by Anna James
But it was too late, and the gardeners flung themselves to the ground as Tilly heard a great racket coming toward them.
“Let’s go,” Tilly hissed, pulling at Alice’s hand, and they darted behind a bush just before the royal parade came round the corner. Tilly gasped as she saw a procession of playing cards followed by a great gaggle of people, a white rabbit wearing a waistcoat and pocket watch, and then the King and Queen of Hearts themselves. They were both quite square-looking and dressed in incredibly ornate robes, like the Tudor kings and queens from Tilly’s history books at school. The king had some very elaborate facial hair, with a beard that ended in an extravagant curl on his chin. The queen had a gravity-defying hairstyle and was clutching a large gilt hand mirror shaped like a heart.
“Please can we go back to Pages & Co.?” Tilly said, not liking the look of the queen at all.
“Hang on, hang on,” Alice said. “I want to watch. I don’t mind if you don’t stay, though.”
“But how do I get back without you?” Tilly said desperately as the queen stalked ever closer to them.
“I don’t think you can, my darling,” said a new voice, and Tilly spun round to see a wide grin floating in the air right next to her ear.
32
You Can Walk Off the End of Any Story
The smile hovered and flickered as it grinned at Tilly. She nudged Alice, who huffed at being torn away from watching the chaotic croquet game that was now going on—were those flamingos?—and turned.
“What is it? I’ve already told you I don’t want to take you back yet.”
Tilly pointed at the smile. “Is that—” she started.
“Why, it’s only the Cheshire Cat,” Alice interrupted, and went back to watching the croquet—they were definitely flamingos. And at that the whole cat materialized: orange, stripy, and purring.
The cat noticed Tilly staring at it.
“Never heard a talking cat before?” it asked, and Tilly started. She knew it could talk from reading the book, but it was still surprising to hear a large cat say something in English.
“I haven’t, actually,” Tilly said. “But I met a talking dormouse, and a hare, the other day.”
“Ah excellent,” the cat replied. “You’re obviously familiar with Wonderland and its inhabitants. How delightful to meet a fan.” It curled its tail elegantly in Tilly’s direction.
“How do you know you’re in a story when no one else does?” Tilly said, looking sideways at Alice. “I haven’t been able to get any straight answers out of anyone about this.”
“You’re not likely to get any straight answers from me either, I’m afraid.” The cat grinned. “Although you’re welcome to ask.”
“I just don’t understand what’s real, and what’s imagination,” Tilly said.
“I find most things are a mixture of the two. And reality is overrated—she’s an unpredictable mistress.” The cat smiled again. “She shifts and slides and never behaves quite as you might like or expect. She’s a tricksy friend to have. Not to mention that she’s even more difficult in Wonderland.”
“What do you mean?” Tilly asked.
“Well, is Wonderland really real at all? Is Wonderland more real than where Alice has come from, or where you have come from? You’re both visitors to the land, and who’s to say which or where or who has the greatest claim on reality?” the cat said.
“But this must be some sort of real; we’re here right now,” Tilly said, grabbing at a nearby rose bush, her head starting to spin.
“Are the things in your imagination less real than the things in front of you? Is this rose more real than you? Do the books you’ve read mean less to you because they haven’t really happened to you? Do daydreams at midday or nightdreams at midnight mean nothing?”
“So am I really here?”
“Why, of course you are really here.” The cat flashed its teeth mischievously. “But who’s to say exactly where here really is, and who’s to say where you’re going. You might walk right off the end of Wonderland.”
“I can walk off the end of Wonderland?” Tilly asked.
“You can walk off the end of any story,” the cat said. “But remember to mind the gap. And don’t tell them I told you.”
“Don’t tell who?” Tilly asked, even more confused.
“The secret keepers, the gate watchers, the border guards, the door lockers,” the cat said languidly.
Tilly huffed. “You’re no help at all.”
The Cheshire Cat just grinned once more, before turning its attention to Alice.
“How are you getting on, dear Alice?” it asked. Alice started relaying how unjust the croquet game was in great detail.
“I don’t think they play at all fairly,” Alice complained. “And they all quarrel so dreadfully one can’t hear oneself speak—and there don’t seem to be any rules in particular; at least, if there are, nobody attends to them—and you’ve no idea how confusing it is all the equipment being alive . . .”
The cat good-naturedly rolled its eyes at Tilly as Alice went on at length.
“How do you like the queen?” it asked.
“Not at all!” exclaimed Alice. “She’s so extremely . . .”
Alice paused as she realized that the game had ground to a halt and everyone involved was now staring in their direction. The queen held out a hand, which the king rapidly took hold of, and they strutted in Alice and Tilly’s direction. As they approached them Alice kicked Tilly into a curtsy, but the king was more interested in the cat’s floating head.
“Who are you talking to?” he said.
“A friend,” Alice said as the cat shimmered in and out of existence, just to disconcert the king.
“I don’t like the look of it at all,” the king said a little rudely. “However, it may kiss my hand, if it likes.”
“I’d really rather not,” the cat said, and casually licked its sharp front teeth.
“Don’t be impertinent,” huffed the king. “My dear, my dear,” he said to the queen. “Look at this strange creature I have discovered.”
The queen peered at the cat. “Off with his head!” she shrieked. And, at that, everything descended once more into chaos, everyone arguing with everyone else, the queen calling for the executioner, and flamingos running amok. Amid the madness the cat winked at Tilly and dissolved away, so by the time an executioner had been found and shoved to the front by the queen there was no evidence it had ever been there at all.
“Shall we follow suit?” Alice asked, holding out her hand to Tilly, who grasped it firmly.
“Goodness,” Alice said beside her, as Pages & Co. rebuilt itself around them, “it would have been quite the disaster to have our heads chopped off by the Queen of Hearts, wouldn’t it?” She did not seem appropriately alarmed by this prospect. “Oh! And you should play croquet at your party, don’t you think—wouldn’t that be wonderful? Do you think you could get hold of some flamingos?” Alice asked thoughtfully. “Perhaps we could give them some sleeping tonic to calm them down.”
Tilly looked at her in horror. “Are you joking?”
“No, I think it’s an excellent idea. I daresay the flamingos would enjoy it more.”
“You have a very unusual perspective on the world,” Tilly said.
“Depends whose you are comparing it to,” Alice said sagely.
33
A Whole Extra Character
Tilly headed back downstairs to find Oskar laughing with Jack as he cut out intricate flowers and vines from colored paper and Grandma spoke to someone on the phone behind the till.
“Everything okay?” he asked as Tilly sat down.
“We need to chat in a bit,” she said vaguely. “You know, about the stuff we were talking about before.” Oskar looked at her quizzically but nodded. At that moment Grandma came back over and put a gentle hand on Osk
ar’s shoulder.
“It’s your mum on the phone, Oskar. She wants a word. Nothing too serious, I don’t—” But Oskar was already on his feet, heading to the till. “His mamie has to go into hospital for some tests,” Grandma said to Jack and Tilly. “His father needs to look after her, so Mary’s got to get the train over to pick up his sister. She’s asked if Oskar can stay over here tonight, maybe tomorrow too, depending on whether she needs to help with anything in Paris. I’m guessing Oskar’s going to be feeling a bit delicate, though, so we’ll need to all rally round and make sure he’s doing okay.”
Oskar came back to the table, looking a little wobbly. “Did Mum tell you?” he asked Grandma, who nodded.
“We’re very happy that you’re here, Oskar, even though it’s in slightly sad circumstances, but it sounds like there’s no need to worry, and they’re just going to make sure everything’s okay, as I’m sure your mum told you. It’s just easier for your dad to have Emilie over here for a little bit. And we could certainly do with another pair of hands for the party tomorrow night—look how much you’ve helped already. Tilly, why don’t you take Oskar upstairs and get the spare bed sorted for him?”
Tilly nodded and Oskar followed her out of the shop and upstairs.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly. “I’m sure she’s going to be fine.”
“I guess,” Oskar said. “I know she’s going to be okay, I just wish I could have gone too. I don’t really want to talk about it right now, though, if that’s okay. What was it you wanted to say to me earlier?”
“Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind,” Tilly said. “And what I needed to talk to you about was that yesterday, after you left, I went inside A Little Princess to try to see Captain Crewe . . .”
“You went bookwandering without me?” Oskar said, affronted.
“I didn’t plan to,” Tilly said. “I . . . I wanted to see my dad.” The word still felt foreign on her tongue.
“What?”
“It’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Tilly said. “After you left, my grandparents told me the truth about who my father is.”
Oskar’s attention immediately snapped from being frustrated he’d missed a bookwandering opportunity to entirely focused on Tilly.
“The truth?”
“Well, what they said about him dying before I was born is true in some ways as he died in nineteen hundred and something. Inside a book.”
“What?”
“My father is Captain Crewe.”
Oskar looked baffled.
“From A Little Princess—he’s the main character’s dad and he dies.”
“But . . . but how does that even work?” Oskar stuttered. “What does it mean?”
“Turns out no one knows. It’s really not supposed to happen. My mum got into loads of trouble for falling in love with him. And it means I’m technically half-fictional, although I don’t think there’s an official word for it.”
“And did you find him?” Oskar said. “When you went in? What was he like?”
“I saw him, but I didn’t talk to him. But then it got even weirder because when I tried to get back the last page of the book had been torn and I ended up in the Underlibrary,” Tilly said as she found some clean sheets and towels and a new toothbrush. “And the other thing is that I found a copy of A Little Princess in Chalk’s office that’s different from mine, and from all the normal ones—I checked the copies in the shop.”
“What were you doing in his office?” Oskar asked.
“I sort of broke in accidentally. He went mad when he found me,” Tilly said.
Oskar looked at her in surprise. “I didn’t think you were a breaking-into-offices-accidentally sort of person,” he said as they dumped the stuff on the bed in the spare room and went back downstairs.
“Well, I didn’t used to be the sort of person who leaped off the side of pirate ships either,” Tilly replied.
“Fair enough,” Oskar said. “There’s definitely something off about that Chalk guy, though, right? He also seems to be super not into books for a librarian. I can’t believe they let him work there. I wonder if he has other books that are different. Can you do the thing you did last time to magic us back there? How did that work?”
“I’m not sure,” Tilly said nervously. “It’s definitely not what’s supposed to happen. I could try to do it again—but I didn’t do it on purpose the first time so I don’t know if it’ll work. I think it must have something to do with the Endpapers Seb warned us about. When you let the book finish while you’re still inside?”
“I suppose if you couldn’t read the last line, that kind of makes sense,” Oskar said slowly. “But didn’t Seb say they were dangerous—and you just ended up back at the Underlibrary?”
“Yes, but . . . I wonder if it’s because of who my dad is, because of how I’m, well, half-fictional. Do you remember that Seb said the Endpapers work as a kind of cushion to bounce characters back if something goes awry? And I guess I’m sort of half a character.”
“That figures, I think.”
“There was a bit when everything just went black, and cold, and I couldn’t see anything, but it was like the blackness just went on forever . . .” Tilly said, shuddering at the memory.
“It doesn’t sound like a fun place to get stuck,” Oskar said. “And I guess Seb did tell us specifically not to go too near the end of a book. It’s kind of risky just to look at some books, and didn’t you say the differences between the normal copies and the one in Chalk’s office were only small?”
“Yes, but why were there any differences? There’s something strange going on. I wish I could just check,” Tilly said, unable to ignore the niggling feeling in her brain. “And they weren’t that small: there was a whole extra character.”
“What did they do?” Oskar asked.
“Not much, really, but where did she come from?”
“Maybe it’s just an old version,” Oskar said, “and the writer changed his mind?”
“Her mind,” Tilly corrected.
“Well, maybe she just changed her mind,” Oskar repeated, “and took the character out?”
“But why would Chalk have it? It looked like a regular book and I’m sure that’s not how it works, that you can have old copies of famous books with slightly different bits in. I suppose I should ask Grandad—maybe it’s an Underlibrary thing.”
“It’s the sensible thing to do, I guess,” Oskar agreed.
“Okay, it’s decided,” Tilly said, ignoring the slight sense of disappointment she was feeling. “I’ll ask Grandad in the morning. I’m sure he’ll know.”
34
The Wrong Place at the Right Time
The next morning bloomed in a buzz of excitement about that evening’s party. The family, plus Oskar, were sitting round the kitchen table, eating warm pain au chocolat when Jack arrived and started unloading all his paraphernalia. The shop was closed in preparation for the evening’s party and he and Grandma planned to bake and decorate treats for most of the day. Oskar and Tilly were sent back out to the shop with Grandad to start carefully clearing the books from the display tables on the ground floor, which were being turned into a long tea party table.
As the three of them made piles of books ready to move upstairs Grandad hummed happily to himself, before Oskar elbowed Tilly in the side and gave her a look.
Tilly took a deep breath. “Grandad?”
“Yes, love?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he said, still piling books up.
“When I ended up in the Underlibrary the other day Amelia said something to me about my mum . . .”
Grandad put his pile of books down and went to sit on the stairs, patting the step next to him for Tilly, as Oskar continued sorting books nearby.
“She said that after she’d h
ad me,” Tilly went on, “Mum tried to get into the Source Library, using your key, and that was part of the reason you’d retired early from being the Librarian.”
“Well, yes, that’s true, Tilly,” Grandad said slowly. “Your mum got it into her head that she could somehow stop Captain Crewe from dying without leaving a trace in the Source Edition. She’d convinced herself that if she went with him once his story wasn’t on the page, she’d be able to change the course of the story without altering Sara’s. Of course, it wouldn’t have worked—it doesn’t bear thinking about what chaos she would have wreaked—but Mr. Chalk noticed her in there as soon as she entered, and she didn’t have the chance to do any permanent damage before we found her.”
“Was she trying to leave me?” Tilly asked quietly.
“Tilly, she wasn’t thinking straight. It was a dangerous, reckless plan that I don’t believe she’d thought through, but I am certain she wasn’t trying to leave you. I think that she must have been either testing out whether she could do it with a view to coming back to collect you or even exploring whether she could get him out of the book without drawing any attention to either of them.”
“How do we know she’s not there now?” Tilly said. “Maybe she found a way back?”
“There’s no way she could possibly have got back into the Source Library without us noticing. Remember, we tried to stamp her to check,” Grandad said.
“Is that why Mr. Chalk hates me so much—because of what Mum did?” Tilly asked.
“Mr. Chalk is no great fan of our family for many reasons,” Grandad said. “And none of them are your fault. We never saw eye to eye when we worked together and Bea using my key to access the Sources was the final straw. He’s convinced himself that I’m somehow still trying to undermine him even now that I have nothing to do with the Underlibrary—that’s what he was accusing me of when he burst in here last weekend. He was claiming that Amelia and I were somehow in cahoots, which is sheer nonsense. He likes Amelia about as much as he does me; he had his eye on the Librarian job when I left—in fact, after the scandal, he was extremely insistent that I must be forced out, if I wasn’t willing to retire.”
