The Grandest Bookshop in the World

by Mellor, Amelia

  Pearl had never tried any spell so ambitious. But she had seen Garnet do it – and she wanted so desperately to know.

  Imagination. She thought of rows of books on shelves, and of people browsing them. Articulation. ‘Show me the Library of the Future!’

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ Garnet cried. She cawed like a raven, she screeched like an owl …

  Conviction. A library. Pearl wanted to see a library. In this mirror was a library, a library, a library.

  The enchantment she had willed began to work. She was so surprised that her focus wavered, but she caught herself. What had worked before, when she stood up to Eddie? Describing the spell. Describing it with all the words she could think of. ‘The Library of the Future,’ she said. ‘A library for borrowing and studying and exploring and learning – for children and adults and old people and people from every country – a library for reading stories and encyclopaedias and magazines and other people – the Library of the Future …’

  The mist curled in, the mist rolled back, and such a library filled the mirror as Pearl had never seen. Just like in the Arcade, the bookshelves stood row upon row, the books themselves seemingly innumerable. Some faced outwards – and Pearl realised with a jolt that they were children’s books, their covers brighter than even Pa’s rainbows, shimmering with metallic specks. She couldn’t read the titles, but the pictures seemed to jostle for her attention: animals, families, landscapes, in a thousand inviting colours.

  ‘But – but Pa said …’ It was all so incredible, Pearl could hardly get the words out. ‘Pa said there would only be a hundred books in the Condensed Library of the Future!’ It wasn’t a quiet, dusty library, either. It was dazzling, dynamic, with decorations hanging from the ceiling; girls with elaborate braids chatting round a table; a tiny child pulling out a picture book to show his father. By one wall sat a row of people from Ivy’s age to Pa’s, their class and creed indeterminable by their odd clothes. Before each was a machine, which flashed words and pictures and symbols at their intent faces.

  ‘They’ve all got a typewriting encyclopaedia!’ And Pearl remembered what Garnet had said. They’ll hardly need books anymore.

  If the machine really was an encyclopaedia, then it was the Condensed Library of the Future. But it wasn’t condensed the way Pa had predicted. The knowledge itself would not need to be condensed. There was no need to cut all the ideas in the world down to one hundred books. It was the paper that was condensed to fit inside the machine – just as the music and letters fit inside the future telephone. It was even better than Pa had guessed. Pearl found herself aching with the wish that she might live long enough to touch those marvellous visions for herself.

  Garnet pulled Pearl away from the mirror by her wrists. She was small, but her little hands were startlingly strong. Pearl was forced to look into her eyes. ‘You don’t get it,’ she spat. ‘You, and our family, and the Arcade, and all its books will be gone. The Arcade will be destroyed. You will grow old and die, Pearl.’ An ugly desperation was creeping into her voice. ‘It’s all going to come to nothing in the end, so why bother trying to save any of it? What is the point?’

  And that, Pearl realised, was the challenge. The Obscurosmith was setting her nothing less than the greatest puzzle the human mind had ever devised: the question of the meaning of life.

  What if it was all for nothing? Pearl hurt down to her bones, for her parents and her Arcade and her siblings and herself, and everything this wicked game had put them through. That all her efforts and all her pain might be futile was almost too much to bear. She looked at the rainbows and was shocked. Garnet had distracted her again, almost until the end of the round. Only a line of purple remained on each of them.

  Pa put rainbows on everything. His books, his tokens, his Arcade. Why not a bright sun, lighting up the world? Why not a globe, to show that the Arcade had everything? A rainbow was so brief, so slight.

  And yet, everybody admired them. She’d never seen anyone turn away from a rainbow because they were so short-lived. It was the opposite. People always wanted to look for as long as they could, to enjoy every fleeting moment of a rainbow’s beauty.

  Garnet gave a short bark of laughter. It didn’t sound a thing like Ruby this time. ‘You don’t know, do you? We’re born, we blunder through our pointless and uneventful little lives, then we die, and everything we love dies soon after. And you don’t know the point of it! You’re fighting for nothing!’

  Pearl looked from the mirror to her sister’s face; from the future to the past. It was true. One day, everything she knew would be gone. What arose in its place would be different – so different as to be frightening. When Pa was young, he’d thought the world was six thousand years old. Now, it was known to be hundreds of millions of years old, maybe more. Human lives were short. Seventy or eighty years, if they were lucky.

  And Ruby – sweet Ruby, who danced like a fairy – had not even had that.

  ‘You’re right,’ Pearl said. ‘Everything will come to an end. The point is to enjoy it while it lasts.’

  Garnet’s look of cruel triumph turned to one of outrage.

  Down in the Arcade’s ruins somewhere, the clock in the Tea Salon struck. Gripping Garnet’s icy hand, Pearl pulled her small stiff body close and held her like a girl drowning.

  ‘We had fun, didn’t we?’ she whispered. ‘Goodbye, Ruby.’

  A fourth ring, a fifth. Even as she held Garnet, Pearl felt her slipping away, like a bag from which all the sand was leaking out. Eight, nine. She held her tighter, pressing the little body to her own for love and sorrow. Eleven. Pearl thought she felt a hand on her back, as light as a butterfly.

  The clock struck twelve. Then all the lamps went out at once, and Pearl held only empty clothes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  AS IT BEGAN, IT ENDS

  Her sister’s dress smelled like it had been in a cupboard for a long time. Pearl tried to shake some of the dust off. It was a lost cause. The dress looked as if someone had spent years cleaning blackboards with it.

  Echo landed on the balcony railing. She held a scrap of black paper in her beak. It was crumpled and chewed, fragments of it sticking to her face.

  ‘You caught it,’ said Pearl in surprise.

  Echo threw the dead paper bird on the floor and puffed her cheek feathers. ‘Don’t bite.’

  Pearl draped the dress on the railing beside Echo and turned back to the mirror, but only her reflection was there. The third millennium had vanished. Pearl tried to hold all its promises in her mind, but the visions were fading like watercolours in the rain. She remembered books and flying machines. She remembered the relics of Cole’s Book Arcade.

  The moon shone through the grimy skylight. It lit up the ornaments, all grey and blank and webbed with cracks. The dear old Book Arcade was in ruins, with only the dimness to hide its shame. Shattered glass and porcelain lay among the dust. The familiar scent of books and lavender was tainted now with mould. It would need another soul to liven it up again, once Pa was gone. Pearl wondered if the Obscurosmith had one, and whether he’d be willing to share it. What a strange, chaotic place his Arcade would be. Someone’s … Impossible … Something.

  She held out her hand for Echo to climb aboard, but the bird edged away from her. ‘Hop up, Echo.’

  ‘Hop down. Who’s a clever girl?’

  The floor creaked ominously under Pearl’s feet. ‘Come on, you silly chicken. The building’s going to fall apart.’

  ‘Chicken,’ said Echo.

  Pearl leaned on the railing, the better to reach around the broken pottery. ‘Please, Echo. You don’t want me to leave you all by yourself, do you?’

  Echo flapped her wings and took off. The rusted iron gave way with a sudden shriek and lurch. Pearl recoiled, fell on her backside, and kicked herself backwards until she hit something solid. The railing broke off and tumbled out of sight into the lightwell, smashing lamps and snapping wires as it fell.

  Echo landed on the o
pposite railing and tidied her wings behind her. ‘By yourself.’

  In the silence that followed, Pearl heard somebody walking on wooden floorboards, singing.

  She looked at Echo. The cockatoo bobbed her head.

  So Pearl Adelia Cole picked herself up, brushed the dust off her rationals, and went to face what awaited her downstairs.

  Pearl was seldom alone. Even when reading by herself, people were always around. She was unaccustomed to solitude, and didn’t like it. To keep herself company as she edged down the stairs, she tried to remember the riddles she had read in the game. The first one had been printed on her father’s book, all wrong. Pearl ran through it in her head, as best she could remember it.

  The famous rainbows of Cole’s Book Arcade

  ____________________________ fade.

  In … wonderful rooms … _____________.

  And … _______________, ____ _____.

  _____________ test, __________ win

  Beware of _______ that ____ within.

  As it began, it ends. Be good sports, if not friends.

  The last part puzzled her. Eddie had tried to solve it. Had he managed it, and now she couldn’t remember? Or had they never quite worked it out?

  She got briefly lost on the first floor. Eventually, she emerged on the ground floor, outside the little cafe. The only name that came to mind was Talon, but she was pretty sure that her father wouldn’t want people to think of bird toenails when they were eating. On the other side of the Arcade, one of the departments did have a sign – quite a flashy one, above a big dark doorway. So many letters had fallen from it, however, that it now read, ‘WOE,’ and Pearl couldn’t be sure of what it ought to say. All around the balconies, the rainbows were the pale grey of weathered wood. If any of the violet band was left, the light was too weak for her to tell.

  She picked her way through the wreckage. Everywhere, pages lay scattered, as if the books had been torn apart in a frenzy. They lay thick on the floor, sometimes in great piles. Like snowdrifts, Pearl guessed – but she had never seen snow, so she didn’t know. Chairs and shelves and drawers and tables lay every which way but upright. She couldn’t quite picture how they’d stood before. Glass from the picture frames and mirror-pointies – obelisks – crunched underfoot, making Pearl glad of her sturdy button-boots.

  ‘Miss Cole.’

  His voice, rich as syrup, was coming from the wide front entrance. One lamp flared to life as she approached, striking the soft grey-blue world into sharp light and shadow. Her opponent was sitting on the ceiling, one leg crossed over the other, the rest of him hanging down like a bat. ‘Mr Obscurosmith.’

  He snickered.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Pearl, though she wasn’t. ‘I don’t remember your other name anymore.’

  ‘Lost all your marbles, eh?’

  Pearl didn’t understand. ‘I don’t play marbles.’

  ‘Well, this is bound to be frustrating. Let me see if I can …’ He closed his eyes, and made a sharp twisting motion on the stem of his cane. His eyes snapped open again. ‘Found it. You can have this back, for the time being.’ He pointed the cane at her.

  Pearl flinched. Thursday night came back like a glass filling up – butterfly net, Garnet in the back room, Pa’s office, too many fingers, odd and sinister, no cheating …

  ‘Mr Maximillian,’ she said, correcting herself. ‘Why are you hanging upside down?’

  ‘Because I can.’ He planted his cane on the ceiling and sprang upright – or perhaps downright. Now at his full height – or depth – his face was level with Pearl’s. ‘Where’s your brother?’

  ‘What’s left of him, you mean? Taking care of Pa.’

  The Obscurosmith grinned – a little too widely, it seemed to Pearl, like the Cheshire cat. ‘And you’re here to take care of me?’

  ‘Yes.’ She dug her nails into her palms for courage. ‘That last challenge went against our terms, you know.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You promised to give us a chance, but you asked me the hardest question in the world.’

  ‘I wanted to see how a little girl would answer one of the most profound conundrums ever devised.’

  ‘And what did you think of what I said?’

  ‘You know, it’s funny.’ The Obscurosmith examined the back of one of his spotless gloves, arm outstretched. ‘You seem to care about an awful lot of people and things, and I care about very little. Yet you put into words something I’ve long believed myself.’

  ‘So … I passed?’

  ‘You answered the question reasonably. You justified your point. We may disagree on some of the finer aspects, but I find myself unable to dispute your solution. Which is a pity, really. I was looking forward to lording it over you. I had the lightning ready to go. I wanted to see the looks on your faces when your father turned to dust.’

  ‘Then … the game is finished,’ said Pearl slowly. She could hardly believe it. The game was finished. ‘I’d like you to give us back our Arcade.’

  He gave a little hop, tucked his knees up, spun around and landed lightly, right side up, on the floor. ‘I’m sure you’d like lots of things.’ His tone was playful again. He was teasing her. Goading her. ‘But just suppose that I’m not finished with you?’

  It was his favourite trick – slipping through the gaps and uncertainties in other people’s words. Pearl would have to be more direct. ‘Please put our Book Arcade back to normal, like you promised.’

  ‘What if I don’t?’

  Anger surged in Pearl’s heart. After everything she and Vally had done, everything they and Pa and their siblings and the poor Arcade had been through, the Obscurosmith was still going back on his word.

  But she had lost her temper before, and it never seemed to help. He’d only laughed at her, and said – what had he said? Something about manners, about sportsmanship …

  Pearl had a brainwave.

  He was trying to trick her. If she let him upset her, she would look like a sore loser, and the game would be his. She made her face expressionless. ‘If you didn’t, that would not be very sporting of you, Mr Maximillian. You told me you were an honest person. You were proud of it.’

  ‘Was I, now?’ He leaned over her. He was taller than any human had a right to be, and Pearl felt like a frog looking up at a black and silver stork. ‘Because I don’t recall saying I was honest. I believe I said I don’t lie. And suppose I was lying to you when I said that, Miss Cole? If there’s one thing your family ought to have learned –’

  He broke off. Pearl was holding his hand.

  Her pulse hammered. His glove was smooth. The hand inside it seemed strong, as if it could grip her so tight she would never escape.

  She stuck out her chin. ‘It was a very creative game you invented.’

  The magician went utterly still. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What we did at the start. As it began, it ends. We’re shaking on the game.’

  ‘You’re … shaking on the game?’

  ‘Yes. That’s what good sports do.’ She gave his hand a single firm pump. ‘Thank you for playing.’

  He stared down at their hands, brow furrowed. He opened his mouth as if to make a point, then faltered, looking puzzled again. ‘I didn’t even think of that.’

  ‘Well,’ said Pearl, ‘I did.’

  ‘You dodged through the arcane loophole.’ His tone suggested she had done something confusing and offensive.

  ‘Yes.’

  He looked up from their joined hands, and Pearl saw into the black depths of his eyes. ‘But that’s my bit.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You stole my bit.’

  ‘You have to be careful around little girls, Mr Maximillian,’ said Pearl. ‘It doesn’t take them long to start copying you.’

  Then he beamed. It lit him up completely – not only his mischievous face, but his whole body. His chest lifted. He threw his other hand out wide, waving the cane. ‘What impudence! What audacity!’ He laughed – t
hat wild thundering laugh of his that made him sound quite insane. ‘You stole my bit!’ He shook Pearl’s arm so hard, she feared he would pull it off. ‘You little monkey! You devil! What’s the matter?’ he added, for Pearl was trying to pull away from him. ‘You’re not frightened, are you?’

  ‘You’re … not angry.’

  ‘Angry? Ha!’ He let her go and slapped his thigh. ‘That’s good, that’s very good! For the first time in I-don’t-know-how-long, a rascal after my own heart turns up, and she thinks she’s made me angry!’

  Pearl flinched in revulsion. ‘I’m not a … I’m nothing like you.’

  ‘My apologies,’ he said in mock seriousness. ‘You are, of course, a shy and solemn little cherub of perfectly mediocre intellect.’

  Pearl wanted to deny this sarcastic praise, but found that she could not. Like her opponent, she enjoyed bending rules, and she liked to get a rise out of her siblings. Was there something in her that could be as selfish, as deceptive, as cheerfully cruel as he was?

  ‘Oh, come now, it’s a compliment. In fact, I had a hunch, you know, that first day we met. What a bold little creature, I thought; she’s either simple-minded or a scamp. You have no idea how rarely people impress me. You started well enough, but truly, I doubted you’d get past the sweetshop.’ His vicious words were at odds with his unbounded glee. ‘I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. What a surprise!’ Removing his hat, he swept a low bow. ‘Miss Cole, it has been a pleasure. I haven’t enjoyed myself like that since the eighties.’

  ‘Four years?’

  ‘A hundred and four! Seventeen-eighties. The things I wore …’ He shuddered, then grinned again. ‘Still want that Arcade of yours?’

  Pearl hesitated. ‘You mean it? You’ll give it back?’

  ‘Why not?’ He shrugged. ‘With a bit of luck, it should keep for a decade or three.’

  With a twist of the barrels and a twirl of his cane, the sky turned from grimy darkness to the pink flush of morning – and Cole’s Book Arcade was a ruin no longer. The mirrored obelisks were whole again, the rainbows bright, the books crisp, the furnishings clean, and everything she could see restored to its full glory. The understated scent of paper and perfume rushed in with her breath. The sudden beauty of it all made a lump rise in Pearl’s throat. All she could say was, ‘It’s morning.’