A Week without Tuesday

by Angelica Banks

  ‘Tuesday’s too young to have to take on all that,’ Blake said.

  ‘My point exactly,’ said Silver.

  ‘Do you know how young I was?’ said the Librarian mildly. ‘The Gardener was a writer, like both of you. I watched him come and go. He was older than me, but only by a few years. In fact, sometimes you remind me of him, Blake. Of course, he wasn’t nearly so famous as you think you are, but he had ambition. And he loved it here. He came more and more often. There was a time of chaos, much like this, with the passing of the previous Gardener. Garnet took over. He sacrificed his writing career so that all of this is here for all of you. Such a long time has passed, and now he is gone. We wrote to each other, of course. His dog carried our letters, and I sent him books. Sometimes, he would send me a plant. But we could never … and we will never … oh, what have I done to that girl?’

  She stopped and stared again at the broken balcony.

  ‘Blake Luckhurst, did you bring a white horse?’ she asked, in a much more familiar imperious tone.

  Blake looked out the window and grimaced. ‘Yes, Madame Librarian,’ he said proudly.

  ‘That’s a fine horse,’ said Silver Nightly.

  ‘Perhaps, but of absolutely no use to you,’ said the Librarian.

  ‘Use for what?’ asked Silver.

  ‘For reaching Tuesday,’ said the Librarian.

  ‘You mean, there is a way?’

  ‘There may be. How are you both with heights?’

  ‘Heights?’ asked Blake.

  The Librarian moved to the edge of her rug and began to roll it up. Silver and Blake rushed to help her pull it back to reveal polished floorboards and a trapdoor. The Librarian indicated the handle and Blake heaved the door open. Beneath them was nothing but a dark sky, swirling with worlds of every colour and design.

  ‘Where is she, exactly, in all of that?’ Blake asked.

  ‘Right at the very bottom, naturally,’ the Librarian said.

  ‘And how do you propose that we get there?’ Silver asked.

  ‘Blake, go into the book room and bring my platform. You remember the one?’ the Librarian asked.

  ‘How could I ever forget?’ Blake replied, remembering the day the Librarian had first shown him the Library, zooming up and down aisles and taking corners at hair-raising speeds. He had been intimidated by her ever since.

  ‘Not that dang flying thing,’ Silver said.

  The Librarian smiled for the first time that day.

  ‘So we are going to rescue Tuesday?’ Silver asked her, as Blake disappeared momentarily.

  ‘We are simply going to visit,’ said the Librarian.

  When Blake returned, he was dragging the platform behind him.

  ‘Mind the floorboards, Blake!’ said the Librarian. ‘I forgot. It takes a special touch to make it glide.’

  In a moment the Librarian had locked her office door and the three of them were on the platform hovering above the open trapdoor.

  ‘I’m not sure I’m going to like this,’ said Blake, forgetting for a moment to be heroic. And then they dropped into darkness between millions of floating worlds.

  Chapter Twenty–six

  Tuesday sat at the workbench, wearing the Gardener’s glasses – no, she kept reminding herself, they were her glasses. For quite a while, she had been working away with her tiny secateurs, carefully pruning the outermost branches of a tree that took up almost all of an entire world. The tree was occupied not only by squirrels and birds, but also by some folk who lived in little circular houses within its trunk. Up at the top of the tree trunk, leaning out of a window – frozen in time – was a red-cheeked woman in a dirty headscarf. She had a bucket of sudsy water in her arms.

  ‘I see,’ Tuesday said, and then hunted around on the bench until she found a miniscule umbrella of the sort you sometimes get in expensive drinks, but even smaller still. Then, with the help of a pair of tweezers, she unfolded it and put it into the hand of a girl standing directly underneath the window.

  ‘There you go,’ she said, satisfied.

  Through her magnifying glasses, Tuesday gave the world of the tree and the girl and the umbrella a final once-over. As she was about to allow the world to be closed and returned, Baxterr trotted out to the middle of the Conservatory and pricked up his ears. He tilted his head from side to side, watching as three people crammed together on a silver platform zigzagged down through the sky.

  ‘Ruff,’ he said to Tuesday, and he said it in the tone of bark that he used when someone was about to ring the doorbell at Brown Street.

  Tuesday swung around on her stool, and there, descending to her floor on a platform she recognised – looking positively enormous through the lenses of her microscope spectacles – was a tall young man in an inside-out T-shirt. Was she seeing things? She whipped off the glasses. No, he really was there.

  ‘Blake!’ she said.

  ‘Hey, Tuesday,’ he said, jumping down as the platform came to a halt. She might have hugged him, had he not been accompanied by two other people whose presence was entirely unexpected.

  ‘Silver Nightly? Madame Librarian? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Some people,’ said the Librarian, ‘are under the rather old-fashioned impression that you are in need of rescuing, Tuesday McGillycuddy. Is it true? Are you incapable of doing this job that you have taken on? Is Baxterr?’

  ‘No, Madame Librarian,’ said Tuesday, in a very poised manner. ‘Quite the reverse. I have been catching up on the backlog and we’ll soon be up to date.’

  The Librarian swept up the Gardener’s glasses and slid them onto her face. My glasses, thought Tuesday, feeling a little annoyed. She watched as the Librarian peered into the world Tuesday had just completed.

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Tweezers, please.’

  And Tuesday, despite herself, handed over the tiny pair of tweezers and watched as the Librarian reached in and plucked the umbrella out of the girl’s hands.

  ‘I can’t help it. I laugh myself silly every single time she gets a drenching. We mustn’t interfere. Only assist,’ the Librarian said, setting the umbrella back down on the bench, and removing the glasses.

  ‘You see, Silver? Blake? Tuesday is doing a remarkable job,’ the Librarian said.

  ‘And you, Tuesday? Are you sure this is what you want?’ Silver asked. He was taking in all the instruments and books, the tools and tubes. He hadn’t said a single word as they had descended through all the worlds, so startled had he been to realise what writers had been creating for so long.

  ‘Well …’ Tuesday began. ‘It is pretty amazing.’

  Silver nodded.

  ‘Quite a place you’ve got down here. Don’t suppose you’d care to show me around?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Tuesday. ‘You see, over here, this is where the worlds come in for routine—’

  ‘Woah,’ said Blake. ‘Tuesday, are you nuts? You cannot seriously be planning on staying here for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Oh, Blake, it’s not just here! Baxterr and I can travel to any world we want. And the worlds are amazing. Every one of them. Look at them! I mean, in any day we can travel into the world of any book, meet the characters, be part of their adventures, eat food with them, feel snow or go swimming. I mean, think of all the places we can go!’

  ‘Except home,’ said Blake.

  ‘Home?’ said Tuesday. She frowned. ‘This is my home, Blake.’

  ‘No, Tuesday. It’s not,’ said Blake. ‘You have a home at Brown Street. I’ve seen it. You’ve got a mother and a father who need you to come home.’

  ‘You’ve been to Brown Street? You met my parents?’

  ‘Yes, Tuesday, and I know exactly who your mum is.’

  ‘Then you understand. If I’m not here, doing this, my mother won’t be able to write anymore,’ said Tuesday. ‘You and Silver and all the other writers, your worlds will collapse and die.’

  ‘You see, Blake, Tuesday understands perfectly what her duty is,’ said the Li
brarian serenely.

  ‘Come, Silver,’ Tuesday said, picking up the boathook. ‘Let me show you how to catch a world.’

  ‘Tuesday,’ said Blake, ‘I know this is going to be hard to hear, but you really have to come home. Your dad, he’s terribly ill. He’s in a coma.’

  Tuesday turned and stared at Blake, and it was as if a mask dropped from her face. Suddenly she looked younger.

  ‘What did you say?’ she asked.

  ‘Your father, he collapsed. He’s in hospital.’

  ‘Well, he’s clearly being well cared for,’ said the Librarian.

  ‘No, Madame Librarian, that is not the point,’ said Blake. ‘He’s incredibly ill. Tuesday has to get back to him.’

  ‘Dad?’ Tuesday asked. She felt bewildered. ‘My dad is ill? He needs me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Blake. ‘And so does your mum. Do you really think if your mother had to choose between writing and you, she’d choose writing?’

  Tuesday was trying to clear her head, but it was still full of worlds and planets. Her heart was beating too fast and every beat was hammering out one word. Dad. Dad. Dad.

  ‘Silver, tell her,’ said Blake. ‘Would you want a girl to give up her life so you could be a writer? Would any of us want that?’

  ‘The boy makes an excellent point, Tuesday,’ said Silver Nightly. ‘It’s not that you won’t do a fine job. A fine job indeed. But this is a job for someone who’s lived all their adventures. Who’s made all their choices. I’m imagining these Gardeners, like Librarians, are pretty long-lived, eh Madame L?’

  ‘That is correct, Silver Nightly,’ said the Librarian, and to Tuesday’s surprise she sat down on the couch where the Gardener had so recently evaporated into golden dust. She ran her hand over the fabric and sighed. ‘We live a very long time.’

  ‘But I am just getting things back to normal,’ said Tuesday softly. She sat down on the couch beside the Librarian. ‘I promised Garnet. I didn’t know … I … it overtook me. Something about being here … it made me forget so much. I can’t leave.’

  ‘Unless we find another Gardener,’ said Silver.

  ‘Well, it’s not easy,’ said Tuesday. ‘I mean, you have to use the boathook. And then there’s maintenance. And all the repair work. And you have to have the right dog … and it’s not … I mean, it’s a wonderful job. There are so many worlds to visit and so many adventures to be had. But my dad. What about my dad?’

  ‘Well, why don’t I continue?’ suggested Silver Nightly.

  ‘You mean while I go home and explain everything?’ said Tuesday.

  ‘Oh, I was thinking a little longer-term than that,’ said Silver, rubbing his chin. ‘I mean while you’re busy growing up and doing all that your young life has ahead of it.’

  ‘You mean, you would … become the Gardener?’ asked Tuesday.

  ‘I think this might be the best job there is for an old boy like me,’ Silver Nightly said with a grin.

  Blake and Tuesday stared at him and the Librarian raised her head and smiled.

  ‘Ah, there it is,’ she said. They all stared at her. ‘You see, sometimes the way is not clear. And then, suddenly, it is! Silver Nightly, that is an excellent solution. Tuesday can go home and be whatever Tuesday McGillycuddy had in mind before all this came along. And you, Silver, can stay right here.’

  ‘Silver, what about your family?’ said Tuesday.

  ‘Since my wife died, there’s been only me. And my books. Well, there’d be no shortage of reading here, of a slightly different kind, I’ll warrant. But look at all that,’ he said, gazing into the worlds above him. ‘Look at all that!’

  Blake sighed. ‘Well, that was unexpected.’

  ‘As will be the necessity of giving up Baxterr,’ said the Librarian to Tuesday.

  ‘Giving up Baxterr?’ Tuesday frowned.

  ‘Well, of course,’ said the Librarian. ‘Silver will be needing a dog.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Silver.

  ‘You can’t,’ said Tuesday. ‘No. No. I can’t!’

  ‘That’s the choice, Tuesday,’ said the Librarian. ‘Go home, by all means, to your mother and father. Your dog, however, will be required here.’

  Baxterr erupted in a fierce outburst of barking.

  When at last he finished, Blake said, ‘Quite a speech, Baxterr. I agree entirely.’

  ‘Well, then,’ said the Librarian, ‘there can be no exchange. The Gardener must have a familiar. A creature to travel between worlds. The best are always the dogs. Dragons are so moody.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Tuesday. ‘I had better find their world. Garnet told me he hid it. Did he tell you about it?’

  ‘The world of the dogs?’ The Librarian was amused. ‘No, I do not know. Don’t look at me like that, young lady. I’ve not the first clue where he might have put it. I much prefer cats.’

  ‘There’s a world?’ asked Silver Nightly, peering into the swirl of colour and movement above them as if he might spot a Winged Dog at any moment.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tuesday. ‘If we can find it, we can get you a dog of your own.’

  ‘Knowing Garnet, that world is bound to be in a very obscure place indeed,’ said the Librarian. ‘Personally, I think the Baxterr option is quick and simple. Is no one up to the hard decisions, anymore? Whatever happened to sacrifice?’

  ‘It went out with quills and ink, Madame Librarian,’ said Blake.

  ‘And the classics, I fear,’ added the Librarian drily.

  So Tuesday, Silver, Blake and Baxterr searched the sky for the world of dogs. The Librarian, meanwhile, retired to the primrose yellow couch and chose a book from the pile on the small table beside it. From time to time she coughed meaningfully, as if she thought her companions were wasting their time.

  ‘Exactly what is it we’re after?’ Silver asked, his head thrown back.

  ‘A world,’ Tuesday said. ‘But I haven’t got any more clues than you.’

  ‘Hurrrrrr,’ said Baxterr, tilting his head from side to side.

  ‘Surely, if he hid it, it wouldn’t look anything like we expect,’ Blake said, gazing at pearlescent worlds and silver worlds, worlds that were tangerine and worlds that were fluorescent green. Some were like soap bubbles and others like steel. Some glowed brightly and others were darker than the sky itself. There were worlds that were round and worlds that were any shape but round.

  Tuesday thought of Mr Tumnus’s world in a cupboard. Perhaps the world of dogs would be like a tennis ball? Or a bone? She searched for a long time before she turned away from the sky.

  Blake had decided it was easiest to study the sky while lying on the rug. And Silver had taken to one of the wheeled chairs from the workbench and was leaning back on it, world-gazing as if he might never tire of it. As for the Librarian, she had fallen asleep on the couch with a book open upon her chest.

  Tuesday rubbed her sore neck and thought back over the time she had spent with Garnet and tried to remember every last thing he had said to her about the world of dogs. She thought and thought, and she then remembered one thing he had said, though not to her. To Baxterr.

  ‘Doggo,’ she called, and Baxterr trotted over and sat in front of her.

  ‘Ruff?’ he said.

  ‘Do you remember what Garnet said: “Friends are never so very far away. Not if one uses one’s nose …” And how he said to you specifically: “Baxterr, remember the nose.” ’

  ‘Hurrrrrr,’ said Baxterr thoughtfully. He began to sniff in the particularly determined way that dogs sometimes do. He sniffed first at the sky, but then, not finding anything of interest to him there, began to nose around the Conservatory itself. He ran his wet, black nose along the floor beneath the workbench, and all around the table where the Gardener took meals. Catching an interesting scent of something rather like goat, he shook his head disbelievingly.

  Over by the yellow couch, he smelled something very interesting. He gave a strange whine before redoubling his sniffing efforts until his nose was drawn to the table besid
e the couch. Upon this table was a pile of books, and a porcelain teacup with a saucer resting on top of it.

  ‘Ruff,’ said Baxterr, very sharply and clearly.

  ‘What is it, doggo?’ Tuesday whispered.

  ‘Ruff.’

  Slowly and carefully, Tuesday lifted the saucer away from the teacup. No sooner had she done so, than she hurriedly let it drop back into place. Whatever was inside the teacup began to flutter and buzz. But Tuesday had seen enough of it to realise that it was not a large moth, or a bumble bee. It was, when she peeped under the saucer again and saw it quivering, a tiny round world with two beautiful furry golden wings on its sides.

  Tuesday grinned at Baxterr, and Baxterr grinned at Tuesday.

  ‘Hey, Silver,’ Tuesday called. ‘Are you ready to catch a world?’

  Silver Nightly jumped up from the chair. ‘The secret to success is to be ready when opportunity comes.’

  Tuesday blinked and smiled. ‘Hello, new Gardener,’ she said as she held the boathook out to him.

  ‘Well, ain’t this something?’ he breathed, gazing at it with a serious and slightly dazzled expression.

  ‘You’re absolutely sure you want this?’ she asked. ‘Because once you take it from me, it’ll be yours. Forever.’

  ‘If you look closely,’ said Silver with a wink, ‘you’ll find that there boathook already has my name on it.’

  There was the briefest moment in which Tuesday didn’t want to let go. Being the Gardener had been the most extraordinary adventure. But she knew what she must do.

  As Silver took hold of the boathook, and her hand fell away, Tuesday saw him fill with pride. Tuesday stepped backwards, swaying a little. She felt exactly the way she did after getting off a fast ride at a carnival – a little sad that it was over, but mostly relieved to be back on solid ground.

  ‘The world we’re looking for is over here,’ Tuesday said, leading Silver to the couch, where the Librarian lay, murmuring softly in her sleep.

  ‘Where?’ asked Silver, puzzled.

  ‘Get ready, Mr Gardener,’ Tuesday said. ‘It’s in this teacup and it’s going to fly fast.’