opened on Morganaâs bedchamber, which was dominated by a magnificent canopy bed hung with velvet draperies. In a recess, standing opposite one another, were two full-length mirrors. When Alys stood between these they reflected her, front and back, to infinity, so that the room seemed full of people.
The second room down the gallery had been converted to a study, the third was a sitting room, the fourth was the library, and the fifth held a greatspinning wheel. Each had its own mirror; some were beautiful, like the polished bronze sitting-room mirror, some ugly and strange, like the study mirror which was so tarnished Alys could scarcely see herself in it. Nowhere could she find any sign of a secret panel or hidden doorway.
The sixth room was different from the others. It was entirely bare: no tapestries, no wardrobe, not even a candle in the alcove. Only a very small bed pushed away in one corner.
It looks like a childâs bed, thought Alys, and she wondered if Morgana had ever had a child, and if so why this room, this nursery, was now so empty. It looked almost as if someone had stripped it clean in anger, throwing away anything that might spark a memory.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the tower. âAlys, come quick! Charles says heâs found it.â
She ran into Janie, who was doing the shouting, in the hallway, and they both hurried down the stairs and back to the kitchen. Here a long, narrow staircase led to the cellar.
Claudia was already down there, and she and Charles had their ears pressed to one wall. Close by them, glowing in the red sunlight that came through a small window set just above ground level, was a rusty mirror.
âListen!â Excitedly, Charles beckoned them closer. With his other hand he thumped several times slowly on the wall, while Claudia added a furious counterpart of quick rappings.
âNow listen,â he said, and reaching an armâs length away he knocked again. This time the sound was different.
âAnd look!â he added. âYou can see the outline, sort of, if you stand right. This crack is the side, and that one up there is the top. Itâs a door.â
âAnd this is the keyhole,â said Claudia. She had four small fingers stuck in a knothole.
âWait a minute,â said Janie. Nudging Claudia out of the way, she slipped sensitive fingers almost as small as her sisterâs into the hole. âThereâs metal in here⦠. Itâs some kind of a lock. If I can just push it right â¦â
With a soft
click
an entire section of the wall swung inward.
The small room thus revealed was illuminated by slit-shaped windows at ground level, and it had a mirror. Every inch of wall that wasnât window or mirror was shelves. And every shelf, from floor to ceiling, was stacked with rows and rows and rows of bottles and jars and vials and phials and retorts.
âWow,â said Claudia.
âIâll bet half of those are poisonous,â said Janie.
âI told you witches like drafts,â said Charles.
Alysâs sense of triumph was tempered with awe at the sheer quantity of bottles which shone in the last rays of the setting sun. âIâm afraid it will take us hoursââ she began, but Claudia interrupted.
âFootprints!â she said, pointing.
It was true; the thick carpet of dust on the floor clearly showed a single set of footprints leading to the shelves and back.
âMorgana!â said Claudia, hugging herself with delight.
âSure has little feet,â said Charles critically.
Janie, who had already stepped into the room to examine one wall of shelves, suddenly made a strangled sound.
âAlys.
Alys. Alys.
â
âBlack widow!â cried Charles instantly, leaping to her side. âWhereâd it bite you?â
Janie pushed him away and stumbled toward Alys. Her eyes were wild.
âAlys!â
âTake a deep breath and try again. Count to
Pierre V. Comtois, Charlie Krank, Nick Nacario