18 The Door

18 The Door Peanut wrote the letters down again, this time leaving spaces exactly as they appeared on the pencil. LORE She tried for an hour, testing every combination of letters she could think of, but she couldn't find a single word that would fit. She started to think about the research that she'd done with Rockwell in the library. 'Collective knowledge or wisdom'. 'Teachings'.

'OK. If I had invented this magic pencil, what would I write on it?' she said to nobody in particular. Suddenly, something in that sentence triggered a brainwave. 'If I had invented the pencil,' she muttered. She hadn't invented this pencil, or any other pencil, but as they'd discovered earlier, Nicolas-Jacques Conté had, and he was... FRENCH! It's a French word!!' she shouted. She looked back down at the puzzle and suddenly saw things more clearly. Well, it's bound to start with a 'le' or a 'la', she thought. As far as Peanut could remember, nearly all French words did. So she started to fill in the gaps. L (E or A SPACE OR SPACE E Then she had one of those rare moments of clarity that only come along once in a blue moon. Remembering a particularly fun French vocab lesson from last year at Melody High, she picked up the pencil and wrote... LAPORTE

'La Porte,' she whispered. 'French for "The Door". Maybe this pencil is actually a key... Then, yet another idea popped into her head. 'Surely that wouldn't work. Would it?' Peanut jumped from the chair, ran over to her wardrobe and pulled out a big roll of paper. She unfurled it on the floor, picked up the yellow pencil and started to draw. When she had finished, she picked the piece of paper up, grabbed some Blu Tack and stuck it to the wardrobe door. She stepped back and looked at her drawing. It was pretty good, even if she did say so herself. Quickly she pulled on a dressing gown and her school shoes, checked the time (8.01p.m.), tucked the pencil behind her ear and focused on the sketch of the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, she held out her hand, reached into the picture and grabbed the knob. It felt cold, as if it were made of brass rather than graphite. Peanut rotated it a quarter turn anti-clockwise. Something clicked. And then the door opened