Of Paperclips and Printshops

Katy stood in the drizzling rain and eyed the back door of the shop dubiously. Her hands and feet were cold, and she was beginning to wonder if any of this was a good idea. Beside her, Cornwell pursed his lips as if whistling a tune, but no sound came out.

The light in the back window went out. Quiet city sounds came from beyond the alley. Trim crept over to the corner and Katy followed him. They watched as the front door of the building opened and a man wearing a long trench coat and carrying an umbrella stepped out. He had a newspaper tucked under one arm and fumbled in his pocket for a key. He locked the door quickly and strode off down the street. They ran back to Cornwell.

“Now we can do it!” Trim exclaimed excitedly. “You said you’d show us how to get in!”

“Are you sure we should do this?” Katy asked hesitantly. “Maybe we should just go home and think of something else.”

Trim stared at her. “Why? This’ll be easy!”

“Well, it’s not really a good thing to do. What if we get caught? We’ll get in trouble!”

Cornwell stared up at the sky with an uninterested expression. “God is high above and the Tsar is far away,” he remarked to no one in particular. Katy looked at him questioningly and then ignored him. She was getting used to his strange remarks. Most people thought he was odd at the very least, if not downright mad. He’s a little—you know, they would say, tapping a finger to their foreheads. But in Katy’s private opinion, he was actually quite smart, once you got past his odd remarks.

“Well, fine,” she agreed unhappily. “Let’s do it quickly.”

Trim ran over to the door and tried to peer in the window, but Cornwell took his time. He adjusted the cuffs of his shirtsleeves and checked his watch.

“Can we start?” Trim demanded impatiently. “Are you going to pick the lock?”

Cornwell yawned, and stretched, and came over. Katy and Trim waited expectantly. They watched in fascination as he reached for the door handle. Then he simply turned it, paused, and pushed the door open.

The children stared in disbelief. “It was unlocked?” Trim demanded in disappointment. “That’s it? We don’t have to pick the lock?”

“There’s many a village missing its idiot,” Cornwell stated aimlessly. “Now let’s go in.”

He pulled a flashlight from deep in one of his cavernous pockets and switched it on, and the children followed him into the dark interior. They were standing in a sort of workroom, with dusty boxes lining the walls. There was an old wooden table in the center of the room, covered in newspapers lying in haphazard piles. More newspapers were neatly stacked on shelves against the wall. In one corner stood an old machine with a box of tiny letters of old type.

“What’s that?” Trim asked, pointing.

“A printing press,” Katy told him. “This looks like an old print shop!”

Cornwell said nothing, but went to the door that connected the back room with the rest of the shop. He tried the doorknob, but this one was locked. He sighed and dug in his pockets again. This time he pulled out a paperclip and an oddly shaped metal tool.

“Let’s see if you can make the grade, Trim,” he called quietly, and Trim rushed over.

Cornwell handed him the paper clip. “Straighten that out and make a few bends in the end. Wave-like, that’s it.” As Trim’s little fingers swiftly bent the paperclip, Cornwell stuck his metal tool into the keyhole. He took the paperclip from Trim and stuck it in the lock above the tool. He began pushing it in and out a few times, then handed it to Katy.

“Now make a hook in the end of it,” he instructed. Katy did as she was asked, and Cornwell stuck it back in the lock. He let Trim hold the metal tool and told him to begin turning it slowly as he worked away. Finally, he pulled the paperclip out of the lock.

“There, turn it all the way now.” Trim turned, and the door unlocked. “Piece of cake, wasn’t it?” Cornwell asked pleasantly, and pushed the door open.