Exasperated, he said, “Yes, yes. That Dr. Livingstone. And I am not going to the Congo. No way.”
Images of Africa filled Maisie’s mind. She’d seen enough documentaries on the Nature Channel to have vivid images of herds of charging elephants and migrating wildebeests and prowling lions.
“I think it sounds kind of dreamy,” she said.
“This other guy? Stanley? He went to find Dr. Livingstone and got cerebral malaria, which is a million times worse than plain old malaria. Then he got smallpox!”
“I don’t think you can get smallpox anymore,” Maisie said, thinking of giraffes with their long eyelashes and long necks.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“I think it would be extremely cool to go to Africa,” she said firmly.
“Maybe now. On a safari or something. But not in 1871 when warring tribes are massacring one another, and crocodiles are eating people and—”
“Felix,” Maisie said, putting her hand on her brother’s shoulder, “you worry too much.”
With that, she turned and left the stacks.
Felix watched in disbelief as she walked away. He was certain of one thing: Great-Uncle Thorne would not be able to convince him to go to the Congo.
The shard had become a bit of a problem for Maisie, who had somehow become the person in charge of it. Sure, when it was cooler and she’d worn her polar fleece vest over almost anything, it had been easy to keep the shard in her pocket. But now that it was warmer, she almost never wore the vest, and she frequently found herself pocket-less.
That afternoon, before the Ziff twins arrived, she’d stared at the thing for some time, trying to figure out what to do with it so that it was safe and conveniently located should time traveling be in her future, which it was, thanks to Great-Uncle Thorne.
Maisie picked up the delicate white porcelain with the broken pattern of blue flowers on it and studied it closely.
What was that thing at the top?
She held the shard up to her eyes, closing one to focus better.
There, at the top, was the tiniest hole.
Maisie smiled, satisfied.
Tucking the shard into her fist, she went downstairs, all the way to the Kitchen in the basement. It smelled disgusting.
“What are you cooking?” Maisie asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Your great-uncle Thorne has requested a pot-au-feu for dinner tonight,” Cook said without bothering to look at Maisie.
“Pot-oh-what?”
Cook clucked her tongue and shook her head.
Maisie peered over her shoulder. Chunks of meat bounced around in a pot of boiling water, leaving a disgusting tan froth on their wake.
“Ugh!” Maisie said. “Are you boiling meat?”
“A pot-au-feu requires salting the short ribs a day in advance,” Cook said. “Then blanching them before braising. This,” she added, disgusted by Maisie’s ignorance, “is blanching, not boiling.”
“Whatever,” Maisie said, eyeballing the chopping board lined with all sorts of disgusting root vegetables, like turnips and . . .
“What are these?” Maisie asked, poking at the hard purple-and-beige vegetable.
Cook sighed. “Rutabagas,” she answered wearily. “Did you need something? Or have you come downstairs to critique my delicious preparation of a pot-au-feu?”
“Thread,” Maisie said. “I need some thread.”
Cook pointed toward a distant drawer where Maisie found spools of fine thread in every color imaginable. Her hand hesitated over first red, then purple, before settling on black. She pocketed the spool of black thread and headed out.
“Thanks,” she called over her shoulder.
“You will be returning that,” Cook said unpleasantly.
Back in her room, Maisie licked the end of the thread and twisted it so that it was narrow enough to fit through the tiny hole in the shard.
“Perfect,” she said as she held up her new necklace.
Maisie tied the thread in a triple knot at the back of her neck. The shard hung cool between her collarbones. Satisfied, she ran downstairs to greet the Ziff twins.
“You make a plan,” Great-Uncle Thorne told Maisie and Felix and Hadley and Rayne. “And then you execute it.”
They were all standing at the wall, right by where you pressed to make it open and reveal the stairs that led to The Treasure Chest.
He snickered at Maisie and Felix.
“That’s what you two never figured out,” he said, his voice full of disdain. “You went in there willy-nilly, picking objects up at random and stumbling through time.”
Insulted, Maisie put her hands on her hips and glared at Great-Uncle Thorne. “Well, nobody told us anything,” she said. “We had no idea—”
“I told you how to utilize lame demon, didn’t I? But still you just grabbed at anything—”
“It was a crown,” Felix said. “Not just anything.”
“—and you went where?” Great-Uncle Thorne continued as if Felix hadn’t spoken. “And for what purpose?”
“Why did you ask us to come here?” Hadley said.
Rayne, who had looked bored until now, came to life.