“Maybe we can use this Golden Key to get out. Any idea what it does?” said Marc.
“It opens a box. Nobody knows what’s in the box,” said Aaron.
“Then how do you know it opens it?” asked Marc.
“Didn’t you read the Grimm fairy tales? It’s the last one.”
“Right, the last story! Of course!” I said.
“Oh. I guess I must have skipped that one. Is it really boring, with lots of oafs and donkeys? I kind of skimmed those.”
“No, it’s really short. A boy finds a golden key in the woods. Then he digs around and finds an iron box. He unlocks it, but the story ends there, and you never find out what’s in the box.”
“I don’t see how that’s going to help us get out,” said Marc.
“Maybe the Golden Key unlocks more than just that one box,” I said. “Maybe once we’re inside the Grimm Collection, we can use something else to let us out. A genie or a wishing ring or something. Or we could put on the invisibility cloak and sneak out when a librarian comes in. I think we should use the shrink ray. I bet we can find a way out of the GC if we manage to get in.”
“All right,” said Aaron, picking up his backpack. “Let’s go.”
The shrink ray, a huge machine with streamlined curves, crouched like a gigantic rat in its own section of the Wells Bequest. Aaron picked up its long, curly tail and examined the plug at the end. “Where did I put that extension cord?”
I stared at the machine with rising apprehension as Aaron and Marc argued about who would shrink whom. The argument didn’t last long. Wells objects were really Aaron’s domain, as he pointed out. He was the only one who knew how to operate it.
“First we’ll send some useful stuff down to the GC in pneums, things like scissors and string,” said Aaron. “Then I’ll shrink the two of you so you fit in the pneums yourselves and send you down. Who wants to go first?”
“I’d better,” said Marc. “I’m stronger, so I can help Elizabeth get out of the tube.”
We packed a couple of pneums with supplies and stuffed a few more things in our backpacks. Aaron pushed a switch and the machine growled to life. He swung it around to point its nozzle at Marc.
“Hey! Aren’t you going to test it first?”
“If you want. What should I shrink?”
I handed him my sweater. It was a hand-me-down from Veronica, and it was too big. In fact, I had thought about trying to shrink it by putting it through the dryer.
Aaron pointed the shrink ray and fiddled with a knob. A green ray came whooshing out. The sweater writhed like a balloon losing air. In seconds it was down to half its size.
Aaron twisted another knob and the shrinking slowed down. So did the writhing—the sweater waved its arms slowly like something in an underwater documentary, kelp or a sea anemone.
I picked it up. It looked like it would fit a Barbie doll. I was amazed at how finely made it seemed, with its perfect little buttons and blindingly tiny stitches.
“Test the magnifying function—make sure you can get it back to the right size,” I said.
Aaron fiddled with the controls and turned the shrink ray on again. This time the light was red. The sweater puffed out, wrinkling into little hills. It looked like lava erupting undersea.
“Okay, stop,” I said.
“But it’s not done yet,” objected Aaron.
“Now! Stop!” I leaned over and flicked the switch to off. The light died down.
“Why did you do that? It’s only at 94 percent,” said Aaron.
“It was too big to begin with,” I said, putting on the sweater. It was still a little loose, but not nearly as bad as before. Maybe I would grow into it.
“Ready, Marc?” said Aaron, switching on the shrink ray.
The green light shot out, but Marc didn’t seem to be shrinking. “Is it working?” I asked.
Marc shrugged.
“Give it a minute,” said Aaron.
We gave it a minute. Nothing happened. Aaron fiddled with some knobs. Still nothing happened.
“I know!” I said. “It’s Jaya’s knot—it protects you, remember? I had to take mine off before Doc could remove my sense of direction.”
“Oh, right,” said Marc, tugging at the knot with his teeth.
“Not that way,” I said. “You’ll break your teeth. You have to tell it come off. In rhyme,” I added.
Aaron started the machine again. “Is it working now?” he asked.
“I think so,” said Marc. “I feel funny.” He sounded funny too.
“Look, it’s definitely working,” I said. Marc had reached my height and was subsiding slowly, twitching. “Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Yeah . . . it’s weird. It kind of tickles inside my bones, where I can’t scratch.”
“Enough?” I said. Marc was now the height of a soda can.
“Let’s check,” said Aaron. He switched off the shrink ray and put a pneum down next to Marc. “Can you fit in there?”
Marc slid the door open and tried to wedge himself in. “Too tight,” he said. His voice sounded tiny and higher than usual. He was like a doll of himself, with perfect little limbs and itty-bitty shoes. He stepped out of the pneum and stretched gracefully, like a tiny tiger. I wished I could take him home with me and keep him.
Aaron turned the ray on Marc again for a few seconds. “Better?”
Marc tried the pneum again; this time he fit. “Perfect.” He climbed back out.
Then it was my turn. I talked the knot off my ankle and went over to the shrinking spot. “Do your worst,” I said.
For a moment nothing seemed to happen. Then I felt the itching Marc had described. All at once the world looked as if I’d shaken free of it and was falling down, down, down through exploding space.
The world was so big that I couldn’t get my bearings. What were all those looming shapes? Which way was the door? Where was Marc? Was that perilously swaying skyscraper Aaron? How would I negotiate all this with no sense of direction?
The green light snapped off and the insane sensation subsided.
“Elizabeth? Are you okay?”
Aaron’s voice sounded strange. I could pick out the individual vibrations. It took me a moment to put them together into words.
“Fine, I guess . . . I’m fine.”
“You sure? You look a little . . .” A huge hand came swooping toward me from overhead.
I ducked frantically. “Hey! What are you doing?”
“Sorry. You’re just so tiny and delicate . . . I wanted to make sure . . . Here, do you fit in this, or should I make you smaller?”
A pneum barreled through the air and stopped beside me. Aaron’s hand held it steady as I slid the door open. It looked crudely made and worn. The plastic was scored with deep scratches, and the felt was battered. Could it possibly protect me as it went banging through the pipes?
Wedging myself in, I pulled the door shut around me, then slid it open again without trouble and eased my head and shoulders out.
“Aaron? I’m going to close this thing. Can you lay it down with the door facedown, just to make sure I can get out?”
“Sure.”
His vast hand! Ugh, with a hangnail on his index finger. He tipped me over with a dizzying lurch, like a Ferris wheel before it really gets started. It wasn’t easy getting the door open—I had to throw my weight back and forth to rock the pneum onto its back—but I managed it and climbed out.
“Time for the pipes?” Aaron said.
