by Anna James
‘I can’t say this feels good,’ Oskar whispered to Tilly. ‘You realise this is the second time we’ve ended up in some sort of creepy basement with these two, and fool me once, et cetera …’
‘At least Mum’s here and safe. Safe-ish,’ said Tilly.
‘And Will,’ Oskar added.
‘Who’d have thought we’d ever be saying that?’ Tilly managed a small smile.
‘He kept it quiet that he could use book magic like that, didn’t he?’ Oskar said quietly, and the two of them glanced back at Will, who looked deeply unsettled by all the dark shelves looming around them.
‘I don’t know if he realised he cared enough to use it until yesterday,’ Tilly pointed out.
The Underwoods took them to the far edge of the huge hall where a nondescript door led them into an antechamber. A wooden printing press stood at one side, currently still, but with freshly inked plates visible from recent use.
There was also a far more advanced version of the laboratory that Decima had constructed in the book of fairy tales that Gretchen had led Tilly and Oskar into at Christmas. There was a great vat in one corner, bubbling with black, sticky liquid. It was book magic – but it was the tar-like goo that sucked light into it that Tilly and Oskar had seen when the fairy tales were ripped apart. It was the opposite of the beautiful sparkling substance they had witnessed onboard the Sesquipedalian. It was hard to believe they were both essentially the same thing. And even more ominous than the vat of book magic was the contraption that had been built above it, which looked like a smaller version of the machines that crushed up cars into tiny cubes of metal.
‘You will remember, Matilda,’ Decima said, ‘that, when we last saw you, we had been exploring the possibilities of borrowing some of the natural properties of book magic.’
‘You mean stealing,’ Tilly said shortly.
‘We are not stealing it; we are utilising it more effectively,’ said Melville.
‘Now,’ Decima went on, ignoring both her brother and Tilly, ‘you will also remember that we were having some teething problems. Our experiments only worked within stories, not out here, but you will have no doubt noticed we’re currently very happily residing here in London, having escaped the unpleasant effects of ageing. Until you started interfering – again.’ She frowned down at her hand. ‘Even this is fixable, as you will see. We have made great progress – it’s remarkable, don’t you think?’
Decima waited, as if she were a proud science teacher waiting for her class to ask enthusiastic questions. ‘Humour me,’ she said, smiling without it reaching her eyes. ‘Ask me how we did it.’
But still no one said anything until Melville chipped in.
‘Do go on, Sister,’ he said, glaring at the others.
‘Now, if Matilda had been more willing to help,’ Decima went on, ‘I think her … let’s say her substance would have had much the same effect. But you will see we have evolved beyond relying solely on one rebellious child. Because what we needed was simply a more potent form of book magic. Fairy tales were far too unpredictable, and their magic was the same, and the books we created solely for the purposes of our experiments on our printing press here did not have strong enough roots. They remained untethered from the wider power of stories because they weren’t created to be read and shared, it would seem. Eventually, we realised where we were going wrong – and that the answer was right on our doorstep. Here in the Source Library.’
Decima picked up a book from a table by the side of the cruncher and placed it between its jaws. She pressed a button and the contraption jerked into life, its jaws slamming into the book from all sides, as black fluid dripped down into the vat.
‘But those are Source Editions,’ Tilly said, turning pale. ‘If you destroy those, then every edition of the book across the whole world will blink out of existence. Oh …’
She exchanged a look with Oskar and Will, the horrible truth dawning on them all simultaneously.
‘That’s why the books are disappearing,’ Oskar said. ‘They’re not being hidden; they’re being destroyed. Permanently.’
ut … but this is monstrous!’ said Bea.
‘Oh, don’t be so sanctimonious,’ Decima said as the last remaining drops of book magic were squeezed from the book in the grip of the machine. ‘We have thought this through, and we’re starting with the books that have the least importance.’
‘Because you think no one will notice,’ Oskar said.
‘But someone will notice,’ Tilly said. ‘All books have their readers. And, even if someone didn’t notice one book vanishing, you’re destroying the chain.’
‘The chain?’ Melville repeated dismissively.
‘The chain of writers and readers,’ Tilly said. ‘You’re taking imagination out of the world and that affects everyone, even if they’ve never heard of an individual book. And you have no idea what will happen if you destroy a book! You can’t possibly know who’s read it or what it means to them!’
‘What happens if a book has helped heal a broken heart?’ Bea asked, her voice full of quiet fury. ‘What happens to that heart? What happens to the couple that fell in love because they both loved the same book, and you wipe that book from their memory?’
Tilly and Oskar exchanged a glance, remembering the couple at the airport, who had gone from loved-up honeymooners to leaving separately within minutes.
‘You say you’ve thought it through, but you have no idea what you’re doing!’ Bea finished. ‘And it’s immoral! Who knows what damage you’ve already wreaked? You can’t possibly understand or know the changes you’ve effected.’
‘A drop of imagination and magic is removed from the world every time you destroy a book,’ Will said. ‘Imagine not knowing that.’
‘What nonsense,’ Melville said. ‘There’s no chain. Not everything has to have some grand meaning. It’s nowhere near as dramatic as you’re all making out. And, if you’re trying to elicit some sort of emotional response, I assure you it won’t work. None of the books we’re converting are well read – no one cares about them!’
‘Every book written has been cared about by at least one person,’ Bea said. ‘Even if it’s only the writer. You underestimate the power of stories – as you always have done. No one could ever trace the impact one book has had on the world.’
‘And even if you don’t care about all of that,’ Oskar added, ‘I would have thought it was pretty obvious that you need people to care about books and stories enough to have something to be in charge of. If no one cares about reading, there’ll be no bookwanderers, and no Underlibrary.’
‘There’s no reason at all to think that what you’ve said is true,’ Decima said, trying to disguise the slight wobble in her voice. ‘Sapping imagination! Honestly, you’re all delusional. You’re so used to the nonsense peddled at your silly little shop about connection and meaning. I know what Archie Pages is like, all his mumbo jumbo about the importance of reading.’
Tilly took a deep breath.
‘You’re wrong,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s like my mum said: there isn’t a book out there that hasn’t meant something to someone at some point. A story doesn’t get told if it doesn’t mean something. Wasn’t there ever a book you loved so much that no one else had heard of?’ Tilly said. ‘Not even when you were children?’
‘We don’t go in for such sentimentality,’ said Melville.
‘But you must have loved stories once,’ Tilly said. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be bookwanderers. Can’t you remember what it felt like to love books, not just want to steal from them?’
‘No,’ Decima said shortly, although she still looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘It’s been a long time since I was so naive about stories. We’ve grown up, and so should you all. Now, pull yourself together, Brother.’
Decima walked over to the vat of book magic and raised the arm that Will had taken the magic out of and plunged it straight in. She held it there for a few seconds before pulling it out and looking at i
t in satisfaction.
‘Good as new,’ she said. ‘I will need to add some more of the book magic for a longer-term effect, but this will do for now. I hope you’ll see that all you have are party tricks and self-righteous rhetoric. And that is no match for science and determination, and, I assure you, we are very determined. It won’t be long before you come to us, begging for a drop of what we have to offer, of that I have no doubt.’
‘You’ll see that ours is the way of enlightened thinking.’ Melville smiled coldly. ‘We’re no longer stuck in past darkness, shunning progress.’
‘There is no darkness but ignorance,’ Will said. ‘Let me make that very plain.’
‘Even if you keep denying that what you’ve already done has caused horrible damage,’ Bea said, ‘what will you do when you’ve used up the books that you believe people won’t notice? This can’t last forever. You may have managed to convince enough librarians here – although I doubt anyone upstairs is aware of the extent of what you’ve hidden away down here – but, as soon as it becomes public knowledge to bookwanderers, you can’t hope to get away with it.’
‘Let me set you straight immediately on one thing,’ said Melville. ‘I think that you’d be surprised how many of the people upstairs do, in fact, know what we’re doing and have, indeed, helped us with it. You should not assume that everyone here shares your beliefs; some of our esteemed colleagues upstairs are very much onboard with our plans to protect bookwandering, and take back control. And our friends extend beyond this Underlibrary, I assure you.’
‘Oh, we know,’ Oskar said. ‘We’ve spoken to Jacob Johnson.’
‘How very enterprising of you,’ Decima said. ‘But I assure you we know all about your little escapade in the Library of Congress.’
‘Are you letting him use the book magic too?’ Oskar asked. ‘Did he have tattoos under his suit?’
‘We’re still testing the side effects,’ Decima said smoothly.
‘Oh, I get it,’ said Tilly. ‘You’re not sharing.’
‘We are making sure we’re confident as to the process,’ Decima said. ‘I would not wish to burden any of our colleagues unduly. We’re doing everyone a great service by testing the effects of book magic on ourselves – and future bookwanderers will be grateful for our work and our sacrifice.’
‘The only sacrifice being made is of stories that belong to everyone,’ Bea said.
‘Oh, would you stop being such a self-righteous bother of a woman!’ Melville said, losing his temper. ‘I was elected as Librarian in order to shepherd in a new era for British bookwandering and that is what I intend to do.’
He pulled himself together, smoothing his hair down and taking a deep breath. ‘I look to a future where our resources are harvested efficiently and where there can be a smooth, continuous and consistent message from the top. There’s more to books than curling up in a corner with a cup of tea.’
‘You’re right that there’s more to it than that,’ Tilly said. ‘But not the things that you think. And you still haven’t said what you’ll do when you run out of books.’
She saw Decima and Melville exchange glances at her question, in a way that made her feel distinctly uneasy.
‘For one thing, I’m sure we will master our printing press in time,’ Melville said. ‘We will be churning out Sources that work properly before you know it. But, in the meantime, we have plenty of books that we believe will cause the when utilised, if they do at all. Should a few hearts break here or there, that’s something we’re willing to let happen in pursuit of the cause. None of your imagination chain nonsense has any basis in science. Not to mention that we have all sorts of exciting … opportunities on the horizon, such as Mr Shakespeare’s presence, for example.’
‘Ay,’ said Will, looking a little nervously at the cruncher, which was still dripping with the dregs of the Source Edition it had obliterated.
‘You look as though we’re about to put you between its jaws,’ Decima laughed.
‘You do not intend that?’ Will said. ‘I assure you, I would put up some fight – you have many years that I would happily reclaim from you.’
‘We’re not monsters,’ Melville said, sounding almost frustrated that he had to keep defending himself.
‘A most learned man once said,’ Will offered, ‘that the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. I would think on those words.’
‘I don’t even know what you mean,’ Melville said, waving Will’s words away as if they were a bad smell. ‘But come now, the death of an author is not what we’re aiming for … Although I suspect you’re not operating on the same scale of death and … aliveness that we are.’
‘Of that you may be quite sure,’ said Will.
‘You on your high horse,’ Decima said dismissively. ‘How is our work any different from your situation? As far as the rest of the world knows, you died in 1616 and that was that. But in fact you chose to live forever – what gives you that right, but not us?’
‘Firstly, I did not choose this story,’ Will said. ‘The Archive pulled me to it because of the worth of my words, one might even go as far as to say my legacy – something you clearly strive for and are falling far short of. I rather think the desire to live forever should preclude someone from doing so. Getting what you want is a dangerous thing—’ But Will was interrupted by a knock at the door.
‘Excellent,’ Melville said. ‘We can finally be done with all this fussing. We’re talking round in circles and our guest is here: one who will also be able to provide the answer as to where we’ll be getting more stock of lost and forgotten Source Editions. Enter!’
And the door opened to reveal Seb, accompanied by Horatio and Milo Bolt.
hat are you doing here?’ Oskar said to Horatio. ‘I thought you were on Artemis’s side?’
‘And I thought you two would have picked up by now that I’m not on anyone’s side other than my own,’ said Horatio. ‘Don’t take it personally; it’s just business. There’s no conflict in me helping you with what Artemis paid for and fulfilling this order as well.’
‘You know this man?’ Melville said.
‘We’ve met,’ Tilly said cagily, not wanting to give the Underwoods any extra information about the Archive.
‘You two really do have a talent for sticking your noses where they don’t belong, don’t you?’ said Decima. ‘I’d almost be impressed if it wasn’t so damnably annoying.’
As she spoke, Seb had walked over to stand with Tilly, although he couldn’t make eye contact and break his cover as a spy who was actually reporting back to Amelia and the Pages family about what went on at the Underlibrary. Seb hadn’t seemed to react when he saw that they were all there, and so Tilly assumed that her grandparents had read the note she had left and asked him to track them down. Tilly was reassured that Grandma and Grandad knew where they were – and that Seb was with them.
Tilly turned to Horatio. ‘What are you giving them?’ she asked, looking suspiciously at the large cardboard box that Milo was carrying.
‘Books, obviously,’ Melville said. ‘Mr Bolt here – who you seem to know somehow – is an expert at tracking them down, and we have hired him to find us Source Editions that are currently outside the jurisdiction of any of the Underlibraries.’
‘How can you say there’s no conflict?’ Oskar said crossly to Horatio. ‘You must have known all along what was happening to the missing books! You would have led us on a wild goose chase.’
‘I would have done what I could to try and find those particular books,’ Horatio said. ‘It’s just that some of them may have ended up being unable to be found – or indeed the trail may have led you here.’
Melville turned to Horatio.
‘How do you know these people?’ he asked. ‘And who is Artemis?’
‘That has nothing to do with what you’ve hired me for,’ Horatio said. ‘So I’ll not be answering that. Your books are here; what any other clients have engaged me to do is b
etween me and them.’
‘I trust you have succeeded?’ Melville said, still clearly unsettled that Horatio had met Tilly and Oskar before.
‘I always do,’ Horatio said. ‘If the price is right. And so here you are. A selection of lost and forgotten Source Editions for you to do with as you like. I am uninterested in why you require them.’
‘But I thought you said that it was in your interest to keep the balance of bookwandering steady?’ Tilly said.
‘It is also in my interest to keep my bank balance steady,’ Horatio said. ‘No one cares about these books, they do not upset the balance in terms of my business, my train or my clients, and therefore I am happy to provide the required service. I have been careful with what I’ve procured, I assure you.’ He turned back to the Underwoods. ‘We have one box here and one more just outside to be brought in once we’ve been paid appropriately.’
Horatio gestured to Milo, who put the large box at Melville’s and Decima’s feet before scurrying back behind Horatio. He was avoiding making eye contact with Tilly or Oskar. Melville bent down and neatly slit the box open with a penknife he produced from his pocket. He pulled out the top few books, but barely looked at their covers.
‘They’re definitely Sources?’ he asked Horatio.
‘Absolutely,’ he confirmed.
‘Where did you get them from?’
‘That would be telling,’ said Horatio. ‘I’m afraid I cannot reveal my methods. Especially not to the Librarian of an Underlibrary. I’m sure you understand.’
‘Hmph,’ Melville snorted dismissively. ‘I think it’s time for you to go. But first I’ll check the authenticity of your stock.’ He took one of the books he was holding and, before anyone could stop him, he put it between the jaws of the crushing machine, and within moments another Source Edition had been turned into sticky black pulp.
‘Oh!’ Decima breathed as the book magic dripped down the claws of the machine, putting her hand to her chest. She staggered backwards slightly and felt for the wall behind her to steady herself. She looked to Melville for support, but he, too, was pale and wobbly.