Sophie shrieked and gripped the wall beside her. She suddenly felt very grateful for the locked door.
The driver shouted again. There was another shot fired, which sounded different from the first. If Sophie had known more about warfare, she would have known that this second shot was from a pistol. She also would have known that one musket and one pistol was the most any hired driver would carry. She sat upright, tense, straining to hear what was happening outside. “Did it work? Did he scare them off?”
There was another shout, and the carriage rocked again. Sophie heard what sounded like blades clashing against each other and then a bloody scream. A slight grin tugged at the corners of Madame Eldritch’s mouth. “It would appear he did not.”
Sophie leapt back as the door handle beside her started to shake. “They’re trying to get inside!”
“So it would seem,” Madame Eldritch said, examining her red fingernails in the lamplight. “Unfortunately for them, I possess the only key. And the lock is one from my own inventory—an iron hasp-knot from the Luck Dynasty.”
The handle shook once more, and then—
Click.
“So much for your hasp-knot,” Sophie muttered.
Madame Eldritch’s demeanor changed at once, and she pulled away from the door. “That lock has remained unbroken for three centuries. No mortal could pick it so quickly . . .”
The door swung open.
Outside was darkness but for a silver blade shining in the moonlight. A figure stepped from the shadows. He was wearing a black hat and a black riding cloak and a bandage over his eyes.
Sophie caught her breath. “Peter!”
The boy turned toward her. He was breathing heavily, and blood was running from a cut along his cheek. He pointed the blade at Sophie. “I believe you have something that belongs to me?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HIGHWAY ROBBERY
Peter Nimble stood at the open door of the carriage, blade poised. His ears were still ringing from when the driver had nearly discharged a pistol into his skull. He tried to slow his breathing and focus on the people in the carriage. “Stand and deliver,” he said. This was something Sir Tode had shouted before attacking the driver, and Peter had liked the sound of it.
“How did you find me?” The question came from Sophie. It was clear that she was surprised by Peter’s sudden arrival, and he half wished he could see the look on her face.
“I’ll do the talking,” Peter said, wiping the blood from his cheek. “Any sudden movement and it’ll be your last.” He held out his hand. “Turn over the book.”
The ringing in his ears had subsided, and he could now hear one other heartbeat in the carriage. It was the potion maker who had a shop off the docks—her every pore reeked of drugged perfume, and Peter had to focus not to let the smell distract him.
“The book is mine,” the woman said. “And I would not part with it so easily.”
The boy almost had to laugh at her bravado. “I’m not afraid to fight a girl,” said Peter, whose upbringing left much to be desired in the way of manners.
“Nor am I afraid to fight a boy,” Madame Eldritch retorted. Peter heard her turn away from him, as though addressing another person. “Mister Taro,” she said, “please get rid of this pest.”
Peter listened as a third passenger—someone he had not noticed before—rose from the bench and approached him. “Who—?”
He did not manage to finish the rest of his question, because the very next moment, a rough hand snatched him by the throat and lifted him clear off his feet. Peter gasped, feeling the fingers tightening around his windpipe. He kicked and flailed, but his attacker held him fast.
“Let him go!” he heard Sophie shout.
“Taro. Release him.” The moment Madame Eldritch spoke those words, the hand around Peter’s neck let go.
Peter collapsed to the ground outside the carriage, gasping for air. “What . . . what is that thing?”
He heard Sophie rush to his side. “That’s Mister Taro,” she said, as if that explained anything. “We’re safe, for the moment. He only does what Madame Eldritch tells him to do. She said to let you go, and so he let you go.”
This seemed to be true. Taro was still standing in front of Peter but had made no further movement to hurt him. Peter inched back. “Then let’s get out of here before she notices that I—”
He was cut off by a furious scream. “Taro!” Madame Eldritch’s voice rang out from within the carriage. He heard the door swing open, and the woman rushed down the steps. She raised a hand, presumably pointing in Peter’s direction. “Kill him!”
Peter did not need to be able to see to know what “him” she was referring to—and he had a pretty good idea why she wanted him dead. “Untether the horse!” he cried to Sophie, and he charged to meet his foe. He swiped his silver blade toward Taro’s head but missed completely and plunged his weapon deep into the side of the carriage.
Taro’s own movements were nearly as fast as Peter’s, and the next moment Peter felt two hands grab him by the arm, dislodge his blade from the wood, and swing him up through the air. He flew clear across the road and crashed headfirst into a lamentably sturdy oak tree.
Peter fell to the ground and rolled over, groaning. “How’s that horse coming?” His head was throbbing, and he could taste blood in his mouth. He heard footsteps rushing toward him, and he sprang to one side just as Taro smashed clean through the tree.
“Done!” Sophie’s voice rang out.
Peter climbed to his feet, impressed with how quickly she had managed to loosen the horse. He ran across the road and leapt onto the horse, landing neatly on its back. A moment later, he felt Sophie clamber up behind him.
“Where’s Sir Tode?” Peter asked, grabbing the reins. The last he had checked, Sir Tode had been busy chasing off the carriage driver.
“I’m right here!” the knight shouted. “Just go!”
Peter snapped the reins again, and the horse charged forward. Sophie screamed, grabbing Peter’s waist and clinging for dear life. It was fairly clear that the girl had never been on a horse before, and she held so tightly to him that it hurt his bruised side.
Peter heard a thrashing in the woods beside them. “It’s that creature,” Sir Tode said. “He’s trying to cut us off at the bend.”
Peter snapped the reins again, pushing the horse faster. He could feel Sophie’s breath on his neck, and for some reason it was distracting him from the road. Luckily, the horse seemed to have enough sense to know that it should be running away from Taro.
“Reach into my coat pocket!” Peter called to Sophie. “You’ll find a little bottle with a bug inside.”
Sophie apparently knew enough not to question him. He felt her loosen her death grip ever so slightly and slide a hand into his coat pocket. “Got it,” she said a moment later. “Should I open it?”
“No!” both Peter and Sir Tode shouted at the same time.
“That’s a silkwyrm,” Peter said, forcing himself to keep his voice calm. “Give the bottle a shake—that should wake it up. And when you’ve got a clear shot, throw it straight at Taro as hard as you can.” He very much hoped that what he had heard about girls and throwing was not true. (As it happens, it is not.)
He heard Sophie call out, “I’m sorry!” and throw the vial. There was a shattering sound as the glass hit the road, and quickly after that came a high-pitched shriek.
“Nice shot!” Peter said over the piercing shrieks of the silkwyrm. Peter had never actually seen a silkwyrm go off, but he had a pretty good idea of what it might look like. No sooner does the wyrm escape its bottle than it spins a thousand tiny, unbreakable threads around its prey—encasing it in a giant fluffy white cocoon of death.
Sir Tode, who had been watching the road behind them, turned back to Peter. “Good show, all around. I think we’ve lost them.”
“That’s not the only thing we lost,” Sophie said, her arms tight around Peter’s waist. “Madame Eldritch still ha
s the book.”
Peter perked up. “You mean this book?” He reached into his bag and removed The Book of Who.
He could practically hear Sophie’s jaw drop. “How did you get that?” she said.
“Nicked it when I opened the door.” He stuffed it back into his burgle-sack. “All in a day’s work for the great Peter Nimble!”
Sophie had been riding with Peter and Sir Tode for what felt like an hour. By this point, the excitement of the highway robbery had worn off, and now she was simply exhausted. Her body was stiff from riding horseback, and her dress was chafing her sides terribly. She wondered how long it had been since she had eaten. She shifted, adjusting her grip around Peter’s waist. “Can we stop and rest?” she said.
“Get off if you want, but we’re not stopping here,” Peter said, one ear cocked to the woods. “That root creature is still after us. What is that thing, anyway?”
“He’s a full-grown mandrake root,” Sophie said. “His name is Taro.”
The boy turned away. “Whatever he is, he’s getting closer. I can smell him about a quarter league off.”
Sophie stared at Peter, unsure whether he was teasing her. He had made a few similar offhand references earlier in the night—alluding to distant smells and sounds that should have been impossible to detect.
Sir Tode, for his part, seemed to believe him. “Well, then, we’d better keep moving. At these crossroads, take a left . . . and there should be a village at the top of the hill.”
Sophie, who by this point had gotten her bearings a bit, shook her head. “A village? In the Grimmwald?”
“That’s what he said,” Peter said, turning down a small overgrown path.
“I’ve read dozens of histories of the Grimmwald,” Sophie said. “And I’m telling you, there are no villages out this far.”
“Tell that to them,” Peter said, slowing the horse.
Sophie looked down to see a cluster of squat huts, most of them only a little taller than she was. There were lights on in some of the windows and smoke trailing from the chimneys. She could hear music and voices inside what appeared to be a tavern, outside of which stood a row of miniature ponies along a miniature hitching post. The doors of the tavern were only about as high as her chin. “What is this place?” she asked in amazement.
Sir Tode pointed a hoof toward a sign that was posted on the side of the road:
WELCOME TO
LITTLE WHENCE
POP. MORE OR LESS
EST. ONCE UPON A TIME
Sophie stared at the name. “Little Whence?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, and she wondered if she had, in fact, read of it in a story. “What kind of people live here? And in such tiny houses?”
Peter shrugged. “Knomes, probably.” It is worth noting that he didn’t say this in a sarcastic manner. The boy flicked the reins, and the horse ambled slowly through the tiny village.
Sophie dismounted and walked between the little huts with their little chimneys and little picket fences. It did not make her feel like a giant, exactly, but it did make her feel like a full-grown adult. “What are you looking for?” she asked Peter.
The boy led the horse to a small hut just off the road. “Here it is,” he answered.
The building was some kind of abandoned shop. A sign over the door read:
NAT PEBBLE’S
CURIO EMPORIUM
“It’s a curiosity shop,” Sophie said. She grabbed the door handle and tried to turn it. “It’s locked.” But then the knob suddenly shook of its own accord, and she leapt back, startled.
The door swung inward to reveal Peter Nimble crouched on the other side, looking rather pleased with himself. “The window was open,” he said. “Come on in.”
Sophie ducked down and stepped into the shop. She had to stoop to prevent herself from hitting the rafters. Sir Tode clopped in after her. The shelves were crammed with all manner of strange windup toys and sparkling trinkets and bubbling bottles and shimmering plants. It reminded her of a much less frightening version of Madame Eldritch’s shop. Peter shut the door behind them, locking it. He took a chair and propped it under the doorknob for reinforcement. “We don’t have much time,” he said to Sir Tode.
Sophie watched as the boy began feeling his way along the walls, touching all the shelves. He stopped at a small bookcase with claw feet. The case might once have been elegant but now only looked sad. A few lonely books lay scattered across its shelves. It seemed that even this far outside of Bustleburgh, good books were in short supply. “This is it,” Peter said.
Sophie heard a sharp neigh from the horse outside. “That would be our friend Taro,” Sir Tode said. “Hurry, Peter.”
There was the sound of a scuffle and then galloping hoofbeats receding into the distance. “He’s chased off our horse,” Sophie said. “We’re trapped.”
“Not for long.” Peter knelt down and opened his bag. “I’d stand back from the front door if I were you.”
Crack!
The shop door shuddered as Taro beat against it from the other side.
Sophie rushed across the shop and huddled beside Sir Tode, who was watching his friend with keen interest. Peter removed a hefty object from his bag that Sophie recognized as a popular style of bookend. Mounted to the front was a round brass doorknob. “What on earth are you going to do with that?” she said.
Crack!
The door shuddered again, this time taking one of the hinges off the frame. Sophie leapt back, reflexively grabbing Peter’s arm. He ignored her, setting the bookend on the shelf. He turned the knob and pulled it toward himself—
Sophie gasped.
As Peter pulled the knob, the entire bookcase swung out like a door. Behind it lay a swirling gray fog.
Sophie stepped back, her eyes fixed on the endless passage behind the bookcase. “How did you . . . ?”
CRACK!
There was an explosion of splinters and twisted iron as the door behind them was ripped clean off its hinges. It crashed against the opposite wall—shattering a shelf full of glass jars. Brightly colored foam hissed and sputtered from one of the jars, spilling out over the floor. Another jar shot sparks into the air. A third one began playing music.
Taro stepped into the shop, white fibers from the silkwyrm still clinging to his torn clothes. He flexed his long, tuberous fingers.
Peter removed the bookend from the shelf and stuffed it into his bag. “We should go.” He grabbed Sophie’s arm and dragged her toward the bookcase.
Taro’s eyes fixed on the swirling passage behind them. He sprang across the room, racing toward them, hands outstretched.
Peter shoved Sophie through the opening and jumped through after her with Sir Tode under one arm. The case clicked shut behind them, and Sophie screamed as she tumbled backward into the darkness . . .
PART TWO
WHAT
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE LOOKING-GLASS LIBRARY
If Sophie had been expecting a nice, lazy plummet through some formless void, she was sorely disappointed. No sooner had she tumbled backward through the bookcase than her head struck a hard stone floor. Sir Tode and Peter landed on top of her a moment after, pummeling her with elbows and hooves.
Sophie looked back to the bookcase, which had shut itself behind them. “That bookcase won’t hold for long,” she said, crawling out from underneath the others. “We have to keep running!”
Peter and Sir Tode did not run. Instead, they stood and dusted themselves off, calm as could be. “Looks like we lost him,” Sir Tode said. He sniffed at a shriveled bit of root on the floor that looked suspiciously like one of Taro’s fingers. “Or most of him, anyhow.” He kicked the severed digit into the flames of a hearth that crackled serenely nearby.
Peter retrieved his hat, which had landed atop a threadbare oriental rug. “We’re safe now,” he said to Sophie. “Even if that creature rips the bookcase apart, he’ll find nothing but an empty wall.” He flopped down into an old wingback chair, propping his
feet on a footstool.
Sophie peered around the room. She had assumed that they had escaped into some sort of secret passageway inside the wall of the curiosity shop, but now she could tell that that was impossible. Secret passages did not have glowing hearths and old rugs and comfy wingback chairs. Sophie climbed to her feet, rubbing her eyes. “Where are we?” she said.
“We are on a secret island,” Sir Tode explained. “Or, rather, under it. It’s the home of a man named Professor Cake. This is his library.”
Before her stood an enormous wall made entirely of bookcases. Shelves of every size imaginable were crammed together—side by side, top to bottom, wedged against one another like pieces of a giant puzzle. For some reason, the books on the shelves had all been arranged backward, with their spines facing in. There were more bookcases above and below her. Twisting staircases led to shelves arranged at all angles—just looking at it all made her dizzy. There were no windows, and the air was filled with a musty odor that she associated with root cellars. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she could hear the muffled roar of falling water, and above that, the faint music of glass bottles clinking against one another. “It’s enormous,” she said.
Enormous was an understatement. It was the biggest room she had ever seen. Sophie walked among the stacks, marveling at the endless rows of books. She tried to calculate how many lifetimes it would take to read all these stories. Most of the books looked very old. She reached to pick up one of the volumes—
“Don’t touch the books,” Peter called. “If anything goes missing, Professor Cake will know.”
Sophie decided they must be referring to the same professor she had read about in The Book of Who. “This Professor of yours—is he the one who sent you to Bustleburgh?”
“Obviously,” Peter said, cleaning his fingernails with his blade. “And I wouldn’t get too comfortable. As soon as he shows up, I’m sure he’ll send you back to where you came from.”
Sophie Quire and the Last Storyguard Page 9