Lewis made a humphing noise. “Let me go first. He knows me.”
Slowly he pushed open the door. The room beyond was surprisingly small after the great hall downstairs and the grand gallery that led here, but it was just as impressive in its own way. Fires burned in braziers along the walls, their light reflecting on the surface of a glass sphere that almost filled the room..
It was a huge crystal globe about five metres across, set upon a square base of black obsidian. Inside it clouds of sparkling mist swirled about restlessly.
“What do we do now?” Greg asked, once the door was securely closed behind them.
“Get closer, I suppose.”
As they approached, the mists cleared to reveal a slight, stoop-shouldered figure sitting on an ornate wooden chair in the middle of the sphere. It was Mr Calvert, the head librarian. He was still recognisable, even though he had sprouted a long, white beard and wore a tall pointed hat on his bald head. He had a packet of digestive biscuits in his lap and was nibbling at them with his large, rabbit-like teeth. When he noticed the visitors, he guiltily set the biscuits aside and stood up, adjusting his rimless spectacles as he did so.
He peered through the glass, his brow furrowing as he strained to identify the boys.
“Ah, Lewis!” he said. Lewis was relieved to hear the welcome in his voice.
The head librarian hastily brushed some crumbs from the front of his robe and drew himself up with dignity.
“Do you come in search of knowledge?” he asked grandly.
“Yes, definitely,” Lewis answered.
Mr Calvert tutted as if someone had just returned a book with one of the pages folded down. “No, no, no. You are supposed to say, ‘I come to drink deep of your wisdom.’”
“Oh, right. I come to drink deep of your wisdom.” When he saw that Mr Calvert hadn’t reacted, he added, “Is there anything else?”
Mr Calvert started as though he had been shaken out of a reverie. “Oh, sorry. No, that’s fine. My mind wandered for a moment. That’s the trouble with being the Fount Of All Knowledge. You find your thoughts straying to matters that aren’t strictly relevant to the present situation.”
“That’s going to be a big help,” Greg commented under his breath.
Mr Calvert peered at him over the top of his spectacles as though he had only just noticed him. “This must be your brother Gregory. He is exactly as described.”
“What does he mean ‘as described’?” Greg demanded. “What have you been saying about me?”
“Never mind that now,” said Lewis. “Mr Calvert, we have some important questions. It’s about this book.”
He displayed The Folklore of Time.
Mr Calvert glanced at it without recognition. “Has it been improperly filed?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. There’s this rhyme inside, the Lokiday rhyme. We recited it last night and today everything is different.”
“Different from what?”
“Different from the way it’s supposed to be. Some sort of magic spell has changed everything. You didn’t used to be sitting inside a crystal ball like this.”
Mr Calvert quirked an intrigued eyebrow. “Really? Where did I sit?”
“Behind a desk,” Lewis replied. “Don’t you remember?”
“As I told you,” Mr Calvert said, spreading his hands before him, “I have an awful lot stored in my head. It might be in there somewhere.”
“Well, you’ve changed,” Lewis continued. “Miss Perkins has turned into some kind of priestess; the library’s become a temple. Yesterday it was nothing like this.”
Mr Calvert was nodding.
“You look like you believe it all,” Greg told the librarian.
“Why should he lie?” Mr Calvert responded matter-of-factly.
Greg shrugged. “I just didn’t think it would be that easy.”
Mr Calvert settled himself back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Now start from the beginning and tell me everything,” he said.
9. NO JOY IN THE KITCHEN
Lewis told the whole story of the book, the rhyme and everything they had been through that day, including the magic mirror and their flight from the Valkyries. He was just coming to his insight in the boathouse when he noticed that Mr Calvert had a faraway look in his eyes as though he weren’t paying any attention.
“Mr Calvert!” he said loudly.
Mr Calvert looked at him owlishly. “Sorry. I was just recalling an amusing anecdote from Herodotus. Something to do with a hippo. Anyway, back to your problem. I suppose the first thing you need to know is why all this is happening.”
“Yes,” the brothers agreed at once. They both looked expectantly at Mr Calvert.
“Well, I don’t know!” he exclaimed. “You have to work it out. You know what I’ve always told you, Lewis. Read first, then think, then conclude. Wisdom lies in the use of knowledge, not in its accumulation. Now, haven’t you been researching matters of time for your school project?”
“You remember that?”
“You told me it a few minutes ago when you were explaining about the book. I’m not totally befuddled, you know. Now what have you learned about the days of the week and how they are named?”
“Well, Saturday is named after the Roman god Saturn, and Sunday and Monday are named after the sun and the moon.”
“And the others?” Mr Calvert prompted.
“They’re named after Norse gods. Let’s see… Tyr, Odin, Thor and Freya.”
“Yes, that’s four.” Mr Calvert nodded.
“The Vikings had five days,” Greg interjected. “It’s in the book.”
“Five days,” Lewis mused. “But we only use four of them.”
“So what happened to the fifth day?” said Mr Calvert, raising his eyebrows.
“This is it!” exclaimed Lewis. “Lokiday. Loki’s day.”
“Who’s Loki?” Greg asked.
“He was the Viking god of mischief, magic, that kind of stuff,” Lewis explained.
“And does that fit in with what you’ve been seeing around you?” Mr Calvert asked.
Lewis pondered. “Yes, I suppose it does. But there’s something else going on too.”
“What exactly?”
“Time has stopped, Mr Calvert.”
“So this day’s going to last forever,” Greg added.
“Hmm,” Mr Calvert mused without any sign of concern. “It looks like I’ll finally have time to catalogue those periodicals on the second floor.”
The boys watched him cogitating, then Lewis finally said, “Mr Calvert!”
Mr Calvert looked up. “I hadn’t drifted off that time,” he informed them stiffly. “I was giving the matter a great deal of thought. A spell powerful enough to bring time to a halt must be potent indeed. If you knew anything about celestial mechanics you’d appreciate that. There is only one place where such a spell could have been found.”
He paused dramatically.
“Are you going to share that with us?” Greg asked.
“Only The Great Unholy Book contains magic of such potency,” Mr Calvert intoned darkly. He reached absentmindedly for a biscuit, as though seeking comfort in the face of such horror. “It is the unspoken tome, the monstrous grimoire, a book of dark horrors that strikes fear into the heart and blights the lives of the innocent.”
He bit into the biscuit and chewed on it ferociously. As he did so a glazed look came over his eyes. Greg was about to say something but Lewis hushed him up. “He may be coming up with an important thought,” he whispered.
Finally Mr Calvert came out of his daze and stared at them without recognition. Then he shook his head.
“Sorry, boys. What were we talking about? The wedding customs of the Chaldeans, wasn’t it?”
“The Great Unholy Book, Mr Calvert,” Lewis reminded him. “The monstrous grimoire.”
“Ah yes. Only a spell from that book could stop time in its tracks. If you are to counter this pernicious magic, you
must find the book and undo the spell.”
“So where is the book?” Lewis asked.
Mr Calvert arched his eyebrows. “I haven’t the least idea. But from what you say, it has been raised from its slumber by the Lokiday spell, right here in town.”
“Well, then who’s using it to stop time?”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you there, either, Lewis, but maybe if you think about it…”
All at once Greg clutched his forehead and groaned.
“What is it?” Lewis asked. “Are you getting a headache?”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he asked. “You’re the one who said we made a lot of this stuff the way it is. You know, Mum, Lindsay, Mr Calvert.”
Lewis nodded and made his humming noise, unsure of just where this was going.
“So,” Greg continued, “this horrible book that messes everything up…”
“Is Aunt Viven’s cookbook!” Lewis finished for him, his jaw dropping at the revelation. “It has to be!”
He turned to Mr Calvert to look for confirmation. “Is that right?” he asked.
Mr Calvert was munching on another biscuit and staring upward. “Is what right?” he responded vaguely.
“Never mind him,” said Greg. “We’ve found out what we need to know. Let’s get out of here.”
Lewis waved a farewell to Mr Calvert as they left, but the librarian was tapping a half-eaten biscuit against the end of his nose, completely lost in his own thoughts.
On the way down the stairs Lewis hurried to keep up with his brother who was taking them two at a time. “Where are we going?”
“Where do you think?” Greg retorted. “We’re going home to get the book. We’ll reverse the spell, start time up again, then hide out until the day’s over.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“One of us has to have a plan. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be up there yacking with that weirdo in the goldfish bowl.”
They exited the library under the mistrustful eye of Miss Perkins and her unpleasant bird. As they crossed South Street, Greg rubbed his stomach.
“I don’t know about you, but I could murder a mealie pudding.”
“A good idea,” Lewis agreed. “There must be some place around here where the food’s edible.”
They headed down Bridge Street to Moby Rick’s fish and chip shop. It had changed quite a bit. For one thing, Rick was now a one-eyed pirate with a fruitbat perched on his shoulder. The food on offer consisted mostly of lizard, snake and blowfish, which the boys declined in favour of some innocuous looking cheese between slices of crusty bread.
It took all the coins they had in their pockets to pay for the snack, and Rick bit down on each one to make sure it was genuine. He threw in a flask of apple juice and invited the lads to join him on a planned pirate raid against Pittenweem. Refusing politely, the boys backed out of the shop and sat down on a wooden bench to eat.
Once the meal was over Greg stood up and stretched himself. “Now I’m ready for anything!” he declared.
Lewis got up and brushed off the crumbs, wishing he shared his brother’s confidence.
They approached the house cautiously, skulking at the corner until they were sure nobody was lying in wait for them.
“Do you think Aunt Vivien will be there?” Lewis asked.
“Could be,” Greg said. “Best be prepared for the worst. Here’s the plan. We walk in through the front door, we stroll into the kitchen and we get the book. Any questions?”
“That’s it? You call that a plan?”
“What do you expect? Mission Impossible? It’s our house. We live there. Just act normal and everything will be fine.”
They walked casually up the street. Greg even put his hands in his pockets and started whistling. Lewis glanced around nervously, sure that the discordant noise would attract attention, but nobody came to their window.
They slowed down as a rickety wagon pulled by four frothing horses came careering up the street. It was manned by half a dozen goblins, each with a hand clamped on top of his head to stop his helmet falling off. A wolf was sitting up front with the driver, howling for all he was worth. In the back of the wagon were a couple of ladders and a huge wooden vat that was sloshing water in all directions as the vehicle veered from side to side across the road.
Lewis turned as it went by and saw that it was headed towards a plume of smoke somewhere in the region of the town hall.
“That was the fire brigade,” Greg said in an amused voice.
“I’m surprised there aren’t more fires,” Lewis said. “You’ve seen what the school is like. It’s only a matter of time before the whole town goes to pieces.”
“We’ll make sure it doesn’t,” Greg stated with iron determination.
Lewis didn’t draw much strength from this. He could tell that Greg was just slipping into the role of a hero he’d seen in some film, and that this tough, in control attitude had nothing to do with any understanding of their situation or his ability to get them out of it.
They ignored the unholy howls of the Larkins’ dog and the sound of it bashing against the fence as they walked up to their front door. The dinosaur that used to be Aunt Vivien’s car was still sound asleep in the driveway.
Lewis put a hand on his brother’s arm and said, “Maybe we should give this a bit more thought.”
Greg answered with a smile of carefree self-assurance that made him feel even worse.
They entered the house, alert for whatever might be lurking inside. Walking up the hall, they could hear Mum tidying the bedrooms upstairs. She was singing her favourite Beatles’ song “Yesterday” without any idea of how appropriate it was. The sound of her voice was so normal that it provided Lewis with a little comfort until he remembered that Mum was now seven feet tall and had a green tail.
They moved quietly through the front room and into the kitchen, where they were engulfed in a noxious cloud of greasy smoke. Overcoming the fumes, Greg pitched himself over the sink and flung open the window.
“What is Mum cooking?” Lewis choked, burying his nose in his sleeve.
There was a big fire set in an alcove in the wall roughly where the microwave used to sit. A huge, black pot hung over it and something bubbled frantically inside. They approached the pot as if it might explode and risked a look. The thick liquid inside was bright orange, and strange, multicoloured shapes floated in it.
“I’m glad we ate before we got here,” Greg said weakly.
“The cookbook,” Lewis said. “Where is it?”
They started searching the room. Although all of the kitchen fixtures had been transformed into archaic equivalents, the layout was the same, and it didn’t take them long to make the depressing discovery that Aunt Vivien’s cookbook wasn’t here.
“Do you have a plan B?” Lewis asked.
Greg picked up a rolling pin as big as his arm. “This is no time for jokes.”
Before he could say another word the door banged open and Mum, all thirty stone of her, lurched into the room.
“Hello, boys,” she greeted them cheerily. “Home for lunch?”
“No!” they chorused, their voices shaking.
Mum looked taken aback by their reluctance and not very pleased.
“We already ate,” Greg explained.
“A lot,” Lewis added, rubbing his belly and making an uncomfortable face for emphasis.
Mum dipped a spoon in the pot and took a sip. The boys could hardly bear to look.
“It’s your loss,” she told them reproachfully. “It’s as fine a batch of salamander stew as I’ve ever made. It will probably last us for weeks.”
Lewis fought to keep a pained expression from his face.
“It isn’t one of Aunt Vivien’s recipes, is it?”
“Good gracious, no! I wouldn’t feed you any of those. I wouldn’t want you to turn into scorpions or something.”
“So what’s happened to her cookbook?”
Mum looked
puzzled. “You mean her spellbook?”
“That’s what he means, Mum, the spellbook,” said Greg. “He’s just kidding.” He forced a laugh and punched Lewis playfully on the arm.
Mum shrugged her brawny shoulders. “Vivien must have taken it with her.”
“Taken it where, Mum?”
“She left with a gentleman friend,” Mum said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. “They were going for a drive down by the beach.”
“Who was he?” Greg asked. He only just resisted adding, “And did he have a guide dog?”
“Mr Key I think he said his name was.”
Lewis felt a shock shoot through him. “Lucas Oberon Key?”
“Oh, you know him,” Mum said brightly. “That’s nice.”
“Do you know him?” asked Greg.
“He’s the one that wrote the book, The Folklore of Time,” Lewis said excitedly.
Greg looked confused. “What would he be doing here? And why would he take Aunt Vivien out on a date? Why would anybody take Aunt Vivien out on a date?”
“That carriage we saw outside this morning… that must have been his,” Lewis said.
Greg made a disgusted face. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t good news?”
10. TIRED OF THE VALKYRIE
Mum dragged a wooden tub out from under one of the counters and stuffed the laundry into it. She then filled a bucket from a hand pump and tipped it into the tub. She was singing “Hey Jude”.
“Mum, do you know where this Mr Key lives?” Lewis interrupted her.
Mum paused in her work and her brutish features took on a thoughtful expression that didn’t look very at home there. “In the castle, down by the harbour.”
“St Andrews Castle?” said Greg. “But that’s a ruin.”
“I don’t think it’s a ruin any more,” said Lewis.
“Vivien was quite impressed,” Mum said airily. “Pass me the soap, please, Greg.”
Greg looked about and saw a wooden cup filled with white flakes. He handed these to Mum and she dumped them into the tub.
“What do you think?” he asked Lewis.
“It looks like we’re going to the castle,” Lewis answered.
The Day the World Went Loki Page 7