The room suddenly feels more like a tomb, the scent of burned paper and smoke stronger.
In the hall the lamp falls, either of its own volition or aided by the cat. The bulb breaks with a soft cracking noise and takes the light with it, leaving Zachary alone in the dark with the charred remains of a miniature universe.
He closes his eyes and counts backward from ten.
Something inside him expects to open his eyes and find himself back in Vermont but he is exactly where he was ten seconds earlier, and now he can see a little bit of light, guiding him.
He climbs out of the opening in the wall, careful not to trip on the broken lamp. He replaces it on the table and does his best to push the pieces of broken glass out of the way.
There are a few votive candles tucked into bookshelves and he uses one to relight the taper in its frame. The frame moves back up into place as soon as the candle is lit, the wall closing away the remains of the doll universe again.
“Meow,” the Persian cat says, suddenly at his feet.
“Hey,” Zachary says to the cat. “I’m going to go this way.” He points down the hall to the left, a decision he makes as he vocalizes it. “You can come if you want, if not, no big deal. You do you.”
The cat stares up at him and twitches its tail.
The hall to the left is short and dim and opens into a room surrounded by columns composed of marble statues, figures nakedly supporting the ceiling in twisting combinations of twos and threes, though the statues seem more focused on one another than on their architectural function.
The ceiling is gilded and set with dozens of tiny lights, casting a warm glow over the frozen marble orgy beneath it.
Zachary glances over his shoulder and the cat is following him but when he looks it stops and licks a paw nonchalantly as though it is not following him at all and just happens to be heading in the same direction.
Zachary continues down another hall leading away from the columned room with two more statues beyond. One statue peers into the room and the other turns away, covering its marble eyes.
The cat finds something and bats it around, watching it skitter across the floor. The object loses its appeal quickly, though, and the cat gives it a final bat and continues on its way. Zachary goes to see what the object is and finds an origami star with one bent corner. He puts it in his pocket.
Eventually Zachary finds himself at the Heart, more or less by accident. The door to the Keeper’s office is open but the Keeper doesn’t look up until Zachary knocks on the open door.
“Hello, Mister Rawlins,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, thank you,” Zachary answers.
“And your friend?”
“He’s asleep but he seems okay. And…I broke a lamp, in one of the halls. I can clean it up if you have a broom or something.” His eyes fall on an old-fashioned twig broom standing in a corner.
“That will not be necessary,” the Keeper says. “I shall have it taken care of. Which hallway?”
“Back that way and around,” Zachary says, indicating the way he came from. “Near a picture frame with a real candle in it.”
“I see,” the Keeper says, writing something down. His tone is just odd enough that Zachary decides to pry, thinking that maybe he’s too polite as a general rule.
“What happened to the dollhouse room?” he asks.
“There was a fire,” the Keeper replies without looking up, seemingly unsurprised that Zachary had found it.
“I’d gathered that,” Zachary says. “What caused it?”
“An accumulation of unforeseen circumstances,” the Keeper says. “An accident,” he adds when Zachary does not immediately respond. “I cannot describe the details of the event because I did not witness it myself. Is there anything else I might help you with?”
“Where is everyone?” Zachary asks, the annoyance obvious in his voice but the Keeper does not look up from his writing.
“You and I are here, your friend is in his room, Rhyme is likely watching him or attending to her duties, and I do not know Mirabel’s current location, she keeps her own counsel.”
“That’s it?” Zachary asks. “There’s five of us and…cats?”
“That is correct, Mister Rawlins,” the Keeper says. “Would you like a number for the cats? It might not be accurate, they are difficult to count.”