seen her before, nor had he seen embroidery of the sort that trimmed her cloak: star-shaped flowers in gold thread on dark cloth, too fine for travel though she must have traveled far. He did not see a horse or a carriage and supposed she might have left them at the inn for no one passed through this town without staying at the inn and it was not far.
“I have been told you collect keys,” the woman said to the key collector.
“I do,” said the key collector, though this was obvious. There were keys hanging above the doorway where they stood, keys on the walls behind him, keys in jars and bowls and vases on the tables.
“I am looking for something that has been locked away. I wonder if one of your keys might unlock it.”
“You are welcome to look,” the key collector said and invited the woman inside.
He considered asking the woman what manner of key she sought so he might help her look but he knew how difficult it was to describe a key. To find a key you had to understand the lock.
So the key collector let the woman search the house. He showed her every room, every cabinet and bookshelf lined with keys. The kitchen with its teacups and wineglasses filled with keys, save for the few that were used more frequently, empty and waiting for wine or for tea.
The key collector offered the woman a cup of tea but she politely refused. He left her to her searching and sat in the front parlor where she could find him if she needed and he read a book.
After many hours the woman returned to the key collector.
“It is not here,” she said. “Thank you for letting me look.”
“There are more keys in the back garden,” the key collector said, and led the woman outside.
The garden was festooned with keys, strung from ribbons in a rainbow of colors. Keys tied with bows hung from trees and bouquets of keys displayed in glazed pots and vases. Birdcages with keys hung on the tiny swings inside with no birds to be seen. Keys set into the paving stones along the garden paths. A bubbling fountain contained piles of keys beneath the water, sunken like wishes.
The light was fading so the key collector lit the lanterns.
“It is lovely here,” the woman said. She began to look through the garden keys, keys held by statues and keys wound around topiaries. She stopped in front of a tree that was just starting to blossom, reaching out to a key, one of many hanging from red ribbons.
“Will that key suit your lock?” the key collector asked.
“More than that,” the woman answered. “This is my key. I lost it a very long time ago. I’m glad it found its way to you.”
“I am glad to return it,” the key collector said. He reached up to untie the ribbon for her, leaving it hanging from the key in her hand.
“I must find a way to repay you,” the woman said to the key collector.
“No need for that,” the key collector told her. “It is my pleasure to help reunite you with your locked-away thing.”
“Oh,” the woman said. “It is not a thing. It is a place.”
She held the key out in front of her at a height above her waist where a keyhole might have been if there was a door and part of the key vanished. The woman turned the key and an invisible door unlocked in the middle of the key collector’s garden. The woman pushed the door open.
The key and its ribbon remained hanging in midair.
The key collector looked through the door into a golden room with high arched windows. Dozens of candles stood on tables laid for a great feast. He heard music playing and laughter coming from out of sight. Through the windows he could see waterfalls and mountains, a sky brightly lit by two moons and countless stars reflected in a shimmering sea.
The woman walked through the door, her long cloak trailing over the golden tiles.
The key collector stood in his garden, staring.
The woman took the key on its ribbon from its lock.
She turned back to the key collector. She raised a hand in invitation, beckoning him forward.
The key collector followed.
The door closed behind him.
No one ever saw him again.