Anastasia Romanov: The Last Grand Duchess #10 (5 page)

Back in her own room, Maisie paced, trying to come up with a plan. But after a lot of pacing and thinking, she had not one single good idea.

Why did Felix have to be so impossible sometimes?

Maisie wished she could call Hadley Ziff and complain to her. Hadley would understand; Rayne drove her crazy in exactly the same way. But it was impossible to call someone in Buenos Aires, especially without any information on exactly where that someone was.

Outside the two big windows, the moon was a perfect sliver in the inky sky. Maisie wandered over to one of the windows and gazed out. She couldn't remember seeing quite this many stars before. Or such bright ones. They twinkled down at her as if they were lighting a path upward.

When she was little, her mother always reminded her to make a wish on a star.

Maisie chose one that seemed to be the twinkliest.

Star light, star bright
, she thought.
First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight
.

Out loud she said, “I wish Felix changes his mind and comes in here and helps me find Great-Uncle Thorne and open the egg tonight.”

She frowned.

Would that count as four wishes?

No, she decided. All those things together equaled her one wish.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it to come true.

A small explosion sounded from somewhere in the vicinity of her closet, followed by Great-Uncle Thorne booming: “It's about time you rapscallions got home from that Fishbag's house!”

Startled and delighted at the same time, Maisie turned from the window just in time to see Great-Uncle Thorne emerge from . . . yes . . . her closet. In his arms he had a large pile of clothes. Dead animals appeared to be draped over his shoulder.

“Fish
baum
,” Maisie giggled.

“Did you devour a big bloody American steak?” Great-Uncle Thorne said with disgust.

Maisie giggled some more. “I did,” she admitted.

“Disgusting,” Great-Uncle Thorne said as he dropped the clothes and dead animals on the bed.

“But what can one expect from a grown man wearing a belt with tiny whales on it?” Great-Uncle Thorne continued, more to himself, it seemed, than to Maisie.

Still, Maisie agreed. “Ridiculous,” she said.

The dead animals, she realized, were not, in fact, dead animals but the fur of animals. Piles of white fur and piles of brown fur.

“Have you been skinning animals in my closet?” she asked Great-Uncle Thorne.

“I've been preparing items for your imminent departure,” he said.

With that he disappeared back into the closet.

Maisie heard him grunt, then the sounds of something being dragged across the floor in there.

Great-Uncle Thorne came back out, walking backward and bent.

“What's
that
?” Maisie asked.

Great-Uncle Thorne didn't need to answer.

By the time the question was asked, he had fully exited the closet, and Maisie saw that he had dragged out with him a large black trunk with gold corners.

She frowned at it, confused.

This was, after all,
her
closet. And Maisie knew for certain that there was no large black trunk with gold corners in there.

There used to be the small chest of old clothes, the one where she'd found the costume for Bitsy Beal's March Madness party. Maisie shuddered remembering that terrible night. It had been so terrible that she'd thrown the clothes back inside and put the chest itself in one of the guest-room closets so she'd never have to see it again.

Great-Uncle Thorne had opened this trunk with the gold corners and was busily digging through it. From time to time he lifted up a garment for inspection and either tossed it on top of the furs or back into the trunk. As he did this, he whistled softly, a tune Maisie didn't recognize. He completely ignored her, so Maisie took a look in her closet.

To her surprise, what she had always assumed was the back wall had disappeared. The closet stretched back into a second, smaller room. Maisie's clothes had been pushed aside for easier access into the room, and she went in there now.

The room was indeed small, but large enough for a coatrack, from which all kinds of coats hung: velvet, lace, embroidered. A hat rack held hats with feathers and veils and bunches of fruit and jewels. Maisie could see the rectangle where the trunk had been, that part of the floor a lighter shade than the rest. On the walls hung travel posters from Trans World Airlines, bright illustrations of exotic places with drawings of airplanes on them. In one corner, on a narrow desk, stood stacks of old postcards. Maisie picked one up and saw the faded signature: Y
OURS,
M
AISIE
P
I
CKWORTH
.

“I think we're ready!” Great-Uncle Thorne called from the closet door.

Maisie took one more look around this strange room before she made her way back out.

“What is that place?” she asked.

“Why, the Voyage Room, of course,” Great-Uncle Thorne said without looking up at her. He pronounced
voyage
like
voy-ah-ge
.

“The Voyage Room,” Maisie repeated, imitating Great-Uncle Thorne's pronunciation.

“I believe we are ready,” he said.

From his breast pocket he pulled out an envelope.

“I just need to add the Pickworth seal to this, and then we shall open the egg and . . .”

Great-Uncle Thorne paused.

“Where's your brother?” he asked, as if he'd just noticed Felix was absent.

“In bed,” Maisie said.

“Bed?”
Great-Uncle Thorne bellowed. “On this most important night?”

Maisie nodded.

“Well, go and get him out of bed!” he ordered her.

“She doesn't have to,” Felix said in a tremulous voice from the doorway. “I'm here.”

What Felix realized as he lay in bed avoiding this very moment, was that if he did do Great-Uncle Thorne's bidding this one last time, it might indeed be the very last time. And then he could go back to his normal life as a kid at Anne Hutchinson Elementary School. If it was time to open the egg, then he would do it. He would see what was inside, and then he would do whatever was required of him, because this might put an end to The Treasure Chest. No more getting chased, locked up, thrown overboard, fleeing, hiding, running, or losing Maisie.

No more adventures.

No more time travel.

The thought made Felix smile.

So he got up and made his way to the Princess Room, where Maisie and Great-Uncle Thorne were preparing to open the egg.

He had to admit that he was surprised to find no egg in sight. Instead, there were clothes and furs everywhere.

“Good!” Great-Uncle Thorne exclaimed, his eyes shining.

He looked through the pile of clothes and began pulling out items and tossing them in Felix's direction. Almost simultaneously he tossed other items at Maisie, who scooped them up with great delight.

“You need to be prepared,” Great-Uncle Thorne muttered.

Maisie held an embroidered white silk dress up to her and skipped over to the full-length mirror.

“No, no!” Great-Uncle Thorne called to her. “There are three pieces to that.”

He showed her a velvet dress and another white silk piece with more embroidery.

“And, of course, there's the
tiare Russe
,” he added, lifting a jewel-studded crown up for Maisie to see.

“I get to wear that?” she exclaimed, racing back to Great-Uncle Thorne.

She took the tiara from him and placed it on her head, surprised by how heavy it was.

“My neck's going to break!” she complained.

“You won't wear it all the time,” Great-Uncle Thorne said, plucking it from her head and placing it along with the three-piece dress into the trunk.

Maisie watched as he added a long white fur coat with a matching hat and muff to the trunk.

“Now, Felix,” Great-Uncle Thorne said. “Put this on.”

“I'm not wearing this!” Felix said, studying what Great-Uncle Thorne had thrown his way.

Maisie laughed. “That's funny,” she said.

That
was a white blousy shirt with a large navy blue sailor collar that fell behind the back.

“And yours,” Great-Uncle Thorne was saying, ignoring both their delight and their complaints. “You have to put this on, too, Maisie.”

He handed Maisie a very similar piece of clothing, except hers was a drop-waist dress.

“Ugh!” she said. “Why do we have to dress like sailors?”

Great-Uncle Thorne didn't answer. He was too busy adding items to the trunk: a military-looking coat and breeches for Felix; a white lace dress and pearls for Maisie; a black fur coat and hat for Felix. He didn't pay any attention to either of them until the trunk was full. Then he sighed and stepped back to admire his choices before closing the gold latch.

“Go! Change your clothes!” he shouted, escorting them to the door so they could go and change.

Reluctantly, they obeyed, returning to the room in their ridiculous sailor suits, feeling awkward and silly. They both had their shards around their necks, too.

Great-Uncle Thorne surveyed them. He nodded approvingly.

“Now,” he said, “you two will arrive suitably dressed. And you'll be prepared for anything. A ball. Ice skating. Formal dinners. Anything.”

Maisie took a deep breath.

“Is it time?” she asked hopefully.

Great-Uncle Thorne got a faraway look in his eyes.

“How I wish I could go with you,” he said wistfully. “What wonders await you!”

Felix swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. What if they didn't come back? What if he never saw his mother or father again? He thought of his mother's bacon-and-egg pasta, of her cool hand on his forehead when he got sick. He thought of his father's hearty laugh, the way he smelled like paint and turpentine and the spicy cologne he sometimes wore.

“Are you
crying
?” Maisie asked him.

Felix shook his head, willing the tears he felt burning his eyes not to fall.

“The final thing,” Great-Uncle Thorne said, as if he had just remembered something.

Would they ever get to Russia? Maisie wondered as Great-Uncle Thorne fumbled inside his jacket pocket.

He produced an envelope of old-fashioned heavy cream paper. From the envelope he pulled a single sheet of paper.

“A letter of introduction,” he explained. “Very common at the time. You show up with one of these, and there are no questions asked. It's almost like a reference letter.”

“What does it say?” Maisie asked.

“It says that you are Maisie and Felix Robbins, of New York City and Newport, and that you are the relatives of Phinneas Pickworth. In fact,” Great-Uncle Thorne said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “it's signed by Phinneas himself.”

“How?” Felix blurted.

“Forgery, my dear lad,” Great-Uncle Thorne answered.

His hand went back inside his jacket pocket, and this time he retrieved sealing wax, a gold embossed seal, and matches.

“I shall give it the Pickworth seal,” he explained, carefully folding the letter back into the envelope and placing the envelope on the top of the table beside the bed, “and then you shall be ready to go.”

Felix's heart galloped.

Great-Uncle Thorne struck the match, and the smell of sulfur filled the room as the blue flame jumped to life. He carefully dripped red wax onto the envelope, then pressed the Pickworth seal into the hot wax.

“Now,” he said, “the egg.”

With a deep breath, Great-Uncle Thorne blew out the flame, sending them all into darkness.

“Hey!” Felix said when he realized that the lights weren't working.

“Hmm,” Great-Uncle Thorne said. “It appears the electricity has gone out.”

“But why?” Felix asked, his throat suddenly dry with fear. “There's not a storm or anything.”

Again the sound of a match striking and the smell of sulfur filled the room. A moment later Great-Uncle Thorne's face appeared, ghostly behind two candles he'd lit.

“Peculiar,” he said softly.

Maisie and Felix watched him disappear into the closet again.

This time when he came out, he had the egg with him.

“At last,” he whispered, his gnarled hands caressing the jewels.

Until he reached the dark, dull sapphire.

His long finger with its yellowed fingernail paused there for a moment before pressing the sapphire.

A sound like a sigh came from it, and Felix felt the hairs stand up along his arms.

A brief hesitation, and then a small door swung open.

Great-Uncle Thorne felt around the gold edges of the door until another small sigh came from the egg. Like the wings of a butterfly, small lines of gold appeared, and each could be lifted and opened to reveal the inside of the egg.

Maisie and Felix held their breaths.

The inside of the egg was awash in lapis lazuli, the bluest of all semiprecious stones.

“Lapis lazuli,” Great-Uncle Thorne said in wonder, “prized since antiquity for its color. It was used for the eyebrows in King Tutankhamen's funeral mask.”

When Great-Uncle Thorne ran his finger over the smooth stone, another sigh sounded, and from the center popped a peacock. This peacock had a tail made of glittering jewels that opened and closed as it strutted across the lapis. Maisie and Felix watched, mesmerized by the gold bird with the bejeweled tail, until it stopped, opened its small ruby beak, and let out a sound like a baby crying.

“What a noise!” Maisie said, covering her ears.

But as soon as the sound stopped, the walls of the lapis swiveled to reveal mirrors that reflected the peacock hundreds of times.

The peacock once again disappeared into the floor.

The mirrors swiveled again to reveal walls covered with miniature art and icons, all of it made with sparkling jewels, gold, and silver.