G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"But how would Magnussen have figured it all out?" Ralph asked. " We've got the portrait to explain everything, but Magnussen didn't get anything from him, apparently."

"Magnussen wouldn't have needed anyone to explain it!" James whispered, flush with excitement. "Remember what Franklyn told us? Magnussen was a guy who loved stories! He'd probably already read all about the legend of the Rider!"

Zane nodded. "Then, later, when he's out prowling the halls here in the castle, he spies these tapestries and starts putting everything together. He connects the tapestries with the silver horseshoe up in the Tower of Art and bammo, he's got the dimensional key he's been dreaming of all along!"

"Wow," Ralph laughed a little nervously. "So the riddle was right after all. The truth walked the halls of Erebus Castle, right here. The truth was Magnussen and the tapestries put together!"

There was a long meaningful pause as the three boys stared at one another, absorbing the gravity of what they had just discovered. Finally, Wentworth spoke up, breaking the silence.

"Well, this is all marvelous," he sighed, rolling his eyes and pulling James by the elbow. "I don't know what any of it means or why I should care, but bully for all three of you. Now, can I maybe go back and finish my lunch?"

18. THE DIMENSIONAL KEY

The first hints of spring on the campus of Alma Aleron were marked by a series of very gusty days. The warm winds first melted the remaining patches of snow and then dried the winter-yellow lawns so that by the week before Valentine's Day, groups of students could be seen practicing skrim or tossing Clutches over the mall's yards and empty flowerbeds. After nearly a week of grey days, the sun finally broke through a tatter of stubborn clouds, bathing Administration Hall with beams of shifting golden light.

In the days after the revelation of the Erebus Castle tapestries, James, Ralph, and Zane had begun to plan the next step of their adventure, which was to somehow use the time-traveling nature of the school to go back to the date of Professor Magnussen's escape and follow him through the Timelock, out into Muggle Philadelphia. There, they would attempt to nick the dimensional key— the unicorn's silver horseshoe—from the villain professor before he could use it to vanish forever through the Nexus Curtain.

"If we're lucky," Zane whispered one morning in Clockwork Mechanics as Professor Cloverhoof assisted another student with her magical cuckoo clock, "we'll get the horseshoe and see where the Nexus Curtain is at the same time."

James lurched suddenly backward as his own wooden cuckoo bird sprang from the tiny doors of his half-finished clock. The bird extended on a complicated accordion of wooden struts, began to retract back, and then lurched to a squeaking halt, bobbing back and forth over James' shoulder.

"Not enough beeswax on the joints," the bird chirped in irritation. " And yo ur measurements are all over the place."

"Shut it, bird," James grumped, reaching to force it back into its compartment. To Zane, he whispered, "You mean if we just follow Magnussen without being seen, we can wait for him to lead us to the Nexus Curtain and then try to nick the unicorn's shoe before he actually uses it?"

"Seems like it'd be cutting things a bit close," Ralph admitted.

"Yeah," his own cuckoo bird chirped from where it lay on the table next to him, surrounded by a variety of wooden cogs, tools, and brass gears. "And finesse doesn't seem to be ya all's strong suit."

"Shut it, bird," all three boys said in unison.

Just to be sure of their information, James had suggested that they take a quick trip up to the museum atop the Tower of Art to learn what they could about the unicorn's horseshoe. During their Wednesday afternoon free period, they climbed the hundreds of stairs to the top of the Tower and spent some time wandering the museum's halls, searching for any information about the apparently missing horseshoe. The curator was not at her desk, unfortunately, and a quick look around the museum's halls revealed no mysteriously vacant display cases or empty frames where the horseshoe might originally have been displayed.

"It's been gone too long," Zane insisted, bored. "The portrait said they didn't even really know the significance of the thing anyway, remember? As far as the curator knew, it was just some silver horseshoe from the Erebus family collection. Totally old and stuff, but still, just a horseshoe. Once it went missing, they probably just closed the display and put in a new bowl of golden scarabs. Let's go back and see them again, now that I mention it. I still have some of those copper shavings in my pocket that they like to eat."

"We need to be sure," James said stubbornly. "Erebus himself said he's pretty fuzzy on anything that's happened since his death. I want to know for certain that the horseshoe really was here once and that it went missing around Magnussen's time. Hold on…"

"What?" Ralph asked as James suddenly pulled him into a side corridor. "You see something?"

"These are just more portraits," Zane said, rolling his eyes. "You going to corroborate one half-baked heap of paint with another?"

"If their stories agree, then yes," James replied. "Besides, I've heard that one of these guys was known for never telling a lie."

"A quote that has long outlived its context," one of the portraits said with a sniff. "It was directed at Mrs. Washington, in fact, on the occasion of a missing slice of apple pie. And, I might add, it was meant to be rather sarcastic."

"George Washington?" Ralph asked, peering at the large portrait on the corridor wall. "What's he going to know about a magical unicorn horseshoe?"

"Nothing whatsoever with an attitude like that, young man," Washington answered huffily. "I've been watching the three of you traipse around the museum. I can't imagine why you haven't already asked any of us portraits about whatever it is you are seeking, especially since the curator is absent. Not that said absence is at all unusual."

"That's for certain," another portrait added. James glanced up and saw the painted visage of a rather round-faced man with tufts of iron grey hair poking from the sides of his head. ' John Adams ', the name plate read. "Our Madam Curator spends about as much time at her post as a Virginia night watchman."

"I take offense at comments like that," another portrait commented from further down the hall.

"We know , Thomas," Washington said with a roll of his eyes. "That's why Adams keeps making them. He's been trying to get your goat for centuries. I cannot understand why you keep making it so very easy for him."

"Like shooting fish in a barrel," Adams smirked.

"Some of us prefer more sporting contests," said the portrait from further down the hall. James leaned to the side and read the name plate: ' Thomas Jefferson '. "Us Virginians aim for loftier challenges than mere colloquial insults."

"Do note, John," Washington added carefully, "that I was a Virginian as well."

"Yes, but you can give as well as you get, George," Adams replied jovially. " You have a sense of humour, after all."

"Wait a minute," Ralph interrupted. "George Washington. You're the guy that invented peanut butter, right?"

"Ahem," another voice coughed lightly. "You're thinking of George Washington Carver , young man. A common enough mistake, I suppose."

"Oh," Ralph said, his face reddening as he glanced aside at the portrait of a handsome man with dark skin and grey hair. "Er, sorry, Mr. Carver."