The Grandest Bookshop in the World

by Mellor, Amelia

  Vally went behind the nearest bookshelves to change. He did it with a great deal of muttering and straining. Pearl’s gown was loose. It pooled around her feet and tried to slip off her shoulders. She held up the bodice with one hand, bundled the skirts with the other, and found Vally in his nook. ‘Could you lace me up, please?’

  ‘Just a minute.’ The trousers weren’t cooperating. The legs were too short. No matter how he sucked his stomach in, he was having no luck with the fly. His shirt, likewise, was tight across the chest, even though he’d taken off his pyjamas. The whole outfit was too small for him.

  Pearl looked down at the dress, sagging and slipping off her body, and felt the shiver of a dreadful brainwave pass through her. ‘Val … I don’t think that suit will fit you.’

  He gave up on the trouser button and glared at her. ‘You don’t say?’

  ‘I think it might be for me.’

  ‘If you wear this, what will I …?’ His eyes fell on the gown and widened in horror. ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Vally …’

  ‘I’ll dance in my pyjamas.’ He drew himself up, puffing his chest so much that one of the buttons burst off his starched shirt. ‘You’re not getting me into a dress.’

  The gown matched Vally’s eyes. The white flower sat perfectly centred on his blonde head. The silk gloves barely creased at his elbows. Pearl had laced up his bodice good and tight, and helped him with his shoes. Vally wasn’t half as gracious, grumbling as he knotted her bow tie.

  ‘Val, stop.’ The stiff collar pressed hard on her throat. ‘That’s too tight.’

  ‘Supposed to be like that,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Why are you making such a fuss?’

  ‘I’d rather wear the trousers.’

  ‘Well, I’d rather be a sugar glider, Vally, but we can’t always get what we want.’

  ‘Why a sugar glider?’

  ‘I like them. Anyway, men can wear skirts.’

  ‘Name one who does.’

  ‘Monks. And Scotsmen. And Ancient Greeks.’

  ‘Robes and kilts are completely different.’

  Pearl rolled her eyes. ‘It’s just cloth, Val. It’s not going to turn you into a girl.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ He tugged the skirt, as if to shake any hidden magic out of it.

  Pearl glanced at the rainbows below the second-floor balconies. The orange stripes had shrunk again. ‘And what would be wrong with that?’

  ‘I like myself the way I am!’

  ‘I could call you Valerie, and you could call me Paul …’

  ‘Or I could call you Pill, because you’re being one.’

  All the while, the Band had been stuck on the same polka, repeating it whenever they came to the end. Pearl took her brother’s gloved hand and stepped onto the dance floor. He tried to put his arm around her waist.

  ‘That hand has to go on my arm. I’m the lead.’

  Vally clicked his tongue in annoyance.

  ‘And you have to put your hand like this.’ She rearranged their fingers so that his hand closed over hers. ‘Like a waltz.’

  Vally twisted his hand. ‘My fingers need to go on top.’

  ‘No, they don’t.’

  ‘Well, they should. You’re shorter.’

  ‘But I’m the gentleman! I should lead!’

  ‘You are a constant irritation!’

  In the tussle, Pearl’s top hat fell to the floor. At once, the lively beat ran faster.

  ‘We mustn’t fight, Vally.’ She pulled the hat back on. This time, he let her take the leading position. ‘Now, a polka is really easy. It’s mostly just stepping and hopping, while you’re also going around in a big circle by turning in little circles.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound really easy.’

  ‘Think of us as the earth, and the middle of the dance floor as the sun.’

  ‘OK …’

  ‘Good! I’ll take care of the turns – you just concentrate on your feet. Let’s go! Step … hop! Step … hop!’

  Vally stepped backwards, stumbled on his hem, and collapsed in a puff of silk.

  The tempo sped up again. The musicians exclaimed in surprise and frustration.

  ‘Damn these heels!’ Vally swished his train behind him and clambered upright, accepting Pearl’s proffered hand. ‘They’re pinching me.’

  ‘Well, hopefully we’ll get it right soon,’ said Pearl. ‘And go! Step … hop! Step … hop! Step … hop! Step … hop! Now step … step … step … hop!’

  He tried to pull Pearl into a step as she hopped, and fell out of time again. The tempo jumped up another notch. The collar pressed Pearl’s throat tighter.

  She stuck her fingers inside her collar and pulled at it. It didn’t seem to help. ‘No wonder they call these “father-killers”.’

  ‘That was your fault. You changed it.’

  ‘Well, we can’t do the exact same steps for the whole song! Anyway, I’m allowed to change it because I’m the lead.’

  He let his arms fall to his sides. ‘This is silly. I’m going back to bed.’

  ‘What about Pa?’

  Vally tried to huff, but his dress was too tight to draw enough breath for a proper sigh. ‘This thing is breaking my ribs, and the music keeps getting faster, and I can see the orange stripe getting smaller, and you’re bossing me around! I can’t handle it.’

  ‘Then let me!’ She took his hands again. ‘I know how to do this, Vally. Just let me lead.’

  He didn’t say anything to that, but put his hand daintily on her arm.

  Off they went again. They danced six bars before Pearl moved on the wrong foot. Her shoes pinched so hard, she thought her feet would burst out at the toes, but she was determined not to stop.

  The music sped up. The horn player’s cheeks were so round and red that he seemed in danger of exploding. Pearl guided her brother through the steps – step, hop, big spin, heel-toe-heel, kick, kick. Again, Vally tripped on his train. Again, the clothes squeezed tighter. Again, the tempo increased.

  ‘Sorry!’

  ‘Keep going!’

  If it went any faster, they’d never be able to keep up with the Band. The starched shirt was crushing Pearl’s throat like a boa constrictor. She was trying to lead Vally, and he was still resisting a little, awkward though he was in his evil clothes. Step hop step hop. Any moment, they would stumble and crash. Step step step hop. Any moment, an instrument would break. Step hop, big spin. Or Vally would make a mistake again. Heel-toe-heel step hop. Or one of them would choke to death to this stupid, jaunty song.

  ‘Pearl!’ Vally looked up from his feet. ‘I think we’ve got it!’

  Step turning out, step turning in, turn out, turn in. ‘I’m concentrating!’

  ‘Count them out loud with me!’ It was the first time Pearl had seen him look happy all week. ‘Step hop step hop! Step step step hop!’

  He’d got it right. Pearl was as pleased as she was surprised. ‘Step hop, big spin!’ she joined in.

  ‘Heel-toe-heel step hop.’ They were both counting at once now. ‘Out, in, out, in. Step step step hop!’ Their hops were neat and regular, a little burst of joy at the end of each bar. They were in perfect synchronicity, backwards, orbiting around each other, swirling around the floor. ‘Step hop step hop!’ It was like a skipping-rope chant. ‘Step step step hop! Step step, kick, kick! Step step, kick kick! Heel-toe-heel, step hop! Step hop, big spin!’

  And the music stopped.

  Pearl pushed back the brim of her top hat. Her head was whirling, the collar as hard as an iron shackle around her neck. The musicians were lifting their hands and mouths away from their instruments, their eyes wide with relief and wonder. They began to applaud. They stood, in their nightshirts and dressing-gowns, free at last.

  Then Vally surprised her. Facing the musicians, he gathered up two big handfuls of skirt and swept an extravagant curtsy. He didn’t bob his head, as was proper, but flopped his whole body forward like a dying waterbird. The Band laughed, and as Vally stood up,
he was grinning.

  He patted her on the back. ‘Your turn, Pearlie!’

  Pearl almost curtsied herself, then remembered she was the gentleman. She bowed deeply, flourishing her hat. The Band doubled their applause, and somebody whistled. Though her neck hurt and her head spun, she couldn’t help smiling. She’d done the hard work this time, winning another round for the Coles, and the Band recognised her for it.

  ‘Now let’s get these off,’ she said to Vally. ‘Turn around.’

  He began to turn, so that she could untie his bodice, but stopped and looked at the Band again.

  The applause had stopped. The bandstand was empty.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AN INTRUDER IN THE PALACE OF INTELLECT

  Chairs, instruments and players had all disappeared. The dance floor began to crack and warp under Vally’s feet.

  Pearl wrenched at her tie until it slithered out of its knot. She began to tug on the button at her throat. ‘Where did everyone go?’

  ‘Maybe they’ve been taken back home.’ It was what Vally hoped, not what he believed. Maximillian had more likely whisked them away, along with the chairs and the twin snakes.

  Pearl tugged on Vally’s laces. The crushing pressure around him eased, and he couldn’t help a groan of relief. The fabric stuck to his sweaty skin. He pulled at it, and found his fingers were touching the dress directly. His gloves were riddled with holes. He looked down. His gown was threadbare. The hem was unravelling, as if some unseen creature was nibbling it.

  ‘Got to change.’ He dashed behind the bookshelf, where he shed the wicked thing as fast as he was able. The only thing worse than being strangled by a big puffy gown in front of his sister would have been wearing nothing at all. To distract himself from that mortifying thought – and from the sound of Pearl struggling out of her suit – he said, ‘That’s two rounds we’ve won, now.’

  ‘Five to go,’ she agreed, behind her own bookshelf. ‘And that one wasn’t as bad.’

  Vally had found it maddening to coordinate his steps, with the heels and the train tangling and tripping him – but he agreed. ‘Yes, once we got the swing of it.’

  ‘You know, Val, I think we might be good at this game.’

  ‘I think we are.’ He tied his pyjama drawstrings. ‘There’s something else I’ve noticed, too.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The challenges aren’t too hard. It’s the traps that get you.’ Vally remembered how close he had come to giving up. Guilt twisted in his guts. In the moment, the frustration and embarrassment of stumbling in his dress had been so great that he’d forgotten what they stood to lose. ‘I reckon he’s counting on us getting frightened or distracted, so that we make a mistake.’

  ‘Well, he’s in for a surprise.’

  Vally thought that sounded like she had forgiven him. Finishing the last button on his shirt, he walked out from behind the shelves. ‘Seen the next bouquet anywhere?’

  She smirked. ‘It’s on your head, Val.’

  He took off the headband. Crisp rounded leaves and small white flowers surrounded a large one with several layers of petals.

  ‘Those little leaves – are they watercress?’

  It seemed odd that such a common vegetable would be included in a bouquet, but watercress was exactly what they looked like. ‘I think so.’ He brought the headband closer to his face. The small white flowers also looked familiar. A tiny green point peered out from the leaves. ‘Hey, a strawberry.’

  ‘Can I have it?’

  ‘No, Pearl, you cannot eat the clues.’

  ‘Strawberry and cress, strawberry and cress,’ she said, as if to memorise them. ‘What about the big one?’

  ‘Looks like a waterlily, but I’m not sure.’ They would have to go back to the flat and check Mr Gabriel’s books again.

  By night, Cole’s Book Arcade seemed much bigger. Cold moonlight silvered the edges of the furniture. The scents of books and lavender perfume conspired in the air. Without the chatter of customers to drown it out, every creak of the floorboards sang out to the entire Arcade.

  Something fluttered past, quite near. The candle went out. With a cry, Pearl stumbled backwards into Vally.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, steadying herself on the nearby railing. ‘Just a moth.’

  ‘A moth?’ Vally hated moths. They were dusty and disgusting, and always tried to fly into his face, as if the whole of moth-kind hated him, too. ‘It was big enough to be a bat.’

  ‘Both wrong, I’m afraid.’ On the other side of the lightwell, a dark shape perched on the railing like a gargoyle.

  ‘Hey!’ cried Pearl. ‘You didn’t have to blow our light out!’

  The nearest gas lamp flared to sputtering life. There sat Magnus Maximillian, dangling his long legs over the balcony as if he was going to jump off. He flicked the wheels on his cane back and forth, the soft clicks audible in the silent Arcade. The paper wagtail swooped down and alighted on his shoulder. ‘Dear me. All the children are not in their beds, and it’s past eight o’clock.’

  ‘How did you get in here?’ Pearl demanded. ‘We’re closed.’

  Maximillian put a finger to his lips. ‘Shh. Don’t want to wake your old Pa now, do we?’

  Pearl didn’t lower her voice a jot, her bravado making Vally’s heart rise in his throat. ‘Why aren’t you in bed? Don’t you have anywhere to live?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ The strange man tapped the crown of his hat. ‘But there’s not much to do at my place right now.’

  ‘You live in your hat?’ asked Vally, unable to help himself.

  Magnus Maximillian shrugged. ‘Home is where the hat is, isn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ said Pearl. ‘It’s heart.’

  ‘Heart is where the hat is? Silly girl. Hats go on your head.’ He stroked his paper wagtail under its chin. ‘A little bird told me you didn’t like the outfit I made for you, Master Cole.’

  ‘Go and stick your little bird up your nose,’ said Vally.

  ‘Now, now. We’re good sports, remember?’ Magnus Maximillian sprang up and balanced on the railing like a tightrope walker. ‘You know, I’ve been wondering. Why did your father open this place on Melbourne Cup Day?’

  The Book Arcade had opened when Vally was little. It was one of his earliest memories.

  And it would not come to him. He couldn’t remember a single detail – not an image, not a word. What had the children said to each other? Where in the Arcade had he stood? Had he felt frightened of the strangers, or proud that they liked his family’s shop? Had Pearl even been born yet?

  ‘For a man who doesn’t gamble, Cole took an awful risk, competing with the races.’ The magician twirled around the nearest brass column and swung out into empty space. His hand on the pole seemed to be the only thing keeping him from falling. ‘And yet, it paid off. The way all those people charged in, all as drunk as boiled owls and dressed like that – they must have come right after their horses lost.’

  Had it really been on Cup Day? Why would Pa, who hated what alcohol did to people, allow a crowd of drunken punters into the Arcade? Dressed like what? Vally knew he should remember – but where opening day had been in his head, only an unfamiliar space was left, like a gap in his teeth.

  ‘I’ve got Ivy’s first word here, too.’ Maximillian finished his swing, and continued balancing along the next railing. ‘Lucky you, Miss Cole, to be the only one in the room to hear it.’

  Vally glanced at Pearl. Her jaw was clenched. She stared across the lightwell with hatred on her face.

  He wanted to shout, but all that came out was a voice of high-pitched disbelief. ‘You took our memories.’

  ‘You gave them up. Or have you forgotten that, too?’

  ‘But we passed the last two rounds,’ Pearl protested. ‘You’re not supposed to take the prize before the game is over!’

  ‘Yes, well …’ Magnus Maximillian smiled at the paper wagtail on his shoulder. ‘You never said I couldn’t.’

  ‘Told you,’
Vally whispered to Pearl. Despite the fact that they might never have found the first task without Mr Gabriel’s help, Pearl had set a bad pattern by getting technical. Especially where the wagtail had been able to hear them.

  ‘Besides, you haven’t lost them all. Or at least, not yet.’ Maximillian did a little shuffling step along the railing, like a tap dance. ‘Of course, if you’d rather quit while you’re ahead, I’ll let you keep the memories you have left –’

  ‘No!’ said the Coles together. The Arcade was more important, and Pa more precious still.

  ‘Marvellous! I take it you’re ready for Round Three, then?’

  Vally didn’t think so. The flowers on the headband were still cryptic. He didn’t particularly want to face another challenge in his pyjamas, either.

  But Pearl said, ‘More than ready.’

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ Maximillian reached the next brass column. ‘By the way, you wanted her first word to be your name – but I’m afraid it was “dog.”’ He swung in a full circle around the column and disappeared completely behind it, as if he had stepped through an invisible door. Only the paper bird was left. It swooped into the shadows, the gas lamp extinguishing in its wake.

  Somewhere on the ground floor, among the dark shelves, wheels whirred. A sooty tang hung in the air, like the exhaust from a steam train. And something was going slap, slap, slap, with a sharpness that made Vally’s spine crawl.

  Pearl wanted to stay up, and have them both work on deciphering the bouquet. But Vally was pretty sure that was exactly what Magnus Maximillian would want. Without sleep, they’d be clumsy, stupid and irritable. At least, Pearl would. Vally knew he was grown up enough to do without, for the time being. He managed to convince her to take it in shifts, and was relieved when she gave in and went to bed. He felt he had won some of his big-sibling authority back, after letting Pearl lead in the strangling dance.

  He lit the lamps in the living room, pulled the plants off the headband and arranged them in a jam jar. In the tallest cup he could find, he poured himself a lemonade from the chilled bottle in the Coolgardie safe. It was Pa’s old recipe from the goldfields, strong and sour-sweet. He let Ebenezer out of the kitchen to lie at his feet and keep him company. He checked on the rainbows – only a slice of the orange bands remained. Then, with his legs hanging over the side of the armchair, Vally began to tackle Mr Gabriel’s books.