“Calm down, old chap,” said the vampire as he flowed toward Emily, cape flicking out behind him. “I am the ultimate predator of the night. She’s not going anywhere.” He cocked his head. “I say, can you hear a horse?”
As he spoke, a black stallion cantered around the corner. It was a magnificent beast, black as sin all over, with a splash of pure white in the top of its mane, and glowing red eyes. It skidded, then charged at full speed, straight over the vampire, crushing him into the cobblestones without even a squeak.
The horse skidded to a halt in the midst of the gang, hooves still on the flattened and twitching vampire. The Bear had just opened his snout to say something when the horse wheeled neatly around and kicked him so hard with its back hooves that he flew into the air before crashing into the wall with a meaty thump. Before anyone could do more than gasp, the horse was in among the goblins.
It whinnied a high-pitched shriek, reared up on its hind legs and crashed down among them, front legs flailing. The horse was a whirlwind of teeth and lashing hooves, bucking and kicking and spinning and biting as the goblins screamed and tried to get out from under the sudden storm. The Bear lay against the wall, curled on his side, paws clutched to his vast stomach as he tried to breathe. All he could squeeze out were tiny little wheezing noises, drool falling from his slack jaws.
Emily hadn’t moved an inch. The stallion stared straight at her from inside the cloud of dust and screaming henchmen, lips pulled back from huge teeth in an unholy grin. In an ever-so-human gesture, it flicked its head to the right. She gawped, and it did it again—it was a clear, “go on, get out of here” type of head movement. The madness of it jolted her into action. She turned to run and had gone three paces before she let out a hiss, and turned back to where Constable-in-Training Postlewhite lay in a crumpled heap. She grabbed him by the collar and shook him. He stirred with a moan.
“Come on, we have to go.”
“I … what? Where?” He blinked and sat up, in a billowing cloud of scent. It was coming from him. Had he smashed a bottle of perfume in the fall or something?
“Come on! We have to go now!”
She yanked him to his feet and he wobbled, but the light was returning to his yellow eyes. He started to flail at his belt for his missing truncheon.
“I must alert the Watch and make arrests. My duty …”
“I don’t care if it’s your duty to do the moonwalk! They’re going to eat us if we stay.”
The stallion still whirled and shrieked, but it was slowing, all streaked with sweat and blood. (Not that any of the blood was its own. It was a bad day to be a goblin.) On the other side of the alley, the Bear had rolled onto his front and was trying to get up. He was growling the low, bubbling noise of a monster truck. The stallion glared at Emily with its bright-red eyes and gave a high-pitched whinny.
“Right, I’m off!” she snapped at the policeman and turned to go. “Enjoy being finger food.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
Half dragging, half carrying the wobbly young man, she stumbled for the nearest alley mouth. They threw themselves into the darkness and he managed a staggering run alongside her. They’d just built up to a jogging pace, when a horrific roar of rage echoed around them, a ripping, deep-throated chainsaw of a noise. The Bear had gotten his breath back. Without either of them speaking, they started to sprint, skating from cobblestone to cobblestone and careering off walls as they hurtled away, the roar echoing behind them through the dark.
An endless time later, they sagged against a wall in a dank backstreet, heaving for air. Emily hadn’t run so much in years (not since she’d managed to get her mom to absentmindedly sign a “no games ever” note, anyway), and was not enjoying having to do it for the third time in a day. She leaned forward, hands on her knees, the necklace of bad pennies dangling out of her T-shirt with beads of sweat dripping off them. She sucked in the cold night air and concentrated on not throwing up.
“Thank you for helping me to escape. That was very honorable.” The young policeman was out of breath but not as beet red and panting as Emily was. “I think under the circumstances, we should be properly introduced. I’m Tarquin. Constable-in-Training Tarquin Postlewhite.”
“Emily Featherhaugh, and s’okay,” she said in between gasps. “You tried to stand up for me. That was brave.”
He smiled and did what she suspected was his best brave face. It didn’t do his excuse for a mustache any favors.
“Merely my duty, Miss Featherhaugh.”
“If utterly stupid.”
He deflated.
“Oh.”
“What was all that about? Do you have police attack horses or something?”
“No, that was a Pooka. I’ve never seen one before, but the red eyes …” He shook his head in wonder. “They’re beasts of ill-omen—rare and powerful, and terribly unlucky.”
“Unlucky for that bloke it jumped up and down on, anyway,” said Emily.
“Yes, but fortuitous for us. That’s unusual in itself.” He winced as he rubbed his already bruising neck and shoulder. “You certainly weren’t making it up about the Bear.”
“I told you!”
“He’s formidable. I think he might be an Ancient Beast.” Tarquin smiled at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to mention it in mitigation to my sergeant when I hand you in.”
“What?”
He inched back from Emily, but composed himself.
“I’ve no choice. Your assistance was appreciated, although I’m sure I’d have managed …”
She was too out of breath to do any more than growl at him.
“But that was a direct attack on the Watch by denizens of the Hour. It hasn’t happened in years. So you’re a subject of interest in two separate investigations now and will have to come with me.”
He drew himself up, straightened his muddy cape, and inflated back to the same self-important muppet he’d been when they first met.
“Oh my god, you’re a total … wait, what do you mean, two?”
“Well yes, first we need to find out how on earth you got in. That should be impossible.” He counted off on his fingers. “And secondly, what these villains wanted with you. If you’re not in league with them. Which …” He raised a hand to stop her shouting. “… I’ll grant it didn’t look as if you were. But it’s all become very serious and we need to take it to a higher authority.”
Was she going to erupt or just spontaneously combust? Tricky decision. Instead, she spoke her next words with great care, as if speaking to a complete idiot. Which, in fact, she was.
“I got in with a key. This key.” She opened her bag and pulled it out, and waved it, show-and-tell style. “It belongs to my dad. He works for the Night Post.” She waved the badge in the wallet. “And I don’t know why that bear is chasing me, but I have to get to the library to find out why my dad was going there.”
Constable-in-Training Postlewhite narrowed his eyes.
“The Library?”
“Yes, the library. My mom might have worked there, I think. I’ve got her stupid library card.” She held it up. “I’ve got to find out what’s happened. Mom’s gone missing and my dad hasn’t come back, either, and it’s something to do with that horrible bear. If we could just go there on the way or something then …”
She stopped talking. Constable-in-Training Postlewhite was staring at the library card she’d held up. He took it from her and studied it with a low whistle.
“Crikey. This is your mother’s, you say?”
“Yes.”
“She has a Library card?”
“Yeees.” Perhaps he’d banged his head harder than she’d thought when he hit the wall?
“Well, I’ll be.”
“All right. Sarcasm’s my job.”
Tarquin’s eyes glowed honey-bright.
“No, you don’t understand. The bestowing of a Library card is a sacred trust conferred on few.”
“Errrm?”
“What exact
ly did your father say about the Library?”
Whenever he mentioned the words “the library,” he was adding an extra level of gravity to the way he said it. Like, the Titanic, or, the War.
“The nice lady at the Night Post said that he had to go to the library to check out where a letter had come from.”
Which, when she said it aloud, sounded a bit daft. Why leave a perfectly good post office to go to the library if you were researching a letter?
Tarquin paced away, staring at the card.
“Hrrrrrrrmmmm.”
“Seriously, what’s the big deal?” said Emily.
He handed it back to her.
“I should take you back to the station, but if the Library is involved, then you should go there first.”
“Great!” Emily bounced up. “What’s the problem, then?”
“Well.” He wrung his hands together, his face creased with worry. Despite the uniform, he must have been only a few years older than her. “There’s an order here. The Dead run everything night-to-night, like the Watch and the post, but the—”
“Wait, who’s dead?”
“You know, the Dead. Hungry Dead? Angry Dead? All the other types? No?”
Emily shook her head. “Wait, so all the dead here are like … alive?” she said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. They don’t let just anyone come back. That’d be madness. Only the important people …”
He was pacing again now.
“But the most important things in the Midnight Hour are the forces that created it and saved us all, the Older Powers. The Library is among their number.”
“A library?”
“The Library. We’d be going straight to the top.” His face was mournful at the prospect.
“Brilliant. That’s just what I want.”
“My father has strong views on not being noticed by people at the top,” Tarquin said.
“You can stay outside, then.”
“I suppose so.” He drew himself back up. “I’ve heard some strange stuff about the Library. Very strange indeed.”
How strange did something need to be over here, before people would actually mention it?
“And the Bear was in your world?”
His face was a mask of very grown-up concern (which, Emily hadn’t the heart to tell him, made his mustache look even sillier).
“That shouldn’t even be possible. Most denizens are strictly forbidden to leave the Midnight Hour for their own good. The Daylight realm is dangerous.”
He turned and gave her what she was coming to recognize as his “official police look.” She was pretty sure he must have copied it off of someone.
“He took a terrible risk. Why on earth are they after you?”
“I have no idea. He just keeps on sniffing me down. Says I smell like bad luck—”
Emily stopped dead in the middle of the footbridge they were walking over, and clutched at her necklace.
“Oh god, he’s just going to sniff me down again, isn’t he? I need to jump in a sewer or something.”
She spun on her heels. He could already be creeping up on them! She leaned out over the edge of the bridge; maybe the rivulet of black water below might be stinky enough to cover her smell? A green-blotched troll face peered back up from under the bridge and made a very rude gesture at her. Tarquin put his hand on her arm before she could hurl herself in.
“Just wait, please.”
He checked all around to see if anyone was watching, then turned back to her, his cheeks flushing with color. The embarrassment changed to concentration and his tongue crept out of the corner of his mouth as he held out a hand toward Emily. He drew his hand slowly around her from head to toes, as if marking her outline in chalk. As he did, the air was suffused with the rich, cloying odor of violets. Emily coughed. From within her pocket came a small but distinct sneeze.
“Whoa! You made me smell of old-lady sweets! How did you do that?”
Tarquin’s face tightened.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Come along.”
“Oh, come on, you can’t just cover me in magic perfume then say nothing.” She bounced along at his side. “That was amazing!”
She was walking backward in front of him now.
“Can you do other smells? Can you do Chanel No. 5? You could have your own counter at Harrods and make a fortune!”
“Please, please stop talking.”
“But how did you do that? What are y—” She stopped, in a hurry, as he looked up to glare at her. “No, sorry, forget I said that. I know it’s rude.”
Tarquin heaved a sigh.
“No, it’s all right. I’m ghûl.”
“A ghoul?”
“No, ghûl.”
“Guhool.” She rounded her lips and tried to speak from the back of her throat like he was.
“Almost. Close enough, in fact. My family are ghûl, and this exact type of misunderstanding is the problem. Ghouls,” and he enunciated it so the difference was obvious, “eat the dead. Very prestigious. My family eat … other things.”
He gave a small twisted smile.
“What exactly?”
“Nothing. You wouldn’t understand.” He was waving his hands around, grasping for an explanation. “There are just … look, people have different backgrounds and are treated differently.”
“Yeah, we have that, too.”
“Not like here. You must never mention I did this.”
“But the smelly thing is so cool!”
His brow creased.
“Does that mean good?”
“Yup.”
“Well, it’s not. If I could eat the dead and take their power, that would be … whatever you just said. But I eat … other things, and smell nice. Very much not cold.”
“Oh.”
He stopped and leaned against a lamppost. Above his head, giant moths battered against the glass with heavy thumps, and his eyes burned the same color as the tip of the gas flame.
“Honestly, I think the recruiting sergeant wrote the wrong type of ‘ghoul’ down when I applied to join the Watch. I don’t know how, they sound totally different.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m not sure I’d have the job if they knew,” he said to himself, then stopped. “Hecate, why am I telling you this?”
“Because I am famed as a very good listener.”
“Truly?”
“No, not at all. But it was interesting.”
He drew himself up to his full height, pulled his cape down with a brisk tug, and gave her the policeman look.
“I put you on your honor that, having done this to protect you, it will not be mentioned again.”
“I won’t tell anyone, okay?”
His rigid posture relaxed.
“Thank you. Come along, then, we aren’t far away now.”
“As long as you de-arrest me.”
“WHAT?”
“Come on, Violet. You know it makes sense.”
By the time they’d rounded the final corner, Tarquin was keeping a steady ten, deeply irritated paces in front of Emily. Even here, in another magical world, her gob annoyed people. It was a superpower. As they walked on in silence, the dark streets snapped into place as a picture she recognized.
“Wait, I’ve been here before. We’re right by the museum, yeah?”
Tarquin nodded in a frosty manner but said nothing, and carried on around the corner. She found him standing outside an open gate in a stone wall. Beyond it was a graveled courtyard, and then stone steps leading up to a vast, columned portico at the front of the building. It was as much a Greek temple as a museum. Tarquin stared at it without saying anything.
“Are you still sulking?”
“I am an officer of the Night Watch. I do not sulk. I am just …” He looked away from the doors. “I am just …”
“Wait, are you scared?” Seeing him worry was a … worry, but it made him more human. Apart from the golden eyes and pointy ears, anyway.
�
�No! Just … cautious. She is an enigma.”
“Who?”
“The Library.”
“Eh?”
He ignored her, squared his shoulders, and started toward the stairs. She hustled along behind him, definitely not scared, either. Definitely …
He heaved open a great metal-bound door and walked into the tall atrium, striding across the marble floor, and she hurried to keep up. The museum entrance was vast and quiet, and ringed with glinting things in cases. In the middle was a tall wooden rostrum, with a goat-man seated behind it. He wore a black vest over a pristine white shirt, with a thin black necktie, but had the head, horns, and creepy horizontal pupils of a goat. He was smoking a thin black cigarillo. It was hanging out of the corner of his long muzzle, and dangling perilously close to his splendid chin-beard. Emily edged a bit to the side, but the rostrum curved too far around. She’d have bet five quid he had hooves.
“Good evening, we’re here to see the Library,” said Tarquin.
The goat-man picked up a pair of half-moon spectacles from where they dangled at the end of a chain around his neck and brought them to his eyes. They had a huge bridge in the middle to go over his broad nose. Emily was pretty sure he only put them on just so he could look down over them.
“I see. I’m afraid all usage of the reading room must be cleared with the Keeper of Printed Books.” As he spoke, a whiff of tobacco and cut grass drifted from him. “I see no note about an appointment here … sir.”
There had been a good second before that “sir.” He inspected a blank piece of paper in front of him, then looked back up with a thin smile. At no point did he look at Emily. She recognized his type straight away, goat face or not.
Tarquin was unfazed.
“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me … sir.” He held his hand out to Emily without looking at her. “Miss Featherhaugh, the card please.”
Emily was impressed at this coolness, although less so at the “finger-snapping-at-assistant” mode he had fallen into. She had a quick scrabble in her bag and then, stepping straight past Tarquin’s outstretched hand, slapped the library card on the counter.
“We’re here to see THE LIBRARY,” she said with extra emphasis. “My good man,” she added, just in case it wasn’t clear she was patronizing him.
The Midnight Hour Page 7