The Forbidden Lock Read online

  Dedication

  To my family—past, present, and future.

  Don’t let go.

  Epigraph

  You say I am a riddle—it may be

  For all of us are riddles unexplained.

  —Alfred Nobel, A Riddle

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  1. The Time Tapestries

  2. New Compass Tricks

  3. The Return of the Vermillion

  4. Bad Day

  5. Time Chase

  6. Stowaways

  7. New-Old Family and New New York

  8. Home Again

  9. The Initials

  10. Vincent’s Plans

  11. An Eye for an Eye

  12. A Few Answers

  13. Changing Tides

  14. Unraveling

  15. Nightmare Come True

  16. Mom-Not-Mom

  17. Quejing

  18. The Kangxi Emperor

  19. Jìnzhĭ Suŏ

  20. The Summer Triangle

  21. Asleep

  22. Forgetting

  23. The Emperor’s Will

  24. Falling Apart

  25. Alfred Nobel

  26. Self-Destruct

  27. Don’t Let Go

  28. Hinges

  29. Gathering the Troops

  30. The Undoing of Santiago

  31. The Final Glitch

  32. Baby Beginnings

  Epilogue: Peanut Butter and Bubble Gum

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Liesl Shurtliff

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  The Time Tapestries

  A sleek luxury cruise ship drifted peacefully on a calm Caribbean Sea, somewhere along the coast of Colombia. The air was balmy, just a slight breeze. The ink-black sky was sprinkled with stars. If you were to ask any of the many passengers on board the ship, they would likely say there was magic in the air that night, and they would be absolutely right. There was a certain magic in the air, inside the very ship on which they were currently sailing, and especially residing within the captain of the ship, Captain Vincent of the Vermillion.

  Captain Vincent stood in his cabin preparing for the evening. He was dressed in his finest black waistcoat, black leather pants, and his favored pair of red Converse. He stood admiring himself in his mirror.

  A white rat crawled out of the captain’s waistcoat pocket and climbed upon his shoulder. He stared into the mirror with glowing red eyes. The rat’s name was Santiago, and he knew the captain better than anyone. He knew his deepest, darkest secrets. He knew his greatest desires. He knew precisely how much sugar and cream he took in his tea. (Two lumps and just a drop.)

  In short, Santiago was not your typical rat, except perhaps for the fact that he hated cats, detested birds, and was generally always in a foul mood, but otherwise he was quite unusual.

  “How do I look, Santiago?” the captain asked, straightening his waistcoat and tightening his cuff links.

  Clean, Santiago replied. To anyone else it would have just sounded like a few squeaks, but the captain understood the rat’s meaning perfectly.

  “Clean? Is that all?”

  Santiago twitched his whiskers and tail. Fine. Pretty, he squeaked.

  The captain laughed. “Yes, I am rather pretty, I suppose.”

  The captain’s laughter stung Santiago’s pride. Humans had so many words and expressions, and it was such a nuisance to keep them all in order. He wondered why anyone cared what they looked like at all. What did it matter? They all had eyes and noses and mouths, but no whiskers or tails and so were senseless and clumsy. Perhaps the captain should care more about that. He told the captain as much.

  “You are perfectly right, Santiago,” the captain said, his eyes glimmering with mirth. “Perhaps I should grow myself some whiskers and a tail.”

  Santiago squeaked his indifference.

  “Oh, lighten up, Santiago!” said the captain. “Remember this is a celebration of our triumph.”

  Triumph.

  Yes. They had won, just like the time Santiago fought two other rats for a half-empty bag of pork rinds. That had been a triumph. The pork rinds were delicious.

  But Santiago knew the captain’s most recent triumph had nothing to do with pork rinds. He was talking about the things that had transpired on that beach, just days ago. Or was it weeks? Years? It all seemed to blur, a tangle of memories. They’d been with those Hudsons, whom Santiago detested, though he couldn’t say exactly why. Maybe he didn’t care for children in general, or humans in general (except the captain).

  There had been words. Words, words, words. Humans were so full of words! But through the words Santiago understood one thing. The captain had found what he’d been looking for. Santiago remembered the thrill that raced through him as he took a small black stone and placed it in the center of his compass.

  Triumph.

  It felt like winning a full bag of pork rinds. Maybe two.

  And then—click—as soon as the stone was inside the compass, the world stopped. Santiago stopped. Stopped breathing. Stopped moving. Stopped being. He felt nothing. Thought nothing. Became nothing.

  And then—click—Santiago came out of the nothing, and everything was different. He wasn’t certain how. Everything looked the same. The captain looked the same. He, Santiago, looked the same. He could see his reflection in the mirror—white fur, red eyes, magnificent tail and whiskers. But he felt different. He felt . . . hungry.

  Hungry, except nothing seemed to satisfy him. What was he was hungry for? Pork rinds? Peanut butter? Caviar? He ate all those things. He ate until his stomach could hold no more. But the hunger only grew.

  More, more, more.

  Santiago sensed the same hunger in the captain, too, like a bottomless pit, only the captain didn’t seem to mind it. He wasn’t constantly trying to feed himself. Maybe it had something to do with that glowing stone, the one he’d put inside the compass. He wasn’t wearing the compass anymore, at least not like he used to, but Santiago could see at the captain’s chest the faint blue glow of that stone. Somehow it had become a part of him, seemed to be feeding him.

  A knock came at the door.

  “Come in,” the captain said.

  Two men entered—Brocco and Wiley. They were part of the captain’s crew, though they hadn’t been with the captain as long as Santiago, and they weren’t nearly as valued or as trusted. They didn’t understand the captain like Santiago did. They certainly didn’t know how he took his tea.

  Brocco was dressed in a red-and-gold-floral tuxedo, his clumps of hair tied up with a gold ribbon. Wiley stood slightly behind Brocco wearing his usual brown suit, though he’d added a little flair by sticking a purple feather in his fedora. He was smoking his pipe, as he always did. They both bowed to the captain and viewed him with a mixture of fear and reverence bordering on worship. They had been like that since the captain’s recent triumph.

  Just the other day, Santiago had overheard Brocco and Wiley talking about what had happened that day on the beach. It was difficult for Santiago to completely understand what they were saying. Humans had words and ideas that were so foreign to rats. Through their many words he’d grasped only one thing. That day on the beach, the captain had become immortal.

  But what was that, exactly? Was Santiago immortal too? He must be. Did immortal mean you were always hungry, always wanting more? Why would the captain want that?

  “The party has started, sir, Your Excellence Majesty,” Brocco said. “Your guests are waiting for you.”

  “Wonderful,” the captain said. “Almost ready.”
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  Wiley pulled his pipe out of his mouth. “You gonna experiment on those people? Like you did the last time?” He said the word experiment with some amount of disgust. A dangerous tone to take with the captain, Santiago thought.

  “Yes, Wiley,” Captain Vincent said. “I told you I would need to conduct many experiments to test my powers, to understand how they work and their effects. I can’t do what I want when I don’t know what I can do.”

  “Yeah,” Brocco agreed. “We can’t just go changing things willy-nilly, Wiley. We don’t want to make a bloody mess of the world.”

  “Of course not,” the captain said. “We are not savages.” He dusted the lapels of his waistcoat. Santiago helped dust off the shoulders with his tail.

  “It just doesn’t seem right,” Wiley said. “Experimenting on those people’s lives and all, without them knowing.”

  “If it bothers you that much, Wiley,” the captain said, “perhaps you’d rather I experiment upon you? Would that make you feel better?”

  Wiley took a few steps back. “No, sir. No, it would not.”

  “Then stop your moral philosophizing and go greet our guests. Make them welcome and comfortable. Hand out bags of gold and jewels, if it will clear your conscience.”

  “Yes, sir.” Brocco and Wiley both bowed and left. Santiago whipped his tail at their retreating figures. He was thinking neither of them would last very long, for different reasons. Brocco was annoyingly eager. He tried too hard. Agreed too much. He could feel it grating on the captain’s nerves. But Wiley was the opposite. He seemed to question more and more. He seemed hesitant. Must be all those books he read. Too many words in the head, too many voices. Wiley was confused, didn’t know which voices to listen to or which words were the right ones. Of course, it was the captain he should be listening to, following. That should have been obvious, given his power. But for some reason it wasn’t to Wiley. Santiago would have to keep an eye on him.

  “Santiago, I’m afraid you will have to hide yourself tonight,” the captain said, adjusting his crown. “You know my guests will not care for your presence.”

  All Santiago’s enjoyment dissolved at these words. Cruel captain! Santiago hissed. Santiago best! Humans slop!

  “Of course, Santiago, you are of more value to me than anyone,” the captain said. “You are my most trusted adviser, my most faithful servant, but remember our mission. It’s best if my subjects are in a relaxed state when I perform my experiments. Now go.”

  Santiago twitched with annoyance but obeyed. He crawled inside the captain’s inner pocket. To appease himself, he chanted, Most faithful, most faithful, most faithful, over and over as the captain walked out of his cabin and headed to the upper deck. The captain would surely do away with Brocco and Wiley and all the rest sooner or later, but Santiago knew he would never discard him.

  The Vermillion, able to transform into any kind of vessel, was currently a luxury ocean liner with rich interiors of crystal chandeliers, red tapestries trimmed in gold, and a grand staircase. It was supposedly a similar design to some famous ship, Santiago heard Wiley say. Apparently it had sunk in the Atlantic sometime in the early twentieth century.

  But Santiago didn’t care a whisker for any of that. He was here for the food. He was so hungry, and there were piles and piles of food of all kinds—colorful arrangements of fruit and vegetables, roasted game and fish and fowl, breads and cheese, soups and noodles, and delicacies of unknown origin. There were tall cakes decorated with flowers and pearls, small cakes topped with cherries, little lacy cookies, pastries with nuts and honey, small glasses of mousse with cream. Albert was currently piling a plate high with cakes and cookies.

  Santiago’s incessant hunger overwhelmed him. He scurried toward the food tables and started to nibble on a bit of lemon tart.

  The party was a bizarre sight, even to Santiago who had seen some bizarre things in his unusually long rat life. It seemed like the guests had been gathered from all parts of the world and throughout every possible era. The captain had said he needed a good variety for his experiments, and so he had been collecting subjects. The one who stuck out most to Santiago was a woman wearing a dress as wide as she was tall, with her white-powdered hair stacked in a high pile of curls. Santiago thought she looked like a frilly, layered cake and had half a mind to go and nibble on the edges of her dress. At her side was a short man wearing an embroidered jacket and breeches and high-heeled shoes. Behind that strange couple was a group of people dressed in nothing but white sheets, and behind them a group wearing colorful silk robes with wide draping sleeves. There were girls in straight dresses with sequins and fringe, others in sweeping gowns, and some in large hoop skirts that knocked over glasses and furniture whenever they moved. There were several women wearing birds on their heads, which made Santiago hiss, even though he knew they were dead. There were men in full suits of armor, others in poofy shorts and tights, feathered hats, hunting leathers, suits, tuxedos, and robes. There was every pigment of skin and hair color, dark to fair, black hair, brown hair, yellow hair, red hair. The ball was a human smorgasbord.

  A band started to play music. Santiago didn’t care for music in general, but whatever this band was playing was absolute torture. So loud. There were people blowing through brass horns, beating drums, pounding a piano, and a man singing words into a microphone, as though putting words with music somehow improved them. It was bringing Santiago to the brink of insanity. It also seemed to be driving the guests insane, judging by the way they were moving. Some were hopping about, others twirling, others kicking out their legs front and back as though trying to fight off an attack.

  Wiley was among those humans. He was flailing and twitching all on his own in ways that reminded Santiago of the time he’d witnessed a fellow rat’s death after ingesting poison.

  Brocco was bouncing around with a woman who appeared to be molting. The white feathers on her dress were floating everywhere. Several had landed on Brocco’s clumpy hair and shoulders. He smiled, his diamond tooth sparkling.

  When the captain arrived at the party, through their connection, Santiago felt the hunger in him, too, that bottomless pit.

  More, more, more. It seemed to pulse along with the horrid music.

  The band started another song, a slower, softer one meant for the humans to dance close to their chosen partners. Santiago calmed some, until the man started singing the words. Words about summer and sunsets and love.

  Love. Humans everywhere at all times were always going on about love. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand a lot of human things. It was like putting a square inside of a circle. It might go in, but it didn’t fit right. All the human thoughts and feelings inside of Santiago didn’t fit. Love he understood least of all. It seemed to make humans do the most ridiculous things, like dance.

  The captain must have felt the same way because he stopped the party. He reached out his hands. He made a few motions, like he was turning invisible knobs and buttons, and then everything froze. The music stopped. The dancing stopped. All noise and motion stopped.

  The entire ball was frozen. A woman’s skirts were flared out from her spinning. A man was frozen mid-leap, both legs off the ground. Brocco and Wiley were frozen, too, their arms and legs bent at odd angles, their faces in unnatural expressions. Albert was frozen with a cake halfway to his open mouth, his eyes half-closed.

  The only two animate creatures in the room were the captain and Santiago. The time freeze had no effect on them, except to give Santiago relief from all that chaos.

  The captain went to Brocco and Wiley. He tapped on each of their chests and they both took deep gasping breaths as though they’d been underwater and had just come to the surface.

  “Crikey,” Brocco said, shaking himself a little. “I’ll never get used to that. Feels like I’ve got spiders crawlin’ all over me.”

  Wiley shivered, lit his pipe, and took a few puffs, looking around at all the frozen people. “What about Albert?” he asked. “
You gonna unfreeze him?”

  “No,” the captain said. “He’s not needed now.”

  Santiago knew the captain didn’t really need Brocco and Wiley either. He didn’t need anyone. But they could be useful.

  The captain wove in and out of the frozen guests. He stopped in front of the woman who looked like a cake. The short man was behind her, half-covered by her wide dress.

  “Oh! That’s Marie Antoinette, isn’t it?” Wiley asked.

  “Yes,” the captain said. “I thought her timeline might be an interesting one to work with, given her fate.”

  “Doesn’t she get her head chopped off?” Wiley asked.

  “She does indeed. Her husband too.” The captain nodded to the man. “The fate of careless monarchs.”

  Wiley shuddered and puffed on his pipe.

  “Lessons to be learned, eh, Your Majesty?” Brocco jested, elbowing the captain in the ribs.

  The captain gave him a look that made him instantly stop.

  “Lessons for mortal kings and queens,” the captain said. “I am not susceptible to such a fate.”

  “Of course not.”

  “What would happen if someone chopped off your head?” Wiley asked.

  Both Brocco and Wiley jumped back as the captain drew his sword and held it out to Wiley. “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

  Wiley shook his head and held up his hands. “No, sir, I’m good.”

  Santiago was a little disappointed. He wanted to know what would happen if someone tried to chop off the captain’s head. Obviously he wasn’t the least bit afraid of it.

  The captain turned back to the woman called Marie Antoinette. He reached out and gently touched her throat. Wiley winced, turning his head, as though the captain was about to strangle her or break her neck. But he did no such thing. With a fluid motion, he drew out of the woman a swath of shimmery light blue material. It looked like water flowing in a stream through the air.

  Pictures swam in the material, mostly of the woman, but other humans, too, and places and things. Santiago glimpsed a grand palace. Horses and fine carriages. Servants and children. A yappy little dog that made Santiago hiss. Mounds of food, especially cakes.