Endymion Spring

by Skelton-Matthew

  "And the shadow," said Duck, ominously. "Don't forget that."

  With a shiver, Blake remembered Jolyon's stark warning about a Person in Shadow — someone who would stop at nothing to find the Last Book.

  He was about to say something when he noticed the following page had been neatly excised from Psalmamazar's book, possibly so that the man could construct the paper dragon.

  On a whim, he asked, "Did this message appear the other day, when we saw you outside the bookshop?"

  The man looked pleased and nodded.

  So that was it! Somehow, the paper — Endymion Spring 's paper — must have told him to look up from the book. But why?

  Blake reread the riddle. The suggestion that the Person in Shadow — perhaps the person Jolyon had warned the about — had been lurking outside the bookshop unnerved him and he looked around suspiciously. Only a few leaves shook on the branches of the surrounding trees.

  "Ask what we should do next," said Duck impatiently, sensing his hesitation. She reached out to pet the dog, which nudged her hand with its nose, urging her to continue. Its ears felt like warm silky gloves and she caressed them lovingly.

  "OK, but this has to be quick," he said, glancing at his watch.

  Psalmamazar held the page open as Blake repeated Duck's question: "What should we do next?"

  He stared at the page for what seemed like ages, but no new message or instruction appeared. The page remained blank.

  "Nothing," he said at last, giving up hope. "There's nothing there. I'm not very good at this."

  "Maybe the book can't predict the future," said Duck. "Maybe we have to figure it out for ourselves..."

  But that wasn't true. The book had already made plenty of predictions. If nothing else, Jolyon had told them Endymion Spring 's paper contained an answer to everything. It just didn't want to help them right now.

  Blake felt let down by this realization. There were so many questions that needed answering, so many things he needed to know, and yet the book remained frustratingly silent.

  "That's it," he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Sometimes it's harder to know the question than to find an answer."

  "Huh?" said Duck, puzzled.

  "It's something Professor Jolyon told me," he said. "I can't ask vague questions like 'What will happen in the future?' That's too general. I need to be more specific. Maybe then the book can help us."

  He took a moment to phrase the question in his mind and asked in a clearer, more confident tone, "Where is the blank book I found in the library on Tuesday afternoon?"

  Duck looked up, curious. Psalmanazar, however, had tightened his grip on the book. His knuckles gleamed, bone-white between the layers of grime. What had caused the change? Blake gave him a sideways look, but the man's face was locked on the book, inscrutable.

  The boy followed his eyes down to the page.

  "I can see something coming," he whispered, "but it's really faint. I can't make it out."

  He peered closer. His mouth felt dry. "Great, it's another riddle," he despaired when at last he could distinguish the words.

  "Quick, read it to me," said Duck. "I'm good at these things. I can help you."

  Blake paused for a moment and then, unable to figure out the meaning on his own, recited the lines aloud. They seemed so simple, yet complex:

  "The Present has passed — the Past has gone

  The Future will come — once Two become One."

  He groaned. "This poem's even more baffling than the first one I saw," he said.

  Duck, however, was repeating the words to herself over and over again, memorizing them. Her lips moved and her nose twitched — like a rabbit nibbling the air. Blake stared at her and then at the book, willing himself to see through the words, but he couldn't.

  "I don't get it," he said at last, a fringe of dark hair flopping over his eyes.

  She held up a hand to silence him. "I think I do."

  The words were so soft, Blake almost didn't hear them.

  "What?"

  "Well, I don't understand all of it," she corrected herself as he turned to her in disbelief, "But I get the gist of it. At least, I think I know how we're supposed to locate the Last Book."

  "Huh?" said Blake, astounded. "How?"

  "Just read the poem again," she said, "but this time spell the words as you say them."

  Blake shook his head. "What difference does that make?"

  "It all depends on how you spell the past," she said, sphinx-like. "It makes all the difference in the world."

  She started to pet the dog again. "Just do it," she commanded.

  Blake did as he was told. Even with Duck's advice the words didn't make much sense. The present, past and future were hopelessly entangled, like a knot. Try as he might, he couldn't tease them apart.

  "I still don't get it," he said.

  "Well, the book we're looking at now is falling apart," she pointed out as yet more bits of paper fluttered out from between Psalmanazar's fingers and fell to the ground like tattered moths. "So its usefulness has passed or is passing as we speak. That explains the first bit: the present has passed."

  Blake regarded her with suspicion.

  "And you don't have the volume you found in the library, so that's the second," she continued. "The past has gone. It can't tell you anything more specific than that. This leaves the Last Book, the one Professor Jolyon told us about, the most powerful book of all. That's the one still waiting for us — once we bring the other two books together!"

  She looked up, expecting to be congratulated, but Blake frowned.

  "But how are we going to do that?" he whined. "We don't even know where the first book is. It's pointless!" He kicked at the ground, sending a twig flying. It snapped like a bone.

  "I know," answered his sister vaguely, "but I'm sure we'll find it soon."

  Unconvinced, Blake looked at his watch. "Come on, we'd better go. Mum will be furious."

  "Ask who the Person in Shadow is, first," she said.

  Blake went pale. His heart leaped into his mouth. This was one question he didn't want answered. He turned to her, aghast.

  "Go on," she said. "It's the obvious thing to do." She continued combing her fingers through the dog's hair, pretending not to be afraid.

  Blake nodded, but didn't say anything. The trees around him seemed to inch closer, clutching each other with their thin branches. The remaining leaves shivered.

  Blake bit his lip, but found himself creeping closer to the blank paper, which Psalmanazar pinned open with his fingers. The corner of a page flickered.

  Taking a deep breath, Blake then said the words that frightened him most: "Shw me the face of the Person in Shadow."

  Immediately he closed his eyes, afraid of what he would see once he opened them. It was like blowing out the candles on a birthday cake and wishing for something not to come true. He waited for a few seconds and then, slowly, prized his eyes open.

  He could feel his courage trickling down his spine like a melting icicle.

  He watched, appalled, as a mass of dark ink swirled over the page like dye unraveling in a glass of water, at war with the white paper. The battle seemed to last forever, a tug-of-war between light and shade, but eventually the page was coated completely in shadow — like an eclipse. Then, from the darkness, a figure began to emerge, a shape that grew larger, but no more distinct. It was like a mask or silhouette, concealing more than it revealed.

  Despite his fear, Blake peered closer.

  He sensed that he was looking into the face of evil, but could not tell who — or what — it was. The shadow seemed to reach out and engulf him. His heart and lungs filled with cold. His pupils dilated like holes in thin ice. He could not lift his eyes from the paper.

  All of a sudden, the dog growled and Psalmanazar let the bookdrop... just at the moment Blake thought he could recognize the face. The volume fell to the ground, where it collapsed in a heap of paper. The spell was broken.

  "What happened?" as
ked Blake in a petrified whisper.

  The low rumble in the dog's throat revved into a snarl as, hackles raised, it crept stealthily in front of Duck, shielding her with its body, its thin armor of ribs.

  From behind him, Blake heard sounds of activity and turned to see joggers and dog-walkers crossing the bridge towards the towpath. Life was going on as usual.

  "I don't understand," he said, fearfully. 'What's wrong?"

  "It's you," said Duck at last, her voice trembling. "Something came over you. You turned really pale all of a sudden. There was a gleam in your eye. What did the book show you?"

  Helplessly, Blake turned to Psalmanazar, who refused to meet his gaze. He was staring into the distance as if impatient to be off.

  "There was a face," he said faintly. "In the shadow. Only I don't know who it was. It could have been anyone."

  He couldn't bring himself to say more. He shivered, as though a cloud had blotted out the sun and coated the land in shadow. A touch of winter gripped the air.

  The group stood motionlessly for a while, but finally Duck broke the silence. "I want to go home."

  Blake nodded. He couldn't wait to get as far away from the clearing as possible. Still numb with fear, he reached down to pick up the remnants of Psalmanazar's book, which had been damaged even more in its fall. The spine had cracked and several pages lay scattered and torn on the ground. The boards felt curiously lifeless and empty in his hands, as though he was holding the memory — or ghost — of a book.

  "Oh, Psalmanazar, what have I done?" he despaired when he realized the magical paper had slipped out too. He twirled round in a panic.

  Then he saw it. There, in the trees, was a large sheet of blank paper, caught like a kite in a clutch of branches. He ran over to untangle it.

  A flutter of hope passed through him as he once again touched Endymion Spring 's paper. Despite its unwieldy size, it folded naturally into a series of much smaller pages, like a miniature book that fitted neatly into the palm of his hand.

  He hurried over to Psalmanazar. The man, however refused to take it. Instead, he gently folded Blake's fingers over the edges of the booklet. The gesture was clear: Blake was meant to keep it.

  Confused, Blake slipped the paper into his pocket. "Um, thanks," he murmured, unsure what else to say. He felt as though he had inherited a great responsibility. Even so, his heart was beating rapidly, an unmistakable buzz running through his veins. In exchange, he handed the man the dog's bandanna, which Psalmanazar promptly tied round the animal's grizzled neck.

  As they were about to depart, Duck gripped her brother's arm. "There's something we forgot to ask the book," she said. "What's the name of Psalmanazar's dog?"

  Blake was tempted to laugh, but a weak, tremulous voice piped behind them: "It's Alice."

  Both children spun round, startled.

  Psalmanazar was smiling at them sheepishly, obviously ill at ease with his newly discovered voice. "She was burrowing down a rabbit hole," he continued, his throat rusty and sore. "It seemed right somehow."

  Duck and Blake stared at him doubtfully for a moment, disbelieving what they'd heard; then, when no further sound was forthcoming, they turned and started the long trek back to the city.

  The walked the rest of the way in silence, thinking exactly the same thing: there was something oddly familiar about Psalmanazar's voice, something that made it sound like an echo of a voice they had heard before. But they didn't mention their suspicions to each other. His silence had been contagious.

  16

  Blake expected to see a crush of police cars when he rounded the bend into Millstone Lane

  . He expected to find television cameras pointed at their front door and neighbors telling reporters how the foreign children had disappeared without a trace. Yet there was nothing. No megaphones, no television crews and no emergency tape cordoning off the front garden. The street was empty. Most of the people had left for work, their cars gone, the milk bottles taken in. It was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  Blake checked his watch. They had been gone nearly two hours... two hours too long. He was worried how their mother would react. Each step brought them a little bit closer to the inevitable argument. Blake braced himself. He was no longer a hero in pursuit of a magical book, but a boy in trouble for sneaking out.

  "Remember what I told you," said Duck, sensing his anxiety. "You caught me sneaking out of the house. Whatever you do, don't mention Psalmanazar or the blank book. She'll never understand."

  She'd been rehearsing the same excuse since they were within sight of the main road. She liked to take control whenever they were near home; it must be a female trait in his family. Well, she could shoulder all the blame if she wanted, he thought; he didn't mind.

  He followed her up the garden path and inserted the key in the lock. He opened the door very slowly. It was like peeling back a plaster to see if the wound beneath had healed or was still inflamed and sore.

  He got a nasty shock. His mother was slumped on the bottom step of the staircase facing the door. A rag doll. For one fearful moment, he thought she had collapsed, but then she looked up at him with tired, swollen eyes and his heart caved in inside him. They were in more than ordinary trouble.

  "Um," he said, not knowing where to begin.

  His mother raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.

  "Um," he faltered again, feeling his pulse quicken.

  "It's all my fault," interjected Duck suddenly. "I tried to run away, but Blake came after me and convinced me to come back. I didn't want to!"

  She spoke in a great rush of words, as though she were afraid the truth might recoil inside her if she paused or hesitated.

  Blake listened to her, astonished, and then caught his mother looking at him for corroboration, testing him with one of her quizzical eyebrows. He glanced at Duck, who was staring straight ahead, like a wall. There was a slight flicker in the corner of her eye, but it could have been a wink, a tear of even an angry twitch. He nodded unconvincingly.

  His mother swore.

  There was an uncomfortable silence; then Juliet Winters let out a long sigh. "What am I to do with you?" she despaired at last.

  Duck ground the edges of her boots together, while Blake studied the steps behind his mother's back. In his mind, he wanted to flee upstairs and, like the book, disappear.

  "Do you realize how worried I was?" his mother said, her voice little more than a growl. "What on earth made you go out without telling me? Where were you anyway?" She picked at him with her eyes — his muddy jeans and tousled hair — and Blake turned away, his cheeks reddening. "You smell like smoke. What were you doing?"

  "I'm sorry," he said weakly.

  "You're sorry?" she scoffed. 'Is that all?" She stared up at the ceiling and swore.

  Blake closed his eyes, blood hammering in his head, and tried to block out the next assault of words.

  "I thought that you, Blake, would have been more responsible than this," she said in a chilling tone. "A different country, a fabulous city, a new chance. You could have learned so much. Yet all I get from you is trouble — from both of you!" She glared at them each in turn, her eyes livid and sore. "First, disappearing at night, and now this morning. What are you up to? What game are you playing at?"

  Neither child said anything. A tangle of emotions tore at Blake's throat. He was tempted to confess everything — to tell her about Endymion Spring, the Last Book and even the Person in Shadow — but he was silenced by her next comment.

  "Do you want me to send you home?"

  "Yes," said Blake before he could stop himself.

  Duck turned to him instantly in alarm, and he placed a protective hand over his pocket, which contained the sheet of Psalmanazar's paper.

  "No," he said, confused.

  His mother eyed him savagely. "Well, which is it?" she snapped. "Your father or me?"

  Blake felt the ground open beneath him and tried desperately to prevent himself from tumbling. The clock on t
he hall table ticked down the seconds, waiting for his response. He didn't know what to say. It was almost as if his mother wanted him to choose his father.

  "I don't know," he choked at last. "I mean yes... I mean no... I mean... I mean... I don't know what I mean! I just want you and Dad to be together again, the way you were before you started working all the time and he gave up his job to be with us!"

  His mother remained silent for a long, dreadful moment, Blake's hands were trembling and, to hide his feelings, he tightened them into fists.

  "Is that what you assumed?" she said at last. Her voice was different. Beaten, unemotional. "Well, perhaps we should have told you."

  Blake's knees went weak.

  It was then that he learned the truth. His father had lost his job several months ago and she was working extra hard to keep them all together. Blake pressed his fingernails deep into his skin until they formed bruised pruple moons in the palms of his hands. He was shivering.

  His mother noticed his reaction and said, "Honestly, Blake, you shouldn't go running off like that. You scared me. Anything could have happened to you. I'd be lost without you — without both of you."

  He barely heard the words she utterednext. She sounded just like a child. "Please, I don't want to lose you too."

  Instinctively he moved closer and put his arms round her.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered, and this time he really meant it.

  17

  Everything after than happened in a blur. His mother told them to get ready, she needed to spend the rest of the day in the Bodleian Libaray. "I really must get some work done."

  Obediently, Duck and Blake trudged upstairs.

  In the bathroom, Blake studied his reflection in the mirror and frowned. What could Endymion Spring have seen in him? He wasn't the heroic type. He was just a scrawny kid with ribs like xylophones and irregular eyes that never looked anyone in the face. They had the unnerving ability to change color according to his mood: pale blue when he was worried or upset, but darkening when he was angry. His dad likened them to wet pebbles. He wished his dad were here now to describe them; they were an enigmatic shade.