The Keepers by Ted Sanders Page A

distance—leestone or no.”
    â€œUse the box?” Horace asked. “But what does it even do?”
    The old man fussed with his Möbius-strip ring. “I cannot tell you that, Horace, for many reasons, reasons that range from the practical to the sacred. You are in the Find. The path before you belongs to you alone, for a while. It may not be an easy path, but eventually something will happen. Clarity will come. Afterward, we will speak more.”
    â€œWhy won’t it be easy? What will happen?”
    But Mr. Meister shook his head. “You must experience the Find for yourself, Horace. Be with the box. Once you have come to an understanding, we will meet again, and much will be revealed.”
    Horace sighed. “So I guess it’s good luck to me, then, huh?”
    The old man hesitated, then cleared his throat. “The coming days are likely to bring you discomfort, Horace—confusion, anger, even despair. But I believe I can give you two pieces of advice that may help you through the Find.” He leaned closer, his left eye keen and searching. “These are not really warnings, but simple facts. Do you understand me?”
    â€œI think so,” Horace said, feeling lost.
    â€œFirst: you should not open the box without reason.”
    Horace started to ask what qualified as a reason , but instead only nodded.
    â€œSecond: you cannot keep anything inside the box.”
    Horace looked down at the box, mystified but unsurprised. Somehow the idea of putting anything inside it had never even occurred to him. “Okay,” he said, and looked up at the sliver of sky far overhead. The world around him was shifting fast, to strange new places. “I don’t really understand that, or any of this, but . . . it feels right.”
    â€œAbove all, remember this one firm patch of ground: the box belongs to you.”
    Horace swallowed. “I guess I should thank you.”
    â€œThat remains to be seen. Let us not misunderstand the situation: in matters such as this, Mrs. Hapsteade and I do not do favors. We do what is best.”
    Horace searched the old man’s face. “Best how? Best for who? What’s this even all about?”
    Mr. Meister gazed up at the sun again. “I will never lie to you, Horace Andrews, and so I am inclined not to mislead you now. Your life is about to take a turn that you could never have foreseen, one you cannot undo. Are you prepared for such a turning?”
    Horace wanted to say yes, and he wanted to say no. There was so much to take in, so much left unknown, so much still to process into a logical shape. He couldn’t promise that he was prepared. Instead he said the simple truth: “I have no idea.”
    Mr. Meister smiled. “And so with honesty we proceed. And indeed, the choice may already have been made. Who knows when the first turning has been taken?” With these words, he ushered Horace out into the sunlight, closing the door softly behind him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Fifth Key
    H ORACE SPENT THE AFTERNOON LYING ON HIS BED, HOLDING the box and gazing at it, running his finger along the silver seam of the lid. He opened it a few times, looking up at the ceiling and around his room, noting again the strange mix of clarity and cloudiness that the box gave to familiar items.
    He hadn’t forgotten what Mr. Meister had said about not opening the box without reason, but it was hard to resist. The old man’s other piece of advice, though, was easy to follow. Horace put nothing inside the box. The thought seemed ridiculous anyway—somehow he felt that the box was supposed to remain empty.
    The pouch that held the box had a strap and a buckle on the back, presumably so it could be fastened to a belt loop and carried around. At first Horace couldn’t get why someone would ever want to do that, but when his father called himdown for dinner, he suddenly understood. The thought of leaving the box behind, even