Pages and Co 2: Tilly and the Lost Fairytales

by Anna James

  ‘We are … on the right side, yes?’ Oskar said.

  ‘Side of what?’ Tilly asked.

  ‘Whatever this is,’ Oskar said. ‘Because it is clearly something.’ And although Tilly was loath to admit it to herself, she had to accept that Oskar was right. A now-familiar panic rose in Tilly’s chest. The feeling of belonging and acceptance she’d experienced when she first found out she was a bookwanderer had been ripped away when she discovered that she was half-fictional. She was of their world and yet removed from it, and sometimes felt like one of those children she’d read about in novels, who were forced to live inside a plastic bubble because they were sick and couldn’t risk contamination – as though she had to keep parts of herself hidden and protected. And now there were all these complicated Underlibrary politics she couldn’t quite grasp, and there was a tiny voice in the back of her head asking whether everything would be easier if she’d never found out she was a bookwanderer at all. Who wanted to be special anyway? All it seemed to mean was secrets, suspicious looks, and a feeling of always being slightly on the outside.

  Despite this, and the strange atmosphere crackling in the Underlibrary, Tilly couldn’t help but feel a sudden rush of wonder at the sight of the beautiful main hall that stretched high above her head, with its turquoise ceiling and sweeping wooden arches. A librarian rushed over to them and shook Grandad’s hand vigorously.

  ‘Seb!’ Oskar said happily, recognising the librarian who had helped them learn how to bookwander a few months ago.

  ‘How are you all? Mr Pages, sir, Ms Pages, lovely to see you,’ Seb said. ‘Tilly, Oskar.’ He was speaking incredibly quickly, unable to stop himself being polite, despite clearly having something very important to say. ‘If you wouldn’t mind following me, Amelia’s waiting for you.’ He shepherded the four of them off into an anteroom, keeping an eye on who was watching them go. The room he took them to was lined with bookshelves and warmed by a large fire, and pacing in front of it was Amelia Whisper, the former Head Librarian, her long black hair pinned up into a formal hairstyle that robbed her of some of her usual warmth. Her skin, usually a glowing brown, looked paler and duller than normal. She nodded her head to them as they came in.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said.

  ‘Of course, Amelia,’ Grandma said, rushing across the room and trying to wrap her in a hug, which Amelia stopped with a firm hand.

  ‘Don’t be too kind to me,’ Amelia said. ‘You’ll make me cry, which is not very on brand for me at all. And I need to talk to you about something much more important than me and my feelings. Seb and I are worried about what’s going on here.’

  ‘Well, we all are,’ Grandad said. ‘Honestly, insisting you stand down, listening to these cliques and their hare-brained ideas.’

  ‘No, I mean something more than that,’ Amelia said. ‘Yes, I’m heartbroken that the Underlibrary is choosing to replace me, but, well, they’re within their rights to do so.’

  ‘Just,’ Grandad muttered.

  ‘But the issue is who they’re replacing me with. Or trying to.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Grandma asked.

  ‘I don’t trust Melville Underwood at all, and I think there’s more to his story than he’s letting on.’

  ‘Ah, but they won’t go for him, surely,’ Grandad said. ‘He’s just got back from goodness knows where. No one knows anything about him. It’ll be old Ebenezer.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Amelia said. ‘You haven’t been here over the last week; Melville may have just got back but he’s been darting around the Library whispering in people’s ears and I’m worried about what he’s saying, and what people are open to believing. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the Bookbinders have stopped grumbling from the sidelines and started to get more organised.’

  ‘If I could be permitted to chip in,’ Seb said. ‘I am a little concerned about where he has been all this time, as you say, Mr Pages – but others don’t share our reticence. The Bookbinders, as they insist on calling themselves now, are lapping up Melville’s tale because they are happy to gloss over all sorts of irregularities if it means having one of their own in charge. Ideologically, I mean. Better the devil you sort-of-know, and all that. But while he claims that he and his sister were attacked while leading a bookwandering group through a collection of fairy tales, there are no records of this attack happening. If a group of bookwanderers were attacked or lost there should be some note or diary or even personal memory, somewhere in our records. He says he can’t be sure what happened to the rest of the group, or his sister, and no one seems to be pushing him on it. Something smells fishy to me.’

  ‘But there’s no proof?’ Grandad said slowly.

  ‘Well, no,’ Seb said. ‘The lack of evidence or proof is just the issue. There’s no way to corroborate his story. We’re a group of librarians and archivists and storytellers; why aren’t we more concerned that there’s no record …?’

  ‘I do worry that unfounded claims such as these will merely make us look like sore losers, especially today,’ Grandad said slowly. ‘Is there wisdom in waiting and watching for a while, do you think? I must admit, I never warmed to Melville when I crossed paths with him back when we were both young men here.’

  ‘That’s the other thing,’ Amelia said. ‘He’s still a young man.’

  ‘Well, that’s nothing of note in itself,’ Grandma said. ‘Ageing works erratically in books as it is, and if he was in fairy tales then even more so.’

  ‘Yes, but he doesn’t seem to have aged a day,’ Amelia said. ‘He still looks to be in his late twenties.’

  ‘My dear Amelia, it’s easy to find evidence of what we already believe …’

  Amelia brushed Grandad’s reassuring hand off her arm.

  ‘Don’t you dare patronise me, Archie,’ she said. ‘I am not some conspiracy theorist, I know the Underlibrary of today better than you do. I understand that we are dealing with little more than smoke and whispers and instincts here.’

  ‘You know what they say about no smoke without fire,’ Seb said sagely.

  Amelia ignored him. ‘There is something else happening here,’ she said firmly, ‘and you would be wise to take my warning seriously.’

  Grandad nodded, chastened. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … I just, well, Elsie and I both care for you greatly as our friend and colleague and I don’t want to see you get hurt more than necessary.’

  ‘The hurt is already inflicted,’ Amelia said, steely-eyed. ‘And I can endure it. But I want it to be worth something, and it is time for some answers. Do you know, in recent weeks I have found myself wondering if I was ever really quite cut out for being in charge? Do you think I’d make a good rebel? I’m interested to see if I’ve got it in me.’ There was a definite twinkle in her eye. ‘Now, if only I can convince Seb to start disobeying some rules …’

  ‘One step at a time,’ Seb said, breaking out in a light sweat at the mere thought.

  eb led them back to the main hall. A table and a microphone had been set up on a sturdy platform at one end of the hall, and rows of chairs faced it. On top of the table was an enormous book bound in ruby-red leather beside an old-fashioned ink pot complete with a feathered quill. Librarians had nearly filled up the rows, but Seb ushered Grandad, Grandma, Tilly and Oskar to reserved seats near the front. As they sat down, Tilly couldn’t help but notice the way everyone turned to look at them, undisguised suspicion on many faces. Was it her or her grandparents who were attracting such distrust? Or all of them?

  ‘Considering our part in the whole Enoch Chalk debacle, I’m surprised we’re up here at the front,’ Grandad whispered.

  ‘All the better to keep an eye on us, I’m sure,’ Grandma said.

  ‘You know how it is,’ Seb said. ‘Tradition always wins out, and tradition states that any living former Librarians are guests of honour at Inking Ceremonies. And I imagine that if you don’t bring Chalk up, no one else will. People are happy
to let Amelia take the fall for this; it’s easier to blame one person than to think about what’s really happening.’

  Tilly was distracted from people’s suspicious glares when she noticed a young man emerge and stand just behind the platform, eyes closed, talking to himself under his breath. He had neat, white-blond hair and was wearing a navy-blue suit, with a librarian cardigan underneath the jacket. He looked very focused and Tilly could only assume it was Melville Underwood, the man that Amelia and Seb were so wary of. Behind him, talking to each other amiably, were a very old man with a silvery beard that curled its way down to his shins, and a middle-aged woman in a wheelchair wearing all black. As Tilly watched, a librarian came up behind Melville, and startled him out of his meditations with a tap to the shoulder. She spoke quietly to him, gesturing at the microphone, and Tilly saw a flash of irritation cross his face, quickly replaced by a polished warm smile. She nudged Grandad.

  ‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ she asked.

  Grandad looked up and nodded. ‘And the man with the beard is Ebenezer, and the woman is Catherine,’ he said, as the three candidates and Amelia came and sat facing the audience. Amelia kept her head held high, her brow furrowed.

  The crowd hushed as one, as if responding to an invisible signal, and only the occasional creak of a wooden chair echoed through the hall. A man who looked like he worked in a bank rather than a magical library climbed the steps on to the platform and tapped the microphone hesitantly, causing a shriek of feedback to bounce around the room. The audience grimaced, and the man blushed.

  ‘That’s Cassius McCray,’ Grandad whispered to Tilly and Oskar. ‘Chief Secretary of the Underlibrary.’

  Cassius didn’t apologise, just glared at the microphone as though it was personally trying to undermine him. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Right,’ he started. ‘Well, we are gathered here today for the Inking Ceremony. This is a slightly unusual situation due to the, uh, circumstances. As you all know, our former colleague Enoch Chalk was revealed to be a, well, a fictional character from a Source Edition. He had been working here undetected for decades, trapping anyone who discovered him in books that he had tampered with. It was a … a less-than-ideal situation. Ms Whisper, our former Head Librarian, had her suspicions about his true nature and decided not to share them with us, her colleagues. We believe that decision makes her, well, unsuitable for that esteemed role, and she has been relieved of her duties. We thank Ms Whisper for her service to the British Underlibrary, and we have offered her another, more suitable, position here should she wish to remain and make amends by helping us discover the whereabouts of Mr Chalk. That investigation is ongoing, and we are confident it will be resolved satisfactorily. We will, of course, keep you updated. As is our duty.’

  Throughout this, Amelia kept her chin in the air with no trace of penitence on her face. Tilly felt as though she wanted to applaud her, or run up and hug her, or do anything at all to show her she was on Amelia’s side. And there it was again in her head: the idea of sides, and of having to be on one.

  ‘Well,’ Cassius continued. ‘This of course means we must elect a new Librarian, and we have had three, uh, yes, three, candidates put themselves forward, and despite their, shall we say, current status, it is in our statutes that anyone who is eligible may speak to us. So, we will hear from all three and there will be the opportunity to put questions to them and then, as is tradition, we will have a private ballot to determine Ms Whisper’s successor. So, uh, shall we start with our dear friend Ebenezer Okparanta …?’ A librarian behind him coughed and Cassius corrected himself. ‘I mean, our colleague Ebenezer Okparanta.’

  The old man with the long silvery beard took to the stage, a warm smile on his face.

  ‘My friends,’ he began. ‘For we are all dear friends here. I stand before you an old man, but one who wishes to unite us all under the principles we hold so dear. We are in a time of confusion and tumult, but it needn’t continue. We care for a magical and important thing here, and we are being distracted from our purpose by in-fighting and egos. We must continue our work to prevent the closure of bookshops and libraries while also working to protect ourselves and our community – two goals which can be achieved in harmony. I believe, at this juncture, my long past here at the Underlibrary and proven dedication to our goals make me the steady hand we need to steer us through this time. I have worked with you all for many years, and I hope that my experience speaks for itself. Thank you, friends.’

  ‘Any questions?’ Cassius said, and hands sprang up.

  ‘Ebenezer, what are you going to do about Enoch Chalk?’ a voice said.

  ‘I shall, of course, be working with Amelia to find out where he has gone, and—’

  ‘But,’ interrupted the voice, ‘I think, or rather I know, there are others here who believe that librarians should be tested to ensure we are all who we say we are.’

  ‘Why, no,’ Ebenezer said, sounding surprised. ‘I haven’t heard that. What do we have without trust in each other?’

  ‘Look where that’s got us,’ another voice said in a stage whisper, and Ebenezer started to look slightly flummoxed.

  ‘Enoch needs to be dealt with, of course, my friends, but there are bigger things at play,’ he said. ‘The waning of book magic as bookshops and libraries close, the erratic readings we’re getting from fairy tales.’

  ‘Let’s hear from Melville Underwood!’ a woman cried. ‘He’s been inside the fairy tales after all!’

  ‘Now, now,’ Cassius said. ‘It’s Catherine’s turn next. Let’s just leave it there with Ebenezer.’

  Ebenezer walked off stage a little wobbily, clearly taken aback by the mood in the room, and was replaced by the woman wheeling herself up the ramp on to the stage.

  ‘That’s Catherine Caraway,’ Grandma whispered.

  ‘Fellow bookwanderers,’ Catherine said, sounding confident and warm. ‘For too long we have neglected our primary reason for existence and have been mired in bureaucracy. I want to lead an Underlibrary that is focused on bookwandering. What we need to do is contact the Archivists.’ Tilly could hear tutting spread through the room, and even a few derisive laughs. ‘We have abandoned them for too long,’ Catherine went on, her voice building in volume. ‘Why are we so surprised they have forsaken us? Let us give our problems to them to resolve, and get back to our true purpose.’

  Tilly glanced at her grandparents and saw that they both looked deeply uncomfortable, as though Catherine had suggested enlisting the Easter Bunny to help.

  ‘Who would you choose?’ Tilly whispered to Grandma.

  ‘Leaving aside the obvious fact that Amelia is considerably more suitable than any of them,’ she said quietly, ‘Ebenezer’s heart is in the right place, I am sure, but I worry he doesn’t have the strength to cope with rebel voices here. And goodness knows what Catherine is talking about. She’s showing her naivety …’

  ‘But couldn’t the Archivists help?’ Tilly said. ‘I thought they were, like, the most important bookwanderers?’

  ‘Trusting in the Archivists is like relying on a unicorn to come and grant you wishes to solve your problems,’ Grandma replied.

  ‘Maybe Melville will be better?’ Tilly whispered, stealing another glance at the man who was watching Catherine field increasingly angry questions with a look of sincere polite interest on his face.

  ‘We shall see,’ Grandma said, and then they were shushed by someone sitting behind them.

  Catherine wheeled her chair down from the stage and Cassius took the microphone again, looking very unsettled. Amelia tried – and failed – to keep a slightly smug expression off her face.

  ‘Right, well,’ Cassius spluttered. ‘Let’s just remember we’re all colleagues, shall we? So, where were we … Yes, well, finally, we have our rather last-minute candidate. A long-lost wanderer has unexpectedly returned to us and has put himself forward, which he is absolutely permitted to do. Some of you who have been here a while will remember our colleagues Melvil
le and Decima Underwood, who were bookwanderers in the field, putting their own lives on the line to explore the limits of our stories in fairy tales. When they vanished without a trace we believed they had made, well, the ultimate sacrifice for their work in some of our most dangerous stories. But … a miracle has occurred, and we are encouraged by the return of Mr Melville Underwood.’

  Cassius climbed down from the platform, and Melville Underwood took to the stage. The silence in the room was absolute and Tilly found herself leaning forward, eager to hear what he would say.

  ‘My friends,’ Melville started. His voice sounded as though it had been dipped in honey. ‘I am so grateful to have found my way back to you. I have endured years balancing on the brink of survival in the fairytale worlds, alone in my grief for my poor sister, Decima. The thought of coming home, to my British Underlibrary family, has sustained me. Although I have come close to the most dangerous elements of bookwandering, my experiences have not diminished my love for it. Indeed, they have, if anything, deepened my respect and awe for the bookwandering magic we are so fortunate to use. But that magic is by no means guaranteed, and I have witnessed first hand, and learned from my esteemed friends here, that there are signs that this precious magic is becoming unpredictable. At this time, we need to band together and protect bookwandering while we still can.’ He looked around the room, assessing how his words were going down, his eyes lingering just a second too long as he noticed Grandma and Grandad.

  ‘British bookwandering has long been at the heart of the whole global community, and we must keep it this way,’ he continued. ‘Now that the fairytale lands are increasingly unstable, I fear whatever is causing that will spread to our other stories. We must be vigilant! I, as we all should be, am grateful to Amelia for her work leading our community for the last decade, but the time has come for a different approach. We simply cannot allow incidents like the Enoch Chalk disaster to happen. It has threatened the very principles by which we live. I would ask us to unite! Unite in the face of instability and threats to the power and sanctity of our stories – and the British Underlibrary itself. I agree with both of my esteemed colleagues; Ebenezer is right that we must come together, and Catherine raises important points about our core purpose. I am grounded in both these principles, but I hope that my time in the fairytale lands – on the front line of our storytelling – has given me the clarity and purpose needed at this moment in our history. We have such wisdom and experience among our fellow British Underlibrarians. As well as Ebenezer and Catherine, I understand that while I have been away, some of our colleagues have been diligent in their research into the best ways to preserve and protect bookwandering under the ancestral name of the Bookbinders. If I were so fortunate as to be elected, I would be honoured to work alongside them, and you all, to unite us on the most effective and efficient ways of ensuring characters – and bookwanderers – are less likely to go astray!’ He smiled to the crowd, like they were all in on the same joke. ‘Now, I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have,’ he finished. ‘And I appreciate you will have many.’ A round of polite, appreciative applause rippled across the hall, and Tilly saw a flicker of anxiety run across Amelia’s face.