by Glen L. Hall
It had always been Emily’s sanctuary and had become more so over the last twelve months, as her parents were heading for divorce. She sat back now in her favourite chair, enveloped in rows of books, whilst her Uncle Jarl’s large frame could be seen bent over his little desk with its battered old till, his grey hair, as usual, standing up in all directions.
Emily was going into the final year of sixth form when the holidays were over. The past few weeks she’d felt rather disappointed that Sam hadn’t come home and had distracted herself by throwing herself into helping her uncle manage the bookshop.
She’d been surprised to see how many strange folk had started appearing there and how many meetings had taken place on the seventh floor, in what her uncle called the reading room.
Way back in the spring she’d found Brennus and Drust Hood skulking around the back of the shop. When the Hoods turned up, trouble wasn’t far behind. The last time it had happened, her uncle had disappeared for six months and come back with a limp.
Though her immediate family didn’t mind the comings and goings of the Hoods, in her extended family there was a general mistrust of them. Emily herself had regarded them as swashbuckling heroes when she was little, but as she’d grown up she’d come to see them more as annoying uncles. She thought she had the knack of reading people, but Drust in particular was a closed book to her, and a hardback at that. He was the strangest of all the folks who had been visiting the bookshop over the years.
She’d arrived at the bookshop early today in the hope of seeing one particular visitor. She didn’t quite know when Sam was coming back from Oxford, but she wanted to make sure she was there when he did. She required a serious explanation from him. He wasn’t going to get out of this one so easily.
The ornate doorbell gave a shrill tinkle and she felt her cheeks redden as her eyes settled on the big-framed red-headed young man standing in the doorwaywith bright red cheeks as if he’d come out of a winter walk rather than last throes of summer.
‘Good morning, Sam,’ she said.
Sam smiled at her. Just for a second he felt a little giddy.
‘Hello, Emily.’
Emily’s dark brown eyes sparkled with mischief and Sam knew she had something to tell him that couldn’t wait.
‘Well, this is a surprise and a half,’ said a voice from the till. Jarl Reign had stood. Despite the limp, he was soon across the short distance and giving Sam a hug.
‘Come along, tea for our guest, Emily, and make your poor uncle a spare pot too.’
You couldn’t help but like Emily’s uncle. Sam had heard rumours, of course. His mother and her friends were convinced he was a spy – always travelling to foreign lands without a word and always coming back with a trunk full of strange artefacts and a scar to boot.
‘Yes, uncle,’ said Emily dutifully, but when she left it was with a little indignant skip and a flick of her long brown hair.
Jarl turned back to Sam and, to his surprise, his smile had been replaced by a grim look.
‘I don’t want harm coming to Emily,’ he said abruptly, with an edge to his voice that stopped Sam in his tracks. Leaning a little closer, he added, ‘These times are not for games. Whatever you have planned, keep her out of it. She is to stay here for the rest of the holidays.’
Stunned, Sam opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Emily was on her way back.
‘Everything all right?’ If she had noticed Jarl’s uneasiness, she didn’t show it. ‘Come along, Sam, this way.’
Taking him by the arm, she ushered him past her uncle. Sam felt the big man’s gaze still on him as he walked off through the antique bookshelves.
The bookshop was quiet save for the gentle shuffling of feet. The large leather chairs were empty. Emily led Sam back to her special place, surrounded by a decade of books that had delighted her. Flinging herself down on a leather settee in front of the fireplace, she told him to sit next to her. Instead he chose an armchair – though he had known Emily a long time, the closer he got to her nowadays, the more uncomfortable he felt. Emily Pauperhaugh was beautiful and intelligent, and Sam found her confidence a touch scary, especially when her intensity was focused on him, as it was now.
‘What’s happened to you, Sam?’
She was sitting on the edge of her seat like a coiled spring about to pop, but her voice was quiet. It was clear that she did not want anyone overhearing.
Watching her from over his teacup, Sam could feel his face beginning to redden.
‘Erm…’
‘Come on, Sam. I’ve read your letters to Angus.’
‘What?’ Sam felt a flush of annoyance pass through him. ‘Those letters happen to be private!’
Emily ignored this.
‘Listen, Sam, we need to get a few things straight. First, the thing you think you saw in Warkworth doesn’t exist.’
‘Wait a moment, Emily,’ Sam put his teacup down, wondering how he was going to begin to describe the last few days. ‘The Shadow is real. It followed me to Oxford. It found me at Magdalen!’
Emily scowled. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said firmly, ‘I’m not going to let you continue with this. Not a moment longer.’
‘I can’t explain it fully,’ Sam admitted, ‘but Professor Stuckley and Professor Whitehart have seen it too.’
‘Oh yes, Professor Stuckley and Professor Whitehart – your guardians from Cherwell College!’
‘It’s not just them,’ said Sam defensively, wondering why Emily was being quite so scathing. ‘I’ve met a group of academics who know about the Shadow. They knew my father too.’
He paused. If she didn’t believe the Shadow existed, how was she ever going to believe what had happened over the past few days?
‘They wrote a letter to me,’ he continued carefully, ‘explaining that I was no longer safe in Oxford, that I must head north. They said that things were beginning to move and that I must not believe all I heard, that I must not listen to wisdom built on sand.’
‘Built on sand?!’
Sam continued, ignoring his friend’s worried look. ‘Emily, I know it sounds crazy, but the professors came with me and they only left when I was outside my home. Listen, last Tuesday I met a man called Oscar, who came with a message about a broken Circle. That night, the Shadow hunted me across the whole of Magdalen and I was rescued by a woman—’
‘Stop! Sam, you’re scaring me. You’re losing your mind! You forget I was with you that night in Warkworth, it was me who found you in the garden, soaking wet, as if you had been for midnight swim, and I had to put up with you going on about a wave ten foot high in the Coquet – impossible!’
Sam sighed. It did sound impossible, he knew. He needed to find Professor Stuckley. If he explained the situation to Emily, she’d have to believe him. But he and the professors might be moving on again soon.
‘Emily, I’m not sure how long I can stay in Gosforth. The academics I met in Oxford think the Shadow will come again.’
‘Which academics?’
Sam was silent. How was he going to explain that he’d spoken to people from the past? He’d already said too much. All he was doing was alienating Emily.
‘And where do you intend to go?’ she snapped. ‘This is ridiculous! Aren’t you just taking some fantasy to extremes?’
‘No, no. I have a letter that makes it real. I know it sounds a bit far-fetched, but, well, are you telling me reality doesn’t stretch the truth from time to time? You can’t always rely on logic, and you certainly can’t trust reality.’
Emily frowned. ‘You always come out with your physics nonsense when you’re losing an argument.’
‘And you never let me speak when you’re losing one!’
Emily slumped back in her chair with a scowl.
‘Whether you believe me or not,’ Sam continued, ‘the Shadow is real. Those academics knew about i
t, and maybe my father did too. I definitely felt it, and saw it, a second time. In Oxford. And I’m sure it intends to do me great harm.’
‘Okay, Sam,’ Emily drew a long breath, ‘so if it is real, what is it? Where has it come from? Who sent it? What’s its purpose? Why are you so important to it? Just think it through!’
She couldn’t help feeling satisfied as she watched Sam squirm just a fraction.
‘I can’t say for certain, but according to Oscar, the Shadow is moving through the Otherland and the Dead Water is lost…’
Sam stopped again. He knew he wasn’t doing himself any favours. Not with Emily already wearing a cynical hat.
‘And where is this Otherland?’
She was starting to press home her advantage.
Frustrated, Sam said, ‘We’re only beginning to put the pieces together, but I can show you the letter.’
He pulled it from his pocket and held it out to her. She looked at it with distaste, but took it from him.
‘The academics who wrote it were at Cherwell College,’ he explained.
‘Oh yes, the infamous Cherwell College! That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m your friend, or so you say– don’t I deserve to know where you’ve been for the past term?’
Sam nearly choked on his cooling tea. ‘Where I’ve been? Emily, what are you talking about?’
Emily shoved the letter in her pocket and took a gulp of her own tea.
‘No one has heard of Cherwell College,’ she said flatly. ‘I rang the university three days ago when—’ her eyes suddenly softened, ‘well, that doesn’t matter. But where have you been, Sam? Where did you go when you left Magdalen?’
‘You know where I’ve been. I’ve been at Cherwell, studying under professors Stuckley and Whitehart.’
‘But no one has ever heard of them, Sam! There is no Cherwell College and there are no professors Stuckley and Whitehart.’
Sam stared at Emily. If he hadn’t known her so well, he would have thought this was a joke.
‘Look, I don’t know what this is about, or what they told you at the university, but Cherwell College is part of Magdalen. Professor Stuckley is a distinguished quantum metaphysicist. If he doesn’t exist, then whose lectures have I been going to? I’ve been living at the Fellows’ House with Angus. If this is about my letters to him, then let’s talk about them. How did you come to read them anyway?
Sam paused for breath and gave Emily a meaningful look, but she just scowled at him.
‘Whatever you think,’ he went on, feeling his face beginning to burn, ‘two days ago I was pursued across Magdalen by – well, a wraith, a shadow, a thing! I felt it, and so did the professors, and it I heard it speak. If you think it’s my imagination, then think again.’
He stopped, suddenly conscious that he was speaking loudly and the area around them was no longer empty.
‘Look,’ he continued more quietly, ‘Professor Stuckley said he would meet me here tonight. If he doesn’t exist, then we have nothing to worry about. If he does turn up then you can ask him why the Oxford University switchboard doesn’t think he exists.’
‘Coming here, Sam? Did you tell him about this place?’
‘Er, no, I don’t think I did mention it actually…’
‘So let me get this right – you’re meeting a professor who potentially doesn’t exist in a place he couldn’t possibly know about. Great.’
When Emily was mad, she would start stroking her hair and looking at her feet. Sam knew the signs only too well.
‘All you have to do,’ he said in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, ‘is meet him here with me. He can answer any questions you may have.’
‘Mmm. Well, we’ll see, won’t we?’
Emily wasn’t satisfied, but as she looked back up at Sam, the warmth was back in her eyes. They sat for a while amongst the books, watching the odd customer arrive and depart, each lost in their thoughts.
Then Emily said, ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you. Uncle Jarl’s moved the reading room from the second floor to the seventh floor.’
‘The reading room?’
‘Yes.’ Emily allowed herself a little smile. She’d known Sam would be intrigued. ‘You know he’s been part of a group who’ve been writing travel books. They’ve mapped out the whole of Northumberland and the borderlands now, from Warkworth in the south to Holy Island in the north. He says it’s taken nearly a decade. Impressive, isn’t it?’
Sam nodded. Looking down the full length of the bookshop, he could see Emily’s uncle bent over a book, oblivious to their conversation.
‘I don’t really know why he’s done it, to be honest,’ Emily added. ‘Perhaps it’s to do with you, Sam, and your Shadow!’
Sam shook his head, but relaxed when he saw Emily’s smile. She reached across and took his hand.
‘Come on – let me show you.’
She led him through the baroque bookshelves with their carved insignias and profusion of multi-coloured spines, the softness of her hand making Sam’s heart beat a little quicker. Then she dropped his hand and went ahead of him up the steep spiral staircase to the distant heights of the bookshop.
* * * * * *
Arriving on the last and most unfamiliar of the seven floors, Sam wiped a droplet of sweat from his face.
‘I thought the seventh floor was unsafe. Won’t we get into trouble? Your uncle can be quite a scary bloke.’
Emily turned and pressed a finger to her lips. In the half-light Sam thought she looked even more beautiful.
‘Yes. He says the seventh floor is dangerous. He’ll be annoyed if he realises I’ve shown you the reading room.’
Her eyes met Sam’s. She was so close to him he could feel the heat from her body.
‘Shhh.’ She pressed her finger gently against his lips. Then, with a mischievous smile, she turned and walked down the corridor.
Sam followed her. The corridor twisted and turned and doorways on each side revealed thousands of books piled high. He was intrigued by the smell and the soft glowing colours of this quiet place. It had an atmosphere all its own. For a moment he wasn’t even sure how long they had been walking, or whether they had in fact walked at all. Looking back over his shoulder, he could no longer see the spiral stairway, only the long half-lit hallway.
Then Emily stopped so suddenly that he only just avoided knocking her over. She had brought him to a door.
Stepping forward to stand beside her, Sam looked at the door more closely. It was round and made of a wood he didn’t recognise. It was knotty, with a maze-like pattern.
‘What’s this?’
Without answering, Emily drew a key from her trouser pocket. It was made of a dark metal unlike anything Sam had ever seen before.
‘Wait!’ Sam found himself reaching for her arm and pulling her back behind him. ‘I think the door is changing – or is it the light?’
He stepped back and there it was again, a subtle flicker, perhaps a trick of the light, but certainly movement. With a gentle ripple, the pattern of the wood seemed to be on the move.
Sam was fascinated. ‘I think it’s a circle,’ he said. ‘Yes, that’s it!’
Emily peered at the door, but to her, the wood was still and unmoving.
‘I’ve seen this before!’
In the silence of the corridor Emily could hear the excitement in Sam’s voice.
‘You won’t believe this, but it’s the circle with the unknown tree – the emblem of Cherwell College!’
‘Here we go again.’
‘I know you don’t want to hear this, Emily, but it’s the truth. This emblem is on the door leading to the Fellows’ Garden.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Emily had lost patience. ‘Forget all that, I’ve something to show you.’
Before Sam had time to stop her, she had turned
the key.
The door opened soundlessly onto a long room that seemed to run the full length of the bookshop. Four steps led down to a wooden floor in the centre, and high above, a glass dome sent a cascade of light arching across the interior. Under the dome, a circle of wooden chairs stood around an ornate round table. At the far end of the room, hanging from the wall, was what Sam initially thought was a blank tapestry, but then realised was an intricate map, a map whose colours were coming alive in the flickering sunlight.
He took in the grand view in silence, breathing in the smell of newly polished wood and marvelling at the resplendent fall of colour.
‘My uncle doesn’t like people coming up to the seventh floor,’ Emily said quietly, ‘but a couple of weeks ago he had guests over and brought them up here. I followed them and this is where they came.’
As she spoke, Jarl’s warning came back to Sam and he felt his stomach lurch. ‘I suppose you don’t have permission to be here, Emily?’
‘Of course not.’
Without waiting for a response, she skipped down the steps into the room.
‘I’ve brought you here because there’s a new map.’
Nervous but intrigued, Sam followed her. He had no sooner stepped off the last step than he felt a warm wind brush past his face. He stopped in his tracks.
Emily had stopped too, near the circle of chairs. She pointed to a giant parchment covering the table.
‘Seeing as you’ve spent a year in Oxford, Sam, or so you say, you might be able to throw a little light on this.’
Sam stepped through the ring of chairs and stood beside her, his eyes settling on the parchment.
‘Oxenaforda!’ He felt himself taking a deep breath. ‘It’s a map of Oxford. It used to be called Oxenaforda, the “ford where the oxen cross”.’