“Should we go with him?” Rachel said.
Megan licked her lips. There was something she was missing, and it was likely Bailey had the answers. She was tired, but she needed to know. At least here there weren’t any monsters. At least, she didn’t think so. “Yes, I think we should. I want to know what’s going on.” She grabbed the magic book and jogged after the butler. Only Rachel followed.
“Aren’t you coming?” Megan called to Harriet and Claire.
Harriet shook her head, and gingerly touched it with the back of her hand. “Not me. I’ve had quite enough adventure, thank you. And my head hurts. I just want to sit.”
Claire grasped Harriet by the elbow. “I’ll stay here with her. Make sure she’s all right.”
“That’s a good idea.” Megan turned to start her jog again. “Call us if you need anything.”
Rachel and Megan stopped at the row where they had seen Bailey disappear. There was no sign of him.
“Where did he go?” Megan said. “He didn’t wait for us?”
Rachel shrugged. “Maybe he went to the other end.”
At the far end of the shelf was a reading area with two rows of long tables. The wall was covered by a wooden case; not a bookshelf, but cubby-holes, like a gigantic beehive with square combs. Nearly every hole was stuffed with rolled papers, some yellowed and crumbling on the edges, some with wooden handles. Some held only leather tubes. Bailey, a large book in his hand, sat at the table closest to the cubby wall.
“Please, sit down, ladies.”
Megan and Rachel sat across from him. Bailey opened the book.
“No!” Rachel said. “Don’t open it.”
Bailey smiled. “Not to worry, miss. This book will not take us anywhere. I can assure you of that. Only the Special Collection books can do that.” He flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted, then spun it around and pushed it across the table to Megan.
“Read this, out loud, if you please.” He sat back in his chair and tented his fingers in front of his mouth.
A beautiful hand-drawn picture of the Crown of Zeus was at the top of the page. Below it was a paragraph written in Sir Gregory’s neat script. Megan skimmed the page, her brows drawn together.
“The Crown of Zeus was discovered in a chamber beneath the Parthenon in Athens. Ancient writings indicate that it was, in fact, worn by the God Zeus when he ruled Mount Olympus.
“The crown is purported to have been made for Zeus by Hephaestus, the same blacksmith god who manufactured his lightning bolts. It bestows upon the wearer access to all knowledge.”
Rachel pulled the book away from Megan and reread the page. “So this—” she pointed to the crown, still in Megan’s hand, “—is the real thing.”
Bailey nodded, his face somber. “It is indeed.”
“What does that mean—‘all knowledge’?” Megan said.
Bailey sighed. “When I came into Mr. Archibald’s service, I was a very young man. Still in my teens, in fact. He was well into his career, wealthy due to his savvy sales of art and antiques, and had a reputation as one of the most respected archaeologists in the world. Not long after I began my employ, Sir Gregory took a trip to Greece, one of many. Among the many treasures he brought back with him was the item you now hold in your hand. Most of the artifacts went to the British Museum, or were sold at auction. The crown, however, he kept. He placed it in his private safe. He did not know what it was, only that it was very valuable, both historically as well as intrinsically. He wanted time to study it before turning it over to the museum’s curator.
“Not long after, someone broke into the house. We—Mr. Archibald and I—caught the would-be thief and questioned him before the police arrived. He had been sent to steal the crown. The thief said only that his employers, whom he had never met, were very anxious to get their hands on it. For what purpose he did not know.
“The incident strengthened Sir Gregory’s suspicions about the crown. He became obsessed. Years of digging, searching and research, much of which was done by reading ancient scrolls from the Library of Alexandria—” he pointed to the rolled-up papers behind him, “—among other places, which he went to great pains to find, confirmed what the crown really is—a source of unbelievable power.”
Megan set the crown on the table. It made a soft clink against the wood. The enormity of what she had read sunk in, but she had to hear it again to believe it.
“So if I were to put it on, I would know everything? Everything in the world that there is to know?”
Bailey nodded.
Rachel eyed the crown. “Can I borrow it for my algebra exam next week?”
Megan elbowed her in the ribs.
“Ow.” Rachel rubbed her side. “I was only joking.”
“It is not something to joke about, miss.” Bailey leaned forward. “Knowledge in and of itself is a good thing, but in the wrong hands it can be very dangerous.”
“The Crown of Knowledge should not be sought without temperance,” Megan muttered. The warning reverberated through her head. Because that was what the inscription really was—a warning. Suddenly she wanted to be as far away from the gold circlet as possible.
“Precisely. Knowledge is not the same as wisdom. Anyone could use its power to their own ends—constructive or destructive.”
Megan flipped through the book. It was full of beautiful illustrations, each with a paragraph written beneath. “What are these other things?”
“This book indexes the many mythological items that Mr. Archibald discovered during his travels and research. Some, unfortunately, he was unable to recover. Of those he did find, about three-quarters he hid inside his books, like the journey you and your friends experienced.”
Megan thought about the little room at the back of the library. Dozens and dozens of books were on those shelves, every one another magical trap waiting to be sprung.
Yeah, but he did that to protect those special whatevers. That’s not so bad.
Bailey went on. “It was, he decided, the best way to keep them safe. Even if someone did stumble upon their hiding place, they would have to face the challenges he set forth in the books to obtain what they sought. They would earn their prize.”
He reached for the blue cloth-covered book and flipped back the cover; Megan gasped and got ready to dive beneath the table. Nothing happened.
“The book is now harmless,” Bailey said. “Once the object is taken, the spell is broken. It is again just words on a page.”
The book seemed a little sad and lonely with its magic gone. Not that Megan was sorry for it or anything. It had caused enough trouble.
And probably cost me my friends too. There was still the nagging worry that after everything she had put them through, Rachel and the others wouldn’t want to stick around. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. She had thought before about just asking them if they planned on remaining her friends, but the time hadn’t seemed right. They were busy escaping from a book that wanted to kill them.
Bailey took both books, pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. He followed the cubby-hole wall to the back of the room.
Megan and Rachel looked at each other, got up and followed.
“What about the stories?” Rachel called after him. “The ones about Sir Gregory being murdered, and his ghost haunting the manor, searching for his killer?”
Bailey laughed. “Ah, yes. Stories I made up myself, to discourage the curious after Sir Gregory passed. A few well-told yarns spun in the local pub. Over the years they’ve become so overblown, as gossip tends to do. Better than I expected, actually.”
“Really?” Rachel’s eyebrows hung somewhere around her hair line. “Well done, then. But I still don’t understand. Just how did he manage to put solid objects inside a story? How did he write books that someone could literally get inside of?”
“He mentioned using magic in his diary.” Megan walked right up behind Bailey and stayed there.
“His diary, yes,” Bailey said o
ver his shoulder. “Yes. I am sorry that I took it from you, but, under the circumstances, I felt that I had no choice.”
“I knew it,” Megan said. “How did you know I found it?”
“Miranda discovered it while she was cleaning your room yesterday, and she told me. You really should lock your desk, miss.”
He must have seen the look on Megan’s face, because he quickly backtracked. “She wasn’t snooping in your things. She opened the drawer to put something away. You left it right on top, where she couldn’t help but see it.”
I’ll have to remember never to leave anything really important where someone could find it.
“To be honest,” Bailey said, “I had forgotten the diary even existed. I haven’t seen it for years. I assumed Sir Gregory put it in his safety deposit box at the bank, with his other effects.”
Megan stopped. “Miranda knows? Does she know about—” she waved a hand at the books, “—all this?”
Bailey nodded, but his pace did not slow. “All of the staff does, miss.”
“Of course,” Megan said. She ran to catch up to the butler. “That’s why Sir Gregory’s will stipulated that all of them remain, and the house never be sold.”
“Exactly. He needed someone he could trust to take care of it after he was gone. Mr. Baird, who was Sir Gregory’s best friend and executor of his will, also knew about it, but was sworn to secrecy, even from his own family. It is a sacred trust. Your father’s employer does not even know, even though he is bound by the terms of his grandfather’s will. There are few others who know, and that number is more than enough.”
Without explanation of this last, he took a sharp right down the aisle marked Oedipus—Oz. “As for how he got the items into the books; I just don’t know. I never was privy to the inner workings of The Art. Sir Gregory started his magical studies not long after he discovered the crown’s true purpose. It wasn’t long before he became a devout student of magic. He also loved to collect books.”
“We noticed,” Rachel said.
“He collected magical books and writings from all over the world. It became his passion. He searched for years, and it was in the secret da Vinci papers, I believe, that he finally found the description of The Art.”
“The Art,” Megan said. “I read that in the diary too. What is that?”
“It is, simply, the way to make enchanted books. The craft of writing magical stories. Sir Gregory spent many of his last years carefully shaping the stories in each of the artifact books.”
“He was really a magician too?” Megan said. She wasn’t being thick, just having a hard time wrapping her head around everything she had just learned. Even after having first-hand experience of it, she wasn’t sure she believed it.
Bailey waved a hand, as if he shooed away a fly. “Magicians perform tricks for children’s birthday parties. Sir Gregory Archibald was a sorcerer, one of the greatest of this century. He has woven spells and charms unlike any the world has seen for an age.”
“Too bad he didn’t have one to protect the door,” Rachel muttered. “We might just have gone back to bed instead of down here and sucked inside a book.”
“So that—experience—we just had? That was real magic? Not just some weird group hallucination?”
“Yes, miss. I know it’s difficult to understand, but in time you’ll come to accept it.”
What does he mean “in time”? Megan thought. I don’t want to “accept” anything, I just want to forget this ever happened and go back to my life!
They crossed the center aisle. Megan caught a glimpse of Claire and Harriet, still at the back of the room. They gave identical surprised looks as Megan, Rachel and the butler sped by.
“So all of these—” Megan indicated the books on the shelves, “—are his collection of ‘magical’ books or whatever? But we saw books that don’t have anything to do with magic.”
Bailey came to an abrupt stop, pulled a book off of a shelf and leafed through it. “Most are books of magic.” He ran a finger down the page. “Some are one-of-a-kind pieces of literature, like sonnets written in the Bard’s own hand, some are important but forgotten books, perhaps the last remaining copy in existence; some are writings no one ever knew existed, passed to Sir Gregory in secret, and some are translations of ancient writings. After all, a book is easier to store than a chunk of hieroglyphics or a stone tablet.”
“That’s true,” Rachel said. “Very practical.”
“They are more than a mere collection; they represent Sir Gregory’s life’s work.” Bailey closed the book with a snap, replaced it and took down another.
“What about the poem and key?” Megan crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn’t leaving this room until she had every last piece to this puzzle. “Did you know about them?”
Bailey knitted his brows and seemed to study her. “No, miss. Is that how you got inside the library?”
“Yeah.” Megan pulled the poem from her pocket and showed it to him. “They were with the diary, beneath the hearthstone in my room.”
His lips moved as he read it to himself. “That is most interesting. I have often wondered if Sir Gregory left some extra clue behind, something no one but he would know about.”
“Why would he do that?” Rachel said.
Bailey sighed. “The staff, and the…others…I mentioned are sworn never to tell another soul what we know. Once we are gone, the secret of the library will go with us.”
He handed the poem back to Megan, who folded it and carefully put it in her pocket. She suddenly felt as if she had entered a secret society; she was now one of the protectors of Sir Gregory’s secret.
“That hiding place must have been Sir Gregory’s failsafe,” Bailey said. His eyes got a faraway look. “In his last days, Sir Gregory wasn’t well. He would slide into a melancholy mood, and ramble on about his life and the library. He said that whoever found his key would be the one who was supposed to find it, someone who would protect it. I dismissed it as the ramblings of an old man. He said…so many things.”
He looked at Megan, his eyes misty. “You, my dear, are now the Librarian.”
“Huh?” Megan said. “I thought that was your job?”
He shook his head. “I am merely a custodian. You found the key, so you are now the Keeper of the Library of Athena. Fate, it seems, has deemed you will protect the books and the magical items they contain.”
“Awesome,” Rachel said, her eyes wide. “That sounds so cool. Megan, you could do it easy.”
“No way,” Megan said. “I’m just a kid. And I don’t know any magic.”
Bailey sighed. “Sir Gregory believed very strongly in fate. He believed it was his destiny to collect the items and build the library. Since you found the key, you were meant to. Same thing with your little adventure—it was your destiny to go into that book and retrieve the crown. That’s what he would have said. If it wasn’t meant to be, something would have stopped you.”
Megan ignored the implications of that last statement. “Not to be rude or anything, but you didn’t go through what we did. It was horrible. I just want to lock the door to this place and forget it exists. I’m gonna pass on the whole Librarian thing. Besides, I found the diary and other stuff by accident. I fell on the loose stone.”
Bailey looked directly at her, his gaze steady. “Was it? Why did you have that room in the first place? It was a completely random choice, I assure you. I could have just as easily put your father in there, but I thought you’d like the color and the view.”
He flapped a hand at the girls. “It’s all much too existential for me. I can’t say that I believe in fate, not like Sir Gregory did. But there is a certain, oh, romanticism, about it, isn’t there?”
“Yeah, real romantic,” Megan said. “I had to chop off someone’s head. Like I said, I pass.”
Bailey smiled. “You can take comfort in knowing that it was only within the pages of a story. If you were able to travel inside the book again you would find the Gorgon�
�s head fully restored. Here, see for yourself.” He opened the storybook and flipped through the pages. He turned the book toward Megan and she read. Medusa, on this page at least, was alive and well and turning innocent people to stone.
“Weird. But cool.” Megan felt an overwhelming sense of relief. She wasn’t a killer.
Bailey closed the book again and took another one down from the shelf and opened it. His lips moved as he read. He put it back on the shelf and looked at his feet, deep in thought.
“Come, and bring the crown. Can’t leave that lying about.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Megan said. “I said I’m out. I can’t be the Librarian.”
The butler said nothing, only led the girls to the end of the shelves and stopped in front of the wall on the other end of the room. This wall was also floor-to-ceiling cubby-holes, except for a small section of wall that was empty except for an owl carved in the center. Bailey touched the owl’s head and muttered some Latin-sounding word Megan didn’t understand. The stones sprung to life and rearranged themselves into a neat arched doorway, exactly like the one to the room where the magic books were kept.
Megan’s jaw fell open. “Whoa. How did you do that?”
Bailey gave a thin smile. “A simple spell. One of only two Sir Gregory taught me. I haven’t used it in so long I had nearly forgotten it. My, it must be dirty in there. Now, come inside.”
Megan and Rachel followed him into a small dark room. Bailey pulled a long match from a container beside the door and lit a branch of candles and three torches.
“What is this room?” Megan asked. It was like the room with the enchanted books, but wider. Dusty floor-to-ceiling shelves stood along the left-hand wall. Bailey stopped in front of them and looked closely at the small placards set on each.
Only a few of the shelves were occupied. Rachel reached into one and pulled down a sword with a brightly jeweled handle.
She swung it carefully. “This is nice. Very pretty.”
“Excalibur,” Bailey said.
“Excuse me?” Rachel stopped in mid-swing.
LA01. The Crown of Zeus Page 20