‘This bed’s proper big!’ said Niclas. ‘Bet there’s room for a whole family under them fancy covers. And this,’ he paused to stroke the quilt, ‘I’ve never felt a finer feel.’
‘It’ll do,’ said Balthazar. He had felt finer.
Niclas crawled onto the bed and bounced up and down a few times to rate its comfort.
‘I’ve bin sleeping on the floor for all me years, I never knew such beds existed.’
‘May I suggest bathing before you get too comfortable. As nice as that quilt may be, it is not a towel.’
‘Crikey, me own water closet ’n’ all!’
Niclas jumped up and headed for the bathroom.
Something stopped him. Above the dresser he saw a boy with scruffy, mousy brown hair and a face full of coal. He reached out and stroked the reflection, smearing soot on the glass.
‘Everything alright?’ asked Balthazar.
‘Yeah,’ said Niclas, ruefully. It was as though he’d never seen himself before.
He had certainly not had a bath before. Not one like this anyway. Once the taps were sussed, he stepped into the tub and sank up to his chin. At first he clung to the sides in case he sank below the waterline. He had always been uneasy around large amounts of water. But he soon let go, and, doing so, found it to be the most tranquil experience of his life to date.
The calm was short lived. He made beards of bubbles, practised his swordplay with the scrubber and splashed and splashed – the way any boy does in his first bath.
The room came with nightwear. Pink satin shirts with the initials “Q.G” sewn into the breast pocket. It wasn’t exactly Niclas’ colour, but he wasn’t choosey.
He sat on the bed, buttoning it up and admiring his clean fingernails. Who knew? They were actually pink underneath. When he turned his hands over, he frowned. The ends of his fingers had shrivelled up like raisins.
‘You were in the bath too long, that’s what happens,’ said Balthazar, jumping up on the bed beside him.
‘Why?’
‘Science.’
‘Oh,’ said Niclas.
‘You know science?’
‘Can’t say I knows ’im well, sir – I can call you sir can’t I?’
‘You can call me whatever you wish, providing you pronounce it correctly.’
Niclas grabbed his stomach and winced.
‘Hungry?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘When did you last eat?’
‘Can’t remember, sir,’
‘We’ll have you fed, clothed and groomed.’
‘Groomed, sir?’
‘Looking the part.’
‘Part, sir?’ Niclas had gotten so caught up in the comfort of the Queen’s Garter that his promise to the talking cat had completely slipped his mind. Until now.
‘If you’re going to be working for me, you must look decent. The guttersnipe trends won’t get you far in this city.’
‘O, maybe they ’av’ a laundry place ’ere.’ Niclas looked over at his previous rags on the floor of the bathroom.
‘No, no. Forget those. We’ll get you new garments. Garments suited to a squire.’
Niclas was a bit too excited by this. So excited, he laughed.
‘I’m gonna be the best lookin’ guttersnipe norf o’ the river.’
‘Yes.’
‘So. Wot’s I gots to do?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Wot’s will I be doin’ workin’ for you, sir?’
‘You can start by pouring me some water.’
‘Righto, sir.’ Niclas reached for the jug on the bedside table and poured a glass. A pretty easy task to begin with, yet not completed without spilling a drop.
‘I will need you to run errands for me about town. There are certain things I am incapable of doing. Certain places I cannot go.’ The cat lapped at the rim of the glass.
‘Like wot, sir?’
‘Have you been to the Scholar Quarter?’
‘Can’t say I ’av’, sir. Didn’t get out much before, sir.’
‘It’s where all the educated members of society hang out. The Philosophers’ Guild, the Academy, the City Library. Very quiet place, not like around here. It’s the sort of place a man can sit on a bench and read a book all day without once being asked for loose change.’
‘Is there uh… much readin’ involved, sir?’
‘No. But I will need you to visit the library for me, to make use of your expertise.’
‘Expert-ease, sir?’
‘I need you to acquire something.’
‘Acquire, sir?’
‘Take something.’
‘Take, sir?’
‘Yes. It’s a book. But it’s not the sort of book one can borrow. You’ll have to steal it.’
‘Filchin’, sir! But I promised never to nick as much as a farvin’,’ said Niclas, grasping his noisy stomach again.
‘You made a promise to me, boy. I do hope you’re not thinking about breaking it.’ There was a tone in this that scared Niclas more than Mr K’s fiercest strike.
‘I wasn’t, sir, I swear I wasn’t. It’s just… well, I didn’t fink I’d ever ’av’ to filch anyfing again. Not afta wot ’appened. Not afta I nearly lost me fingers.’
‘No harm shall come to you, boy, you have my word.’ The cat smiled. It was the first time Niclas had seen a cat smile. The majority of it is in their eyes – their narrow, mischievous eyes.
‘Wot do you want me to steal?’ he asked.
‘Please,’ said Balthazar. ‘If it makes you feel better, let’s not use the word steal, it feels so… criminal. We’ll give it back of course, once we’re done with it. So it’s not really stealing at all.’
‘Ok…’ It didn’t make Niclas feel any better. If anything it just made him feel worse. And confused. Of course, he was normally confused, but on this occasion he was even more confused than usual.
‘Trust me, boy. I would get it myself, had I a pair of hands and posable thumbs,’ said Balthazar.
‘Wot’s so special ’bout a book, sir? If you don’t mind me askin’.’
‘Come now, there’s no need to worry about it tonight. We’ll have to sort your clothes out first, and your hair could do with a trim.’
Niclas’ stomach groaned.
‘And food, sir.’
‘Yes, and food,’ said the cat.
The following morning, two thugs were waiting by the stables outside the Guard’s Tower. One had his hands deep in his pockets, and had taken a lean against the lamp post. The other was eating an apple, chewing with his mouth as wide open as he could get it. Both were dressed like gentlemen, though scruffily, in what wasn’t really second, or third, but possibly fourth-hand clothes. And both wore a black bowler on top of their head.
‘This apple’s sour,’ said Archie.
‘Don’t like apples,’ said Clyde. ‘Ain’t got the teef for apples me. I used to love ’em, spesh the sour ones. But once one’s pulled out a few o’ your teef, you go off ’em completely.’
Archie stopped mid-bite and examined his apple.
‘I mean you can go see one o’ these dentists,’ Clyde continued, ‘but it costs a right fortune to get a new pair o’ teef. They can give you these porcelain ones wot don’t stain though. I knew a bloke wot ’ad ’is teef removed, and they paid ’im to do it! Can you believe that? ’pparently ’e ’ad eight out and it only took a minute.’
Archie thought better of it and tossed the apple over his shoulder.
He pulled his pocket watch out from his shabby coat and stared at the rusted, damp, spore-ridden glass.
‘Usually round this time, innit.’
‘Yeah. ‘Less they’ve ’ung ’im. Sometimes they string ’em straight up you know. Depends wot mood they’re in.’
‘Nah, if they was goin’ do ’im in, they wouldn’t ’av’ taken ’im in. Once ’es in the system, ’es got to be processed properly. I ’ad a cousin wot was in the Watch, take it from me, I know these fings.’
‘O, ’e
llo, some northern ladies one o’clock. Check ’em out. Check ’em out.’
‘That’s three o’clock.’
‘Two o’clock.’
‘Quarter to three at the very least.’
‘Whatever, ain’t they gorge.’
‘Nah, I like a proper woman. Nuffin’ like a good souvern girl. One who slaps you back. One who when you spit in ’er face, will spit your spit right back at you. That’s a lady.’
Clyde nodded in agreement.
‘Eh?’ said Clyde. ‘You don’t reckon ’e’s done a runner?’
‘A runner. Who? Nicky?’
‘Yeah?’
Archie thought about it for a few seconds, taking in the busy street around them.
‘Nah,’ he said at last. ‘Why’d ’e do that? Ain’t got no moneys. Ain’t got no family. Ain’t got no friends. Ain’t got no manners. Ain’t got no know-how eiver. Be dead by the end o’ the week ’e would. It’s a ’ard world out there, you forget. Dog eat dog.’
‘I knows it. You knows it. But does ’e know it. Bit slow this one.’
‘Hmmm… ’ang on, ’ere we go!’
The side gate across from the stables opened and out of the Guard’s Tower came a handful of Watchmen. Two, freshly branded criminals were ushered back onto the streets, and sent on their way in the direction of the nearest pub; the first place all rehabilitated offenders go.
‘Don’t look like our boy.’
‘Nah. That’s coz they ain’t.’
‘P’raps they’ve kept ’im in.’
‘Nah. Not for filchin’. He’d ’av’ ’ad to steal summin proper important to get more than one night. Ain’t got the cells see, ain’t got the room for guttersnipes. Always toss ’em out afta one night. Maybe a brandin’, sometimes a clippin’, but always toss ’em out by mornin’.’ Archie looked at his watch. There weren’t very many minutes left of the morning.
‘Wot we goin’ do ’bout it?’
‘Don’t know. But boss ain’t goin’ be pleased.’
‘You know…’ said Clyde, ‘I ’ad a feelin’, sorta in my ankles. I ’ad a feelin’ this one’d do a runner.’ Clyde was over enthused. He stroked the club hanging from his belt preparatively.
‘Calm it, calm it. He might ’av’ just run into some trouble inside, that’s all. Might’ve kicked up a fight or summin. Might o’ professed ’is innocence.’
‘Yeah. And wot if he ain’t?’
Archie didn’t answer back. He ground his plaque layered fillings together and spat a slug of apple and smoke flavoured spit onto the cobbles.
Niclas was introduced to the baker for breakfast. He had a cinnamon swirl, a gooey almond croissant and a sausage roll; and ate them all on the spot as soon as he got them, placing the order for the next course when he was halfway through the current one. The baker found him odd. He was ill-mannered, scruffy looking, hungrier than a lion, and not quite right upstairs, telling his pet cat how good the sausage was and that he really should get one. But he had a big fat purse of coin, and that was all that mattered.
Next, the cat took Niclas to the barber; where, when he was asked: “What can I do for you, young man?”, he replied, “A haircut, sir.” The barber, puzzled at first, saw the coin purse and soon found himself awash with unrestrained creativity. Using a tiny pair of scissors, a light-catching razor, and a large ivory comb, he transformed Niclas’ mane of hair into short back and sides with the top combed over.
Then, it was onwards to the tailor. There, Niclas picked up a grey shirt, a pair of brown trousers and a green waistcoat. Niclas was impressed by his new look, except the boots. They were strange heavy things that he was reluctant to wear. They crushed his toes and made the everyday task of walking unnecessarily painful. He told Balthazar it would take some getting used to, “on account o’ ’em bein’ ’is first pair o’ shoes.”
The rest of the day was spent back at the Queen’s Garter.
Niclas took off his shoes as if his life depended on it. He slumped onto the bed and cradled his bloated belly.
‘Cor blimey! Wot a day!’ he said, staring down at his new socks.
Balthazar made his way to the windowsill, where he liked to sit and watch the drunken crowds below.
‘Never ’ad a finer day, sir. I ’ads breakfast, lunch and gots me a pair o’ socks. Not a fan o’ ’em breeze blocks you call shoes, but boy do I feel good. Wot’s the plan tomorrow, sir?’
‘Tomorrow, you start work.’
‘Will I be goin’ t’the library as you said, sir?’
‘Yes. That’s right.’
‘Can’t say I’m not nervous, sir. First day nerves ’n’ all.’
‘You’ll be just fine. I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way. You’d be of no use to me if you were in harm’s way.’
‘Fanks, sir.’
‘Now look into my eyes.’
Niclas looked up into the cat’s bright green, yet darkening eyes.
‘And… sleep.’
The Scholar Quarter had been built in a different age. An age where limestone had been in fashion and architecture had been a bit grander in general.
There were lots of grassy squares about, each dedicated to some so and so who had done something a little less deserving of a statue but a little more so than a mere bench. Niclas hadn’t ever seen that sort of stuff before. Down south, the nearest thing to a park was Mudslinger’s Common, which, as you can imagine from the name, wasn’t much of a green space at all.
At the end of New Road, the spine of the Quarter, was a pillared building of terrific proportions. From each of its tall, narrow windows hung red banners, and there were huge burning braziers instead of gas lamps.
‘Wot’s that place?’ asked Niclas.
Balthazar wasn’t interested in the building. He was, however, interested in the movement going on outside it. Men in crimson robes with an air of sanctimony about themselves were coming out of the main entrance and down the steps. Though there were only two and they were quite a way off, they seemed to unnerve the cat.
‘Sir?’
‘The Academy.’
‘Wot’s them men wearin’ silly dresses for?’
‘Best to keep away from there. The Library is this way, come.’
The Library was down a side street, a very large side street at that. It had huge stone steps and an enormous door which in itself was bigger than most buildings. Niclas wondered if it had been built for giants. He’d heard about giants. Though he was pretty sure they weren’t real. But surely this was proof that they were? Why else would people build such big doors… unless they’d read the blueprints wrong.
‘Now you remember everything I told you?’ said Balthazar taking a seat at the top step.
‘Fink so, sir,’ Niclas said with lukewarm optimism.
‘Once you find the forbidden section, do your best not to get caught; if you do get caught, just play stupid… I’m sure that shouldn’t be too hard for you.’
‘Righto, sir.’
‘And you remember what the book looks like?’
‘Fink so, sir. Big leathery thing. Big black stone in the cover. Looks unlike any other book. Zol… Zal… Zor… Zoo-ee-coo-coo-com? Somethin’or’other.’
‘The Zolnomicon. I shan’t spell it again. The name’s not important, it won’t be labelled anyway. But if you look in the right place, you’re certain to find it.’
‘Ok, sir. And I’ll defo knows it when I sees it?’
‘Oh, certainly. It is unmistakable.’
The library was a high ceilinged building filled with halls that looked like caves built by men. Each was ribbed with towering bookshelves. Some books were within reach, but most needed a rolling ladder to get to. Niclas was glad the forbidden section wasn’t up there. It was likely there were birds nesting up there, or a family of cirrocumulus that had gotten lost.
The hallways, like the offshoots of a star, circled around the centre of the library. In the middle, sat a large circular desk with parapets made of books. Every few seco
nds the crunch of a stamp slamming down on a returned book would echo out. Each one made Niclas jump.
The shelves were marked with hanging signs. Marine Biology, Agricultural Science, Lunar Studies. To Niclas they all said the same thing in slightly different squiggles. But it didn’t matter, he’d been told he wouldn’t find what he’d come for on any regular shelves. This sort of book wasn’t the sort of book that was put on display. It was the sort of book that was hidden away so well, that not even the librarians would have known where to find it.
The Forbidden Section was easy to locate. Though he couldn’t read the sign either, it was written in red and there was a red rope stretched out over the entrance to the stairwell. It was as clear an indication of out of bounds as can be.
Niclas made his way over to the entrance, trying his best to look inconspicuous, which had the reversed effect of making him look a great deal conspicuous.
But no one in particular was interested in what he was doing. There was a lawyer trying to find a case file in the Law Histories section and a nearby librarian rehoming a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Tea. No one had even noticed Niclas enter the library, it wasn’t like when he visited a shop or a market, all eyes didn’t suddenly loom over him, waiting to catch him out on some intended criminality. Probably because everyone in the library was far too absorbed in their own bubble to notice someone else’s bubble. And even if they had noticed him, there was no reason to believe he had any bad intentions – people with bad intentions and libraries didn’t tend to go together; less common than olives in a bowl of porridge in fact.
Yet, perhaps it was Niclas’ lack of fortune, or his odd, not so dashing good looks, or maybe it was just the way he seemed to tiptoe and dart his eyes around like a thief in a pantomime, but someone did pay him a little more attention than most.
She was sat with a book at a nearby table. It was Professor Columbo’s History of the Colonies and she had just reached a boring bit, which, in this type of book, was all too common. She glanced up from the over-inked pages, and caught sight of Niclas, looking about as roguish as a sheep in wolf’s clothing.
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