Free Ophelia and the Marvelous Boy by Karen Foxlee

needed a grid to conduct her search. They walked across the square, past the giant Christmas tree and the ice-skating rink. Shetook the museum map from her pocket. Her plan was to take the map and shade in every room where there was a chance of a sword. Of course, her first stop would be
Battle: The Greatest Exhibition of Swords in the History of the World
. She would be able to look there while she was with her father But she could also try
Napoleonic Wars, Colonial Expansion, Chinese Empires, Egyptian Artifacts 3000–2000 BC
. There were also
Life on the Frontier, Men’s Clothing Through Time, Japanese Ceremonial Dress
, and
History of the Incas
.
    She knew her father would grow tired of his plan to keep her with him. He’d be too busy. All she needed to do was ask too many questions. When she had her chance, and she knew she would have one, she would race to the boy’s room and release him, and together they could search these rooms.
    When they arrived in the foyer, they unwound their scarves. Ophelia saw a huge sign had been erected. It said:

    It made Ophelia’s stomach sink. Her stomach sank exactly the way it did when it was Lucy Coutts’s turn to pick the medicine-ball teams.
    They walked across the great, glittering wedding mosaic floor, and their footsteps echoed.
    “What are you looking so worried about, O?” asked her father, turning back to her and taking her gently by the shoulders.
    “Nothing,” said Ophelia. How could she possibly tell him?
    “Aren’t you enjoying the holiday?” he asked, but before Ophelia could answer, he continued. “Just think, you and Alice could go to the winter markets this afternoon. Maybe you could find a small Christmas tree. I know how hard things have been, but we have to make the most of our time here.”
    That was as close as her father ever came to mentioning their mother. He could not, would not, speak her name or mention their sadness.
    “You could go ice-skating again,” he said.
    “I guess,” said Ophelia.
    “Remember, portrait painting,” said Alice, pointing to her face.
    In the sword workroom Alice assumed her position on the old throne, looking very bored, while Ophelia sat beside her father at his worktable. She picked a light blue pencil and began to shade her map.
    “What are you up to, then, Ophelia?” her father asked.
    “I’m devising a plan for a large-scale search for that ancient and magical sword.”
    “Well, you’ll have to stop your games for a moment, because we have to go to the sword exhibition hall now,” said Mr. Whittard. “I’m going to do some work on the conquistadors.”
    “Good,” said Ophelia. “That’s exactly where I need to go.”
    The sword exhibition hall was on the main floor and bitterly cold. Exactly the same stinging cold as on the seventh floor and the sixth floor.
    “Why is there no heating?” said Ophelia.
    “I know, I know,” muttered her father. “I tried to discuss it with Miss Kaminski yesterday but didn’t get very far.”
    Their breaths billowed in front of them. In the exhibition hall the windows were covered in heavy velvet curtains, and all the lights were turned down low. The exhibition mannequins were covered in white sheets of plastic. There were hundreds of them. All standing in their places, from “Iron Age” to “Bayonets of World War I.” She could see the outlines of them. They were all holding swords.
    “A little creepy, isn’t it, O?” said Mr. Whittard.
    “Mummy would have liked it,” whispered Ophelia.
    “Yes,” said Mr. Whittard. He wouldn’t look at Ophelia. “Yes, she would have.”
    He finished what he was doing and ruffled Ophelia’s bangs as he passed. He would change the subject now. She knew it. It was what he always did. He couldn’t talk about it at all.
    “Come on, then, work to be done,” he said.
    There were swords in glass cabinets, swords hanging in glinting lines on the walls, swords on pallets ready to be unloaded. There was a raised dais, and