Winterhouse: Part Two

She thumbed through the book and found one near the end entitled “How to Write Unbreakable Codes by Using the Vigenère Cipher.”

Finally, she opened her notebook and began to make a new entry—“Strange Things About Winterhouse”—when the bell for breakfast tolled.

Amazingly, her last name had become “Winters” through marriage; the note beneath her name said simply AN ENIGMA.

Freddy eyed A Guide for Children warily, as though there were some trick in store.

On the table in the middle of the room lay a half dozen sections of what looked like cut limbs of a tree branch, and all around these sat pots of glue and vise clamps and chisels.

She hugged her notebook to her chest and gave him an imperious look.

The fish inside it were silver or violet or a combination of the two, and Elizabeth stood marveling at the incongruous beauty of hundreds of graceful fish in their watery little universe while the snow-covered mountains rose behind them in the windows.

When dinner was over they listened to the lecture held in Winter Hall once the tables were cleared (“Sir Ernest Shackleton: Antarctic Explorer and Enduring Hero” was the topic, delivered by a Mr. Dexter Blavatsky) and then Elizabeth spent forty-five minutes puzzling with Mr. Wellington and Mr. Rajput in the lobby, finding five pieces that fit.

She studied the lines with consternation, focusing on the two words that stuck out like a sore thumb: “Asia Dorm.”

It went on like this all morning, Elizabeth solving one clue after the next—and even taking a few minutes to fit one piece into the puzzle for the two men in the lobby—until, an hour and a half later, she discovered Clue #10 (If you want an origami bird who’s nice and fat, you’ll have to make sure to rescue him from Donald’s cat) and figured it must be prodding her to check in the portrait gallery.

Ten minutes later, when she was sure the Hiemses were gone, she returned to the portrait gallery and, after cleaning up the mess of Ravenna’s broken frame as best she could, put the scuffed and flattened origami bird in her pack.

If you believe you know how to have fun but cannot successfully make other people smile all the time, my humble volume has perhaps been only something like seventeen-twenty-fifths successful.

The patter of footsteps in the hallway sounded, suddenly, and Elizabeth returned to the peephole.

There was an enormous dining room and living room, with bookcases and cabinets, chandeliers, and huge winter-mountain murals on the walls; there were three bedrooms, furnished like mountain lodges and brightened with Christmas-colored curtains and graceful lamps and gilded mirrors; a den with a rolltop desk and stately bureaus, and walls lined with bookshelves.

There was an enormous dining room and living room, with bookcases and cabinets, chandeliers, and huge winter-mountain murals on the walls; there were three bedrooms, furnished like mountain lodges and brightened with Christmas-colored curtains and graceful lamps and gilded mirrors; a den with a rolltop desk and stately bureaus, and walls lined with bookshelves.

“I’ll tell you why I’ve been going to the library,” he said. “It’s because of The Book.”
“The Book?” Elizabeth said. The way he’d said the words made it sound ominous.

“It’s a long story,” she said haltingly, as if to caution him against proceeding.

He had become more serious than Elizabeth had seen him thus far, and she was enthralled. There was something about the way he spoke that reminded her of the magic trick he’d performed during dinner two nights before, but she couldn’t put her finger on just what it was.

Who would believe that kind of story? But there must have been something to it all, or else Nestor would have forgotten about it right away. Instead, he passed the tale down to my father, who in turn passed it down to me. Virtually everyone in our family was aware of it, in fact.

“Was there an earthquake? Did any of you feel anything? A temblor or a trembler? Timber? Temper? The Templars? Something?”

“Do you have any thoughts at all regarding this inscrutable little incident?”

Elizabeth’s curiosity about The Book and Marcus and Selena Hiems had taken another leap forward with this latest discovery, and she felt on fire to continue investigating. But Norbridge had asked them to let it go—and now Freddy, despite this new revelation, was urging the same thing.

How she might go about causing or inducing the feeling was a complete unknown, though staring at The Book as she was and allowing her mind to settle just a bit had seemed to put her in a state very similar to what she often felt just as the feeling was welling up.

Her vision went faintly blurry—and in that moment, although she couldn’t be sure, because her eyes right then were so out of focus, she thought she saw The Book quiver almost imperceptibly.

Mr. Rajput gave Mr. Wellington a droll stare, as though now that the tall man had crossed him, he was going to proceed as he liked.

A mound of presents grew under the tree in Winter Hall, a thicket of decorations gathered across the ceiling and walls, crates of Flurschen massed at the delivery bay on the ground floor, and a busy hum of excitement grew from a hotel full of guests and bellhops and cooks and cleaners.

It was inspiring to see Freddy perfecting his WonderLog, she thought, and she felt glad he didn’t mind her watching him work.

Freddy looked dubious. “For sure?”

Maybe, she thought, it was best not to explain the real reason for her reluctance to return it—and, besides, he couldn’t see the silver letters anyway. It might seem strange to him if she kept insisting she was seeing words somehow materializing in a book he preferred she had left in the library.

Thirty minutes after the bells sounded, the Winterhouse chimes began, though on this evening they were different—solemn and slow and long, the notes seeming to announce that the best night of the year had arrived.

“If you will indulge me for just a moment, I would like to address you before you all fall into the longest after-dinner nap of your lives.”

He took a glass from a nearby waiter, lifted it, and said, “May we hold tonight’s spirit in our hearts every day of the year!”
A resounding “Hear! Hear!” came from the crowd, and then a huge shout as everyone drank from their glasses and music began to play.

“Yes, apologies if we startled you.” Her expression was contrite, even—although this seemed hard to believe—friendly.

“And remember,” Marcus said, speaking in an earnest whisper, as if telling her something extremely important, “if there is a book you find in the library that you feel you just have to have, please do let me know. My business depends on learning just what sorts of books fascinate young people nowadays.”

It would be our sincere and surpassing pleasure if you would join us for an afternoon of tea and conversation, commencing at 4:00 p.m. on December 26th in our accommodations (Room 808).

A part of her, though, felt intrigued by the invitation.

Why had Marcus and Selena Hiems reached out to her, and why had they been so unaccountably cordial?

Elizabeth wasn’t sure why she’d yelled. She only knew she had some indescribable energy inside herself, something—when she looked back on it—that felt impulsive.

And then, to Elizabeth’s astonishment, Freddy’s face twisted in rage and he said—not loudly enough to disturb anyone asleep at this late hour, but fiercely enough that Elizabeth practically felt the anger radiating from him—“I thought you were done doing things like that!”

He turned brusquely, stalked down the hallway, and left Elizabeth alone beside the door to her room.