Pages and Co 3: Tilly and the Map of Stories

by Anna James

  ‘So, if they seek to steal the immortality of stories, which they believe is running through your veins, then surely a being of pure story would better serve their goals? I am not a person as you are: I am made of story and memory and imagination now. And therefore I suppose that their purposes would be better met by what I am than what you are, Tilly.’

  ‘But I don’t want you to do that,’ Tilly said quietly. ‘I don’t want you or my mum to have to give yourself to them instead of me.’

  ‘Child,’ Will said gently. ‘’Tis true they seek what you are, but do not imagine they care who you are. If I can offer them what they desire, it will be of no difference to them. And know that I do not actually wish to give myself to them, only to parlay with them and retrieve your mother, and we can proceed from there.’

  ‘But what happens if you get too far from me?’ Tilly said. ‘And you start … disappearing again.’

  ‘I was able to stray a little further from you back in Southwark so perhaps the effect is lessening,’ said Will. ‘And, regardless, ’tis a risk I am willing to take. If I cannot leave you, Tilly, what would we do? Would I stay with you until you are old and grey? I have long yearned for purpose, and a noble path has been presented to me. I beseech you, let me walk it.’

  ‘Grandma and Grandad won’t let you,’ Tilly said. ‘They’ll want to keep talking and planning and look for the missing books first. They’re not going to let Shakespeare sacrifice himself.’

  ‘Then let us not inform them of what we have planned,’ Will said. ‘Did you not tell me you were able to reach the Underlibrary by some secret means?’

  ‘Tilly can get there through the Endpapers,’ Oskar said. ‘But we can’t bookwander, remember?’

  ‘But we can,’ Tilly said, ‘if we choose the right book. Because Shakespeare’s Source Editions aren’t in any of the Underlibraries – they’re on the Quip. We just need to go to the very end of one of your plays, Will, and the Endpapers will take us straight to the Underlibrary.’

  ‘Will the Underwoods be there at this time of night, though?’ Oskar said.

  ‘If they’re keeping Mum there, then maybe,’ said Tilly. ‘Or they will be in a few hours. Let’s go first thing in the morning, before Grandma and Grandad are up. Set an alarm for six a.m., Oskar.’

  Oskar groaned, but acquiesced, put his pillow over his head and went back to sleep.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Tilly asked Will.

  ‘It would be an honour,’ he replied.

  Their alarms went off while it was still dark outside, and Tilly and Oskar forced themselves out of their warm beds. Will was still sitting on the end of Tilly’s.

  ‘Have you been there all night?’ she asked warily.

  ‘Oh, I suppose so,’ he said, giving himself a shake. ‘I do not require sleep, but I am able to … let my mind rest. ’Tis the way I can best describe the sensation. I am not sleeping, but I am not awake.’

  ‘Like a computer on standby,’ Oskar suggested.

  ‘I do not know what this standby of which you speak means,’ Will said.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Oskar, stretching and heading to the bathroom.

  ‘Could you give me a minute to get ready?’ Tilly said awkwardly.

  ‘I do apologise,’ Will said, standing up and wandering over to the door. ‘One forgets so quickly what it is to be human. I shall return anon, and we can begin our travels.’

  A little while later, the three of them were assembled downstairs, the copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that Orlando had given Tilly in front of them, open at the last page. Tilly had written Grandma and Grandad a note, left on her bed, saying they were going to get Bea back – and not much else. They crept through the door into the bookshop, where they could bookwander from.

  ‘What happens when you bookwander, Will?’ Oskar asked, taking him firmly by the arm.

  ‘I do not know,’ Will said cheerily. ‘’Tis not at all possible from the Archive. What a thrill to be finally wandering again. I had ne’er thought I would have the chance again.’

  ‘Right then,’ Tilly said, and read aloud the last speech in the play.

  Pages & Co. was sucked down and under their feet and they found themselves back in the enchanted forest of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Thankfully, Titania and Oberon were nowhere to be seen. There was only Puck, standing in a clearing, although the sounds of music and laughter could be heard echoing through the trees from a party some way off.

  ‘How is it that we access the Endpapers?’ Will whispered as Puck recited his final speech.

  ‘We just wait,’ Tilly hissed under her breath. ‘Keep hold of us both and, when the play ends, you’ll see.’

  She and Oskar were steeling themselves for the very strange sensation they knew was coming.

  As Puck finished speaking, the air suddenly shimmered and sparkled and then Puck was talking again, but backwards, before everything started rushing and blurring. The whole play was rewinding around them, and the three of them held on to each other tightly as the leaves danced in the air and they were surrounded by glimpses of light and movement until everything dropped into blackness.

  There was a brief moment where Titania was in front of them, and Tilly could have sworn that she made eye contact – just for a fraction of a second. Then Tilly’s head was spinning, and she felt gingerly with her fingertips to reassure herself they were standing on solid ground. She breathed a sigh of relief as she felt wooden floorboards and edged her way slowly over the floor until she found the wall, then a door, then the light switch.

  They were in the same sad office that the Endpapers had spat them out into before, except this time it wasn’t empty. Decima Underwood was sitting behind the desk.

  ‘We wondered when we’d see you,’ she said, with a cold smile. ‘And you’ve brought a guest. How lovely!’

  here’s my mum?’ Tilly said immediately, but Decima ignored her question.

  ‘Follow me,’ was all she said, standing up and leaving the office, not even checking to see if they were following her. They weren’t sure what else they could do.

  ‘Good lady,’ Will started as they walked after her down the long, familiar corridors of the Underlibrary, ‘would you be so kind as to introduce yourself?’

  Decima ignored Will too and simply kept walking until she opened the door to a large room in which a fire was burning. The fireplace was somehow familiar to Tilly, but she couldn’t quite place why. She gave an involuntary shudder when she saw it, but it could have been because of the person standing in front of it: Decima’s twin brother, Melville.

  Decima went to stand next to him.

  The last time Tilly had seen the Underwood siblings, their skin had been covered in tattoos from where they’d tried to put book magic directly into their bodies, to steal its immortality. Some tattoos were still visible, poking out of Decima’s sleeves, and one creeping over the top of Melville’s shirt collar. Even more alarming was the fact that they seemed to have got even younger – they both looked disconcertingly youthful and healthy. Clearly, they’d made progress in their experiments with book magic.

  ‘Matilda,’ Melville said silkily. ‘What a pleasure to see you again. As reckless as your mother, I see. And you too,’ he said, glancing at Oskar. ‘And …’ He looked Will up and down, clearly unsettled by the obvious … Shakespeare-ness of him.

  ‘William Shakespeare,’ Will said. ‘And I would say it was a pleasure, but I do not believe it will prove to be so.’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ Melville said. ‘You’ve brought some down-on-his-luck actor with you, pretending to be Shakespeare? I don’t understand your strategy here.’

  ‘Down-on-his-luck actor?’ Will said, incensed. ‘How dare you! I am William Shakespeare, formerly of Stratford-upon-Avon, currently journeying from the Archive to assist these young bookwanderers.’

  ‘Surely not,’ breathed Decima, coming and standing a little bit too close to Will as if she didn’t believe he was real. ‘It’s impossible.’
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  ‘I assure you it is not,’ Will said.

  ‘You found the Archive?’ Melville said to Tilly and Oskar. ‘But you’re children. How did you even …’ His voice petered out, clearly unable to wrap his head round them having achieved something like that. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you,’ Tilly said. ‘You have to have a map.’

  ‘Well, where is your map?’ demanded Decima.

  ‘We don’t have it any more,’ Tilly said.

  ‘I understand why you are here, Matilda,’ Melville said. ‘We knew that once your mother turned up here, you wouldn’t be far behind. And we assumed the other one would be with you too, as he always seems to be.’

  ‘Rude,’ Oskar said under his breath.

  ‘But bringing an Archivist with you?’ said Decima. ‘Bringing an Archivist to us? I can’t possibly imagine your logic! But I suppose this is why you and your family keep threatening to get in our way without ever succeeding. You’ll see we’re making great strides in our research! And to be presented with such a … resource.’ She continued staring at Will as though he were a scientific specimen, not a person.

  ‘A resource, madam?’ Will said, indignantly.

  ‘Why, yes,’ said Decima. ‘For you’re clearly not made of the same stuff as us, are you? Why you died in … what was it – 1616, I believe?’

  ‘Ay,’ Will said. ‘My former life was cut short in that year.’

  ‘So, what sustains you now if not book magic?’ Decima said. ‘The very thing we’re so keen to learn more about.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Will said. ‘We assumed your interest would be piqued thus. And you do not give us credit enough for reason behind our action; we do not haphazardly go unto the breach. I am willing to offer myself in exchange for these two leaving here unharmed – and with Tilly’s mother.’

  ‘A noble offer,’ Melville said. ‘But, when we have all of you here, why would we let any of you leave until we have a greater grasp of what you can offer us?’

  Tilly realised that, in her desire to rescue her mum, they had played into the Underwoods’ hands. She looked nervously at Oskar and Will.

  But Will was taking a step forward, his hands visibly sparking with book magic.

  ‘Let me offer you further motivation,’ he said, and reached out to touch Decima’s hand with one finger.

  The touch was gentle, but Decima froze, and there were sparks as their hands connected. She stared at hers in horror as it started to visibly age, the skin changing from smooth and flawless to wrinkled and age-spotted.

  ‘What did you do?’ she said, clutching her hand to her chest. ‘What did you do?’

  s you correctly divined, I am made of story,’ Will said. ‘And I am claiming some of it back from you who use it improperly. Do not think this is an unequal negotiation.’

  ‘How dare you steal it from me?’ Decima said, gazing at her hand in horror.

  ‘’Tis not yours,’ Will said. ‘The Archivists have not been asked to help protect bookwandering for many years, but now we have been pulled back into the fray. I come to protect stories, and you have been weighed and found wanting. Now, shall we try to come to an agreement?’

  ‘Give it back,’ said Decima, fury written across her face.

  ‘I cannot,’ said Will simply. ‘Be grateful I did not take more. I could if I wanted to.’

  ‘You can have Beatrice,’ Melville said quickly, while taking a step further away from Will. ‘We don’t need her.’

  ‘What did she offer you?’ Tilly asked.

  ‘She said that, as she’d been pregnant with you, she had some small fraction of book magic within her,’ Decima said, holding her hand behind her back. ‘And we were willing to see if that were the case while she was with us – we’re not so proud as to ignore every avenue presented. But really we were keen to indulge her as we knew eventually you’d come to find her. I believe the threat of limiting bookwandering for all children – something we don’t even yet know if we can achieve – would have worked eventually, but this certainly added more urgency. And look, you’ve behaved exactly as we expected. Well,’ she said, looking uneasily at Will, ‘not quite as expected, granted.’

  ‘Ay,’ Will said. ‘It would serve you well to remember I am well versed in how to tell a good story. One must always reserve some knowledge until towards the end, and a twist in fortunes adds a certain excitement to proceedings. And, of course, you would be wise also to recall that the villains can never triumph. Now, shall we agree some terms?’

  ‘You want Beatrice to be able to leave with these two,’ Melville said. ‘That’s fine, we agree. We agree.’

  ‘Nay,’ Will said. ‘’Tis not so simple. I would not sacrifice myself to you in a way that also furthers your schemes. My second and final requirement is that we sit and discuss the future of the British Underlibrary, and your control over bookwandering.’

  ‘And we get you in exchange for that?’ Decima said. ‘Just a conversation?’

  ‘Ay,’ Will said. ‘Let us see what can first be achieved through words.’

  ‘Why of course,’ Melville said, exchanging a smirk with Decima. ‘Let’s see how far words get us.’

  ‘Do not underestimate them,’ Will said. ‘’Tis easy to promise words, but you must choose them carefully. Now, if you would be so kind as to bring Beatrice here, so we are assured of her safety, then we can proceed.’

  They waited in slightly awkward silence as Melville spoke briefly into a phone. A few minutes later, the door burst open and Bea ran straight over to Tilly.

  ‘You brave, wonderful girl,’ she whispered. ‘I knew you could find them. Are they here?’

  ‘Sort of,’ Tilly said, not wanting to explain in front of everyone that the Archivists had not provided as neat a solution as she had hoped. ‘Um, Mum, meet Will Shakespeare.’

  Will bowed to Bea, who did a small double take, but quickly took it in her stride.

  ‘There,’ Melville said. ‘Now, shall we talk? Let’s go somewhere more private, and more secure, until this conversation is finished.’

  The group passed through the double doors that led to the main hall of the Underlibrary. It was usually a place that made Tilly feel full of wonder and excitement, but it was empty and dark now and their footsteps echoed eerily up to the high ceilings. There were only a couple of librarians on duty, and they avoided eye contact and stayed silent as the group walked by.

  Instead of passing through the hall to the corridor on the far side where Tilly and Oskar had been before, they went to the circular desk in the middle of the floor. Decima lifted up a section of the desk that was hinged, and gestured for them to follow. The desk itself was a circle around a tall wooden card catalogue – a cabinet of tiny drawers on all sides that housed records of every book in the Underlibrary. Built into the cabinet was a door and Decima took a delicate golden key from a chain around her neck and slotted it into a matching keyhole. She pushed on the door – which had no handle – and Tilly saw a flight of stairs disappearing down into the dark.

  ‘Why is everything so unnecessarily spooky?’ Oskar asked, rolling his eyes.

  In answer, Decima reached out and flicked on a light switch that illuminated the stone steps easily.

  ‘Fine,’ Oskar said. ‘It must be you that makes it spooky.’

  ‘Why are you here again, boy?’ Melville asked.

  ‘I am a key member of this team,’ said Oskar.

  ‘And if you haven’t worked that out by now,’ Bea said, ‘then more fool you.’

  he stairs curved downwards, and Tilly, Oskar and Bea followed the Underwoods in a silent line. The steps ended in a small antechamber dominated by a large black door with several bolts and locks on it.

  ‘Welcome to the Source Library,’ Melville said. ‘You should count yourselves fortunate that you’re seeing this place. Few bookwanderers would ever be given the opportunity.’

  So, this was where it was, Tilly thought. The place that housed the special Source Editions
of almost every book first written in English. The books that were supposed to be kept protected so that no one could alter their stories forever, but were now bound by the Underwoods so they could further control bookwandering. The Source Library was shrouded in mystery and secrecy, and it was hard not to feel intimidated by the huge, locked black door.

  Tilly expected Melville to produce some sort of ancient key, but in fact he went over to a small hatch on the side of the door and slid it open to reveal a high-tech-looking number pad.

  ‘A new addition,’ he said smugly over his shoulder. He keyed in numbers that Tilly and Oskar couldn’t see, and suddenly the locks all began sliding out of their bolts, springing apart in a chain reaction around the edge of the vast door. Once they were all open, Melville grasped the huge handle and heaved it open. The lack of light and the vastness of the metal door made Tilly feel as though they were deep underwater, entering a submarine.

  She wasn’t sure what to expect on walking through the door, but what she was met with were shelves and shelves and shelves spreading out into a hall that was as dark as the Archive had been bright. The shelves stretched away from them in both directions, and it was impossible to see how big the room truly was. It had an eerie, cold atmosphere, with its high ceilings and endless bookshelves, and it felt abandoned and unloved. Tilly wondered if it had always felt like this, or if it was because the books in here had all been bound and were being kept captive as part of the Underwoods’ machinations. Row upon row of books usually gave Tilly the feeling of limitless possibility, each book a portal to another world, a new way of looking at things, a new character to meet – but these books seemed to absorb adventure and deaden its promise.

  Decima switched on another set of lights, which only barely took the edge off the darkness that seemed to be seeping deep inside their bones the longer they were in the Source Library.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said, and led the group to the right, skirting the edge of the great room.