Lock & Key Read online

  The man saw Gerda standing there, still holding her platter of dumplings, and said, “I’d have turned down the second mug of ale at the tavern if I knew you were going to arrive here first, old hag.”

  “And I’d have tried to get here first anyway, for the privilege of whacking you in the head with another of my dumplings,” she shot back, “although it’s a sorry waste of good dumplings to do so.”

  The man glared at her, and seemed to decide that it wasn’t worth the battle. “Let us not carry our brawl into the good silversmith’s shop.”

  “I’d be happy to carry it back into the road.”

  “Another time, perhaps.”

  “Any time you choose.” She smacked the platter down on the counter and walked out of the shop, slamming the door behind her.

  The man turned back to Darren and Per, who were standing watching him with some interest.

  “Which of you is Per Olafsson?” the man asked.

  “I am.” Per reached out a hand. The man clasped Per’s skinny forearm in a firm grasp, and Per reciprocated, wrapping his thin fingers part way around the man’s much better-muscled wrist.

  “I am called Lars Jonsson,” the man said. “I come from Oslo, but have traveled far abroad. I am told you do fine metalworking. Yon old hag that we just bid farewell to, she said you are the best in the region.”

  “I am no judge of that,” Per said, “but as to my being a metalworker, that much is true.”

  “Modestly said. But if what I see around me is your handiwork, I think you are the man for the job.”

  “Perhaps. This is indeed all my work, as far as that goes,” Per said. “What is the job you would like done?”

  Lars took off the knapsack he was wearing, untied the knot securing the top, and reached in and carefully removed a carved box, constructed of some dark wood, with finely-wrought iron hinges and a tiny iron plate in the front with a slotted hole obviously intended for a key.

  Darren stared at it, sitting in Lars Jonsson’s strong hands, and his heart sped up. No… it couldn’t be… could it?

  “Lars,” he said. “Where did you get that box?”

  Lars turned toward him. “It belonged to my mother. The key that opened it was lost many years ago. I want to have it fitted with another key. It is part of a gift I intend for my wife-to-be. We are to be married on Midsummer Day this year.”

  “May I hold it?”

  Lars shrugged, and said to Per, “Is this man your assistant?”

  “Yes,” Per said, and gave no further explanation.

  Lars handed the box to Darren. He looked at it carefully, and turned it over, running his fingertips over its surface and edges. Everything about the box was familiar—the abstract carved pattern of loops and knots on the lid, the snake-like swirls that adorned the corners and edges, the incised, twisted design around the lock. However unlikely it was, he was certain. He knew every cut, every curve of the design. In his time, it was darker, the wood showing signs of age, and some of the sharp edges had worn down from centuries of use. But there was no possible doubt, no way he could be mistaken.

  “Per,” Darren said, “I need to speak to you privately.”

  Per said to Lars, “I must discuss something with my… assistant. We will talk about the job when I return.”

  Lars reached out and took the box from his hands—Darren let it go a little reluctantly—and then he and Per walked back into the smithy, pulling the leather curtain closed behind them after they went through.

  “Per,” he said, in an intense whisper, “that box belonged to my grandmother. Or will belong. That same box sits on a shelf in my apartment.”

  Once again, Per reacted without surprise. He only questioned an unfamiliar word, not the overall gist of Darren’s statement, as if that were the only thing astonishing about it. “Apartment?”

  “Home. In my home. An apartment is like a room in an inn, but people live there for a long time, not only for a few days.”

  “Ah.”

  “I can hardly believe it, but there’s no mistaking it.”

  “Are you certain it is the same box? Many carved wooden boxes look similar.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I remember when I was a little boy, playing with it when I went to visit my grandmother. I know every detail of it. I’m absolutely certain.”

  “Ah,” Per said again. “That is curious. How could this box have made the journey to your time and place? Your home, it is far away, and many years hence, am I correct?”

  “Yes.” He still marveled at how easily Per accepted the fact of his having come from the future, but at least it was better than what he went through with Dugal and his family.

  “It is strange that there is this connection between my time and yours, and between my place and yours.”

  “It’s not just strange. It has to be important. This has to be part of why I am here.”

  “Perhaps.” Per seemed unconvinced. “But I don’t see what its significance could possibly be.”

  “Me either. Not yet, at least.”

  “How did you acquire the box? Was it a gift from your grandmother?”

  “Sort of. When my grandmother died, I inherited it. It had a key that went to it, but when… when all this happened, me getting sent back in time, everyone else disappearing, everything I was telling you about yesterday, the key vanished.”

  Per looked at him skeptically. “How do you know you did not simply lose it, as Lars Jonsson did?”

  “It was on a chain around my neck. I always wore it, even when I slept. I was very fond of my grandmother, and it reminded me of her. But when I suddenly found myself… um, when everyone else went away, everyone but myself and one or two others, like the guy who sent me here… I noticed that the key was gone.”

  “Could the chain have broken?”

  “Maybe. But I doubt it. It simply was gone.”

  Per frowned. “I do not see how that could be.”

  “Me either. But this has to be significant. I mean, think about it—Lars Jonsson brings the box to you because his key vanished, and my key also vanished. This can’t be a coincidence.” He paused. “You know, I wonder if the key I had is the one you will make?”

  “It could be.” Per looked at him in a speculative fashion. “Can you think of any importance that the box could have?”

  “I don’t know. Not offhand. But perhaps that’s part of what we need to figure out. Maybe part of the puzzle is to discover why it’s important. Per, I think you need to take this job. I think this has something to do with the divergence I was sent here to fix.”

  “Yes, I think perhaps you are right.” Per frowned thoughtfully. “What is the box used for in your time?”

  “I use it for knick-knacks.”

  Per looked at him in complete incomprehension. “What are these… knick-knacks?”

  “Just… stuff,” he said. “You must have things, in your house… you know, odd items, that don’t have any real purpose. Small things that aren’t important but which you still don’t want to lose.”

  “Ah. Yes. That is a funny way to call them. Knick-knacks. I have things like that, yes.” He shook his head. “But if that is all you use the box for, then how can it be significant?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, “but it’s the only connection I see between your time and mine.”

  “I don’t understand this. It all seems very strange.”

  “I don’t really understand, either. But what else can it be? There doesn’t seem to be any other connection to go on.”

  “But, did you not say that this divergence, this event, had something to do with the man who you are chasing from place to place and from time to time?”

  “Well, yes, I thought it did.”

  “I do not see how this box can have anything to do with him. Either the man you are chasing caused everything to change, or he did not. If he did, and especially if he did something far in the past, in Scotland, as you say, how can this wooden box be relevant?”

/>   “I don’t know.” He shrugged helplessly.

  “It seems to me as if you are trying to find a black cat in the dark.”

  The metaphor was apt, and he wilted a little. “Look, it’s not like I know what I’m doing. Even the guy who sent me here, he wasn’t sure what we were looking for.”

  “Then perhaps the man is playing you for a fool.”

  Per was the second one who’d suggested that. It was a chilling thought. Dugal, in fact, had thought that Fischer and Lee might be in cahoots, and that had seemed unlikely. But would it be any better, having Fischer send him all over the place, in and out of the past, because he was getting some strange jollies out of it?

  Then he thought of the glimpse he’d had of a different Fischer—a guy who was trying to do his job, like everyone else, who was worried about what his bosses thought, who was afraid he’d get fired if he screwed up, who wanted to put things right, and the whole anxiety-fraught idea of Fischer as some kind of evil genius, or at the very least a cruel practical joker, collapsed.

  “No,” he said. “I’m sure of it. Fischer wants to fix what’s gone wrong, both in our time and in yours. He’s not trying to do anything bad, and he’s not playing some sort of elaborate prank on me. And even though he’s pretty powerful—he can send me where, and when, he wants—he is trying to figure all this out, just like we are. That’s what he told me to do, to see if I could puzzle out what had gone wrong. He said that I should come here and scout, try to gather information, so that we can try and repair the damage. I’m sure he doesn’t know the details of what caused the divergence any more than we do.”

  Per absorbed all of this in silence.

  “However, you could be right,” Darren said. “It might be that the box has nothing to do with anything, or at least anything important. But at the moment, we don’t have another guess as to what might be causing all this, so we should be careful about what we do, and follow every lead we have.”

  “That seems prudent.” For the first time, a hopeful light came into Per’s eyes. “You really think… you think that perhaps, you might be able to fix my life? Give me the life I should be having?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t promise anything.”

  Per considered this for a moment. “I will help you in any way I can. A faint hope is better than none, and until now, I have had no hope at all.”

  “Then you need to tell Lars that you’ll take the job.”

  Per nodded. “Very well.”

  The two men returned to the front of the shop, where Lars Jonsson stood, fidgeting impatiently with a silver buckle hanging from a hook on the wall.

  “I will do the work you ask,” Per said.

  “Excellent,” Lars replied. “I am willing to pay you ten silver pennies for the job, provided you can be done by the day after tomorrow at this time.”

  “Fifteen,” Per said.

  “Twelve,” Lars said, “and make it beautiful. Filigree handle.”

  Per reached out his hand, which was duly shook.

  Lars slid the box toward Per. “I will call for it at sunset on the day after tomorrow. I am staying at the inn, yonder. I am trusting that the old hag’s description of your skills was correct.”

  “Her name,” Per said, “is Gerda Ingjaldsdottir, not ‘old hag.’”

  Lars smiled faintly. “As you wish, silversmith. Until I return, then.” He turned and strode out of the front door.

  Per turned toward Darren, his face solemn. “Well, now we shall find out if your guess is correct. I shall make a key, and then we will see what happens.”

  • • •

  By the time Lars Jonsson left, it had fallen completely dark. Per fixed them a simple meal—a thin soup with a scanty helping of rather tough chicken, some dried fruit, and a hunk of coarse bread. It was better than porridge, although he did notice one of Gerda’s dumplings sitting in his bowl, looking like a pale, lumpy frog squatting at the bottom of a pond.

  “This man you have chased so far,” Per said, munching thoughtfully on his bread, “what did he do, that so harmed the people of your time? How could one man have such power?”

  “We believe that the whole thing started when he tried to kill me.”

  Per’s eyebrows rose, but his voice was still as uninflected as ever. “He attempted to kill you? Why?”

  “That I don’t know. But I do know that the way he tried to kill me… it should have worked. It should have blown my skull apart, actually. But somehow I survived, even though the action seems to have made the rest of humanity vanish.”

  “There are none left in your time?”

  “Only myself, and a few others. People who like you, see the weavings of time from the outside, in a way. They are called Monitors.”

  Per digested this in silence for a moment.

  Finally he said, “These Monitors you speak of. Have they the ability to change their fates? God knows I would if I could.”

  “That’s a good question. I suspect that they can, but I think they’re forbidden from doing so.”

  “Forbidden? By whom?”

  “I’m not sure. By the ones who govern them, I suppose. But it’s a good thing they don’t, or they could go back in time and change things, maybe for their own gain.”

  “Yes. Is this what the man… you have not told me his name. Is this what he was attempting to do?”

  “His name is Lee. But unfortunately, I don’t know what he was trying to accomplish, either by killing me, or by changing the past. The one who sent me here to Norway—the Monitor I told you about, a man named Fischer—he believes that after trying to kill me, Lee escaped into the past, and while there changed something that altered the fate of everyone. Fischer has a way of knowing about these things, and he told me there were three places that had been altered. One was in Scotland, four hundred years ago. One was here, and now, in Norway. The third one was in a place called Kentucky, in the far distant future. Kentucky sort of doesn’t even exist yet.”

  Wow. I’m getting to the point where I can actually explain all of this without being completely freaked out by how weird it all is. I guess I’m making progress.

  Once again, Per responded to all of this without any seeming difficulty in belief. “What do I have to do with it? This is the bit of it that I do not understand. I am not from your time. And although I understand that things are not as they should be, I am not one of those people you know—how did you call them? Monitors?—who can travel back and forth through time as easily as one walks from one room into another. I am only a simple smith who is doomed to live life alone and poor. When you came here, you knew my name, and somehow here I am, caught, trapped in the midst of this as a fish is in a net.” He took a sip of ale. “It is peculiar.”

  “I’m as much in the dark as you are about what’s behind all of this. All I can do is to try to gather as much information as possible, so when I return back to my time—what’s left of it, that is—I’ll be able to tell Fischer what I learned, and perhaps we can fix all of this.”

  Per peered at him searchingly. “If you do succeed, I would only ask you this—do not forget me. I have lived my years on this earth always feeling lost, feeling that I was not where I should be, feeling that nothing that happened went the way it should. If you can help me, please. I know I am only one man, and someone who was a stranger only two days ago, and that you have the fates of many more people in your hands. My happiness may seem a small thing, by comparison.” Here his voice cracked, but he regained control of himself, and he kept on. “But still, I beg of you not to forget me.”

  “You have my word,” he said. “I will help you if it is in my power to do so.”

  • • •

  The next day dawned with sleet and wind, and after Darren did his morning chore of feeding chickens who seemed as unhappy to be roused from sleep as he was, he went into the smithy and decided he wouldn’t poke his nose outside of the house for the rest of the day unless forced.

  Why couldn’t the divergenc
es have happened somewhere warmer? he thought, shivering in front of the blazing fire. Like Cozumel. Or the Riviera. Or Maui. That’s it, I’d have happily gone to Maui to fix stuff. But no, I get sent to the Hebrides and Norway and have to freeze my ass off.

  Per had already thrown more fuel onto the fire, and was working the bellows, his thin arms pumping furiously. He’d stripped to the waist. Sweat streamed down his thin frame. His ribs stood out as his chest heaved with the exertion.

  Gradually, the glow from the fire intensified until it was impossible to look at the coals without squinting. They were white-hot. He picked up a blackened ceramic crucible and added a few broken chunks of silver, and then using tongs, he put the crucible into the hottest part of the fire.

  A few minutes later, he retrieved the crucible—the ceramic itself was nearly white-hot—and working quickly he poured out a stream of glowing, molten silver into a ceramic mold. He repeated the process four more times.

  “Making spares?” Darren asked.

  “I always cast more than I need.” Per set the crucible down on a stone slab next to the fire, and leaned the tongs against the wall. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Sometimes the blanks crack as they’re cooling, or sometimes there are air bubbles. If I make several, I can be more certain that at least one will be well-formed.”

  While letting the key forms cool, Per retrieved the wooden box from a cabinet, and set it in front of him. He set it on its back, and selected a small tool from a leather pouch hanging by a strap from a hook on the wall. The tool was small, with a wooden handle from which projected a slender strip of metal, like a very fine knife with a bent tip.

  Darren came up behind him, and Per looked up at him.

  “Do you mind if I watch?”

  Per shrugged, and turned back to his work. He slipped the point of the tool into the keyhole, and very gently moved the bent tip along the inside of the keyhole.

  “What are you trying to do?” he asked.

  Without looking up, Per said, “The way locks work is that there is a lever inside that fits into a cut-out slot. If the key is the right shape, it lines up with the shape of the lever, and when you turn it, it fits through the slot, pushes on the lever, and releases the latch. If the key is the wrong shape, it doesn’t fit through the slot. A part of the key hits projections inside the barrel of the lock, and it won’t turn. I’m using this tool to feel along the inside of the barrel. There’s a groove between the lever and the barrel that I can map out using the tool. This will tell me what shape the key needs to be.”