The Paper Museum by Kate S. Simpson

Author:Kate S. Simpson [Simpson, Kate S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Union Square Kids

WHEN UNCLE RENALD STRUCK out for his regular morning walk around the grounds, I headed to his room with the hedgehog. I had initially thought Uncle Renald did his rounds for fresh air and exercise, but after what had happened yesterday, I now suspected there was another reason. He was worried about the museum.

Once he found the collar and the alarm and searched the toolshed, I figured I had fifteen minutes, but I wanted to get in and out of his room in ten, to be safe. The door was locked, as I expected, but I knew the code from Uncle Lem—he’d given it to me so I could wake him up if he ever slept through breakfast. The door opened silently, and I was facing the rows of buttons and knobs on the wall panel. I scanned the room—the bed neatly made, the night table with a glass of water, the bureau with drawers neatly closed and the hedgehog’s empty cage on top. A desk was tucked into the corner under the window. All of the desk drawers and bureau drawers were locked. I slipped the hedgehog under the desk, and he curled up against the wall with a contented clacking noise. My hope was that Uncle Renald would find him and assume he’d returned on his own.

I crossed back over to the wall panel. None of the buttons were labeled, and I had only a vague idea what any of them did. I didn’t want to set off any alarms, but if one of them opened the desk drawers, I could begin my searching.

One of the buttons on the panel was flatter than the others, worn smooth by touch, perhaps. Without hesitating I pushed it, hoping a desk drawer would click open. Instead, there was a soft whirring noise and a pop, and out of nowhere a door opened in the wall.

Uncle Renald had probably found the collar near the gate by now and would be heading toward the toolshed. I didn’t have any time to lose. I went through the doorway—there was a wide stone staircase leading down, which opened into a gigantic underground cavern.

Metal tables filled the room, and shelves and cabinets and crates stood against the walls. One long, silver table dominated the middle of the room, covered with smooth steel boxes and cylinders, some cut with squarish slots at the top that emanated an iridescent light. Another table had a dozen monitor screens hovering above it, surrounded by consoles and projection panels, all powered down. Other tables were covered with racks crowded with bottles, tubes, and droppers, and were bookended by rows of microscopes and a round machine that resembled the centrifuge at my parents’ workplace. There was an oversized basin with a giant turnip-shaped glass top, swirling with blue vapor similar to Uncle Renald’s smoke. This was clearly a laboratory of some sort. Everything was neat and orderly except for one table covered with scraps of metal, bolts, tools, a mask like the

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