Effie gulped. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I know what’s outside the window. It’s an apple orchard with a path running through the middle of it.’
‘Good. Do you believe in it 100 percent?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right. Now let us examine this box.’
Cosmo kept hold of Effie’s hand with one of his. With the other, he went through the box. When he picked up Effie’s grandfather’s notebook, a smaller volume fell out. It had got caught up in the bigger book’s pages. Cosmo reached down to the floor to pick it up and . . . It was . . . It looked like . . . But no. It couldn’t be. A thin brown book with gold lettering.
‘Where did you get this?’ said Cosmo.
‘I don’t know,’ said Effie. ‘I had no idea it was in there, honestly.’
It was her mother’s book. The one she’d found under her bed on the night of the worldquake. The slim hardback volume that Effie thought her mother might have left behind by accident, or maybe even wanted Effie to look after. The amount of times Effie had kicked herself for taking it straight to her father, when she should have hidden it from him.
But now . . .? How on earth had it ended up in her box? Had her father put it there for her to find? But why? Was it to thank her for giving him that copy of The Chosen Ones? Was it some kind of reward? It would make a sort of sense. After all, Orwell never did anything for Effie unless she did something for him first. If ever she wanted money for a school trip, she’d have to do a certain number of chores, for example. Sometimes she wondered how he kept all the invisible tallies going in his mind.
‘The book was my mother’s,’ explained Effie. ‘But I didn’t know it was in my box. I think my father might have put it there, but I don’t know why.’
‘Well, it certainly explains why the library wanted you in here,’ said Cosmo.
‘Does it?’
‘Oh yes. This is a most important book. Did you try to read it?’
Effie shook her head. ‘When I first saw it I looked at it, but it was impossible. I haven’t seen it for years,’ she said. ‘My father hid it from me. Maybe I’d be able to read it now. I’m good at languages and stuff. But the last time I saw it I was only six.’
‘The last time you saw it was on the night of the worldquake?’
‘Yes! How did you know?’
‘Because this was the book your mother was supposed to be bringing back to us that night. It had been stolen from our library, probably by a Diberi spy who found his way into Truelove House somehow. Your mother was very brave, Effie. She led the mission to get the book back. But when she turned up here during that fateful Sterran Guandré, she . . .’
‘What?’ said Effie.
This talk about her mother was distracting Effie from thinking about the library, and it was starting to show. The landscape painting at the end of the room had changed three times in the last two minutes. And a storm was beginning to develop over the orchard outside the window. These were not good signs.
‘We shouldn’t talk about this now,’ said Cosmo. ‘You must help me to return the book and then I’ll help you get back into the main house. I’ll explain everything then.’
‘All right,’ said Effie. ‘What do I have to do?’
‘Is there some sort of directory in the library?’
‘Yes,’ said Effie. ‘It’s over there. It’s a big wooden sort of chest with little drawers in it. A card index.’
‘Good. Excellent. Well, that should make your task easier. It’s a very promising sign if your library comes to you in good order. Now I want you to look on the edge of the book and see if there’s a number there.’
Effie looked. There was. F34. It seemed momentarily strange to her that such an important library should only have one letter and two numbers in its classification system. Then she wondered how she suddenly knew enough about libraries that she had even noticed. Then she began to feel a bit sick. It was a deep nausea that seemed to grow out of the ground beneath her feet somehow. It was beginning to squeeze her insides. She stopped thinking about the classification system and the feeling subsided, but did not disappear completely.
‘What is the number?’
Effie told Cosmo. Then together they walked over to the wooden filing cabinet and found the drawer F25–F38. With a shaking hand, Effie took the F34 card out of the filing system, and put it in the book, just as they did at her local library. Then, with Cosmo still holding her hand, she worked out how the shelves were arranged. There was G, and there was H. So F must be . . . Yes. She found the right section and the F22 books, the F23 books, the F24 books – of which there seemed to be a great many – and then she found the F34 section which had a gap, slightly tight, for her mother’s book. Effie pushed it into position, and the library seemed to sigh with gratitude.
But Effie still felt rather sick. In fact, she barely had a chance to notice the other books on the shelf, all of which were in strange languages except for one, which looked more ordinary, and sort of familiar for some reason, when the nausea crept over her again and her legs started to give way underneath her.
‘You’ve been here too long,’ said Cosmo. ‘We must leave now.’
‘I don’t feel that well,’ admitted Effie. ‘But I’m sure I’ll be all right.’
‘You will need all your strength now, child. Keep hold of my hand. And brace yourself.’
21
Getting to the library door was one of the hardest things Effie had ever done. Each step was painful to her. And she had no energy left. It was a curious feeling, as if her whole soul wanted to just give up. What happens when your whole soul gives up? Surely you just die on the spot? Effie didn’t even have the strength to be afraid. But somehow they got to the end of the library, and Cosmo opened the door. And . . .
Weakness. Blackness. Faintly falling, falling faintly . . .
The next thing Effie knew, she was in bed in her room in Truelove House and Cosmo was speaking sternly to someone, although Effie couldn’t see who it was. The room smelled comfortingly familiar: old wood and clean linen. But Effie had a horrible feeling – as if she’d left the iron on, or a door unlocked, and something awful was going to happen.
‘Well,’ Cosmo was saying. ‘The child has managed to accomplish what you all failed to do at the last Sterran Guandré. But she has used up all her power and won’t last long here now. She is hanging by a mere thread of lifeforce. She has had so little time to learn. And now I fear we are going to lose her.’
Effie couldn’t open her eyes. Cosmo was still talking about her. She wasn’t in trouble for going in to the library, it seemed. In fact, Cosmo had given the impression that he was very pleased that she’d brought the book, the one he said the Diberi had stolen all those years ago. But still, Effie knew she shouldn’t have gone in to the Great Library on her own like that, in secret. She should have given the book to someone else. From what Cosmo was saying, what she’d done had taken away almost all her lifeforce. Her M-currency. Her magical power.
But maybe that didn’t even matter any more. Was she going to die? It certainly looked like it. Effie had never felt so ill in her life. Perhaps it was worth it, if she had done something truly useful. But it would be much nicer to stay alive. Effie did so desperately want to see more of the Otherworld, and help more with the fight against the Diberi, and be a true hero and an interpreter and maybe even ride Jet again and . . .
‘You’ll have to take her to London,’ said Cosmo. ‘To Dr Black. He is there now, I understand?’
‘But that’s against everything we believe in,’ began a voice Effie recognised. Rollo. ‘Everything we stand for. We can’t . . .’
‘Let me be clear,’ said Cosmo’s voice again. It was mild, but also very stern. ‘The problems began with you. With both of you. Aurelia was married already, for goodness’ sake. But you still had to squabble over her like a pair of schoolboys, and break Clothilde’s heart in the process. And you, Rollo. Don’t think you’re any better because you were not engaged to s
omeone else at the time. What you did was stupid and dangerous, and we are still dealing with the consequences now.’
‘This quarrel is draining us all,’ said another voice. It was Pelham Longfellow. ‘I wish I could say I understood your point of view and offer you blessings, Rollo, but at this moment I cannot. I wrestle with myself, as we all do. But I too find it hard to forgive your actions on that night. We all lost Aurelia. And my father died as well, because . . .’
‘Your father’s death was an accident,’ said Rollo. ‘And we all feel very sorry for you, of course. But I think it’s become clear you have found ways to derive considerable comfort from your life on the island. And just for the record, I had no feelings for Aurelia. I simply wanted to spare my sister pain. She did not have the choices you have.’
Effie was having trouble following this argument. It seemed to be about her mother. It sounded as if everyone had been in love with her, which was a nice thing to hear, except that it didn’t sound as if it had ended very well. And would her mother really have got involved with two different men at the same time, while also being married to a third? Effie remembered her mother as kind and good and uncomplicated. It all sounded wrong. What on earth had happened? But the more she thought about it, the weaker she felt.
‘She’s fading,’ said Cosmo. ‘So you have a choice, which I am going to make for you. Take her to Dr Black, Pelham. We will face the consequences later.’
‘Are we simply to face consequences for ever?’ said Rollo.
‘Yes,’ said Cosmo. ‘If we have to.’
When Laurel Wilde woke up, it was cold and dark. Where was she? And where was Skylurian? One minute they had been friends, and the next minute her publisher had insisted that Laurel Wilde drink a cup of odd-tasting tea, which must have been drugged, and had then tied her up and put her in the back of her car!
What on earth had Laurel done to deserve this? Was it because she hadn’t approved that dreadful book cover? Or was it because she kept complaining about the limited-edition single-volume plan for The Chosen Ones? Although most of her complaining had happened in her head, really. Laurel, as usual, hadn’t actually made that much fuss at all.
Perhaps it was because of the 7.5 percent. Or seven. Or whatever it was. Laurel Wilde wasn’t good with numbers. She was good with words. Where was her typewriter? Her notebook? Her best pen? Was it evening now? Laurel longed for her glass of wine, her music, a pomegranate, her cashmere shawl. Instead, she was lying on something scratchy that smelled of barnyards. Hay. Was it too much to hope that she had been simply put in one of the spare stables? Laurel’s hands were still tied behind her back, but as she struggled to her feet she realised that she was in fact a very long way away from anywhere. Through a small window, Laurel could see stars, and lots of them. Oh! And a meteor with an odd pinkish tail. Then another. But there were no lights from any houses at all.
What did she have with her? She couldn’t see anything. But she could smell mints and leather and her perfume. She hadn’t put any perfume on before her kidnap. She knew that. Which meant that her handbag must be here somewhere. She must have somehow managed to grab it before the drugs properly kicked in.
Laurel scrabbled around in the hay. Having her handbag was a very good thing. Being a novelist meant she always anticipated the worst. It was her job to think of dramatic things involving kidnaps and falling down mine-shafts and so on. This meant Laurel was always prepared for things. And – yes – there it was. Her handbag that contained a Satsuma, a luxury energy bar, three small cans of soda water, a penknife, an old phone and a compact mirror. All the things she would need to stay alive, and, she hoped, effect her escape.
Effie found she could not open her eyes even if she tried. She felt sleepy and comfortable, and as if she was about to go on a long journey to somewhere very remote and very mysterious.
‘She is not going to survive here much longer. You must take her back to the island now,’ said Cosmo.
‘I can’t get her to the portal,’ said Pelham. ‘She’s not even awake. You’ll have to use magic.’
‘Yes,’ said Cosmo distractedly. ‘I can try something, I suppose. But I don’t know exactly how to accomplish sending you both to the island directly from here. It is possible, but I fear it might take longer than we have.’
‘But then what am I to do?’ said Pelham.
‘There is something we could try,’ said Rollo. ‘But it might be too dangerous. I don’t know.’
‘What is it?’ said Pelham, his tone to Rollo still rather cold.
‘It’s a device I made . . . To send intruders back to the island. I came up with it when we were arming ourselves against the Diberi before the last Sterran Guandré. It simulates a mainland death in the sense that it sends you back to the island, but it doesn’t de-age you and you are not reborn. I think it also keeps your lifeforce intact, although obviously I was trying to make a version that wipes it out. For that reason I thought it a failure. But it might be just what we need now.’
‘Where does it send you?’
‘Somewhere on the island.’
Pelham snorted. ‘What, like the middle of the Pacific? The top of Mount Everest?’
‘No. That was another problem with the design. You have to give it coordinates. I chose a few remote places to test it out. Or, at any rate, places that seemed remote to me. I could send you both to one of them. Then you’d have to find your way back to London, if you are set on seeing this Dr Black. I think it might be your only hope of getting the girl to the island quickly. Of course if she runs out of lifeforce completely while she’s here she may well end up in the Pacific, or worse, and alone. And never able to return.’
‘I think you’d better do it,’ said Cosmo. ‘Thank you, Rollo. At least once the poor child is back on the island she’ll be able to restore her physical health. But her lifeforce is almost gone. You must hurry.’
Lifeforce and physical health. Lifeforce and physical health. The words started repeating in Effie’s mind like a strange poem. Lifeforce was magical power. Otherworld power. Known in the Realworld as M-currency. And Effie realised that all hers was now gone.
There was the sound of the door opening, and Rollo’s fast footsteps going along the gallery outside. Then the door opened again. There were a few strange noises, and the sound of something being put together in a hurry.
‘All right,’ said Pelham. ‘I’m ready when you are.’
‘Do you have enough Realworld currency?’ asked Cosmo.
‘You mean money? Oh yes; I’ve got plenty of that.’
Effie could smell Pelham Longfellow’s subtle patchouli and vanilla aftershave, and the warm cinnamon scent of his skin as he sat her up in bed and held her frail body to his. He was going to rescue her, to carry her somewhere. To . . .
The next thing Effie knew, she was opening her eyes somewhere bright and very warm. Was she still in the Otherworld after all? She seemed to be wrapped in a blanket on a sun-lounger on the porch of a small hut. There was a mountain in front of her in the distance, and, before that, some sort of lagoon. She felt warm and comfortable physically. But she found she also felt deeply sad, and somewhat empty. It was as if she had been turned inside out; her soul was no longer hidden safely deep inside her but instead now formed the outer layer of her existence, like it had been stretched over her skin. Effie wanted to tell someone that this was wrong; that her soul should not be on the outside of her like this. She felt frightened, which was unusual, because as a true hero she was usually so brave.
Pelham Longfellow was pacing up and down in front of the hut, tapping something into his pager. A woman approached him.
‘Your car will be here in two hours, sir,’ she said. ‘It will take you around an hour to get to Cape Town airport. Your flight leaves at ten o’clock p.m. and gets to London tomorrow morning.’
‘Thank you so much,’ said Pelham. ‘You’ve been extremely kind.’
He turned around and saw that Effie was awake.
; ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Hello, young hero. You’ve had a bit of an adventure, I hear.’
‘I don’t feel like a hero,’ said Effie. ‘Where are we?’
‘Oh, South Africa,’ said Pelham cheerfully. ‘Overshot a tiny bit. We’ll fly back to London this evening. I’ve booked economy on the basis that I can cast a couple of spells to upgrade us to first class. More economical than paying for actual first class, although I do that too sometimes when the lifeforce is low.’ He stopped abruptly and then sighed. ‘As yours now is, of course. How do you feel, you poor child?’
Effie shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘A bit tired. But OK, I think. It’s just . . .’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know how to describe it. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before.’ Effie didn’t know how to begin explaining the sensation of her soul being on the outside. It wouldn’t sound right if she tried to say it. Also, she had a feeling it might make it worse if she did. ‘I feel sort of sad. And as if I’ve lost something, inside. Does that sound stupid?’
Pelham shook his head. ‘No. You’re experiencing what it feels like to have no lifeforce,’ he said. ‘Some people call it the Yearning. I’ve had it only once, a very long time ago. It’s one of the worst feelings in the whole world. I’d much rather break a limb – or several – than ever go through the Yearning again. But we’ll have you fixed up soon. You just need to hang on. It takes a little while to top your lifeforce back up, but you’ll get there.’
‘What if I can’t hang on?’
‘There’s no choice. You have to.’
‘I sort of feel like I’m about to fall off a cliff, even though there isn’t a cliff here,’ said Effie.
‘I know,’ said Pelham. ‘It’s a dreadful feeling. But it doesn’t last for ever, and it can’t hurt you. The sooner you realise that, the sooner your lifeforce will come back.’
‘But I’m frightened. What if I become less and less like myself? What if I forget my friends, and the Otherworld and—’
The Chosen Ones Page 20