She thought about it for a while. Her eyes widened.
"Maybe the Person in Shadow can see what we're doing whenever we open the book," she said hurriedly. "Maybe someone tore the section from the black page a long time ago and kept it as an eye into the book, just waiting for you to find it. Maybe you accidentally communicated something when you discovered Endymion Spring the other day — and that's why you were followed to the library…"
Duck was about to enlarge on the idea when a shadow stole across the lawn, creeping over them. Blake just managed to conceal the book in his knapsack before looking up.
Paula Richards was glaring down at them angrily.
"There you are," she hollered. "I've been searching for you everywhere. You're worse than the cat!"
She clapped her hands impatiently and they both rose to their feet, wiping the grass stains from their knees. "I really don't have time for this. I promised your mother I'd keep my eye on you."
Like criminals, they followed her back to the Library.
◬
A tall, familiar figure stood beside the table at which Blake had been working earlier. Jolyon.
Blake froze.
He eyed the professor warily: from the top of his heavily lined face to the tips of his long, inky fingers, which gripped the cream-colored book he had left open on the table. And then Blake's heart skipped a beat. It was as though all of the blood pumping through his body had suddenly reversed direction; the ground lurched beneath his feet.
The professor had a bruised black thumbnail, almost exactly the same shape as the missing corner of the book.
The old man looked up, catching Blake's open-mouthed expression. A frown forked across his brow like a stroke of lightning and Blake tightened his grip on his knapsack, protecting the book inside, unwilling to let it near the man. He glanced away, unable to hold the professor's gaze.
Jolyon, however, had seen enough. He slipped a piece of paper between the pages of the bestiary, closed the volume and pushed it gently towards Blake. Then he gestured Mrs. Richards aside.
Blake watched as they walked out of earshot. He knew they were discussing him. Jolyon pointed at the section of the library where the books had been ripped off the shelves and murmured something in her ear. The librarian shook her head and turned to look at him.
"Get to work," she admonished him quickly.
Blake glanced at the pile of worksheets awaiting his attention. For once, his homework seemed like the safest option. He was still reeling from the shock of the shadowy message in Endymion Spring's book.
Rearranging the sheets in front of him, he started circling all of the mistakes he could find, taking special pleasure in lassoing other people's errors. He didn't want to acknowledge the suspicions creeping into his mind. The black page was invading his thoughts. He'd been wrong about his father, his mother, even Duck…so perhaps he was wrong about Jolyon, too. Perhaps there really was no one he could trust.
He kept his head down and didn't look up once — not when Paula Richards, carrying a heavy stack of books, took up a post close beside him, nor when Jolyon, leaving the library, brushed against him like a shadow.
◬
Blake felt like one of the animals trapped in the bestiary. He and Duck were seated at opposite ends of the dark polished table, unable to talk, let alone pass notes. Occasionally, Mrs. Richards scratched something in her notepad and he shuffled uneasily. Her pen made a disapproving sound as it scraped against the paper, and he imagined her ticking a box next to some new fault or crime he had committed.
The black page was tugging at his imagination, worrying him. The need to know whether the words had changed or whether a new message was waiting for him was irresistible. But there was no escaping Paula Richards's gaze. Magnified by her glasses, her usually sympathetic green eyes resembled Venus flytraps — and he was the fly slowly being devoured in the cage of her lashes.
Drumming his pencil on his worksheets, he looked around. A small pile of books was growing near him as Paula Richards scanned various reference works to do with Christina Rossetti, the poet Diana Bentley had mentioned at the college dinner. One of the volumes had devilish goblins and demons clawing up and down its gold spine, while another had a plain plum-colored wrapper with ink blots on the leather. Paula Richards had left this propped open and he could just make out tiny scribbles in the margin — tight, miniscule words that looked like old-fashioned embroidery.
Not far from his elbow was the bestiary Jolyon had marked with his slip of paper. Slowly, so that Paula Richards could not see, he inched his fingers towards it and dragged the smooth white volume towards him.
Duck was watching him intently. Fortunately, the librarian was so engrossed in her research, she didn't notice.
Blake opened the book as casually as he could.
Jolyon hadn't been reading the entry of Leafdragons, but a different section altogether. A shudder of recognition passed through him: Psalmanazar. He blinked. No, it was a different word, but strangely similar: Salamander. Next to it was a picture of yet another tree — this time, full of snakelike branches. Each branch ended in a fanged head that was attempting to devour an apple.
Blake read the description carefully:
The Salamander, chefe among creatures, ys prooff against fyre, for it quenchyth flaumes wyth its bodie, while its skynne remaynes unscaythed. Yet beware: for thys beaste contaynes a secrete vennom, whych roted in trees will soure its fruit or releessed in a sprynge will polute its water and so cause an idyvyduall to die…
Blake scowled, puzzled. Why had Jolyon tried to alert him to this? The salamander sounded like a devious, untrustworthy beast, but it looked nothing like the dragon he had seen. Then he noticed the bookmark dividing the Salamander from its nearest alphabetical cousins, the Raven and Sawfish.
He turned it over and was even more surprised by what he saw. He read it twice before he understood it.
Blake started breathing faster and faster. Jolyon must have left this here for him to find. He wanted Blake to be at a lecture tomorrow night, but why? Blake couldn't work out what the professor was after.
His mind raced. Going to the talk would give him a chance to learn more about the origins of the society and perhaps find out who had found the blank book all those years ago. Not only that; it might tell him who had lusted after it, whose heart was already black. His mouth felt dry as he considered the possibilities.
Duck was struggling to see the piece of paper in his hands, and he flashed it in her direction, careful not to let Paula Richards notice. She read the message quickly and a broad grin spread across her face.
He knew exactly what that expression meant: it meant they had to sneak into AllSoulsCollege, whether or not they had their mother's permission. It was an opportunity to uncover the past and perhaps solve the mystery for themselves.
◬
Getting permission was not as difficult as they anticipated.
Juliet Winters returned from the Bodleian Library in a foul mood. This time she was annoyed with the librarians and not with them. Another scholar had requested the set of Faust books she needed to consult and she'd spent most of the afternoon trying to track them down.
"Who'd have thought so many people would be interested in Faust all of a sudden?" she said wearily as they waited for the bus. "It not only means that I'm behind schedule, but there's also a chance someone else is researching the same topic. I'm going to have to push even harder to publish my findings first." She closed her eyes and kneaded her brow with her fingertips.
The bus wheezed to a halt beside them and Juliet Winters piled into a seat near the middle. Duck and Blake positioned themselves behind her — like good and bad angels, one on either shoulder.
"If you need some extra time, we don't mind," said Duck obligingly at the first set of traffic lights. "We've been invited to a lecture. We could go to that while you work in the library tomorrow night."
She was using her most soothing voice, like a hypnotist, to l
ull their mother into a false sense of security. Blake could not tell whether or not it was working. Her eyes were closed.
"We promise to be good."
That did it. Their mother was instantly awake.
"What lecture is it?" she asked, her suspicions aroused.
"Sir Giles Bentley's. On collecting books."
"You mentioned it the other day," Blake added quickly. "You told us we could go."
"I did nothing of the sort."
Blake held out the invitation for her inspection.
Juliet Winters frowned. "Why are you interested in that all of a sudden?"
"Professor Jolyon thought we might be curious," said Blake. "Besides, Duck wants to ask some questions."
"Sir Giles?" repeated his mother warily, scowling at the thick piece of paper. "I'm not sure. All Souls is no place for kids. Plus, it's late at night."
"But we've been invited!" protested Duck. "We can't let Professor Jolyon down. He's relying on us."
"Hmm, I wonder," said their mother, still not convinced.
The bus swerved sharply to avoid an old man teetering on an even older bicycle, and she lost the thread of her argument.
"I promise to look after Duck," said Blake, noticing they were approaching Millstone Lane. He reached out to press the button for the next stop. "We could meet you outside the Bodleian Library afterwards. It's not too late. Besides, Professor Jolyon will be there. He'll be our babysitter for the night."
He gave her a cheesy grin, but Duck tapped him on the elbow, warning him not to overdo it.
"Well, I don't know," murmured their mother sleepily as the bus ground to a halt and the doors opened. "I could certainly do with some more time to work, plus the Bodleian is advertising late hours this week, but…"
Blake knew he was almost there. One more push ought to do it. "Just think of how much you'll accomplish," he reminded her.
"OK, I suppose so," said Juliet Winters, still with misgivings. "Especially if Jolyon has invited you."
"Thanks. You're the greatest!"
They both ran towards the house, smiling; but she was frowning. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" she called out, perhaps remembering the trouble they'd put her to that morning. "I don't like the idea of leaving you alone."
"Don't worry," the children chimed together. "Nothing can possibly go wrong."
◬
That night, while their mother worked, Duck and Blake met in Blake's bedroom.
Blake knew what he had to do, but he was reluctant to go through with the procedure. It was a rite he didn't want to perform. The paper dragon was too beautiful, too intricate, to destroy; and yet, he needed to follow the instructions in Psalmanazar's book precisely and bring all the parts of the blank book together. The dragon was just one more piece of the puzzle.
With a heavy heart, he took the beast from behind the pillow, where he had left it, and started to unfold its many scales. The creases quickly disappeared, as if ironed by his touch, and soon the dragon was transformed into an enormous sheet of blank white paper, made from innumberable fine membranes of smooth skin. They flapped in the air, a gentle sail. Alive.
Feeling more confident, Blake folded the paper until it formed a small quire that fitted neatly in the palm of his hand. He then slipped it inside the leather volume and closed the covers, waiting for Endymion Spring to perform its magic. He could feel the book vibrating slightly between his fingers as the invisible threads began once more to weave the pages together.
And then it was over. The book lay still.
"This is it," he whispered as he opened the cover. With trembling fingers, he turned the pages, impatient to know what the book would show him.
Nothing. The pages were blank — apart from the patch of darkness in the middle of the book, where the Person in Shadow's warning still haunted him with its three terrifying words.
"I am watching," read Duck disappointedly. She sat back on her heels and sighed. "Nothing's changed. What are we going to do now?"
Blake shook his head, but remained silent. Something else had appeared on the page in front of him, something his sister couldn't see. He nearly dropped the book.
The Sun must look the Shadow in the Eye
The forfeit the Book lest one Half die.
The Lesion of Darkness cannot be healed
Until, with Child's Blood, the Whole is sealed.
These are the Words of Endymion Spring.
Bring only the Insight the Inside brings.
Two words, in particular, grabbed his attention and refused to let go. They clutched at his throat and echoed in his mind like a horrible refrain: child's blood, child's blood, child's blood…
Either he or Duck was going to die; he knew it instinctively, as though Endymion Spring had entered the room and whispered it in his ear.
"What's wrong?" asked Duck. "You're sweating."
"It's nothing," he lied, and shook his head again to dismiss the terrible thought. "We'd better go to bed."
Some things, he felt, were better left unsaid.
Mainz,
Spring, 1453
Without warning, a devil sprinted past the window and performed a grotesque, gyrating dance in the middle of the street. Peter and I ran to the front of the house to watch. The fiend made lewd gestures with its tail and mocked all those who came near.
Before long a gang of children had encircled it and started heckling. In a bid to escape, the devil dashed beneath their outstretched arms and raced towards the cathedral, pursued by a chorus of catcalls and whistles.
Almost immediately after, a procession of unsightly skeletons — faces powdered, eyes blackened and ribs painted across their chests — started walking along the straw-strewn streets, knocking on the walls of the surrounding houses, summoning the living to join the dead.
"Come one, come all!" they sang, beating their sticks together and prancing from door to door. "The time has come! All will be judged!"
Like obedient sheep, the citizens of Mainz emerged from their timbered houses to join the parade, all heading in the same direction: the graveyard beyond the city walls. Some were dressed in the false finery of kings and queens, which they had sewn specifically for the occasion, while others donned masks to disguise their faces and wore their normal clothes back to front. The more outlandish tied cowbells to their breeches and lowed like cattle, while younger children banged pots and pans together and cheered — or cried. Half-naked tumblers somersaulted up and down the length of the street, waving flags of multicolored cloth and adding their laughter to the general chaos and confusion.
Meanwhile, the players struck up their instruments. Bladder pipes, viols, lutes and lyres all belched and thrummed as madrigals began to weave in and out of the crowd, singing at the top of their voices.
"King or Queen, Pope or Knight,
Each lies equal in God's Sight;
Judge, Lawyer, Doctor, Fool,
None escapes Death's final Rule;
Merchant, Pauper, Friar, Thief,
Rich and Poor both come to Grief;
The Time has come to make Amends,
Judgment Day for all ye Men."
Hundreds of footsteps thundered in reply, as the congregation shuffled slowly towards the grave, forming its own relentless march through the city.
The Last Judgment had begun.
◬
Herr Gutenberg sneaked up behind me.
"Aren't you going to join in the festivities?" he asked, laying a hand on my shoulder. "It's considered bad luck, you know, not to participate in the Dance of Death."
I turned round. Ordinarily, I would have laughed at his mismatched clothes — he was covered from head to toe in red and yellow squares, like a harlequin — but my heart was heavy. I shrugged. I knew that my time in Mainz was swiftly coming to an end and there would be no turning back. The day of my reckoning had indeed come.
Outside in the street a butcher with a pig's snout strapped to his brow jostled with a maid as the Dance of Death cont
inued.
"Do not dawdle, do not labor," sang the madrigals. "Join hands — now — with your nearest neighbor…"
The people in the street linked hands and began to wind like a serpent through the crowded city. It was one of the spring's most festive occasions. The windows and doors were festooned with bright garlands of flowers, mixing their hopeful scent with the richer smells of meat roasting in the distance. Herr Gutenberg was stepping back and forth in a little jig of his own invention, completely out of time with the music, preparing to join in; but I held out a hand to detain him.
He glanced at me. "You look as though the end is near," he said, his worried voice full of compassion. "What's wrong?"
Crouching down beside me, he gestured towards the cheerful faces of the crowd. "This is a celebration, Endymion. You ought to be happy. The Dance of Death is merely a reminder of all we have to be thankful for. There is nothing to fear."
He patted me affectionately on the head. Almost immediately, my lips started to tremble, as if they would speak.
"Don't mind him," said Peter suddenly, grabbing me by the elbow and dragging me back into the house. "His costume isn't finished yet, that's all. There are a few minor adjustments we need to make. I'll take care of them." His hand gripped me like a vise.
Herr Gutenberg looked up. "Well, hurry," he said. "You especially, Peter, must not be late."
Peter nodded, a certain satisfaction on his face. He and Christina had been given pride of place in this year's festivities: the most important roles of Adam and Eve, whose job it was to lead the dead into the graveyard and then sing to them about their mortality. Once the bodies of all the citizens in Mainz were lined up in a symbolic death, God would descend and resurrect the crowd. Then the real merriment would begin: dancing and feasting to continue long into the night.
And I wouldn't be there to enjoy it…
"Don't worry about us," said Peter. "We'll meet you at the city gates."
I watched helplessly as Herr Gutenberg nodded and left. Almost immediately, his long bearded face was lost in a surge of bobbing, dancing heads. He had no idea that I would not be returning from the grave. I had to harden my eyes to prevent the tears from falling.
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