly past a museum guard and turned into a gallery with a modern sculpture of a circle of chairs topped by a shiny looped blue belt sized to fit the largest of giant’s trousers. They were counting on Ammon Blank’s unwillingness to confront them under the eyes of a security guard, but the presence of the guard also meant they couldn’t run in order to get any farther ahead of the thief.
They passed a room divider and Chen looked back to see that Mr Blank was still following. “Come on!” he urged as Matias slowed to stare at a huge tapestry with a pattern of swirling smoke. They turned toward a grid of a hundred faces of Marilyn Monroe and entered the next room, cutting across it to the door in the far corner.
“Oh, I like that one,” Matias said, pointing to the painting of golden fields of grain beneath ominous storm clouds.
“Great,” Chen replied impatiently, “But can we focus on getting away from a potential murderer?”
“We don’t want to get too far away,” Matias pointed out. “If we lose him completely he might go back to his apartment and catch Polly.”
“Yeah, and if we don’t lose him enough he might catch us.” Chen led the way past the Surrealism, across the hallway and into the larger gallery on the other side with a painting of a bright, lush jungle scene. They paused again when they reached the enormous, dream-like painting of water lilies by Monet. Looking back along the path they’d come, they could see straight through the line of doorways until Blank strode out of the Surrealism room. They hurried on, into a gallery with canvases in more somber colors.
“Let’s hide in here,” Matias whispered, gesturing toward a darker side gallery with touches of gold decorative work picked out by accent lights.
Chen glanced over and shook his head. “That room has only one door,” he said, “We’re not going anywhere we can be cornered.” He felt very glad he’d spent so much time exploring the museum this summer. Maybe it had been lucky after all that he’d had so little else to do.
Matias nodded and they went quickly on, into a room featuring paintings of wild landscapes and women with very silly hairdos.
Polly was back inside the wardrobe, going over every inch of the interior. She had thrown Ammon Blank’s clothes in a heap outside, and had flung both doors wide to let in as much light as possible.
“Time to get logical,” she thought as she scanned along the back edge of the floor, “I know Ammon Blank is interested in historical magicians, and I know this wardrobe has a secret cubby, so maybe it was originally made to do some sort of magic trick. If you’re supposed to put something inside and then make it disappear, the catch is more likely to be on the outside where the magician can work it. But if you’re supposed to make a person disappear, then the catch is more likely to be on the inside where the assistant can work it once the doors are shut and the audience can’t see her. That seems plausible.”
She sat back on her heels, considering. “If you have to be able to work the catch with the doors shut, then why am I having so much trouble finding it even with the doors open?” She got up and reached for the doors. With a little thrill of excitement she noticed for the first time that there were small knobs on the inside of the doors, just as there should be if a person were supposed to be inside. Holding these knobs, she pulled the doors closed in front of her face, shutting herself into the wardrobe.
Now it was completely dark and Polly could see nothing. She ran her hands up the doors to the center of the top frame, and then slowly outwards, feeling along the narrow lip of wood above the doors. About two thirds of the way to the outer corner, she stopped abruptly. The fingers of her right hand had brushed across a small raised area. Holding her breath with anticipation, she pressed gently, and was rewarded with the faintest of clicks as a catch released behind her.
“Someone’s coming,” Matias said quietly, “But it doesn’t sound like Ammon Blank.”
“Casual – just look casual,” Chen whispered back. “But don’t actually stop to look at the art! We don’t have time for that!”
Matias shrugged and turned away from the painting of a dramatic seaside ruin infested by crows. The glass doors facing the atrium slid open, and Chen, not looking at all casual, jumped nervously as Ms Whitaker entered.
When she saw the boys she said, “There you are! Come this way! Hurry!”
They followed her out of the gallery onto the wide balcony that ran straight along the side of the atrium, overlooking it one floor up. Pearl led them back the way she had come, whispering gleefully, “Everything is going according to plan! Polly got through all right, and I found Tobal.”
She stopped and held up her hand to halt the boys. They had reached another set of glass doors into a gallery, and Chen and Matias held back while Pearl looked through the glass.
She motioned for Chen and Matias to wait behind the edge of the doorway until Ammon Blank had rushed past the Monet water lilies and on into the next room, then they moved again, to the elevators just beyond the atrium. Chen pressed the elevator button, while Ms Whitaker stood at the edge of the balcony, keeping watch in case Blank poked his head out of a gallery to look back along the walkway. When the elevator door slid open, the boys stepped in. The last thing they saw was Pearl giving them a jaunty thumbs-up.
Eagerly, Polly threw the wardrobe doors back open and turned to examine the secret compartment that had opened at the back. But there was nothing there. The back of the wardrobe looked just as it had before.
Puzzled, she pushed and scrabbled at the wood again, but nothing moved or gave way. She clenched her fists in frustration. She had found the secret latch, she was positive. She had felt the button, she had heard the click, and she had felt, too, that indefinable quivering feeling that always seemed to mean magical secrets. So where was it? Tears of bafflement stung under her eyelids and she blinked angrily, staring at the back of the wardrobe that still stubbornly refused to give up its secret.
After a moment she turned, shut the doors again, and again felt above the right-side door for the button. She held her breath. She pressed. She heard the tiny sound of a catch releasing. She flung open the doors and spun.
Nothing. Nothing!
The first twinges of panic were beginning to tickle at her now, making her feel jittery and helpless. She peered around the side of the wardrobe at the alarm clock. 6.30. She’d been here more than twenty minutes and now she didn’t know how much more time she’d have. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she gripped the little knobs on the insides of the wardrobe doors, pulled the doors shut for a third time and stood in the dark enclosed space breathing heavily.
After a moment Polly lifted her hand once again to the door frame, found the small raised area, and pressed. Once again she heard the catch release, but this time she stood still, in the dark, thinking furiously. This was a trick wardrobe, a secret trick wardrobe, and magicians never wanted to reveal their tricks. So how would a magician ensure that no one ever saw how the trick worked? How would you make sure that no one opened the wardrobe doors while the secret compartment stood open, revealing it to plain sight?
“Of course
,” she thought, “You design it so that opening the outside wardrobe door automatically closes the secret inside cubby door.” This time, finally, she turned around without opening the doors and groped blindly at the back wall of the wardrobe. And this time, finally, she felt the opening into the hidden extra space.
Eagerly she knelt, hands waving wildly in the dark space until she felt an object. It was hard and intricately covered with bumps and hollows. Her hands followed the shape down a long shaft to the floor of the wardrobe, where they met other things: something concave like a shallow bowl with ridges, more hard, lumpy objects, and, at last, a small rectangular shape, not quite as hard as the other things, and familiar under her fingers. The Wreath Book.
The elevator opened on the first floor and Chen led Matias out and across the atrium, looking anxiously back up at the glass-railed balcony that ran along the galleries they had just come from. Ammon Blank appeared, looking for the boys. When they reached the dark doorway to the oldest wing of the museum, they stopped and waited.
Blank peered up and down the length of the balcony, into the nearby gallery doorways, and then, finally, down into the atrium. Chen and Matias waited until he saw them and strode purposefully to the escalator. Only then did they dart into the doorway, past the ancient bronze statue of Apollo that Chen had seen on Blank’s list of things to steal, and to another elevator, the one that Uber had run past three weeks ago.
Chen pushed the button, while Matias kept watch. Ammon Blank had not yet come into sight by the time the elevator door slid open and then closed again behind them.
Back on the second floor they stepped out into a hallway facing a small gallery filled with stained glass. They looked left and right, assessing their options.
“Let’s go through Baroque,” Chen said, pointing to the right.
