The Jewel and the Key Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  1. Audition

  2. Mushroom Boy

  3. Green Flashes

  4. Shifts

  5. Reg

  6. Angel

  7. Damage

  8. An Errand

  9. The Jewel

  10. A History of the Theater

  11. The Scottish Play

  12. The Usurper Himself

  13. Two Gentlemen

  14. Timber War

  15. Rags of Time

  16. In the City

  17. Soapbox

  18. Lockup

  19. Entrances and Exits

  20. Real Troll Land

  21. Tin Lizzie

  22. The Image in the Glass

  23. No Jest

  24. Melted into Air, into Thin Air

  25. Cenotaph

  26. Four-Minute Man

  27. Solidarity Forever

  28. Over There

  29. Home

  30. Poppies

  31. Curtain

  Author's Note

  Acknowledgments

  Clarion Books

  215 Park Avenue South

  New York, New York 10003

  Copyright © 2011 by Louise Spiegler

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  Clarion Books is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  www.hmhbooks.com

  The text of this book is set in Abrams Venetian.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Spiegler, Louise.

  The Jewel and the key / by Louise Spiegler.

  p. cm.

  Summary: After an earthquake, Seattle seventeen-year-old Addie McNeal finds herself jolted back to 1917 just as the United States is entering World War I, where she is drawn to the grand old Jewel Theater which is threatened both then and in the present time, as the United States again is about to enter a war.

  ISBN 978-0-547-14879-3

  [1. Time travel—Fiction. 2. World War, 1914–1918—Fiction. 3. Theaters—Fiction. 4. Theater—Fiction. 5. Earthquakes—Fiction. 6. Seattle (Wash.)—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.S75434Je 2011

  [Fic]—dc22

  2011008149

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  DOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  4500297671

  For Richard, with love

  The world has been printing books for 450 years, and yet gunpowder still has a wider circulation. Never mind! Printers ink is the greater explosive: it will win.

  —Christopher Morley, The Haunted Bookshop

  1. Audition

  It wasn't a real theater and never would be.

  Not like she'd dreamed about, with a wooden stage, and scenery, and lights, and an orchestra setting the mood.

  It was the musty old auditorium of Lincoln High School, with Tom Stark running far too much of the auditions. The problem was that Mr. Crowley, the drama teacher, kept getting called out of the room—someone said his wife had gone into labor, but no one knew if that was true—and as soon as he was gone, everything fell apart. Music erupted from cell phones. People coughed and whispered. A group of boys kept sputtering with laughter and throwing wadded-up notes to the theater divas, Keira and her gang, who always got parts, no matter what. Addie looked over at the cluster of girls giggling and commenting acidly on whoever was onstage. If this were an all-male production about sumo wrestlers, she thought wryly, they’d still get the leads.

  One of their pals finished, and, despite the rule about not clapping during tryouts, they broke into a storm of applause.

  For the third time, Addie glanced over her shoulder toward the back of the auditorium. None of her good friends were here. Even Almaz and Whaley hadn’t shown up. Almaz had a math competition and Whaley ... he’d been so busy fuming about the hecklers at his all-ages show last night that he probably hadn’t registered it when she’d reminded him about her audition this morning.

  But even without her posse cheering her on, she was sure she could get a part this time. No one knew the play like she did.

  She rolled her shoulders and smoothed the skirt of her dress. Most people hadn’t worn costumes. But when she and Almaz had found this shimmery green gown at Deluxe Junk for just five bucks, she knew she had to have it. The only possible garment for a beautiful troll princess. She wished she’d painted her face with the glittery silver and green makeup she’d experimented with last night, but there hadn’t been time.

  “Addie? Addie McNeal? Were ready for you.”

  She jumped out of her seat and made her way past the divas. Keira said something and the other girls muffled their giggles.

  Heat flooded into her face. She hated that she let them unnerve her.

  Still blushing, she lifted her head and walked down the aisle, climbed the steps, and crossed to the center of the stage. It was suffused with stale yellow light and smelled of old mops. To her dismay, Mr. Crowley's chair was empty. Tom was in charge again. He was a skinny, world-weary senior who was tapping his pen against his clipboard. Addie guessed he must be good to win the coveted student-director position for the spring Short Takes—the one-acts students could do instead of the musical. Mr. Crowley would be in charge, but Tom would have a lot of input. Somehow, he didn't fill her with confidence.

  Now he was looking down at his notes. “Peer Gynt? Not another troll princess?”

  Giggles rippled along the row where the divas sat.

  “Act two. Scene five,” Addie said.

  “I know what scene it is.”

  “Can someone read Peer's lines for me?” Addie looked about for a likely candidate. She was pretty sure Sun was out there somewhere. Maybe Jake. Unfortunately, she didn’t see either of them—s he'd intentionally sat alone so she could concentrate, and now she didn’t know where they were. But before she could suggest anyone, Tom spoke.

  “Come on. We’ve seen this so much already. And we’re almost out of time. I’ll read them.”

  “But—”

  Without preliminary, he tossed out the first line.

  Addie froze. He couldn’t expect her to play against him when he was sitting ten rows back in the audience, could he? Quickly she scanned the auditorium, as if Whaley and Almaz might miraculously appear just when she needed them. Where the heck was Mr. Crowley? He’d never do an audition this way. He’d assign someone to read.

  It didn’t matter. He wasn’t there.

  Oh, well. Planting her feet firmly, she drew herself up to her full five foot nine. Height was good sometimes. When she stood up very straight, she could feel strength shooting up her spine. Tall and straight like a spruce, she told herself. With a deep breath, she stepped forward. If she concentrated, she could make the noise in the audience disappear. She could make Tom’s bored voice not matter. It took a lot, but she could do it.

  She conjured up Peer Gynt, onstage with her in the haunted grove, wearing his cap and peasant trousers. Yes, she could almost see him. He was a charmer—a rambler and a troublemaker. Kind of like Whaley. But she could outwit him. And with her trollish supernatural powers, he had no chance against her at all.

  She pivoted on her heel, toward stage right, where Peer would be standing, and let a small, knowing smile touch her lips. Then she held out her arms, beckoning him.

  I'mt he Dovrë-Kingsda ughter...

  Deep in the Rondë has father his palace.

  The rhythm of the words cau
ght her. Now she was the beautiful, ill-meaning temptress, luring feckless males to her father’s underground kingdom, and their doom. She could feel her own grace and malevolence. It coursed through her veins as she circled round Peer, cornering him like a cat.

  She hardly noticed the boredom in Tom’s voice as he bounced lines back to her like Ping-Pong balls. She was bringing the stage to life. The furled American flag in the corner had become a silvery weeping willow. The clock on the wall was the full midnight moon, pulling time and tide in its wake. Dark trees of the Norwegian forest loomed all around, hung with gold hoarded by the trolls. The clang of treasure in their branches chimed behind the lines she was half speaking, half chanting. In a small sliver of her consciousness, she thought, Its working! and a throb of delight passed through her.

  “Zzzzzzzzz!”

  She jumped.

  It was the after-school buzzer. Chairs slammed, zippers zipped, shoes scuffed the floors. Conversations bubbled and popped as everyone got up to leave. The frozen forest of Addie’s imaginings dissolved, and the auditorium shifted into sharp focus. She registered that Mr. Crowley was back in the seat next to Tom. He looked distracted, sticking his left arm into the right sleeve of his jacket and trying to shove a mess of papers into a folder at the same time.

  “Oh, Peer!” Keira's voice rose above the confusion. “Peer, follow me to my forest realm for I am a princess!” The drama queens roared. Keira smiled at Addie as if Addie were supposed to find it funny, too.

  “Thanks.” Tom wrote something on his legal pad and put it away.

  Addie turned to Mr. Crowley. ‘How did I do?” She knew he probably wouldn’t say, but she wanted to find out if he had seen any of her audition.

  But Mr. Crowley was jamming the folder into his briefcase, and it was Tom who answered. ‘You’ll hear. We’ll post the parts on the website.”

  He didn’t sound very impressed.

  But why not? Addie thought a bit indignantly. She’d thought the magic was working. When she’d played Titania in A Midsummer Nights Dream at camp last summer, people had actually used that word to describe her performance— magical. In neighborhood productions, she always got the accolades. What was it about acting at Lincoln that made her always miss the mark? She’d felt Peer’s world alive—brought to life—around her. Hadn’t anyone else been able to feel it?

  “I didn’t get it, did I?” The words just slipped out.

  This time, Mr. Crowley looked up. As Tom said, we’ll post the parts on the website.” For a moment, he actually seemed to focus on her. ‘Addie, right? Didn’t you help Sun with makeup last time?”

  Addie nodded numbly. She had. But she’d thought this year she’d get a part.

  Then his focus was gone again. He was pulling out his cell phone. “I’m sorry. I’ve really ... I’ve got to go. But you were good at that,” he added vaguely.

  “Good at—?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Tom said. “If you don’t get a part, you can help out with makeup and costumes again.”

  Addie stared at him. Had she sucked and just not realized it ?

  No. She was sure she could act. But it seemed strange not to be picked two years in a row. How could she get stuck with makeup again? She opened her mouth to say no. She wasn’t going to settle for makeup! But something stopped her.

  How was she ever going to prove herself if she gave up now? Lincoln had the best drama department in the city. They were famous for doing challenging plays, not the usual high school fare. If you had a lead, or even a supporting role, you could win competitions. Maybe get into a college with a good theater program.

  If she kept doing makeup and props and soaking up all she could, eventually, it might all pay off. After all, she thought unhappily, there was always next year.

  “Thanks, Mr. Crowley,” she said.

  He smiled and nodded absently. Then he bolted out of the auditorium.

  Dispirited, she left the stage and trudged back to her seat. She gathered up her boiled wool coat, picked up her backpack, and made her way to the exit.

  Outside, the trees were dark and slick with wet. It was a grizzly day. That was a word her brother, Zack, had made up. It meant so drizzly and cold and miserable, it just made you grit your teeth and say “grrr.” At least it wasn’t actually raining anymore.

  She had to find Whaley. If anyone would understand, he would.

  Hugging herself for warmth, Addie headed around the front of the school, scanning the sidewalk and the park diagonally across the street just in case he’d hung out and waited for her.

  She heard yelling—a commotion back by the main entrance. When she turned to where the sound was coming from, she saw a crowd gathering into a tight circle in the small parking lot. People were yelling with excitement. An occasional groan went up from all of them at once.

  A fight.

  Addie’s neck prickled.

  She sprinted up the sidewalk and across the lot, elbowing her way into the crowd between two football players.

  Oh, no. This was what she’d been afraid of.

  Whaley was fighting the guy who had brought those knuckle-draggers to heckle his band last night. Kirk. That was his name. Big and dumb. The type who didn’t know when to stop. Of course, Whaley had probably been all too willing....

  Her stomach clenched as Kirk grabbed Whaley’s shoulders and bashed him into the side of a car. Under his shock of reddish hair, Whaley’s narrow face was pale, but he was grinning like a madman. The second he hit the steel door, he twisted away and punched Kirk in the stomach, darting and dancing. But Kirk, slower moving but more powerful, turned like a Sherman tank and just came at Whaley again.

  Addie spotted Whaley's bandmates, Cam and Enrique, in the crowd and rushed over to them. “Can’t you guys break it up?”

  “No way,” Enrique said.

  “This is Whaley’s business,” Cam told her. “It’s his band.”

  “It’s your band, too!” But she knew they were right. Whaley was the one who searched out the bookings, made the posters, wrote the songs. The way he saw it, if the band was disrespected, it was his job to defend its honor. And she knew that everyone would laugh if Whaley’s friends dragged him out of this fight. She turned back to watch, every nerve in her body jumping.

  Whaley was dodging Kirk’s blows well, but his guard was slipping. He stumbled, and Kirk’s fist smashed into his face. Blood sprayed from his nose.

  Addie flinched and forced herself not to cry out.

  Kirk flung himself at Whaley as hard as he could and slammed him onto the hood of a Subaru Outback. But then Kirk lost his balance and floundered onto the hood as well. Whaley leaped up, grabbed him by the waist, and smashed him into the windshield. The glass cracked. Kirk rolled over, flattening Whaley beneath him.

  “Ooooh!” went the crowd.

  Addie couldn’t stifle herself any longer. “Stop it! Stop, now!”

  Whaley twisted his head around from under Kirk’s bulk and gave her a bloody-mouthed grin. “Hiya, Ads!” Distracted, Kirk turned too, and as he did, Whaley wriggled away from him and rolled to the ground. Before Kirk knew what was happening, Whaley yanked his legs out from under him.

  “Whaley—”

  Before she could finish, Cam and Enrique burst into cheers. Whaley had won. It happened so fast, Addie wasn’t even sure how. But suddenly Kirk was down in a puddle, moaning, and Whaley had him pinned.

  “Give up?” He was pressing Kirk’s head to the ground.

  “Unh.” Glaring, Kirk gave a short nod.

  Enrique and Cam helped Whaley to his feet. The three of them were crowing and high-fiving one another. People were slapping Whaley's back; some guy was pretending to be a fight announcer; and girls were snapping their fingers in the air.

  Whaley was laughing, accepting their congratulations, already pulling out his tobacco tin and paper for a celebratory smoke. Addie just drew a shaky breath and turned away.

  She crossed the street to the park and kept going until she
reached the top of the hillock, where the benches hid among the cedars. It was later than she’d thought. In the west, a slab of sunlight poked through the mass of clouds hanging over the Olympics, painting the sides of the houses fiery colors. She took a deep gulp of air. Late crocuses poked through the mud. Purple irises were furled against the cold. Spring was here.

  But the thought didn’t cheer her. She drew her coat tighter over the gorgeous troll dress, thinking she’d left home this morning as shimmering silk but was coming back as nothing but boiled wool.

  “Hey ya, McNeal!” Whaley had crested the hill behind her. His face glowed with triumph. He tossed aside his rollie and stamped it out.

  Addie smiled, warmed that he’d left his cheering fans to find her. But then she got a closer look at him. “Oh, wow. Look at you! Let me clean up that blood.” She pulled a bandanna from her bag and went over to the water fountain to wet it. He followed and stood patiently, stooping a bit, as she dabbed at the caked streams of blood under his nose. “And you’re getting a black eye.”

  Whaley touched his cheekbone gingerly. “Looks worse than it feels, I bet.”

  “Turn around. Let me see your back. Is there any glass in it?”

  “I love it when you’re Nurse Addie.” Whaley grinned, looking more ragged and snaggletoothed than ever. “Naw. My back’s okay.” He winced a bit. “More than I can say for the Subaru.”

  “Did you leave a note or anything? So they can contact you?”

  Whaley’s eyes widened. He smacked his forehead. “Oh, crap.”

  “What?” Addie eyed him warily. “What is it?”

  “Its just ... I just realized.” Whaley looked over her head, as if he were examining a peak of the Olympics in minute detail. “I think that was Mr. Nguyen’s car.”

  “The principal’s?” Mr. Nguyen was not a touchy-feely, let-bygones-be-bygones guy. He’d nail Whaley to the wall for this.

  “Don’t freak! I’ll offer to fix it or something. I know how to replace a windshield.”

  “You do? But—” She remembered the last big fight Whaley was in. “What if Dad finds out?”