by Matt Ralphs
‘Yes, let’s hear it,’ Titus said, flexing his fingers. ‘I take it from your cheerful demeanour that you were successful?’
And so, after Titus had brought up drinks and supper from the kitchen, Hazel told them everything that had befallen her. She related the events quietly, sitting on the bed with her hands clasped in her lap, with her companions listening in increasing amazement.
‘So you pretended to be bewitched by Murrell and jumped into the river?’ Bramley said from his perch on top of Titus’s empty ale mug. ‘But you could have drowned!’
Hazel shrugged. ‘I had to. It was the only way to get away before Hopkins locked me up and checked my story.’
Titus tamped some tobacco into his pipe, then passed it to Hazel. She obliged him with a spark of magic and gave the smoking pipe back. ‘In all my long years I don’t think I have ever met anyone like you,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Titus.’
‘Stubborn, wilful, deceitful,’ Titus continued, puffing on his pipe, ‘and reckless to the point of stupidity.’
Hazel’s smile faded. ‘I thought you were paying me a compliment.’
Titus’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, but I am.’
‘I’d have added “pig-headed” to the list,’ Bramley said, scampering up her arm and giving her an affectionate nip on the ear.
‘So,’ Titus said, ‘Murrell said you need a book to open the demon gate. What book?’
‘He said it was called the, er, Nec-ron-om-icon. Necronomicon – yes, that was it. He said you’d know all about it.’
‘The Necronomicon,’ Titus murmured, leaning back in his chair. ‘Oh, I’ve heard of it, all right. It’s infamous for containing forbidden knowledge about all things demonic. How did Murrell get hold of it?’
‘He told me he stole it from the Forbidden Library in a place called Constantinople. There was only ever one copy, so he took that one.’
‘He stole it from the Ottoman Sultan?’ Titus chuckled. ‘Murrell’s got gumption, I’ll give him that.’
‘Did he have it at his hideout in Rivenpike?’ Bramley asked. ‘Is that where we have to go next?’
Hazel shook her head. ‘No, the Witch Hunters took it after they arrested him. So the question is: where are they keeping it?’
‘My best guess would be the Great Library in Baynards Castle. It used to be the Witch Finders’ London headquarters, and where we stored all our dangerous grimoires. If the Order have the Necronomicon, that’s where they’d keep it.’
‘So I need to get inside. But how?’
‘Same as before, I think,’ Titus said. ‘Sneaky infiltration. Do you still have your uniform?’
‘It’s drying in the other room,’ Hazel sighed. ‘I can’t believe I’m having to tangle with the Order again.’
A smile split Titus’s craggy face. ‘Cheer up, slop-sprite,’ he said. ‘It won’t be so bad.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because this time I’m coming with you.’
29
AN ESTEEMED PRUSSIAN VISITOR
‘People can lose their lives in libraries.
They ought to be warned.’
Mr S. Bellow, Halifax Library Custodian
The trio decided that if they were to retrieve the Necronomicon they might as well do so that night. According to Titus, Baynards Castle was a formidable fortress – not the sort of place you could sneak into unnoticed. So they agreed on a ruse and went their separate ways to prepare.
Hazel quickly changed back into her dried-out apprentice’s uniform and put Bramley on her shoulder – it felt good to have him back. There was a knock on the door and Titus entered.
‘Well?’ How do I look?’ he said, turning in a slow circle.
Hazel was exhausted, and the thought of once again infiltrating the Order so soon after escaping seemed too much like tempting fate, but the sight of Titus Transformed cheered her up immensely. ‘You look . . . extraordinary.’
The old Witch Finder had brushed down his clothes and hat and polished his boots to a decent shine. His hair was washed and tied back with a black ribbon, and his beard was neatly combed. A monocle twinkled in his eye and his waist was girdled with a wide red sash.
‘Really very smart,’ Bramley added approvingly. ‘And clean.’
Titus clicked his heels together. ‘Baron Karl von Hake, envoy from the Prussian League Against Witches, at your service,’ he said, affecting a thick Germanic accent.
‘Huh. Quite the actor, aren’t you?’ Bramley said.
‘I’m impressed.’ Hazel grinned. ‘I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be. Time to get the book.’
Baynards Castle was a long way westward from London Bridge, so Titus suggested they hire a wherry across the river to save time and a tiring walk. It was Hazel’s first time in a boat, and she spent the whole crossing clinging on to the gunwales with both hands and trying to ignore the sickening pitch and roll. Bramley did his best to soothe her by gently stroking her neck with his tail.
Titus conversed cheerfully with the wherryman in his Prussian accent – ‘Ja, London is a glorious city, much admired in my country . . . So many people from all over our globe . . .’
It was a bright, moonlit night. Silver light bathed the rooftops and the smooth river shone like a tarnished mirror. Ahead, and getting closer with each pull of the wherryman’s oars, loomed Baynards Castle.
It was an imposing sight: octagonal towers and high walls faced with light grey stone rose from the water, the giant foundation stones encased in layers of green tidal mud. Rows of windows glowed from within, and far above a line of sharply pitched roofs cut into the sky like teeth.
The wherry bumped to a stop at the foot of a flight of steps leading up to the castle door. After telling the wherryman to await their return, Titus and Hazel climbed out, being careful not to slip on the wet stone.
‘Remember what I said,’ Titus whispered as they mounted the steps. ‘Be credible, and above all be confident.’
‘I have done this sort of thing before, you know,’ Hazel replied.
Two guards in gleaming breastplates watched as they approached the gate.
‘Schnell, Master Anthony!’ Titus said in his Prussian accent. ‘Your English food has played havoc with my internals. I find myself in urgent need of the Badezimmer.’
The tallest guard had a sergeant’s ribbon tied around his arm. ‘State your business,’ he said, looking at Titus curiously.
‘I’m apprenticed to General Hopkins,’ Hazel replied, ‘here to escort his esteemed guest, Baron von Hake, to the Library.’
The sergeant looked closely at Hazel. ‘I’ve not seen you before, and I know all of the General’s apprentices.’
‘I was only recruited this week, at Sir Grimstone’s behest.’
‘Badezimmer, bitte,’ Titus said plaintively.
‘The Baron sampled some pickled eggs and they seem to have disagreed with him,’ Hazel said, giving the sergeant a surreptitious eye-roll. ‘Here’s the General’s seal.’
The sergeant examined it, gave them both another appraising glance, then ushered them into a hall hung with tapestries and mounted deer heads. ‘Welcome to Baynards Castle.’ He pointed to a set of winding steps. ‘Privies are on the first floor, library’s at the top.’
‘Most obliged,’ Hazel said, heading for the steps. ‘Follow me, please, Baron.’
They ascended the staircase to the very top and entered a small reception room. A white-haired man sat behind a desk, examining a book so closely his nose almost touched the pages. Hazel coughed politely.
‘Mmm? Yes? What is it, girl?’ the old man said, squinting at her with pale, watery eyes.
‘Girl?’ Hazel echoed, feeling Bramley tense up behind her ear.
‘Mädchen?’ Titus said. ‘Master Anthony ist kein Mädchen!’
‘My name is Anthony, sir,’ Hazel said. ‘General Hopkins’ apprentice.’
‘Ah, so you are, so you are,’ the old man said. ‘It’s just that you have very girl
ish features, and my eyes are not as sharp as once they were.’
‘I’m here at the General’s behest,’ Hazel said. ‘Allow me to introduce Baron Karl von Hake, envoy from our esteemed compatriots the Prussian League Against Witches. I’m here to show him the Great Library.’
The old man un-hunched to his feet and gave a stiff bow. ‘Welcome, Baron. I’m the head librarian, Mr Albert Graves. I’m a great admirer of the League. Such zeal! Such efficiency!’
Titus clicked his heels together. ‘Danke, Herr Graves. Your collection here is the envy of Europe. My colleagues in Prussia are . . . eifersüchtig . . . er, jealous, that I am to be perusing you.’
‘And we are pleased to have you, Baron . . .’ Graves paused and looked at Hazel. ‘Although it’s rather late for a visit, is it not?’
‘Ah, with much regret, I am having to cut to size my visit to London with abruptness,’ Titus said. ‘News from Dietersburg – a witch coven is discovered, and they need my expertise at the, er . . . I seek the word . . . Hexenprozess . . . ?’ He looked enquiringly at Hazel.
‘Witch trial,’ she said.
‘Witch trial, ja. But before I take my leave on the morning sun I desire greatly to look at your unvergleichliche Bibliothek.’
Hazel leaned closer to Graves and said quietly, ‘The Baron is interested in one book in particular.’
‘I’d be happy to oblige, if I can. Which book do mean?’
‘A recent acquisition I heard tell you have,’ Titus said, ‘by that great yet tragischer scholar Petrov . . . the dreaded Necronomicon.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Graves nodded. ‘We found it in the possession of a particularly dangerous demonologist. We have it safely locked away in our Forbidden Section.’
Titus pressed the palms of his hands together as if in prayer and held them in front of his mouth. ‘And may I see this most singular of books, Herr Graves?’
‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘Wunderbar, wunderbar!’ Titus said. ‘Danke, Herr Graves.’
Graves smiled and held out his hand. ‘If you could just show me your written permission from the General, I’ll take you there myself.’
Hazel’s face fell. ‘Written permission?’
‘Naturally,’ Graves said. ‘I have strict orders not to let anyone, no matter how esteemed –’ he gave Titus an ingratiating smile – ‘into the Forbidden Section without approval from the General himself.’
‘Of course, the paperwork,’ Hazel said. ‘I have it here somewhere . . .’ She patted at her pockets and allowed a look of horror to pass over her face. ‘Oh dear, I think I left it back at the Tower . . .’
Titus rounded on her. ‘What is this? You don’t have the letter from the General? Dummkopf!’ He turned back to Graves. ‘Herr Graves, please do not prohibit me because of the stupidity of this . . . this half— No, this quarter-wit!’
Hazel looked humbly at the floor and muttered an apology.
‘I’m sorry, Baron,’ Graves said. ‘But I cannot make an exception.’
‘Not even a little peek? Bitte . . . Bitte?’ Titus wheedled.
Graves shook his head. ‘I am bound by the rules.’
‘I understand, Herr Graves.’ Titus grabbed Hazel by the collar. ‘Come, törichter junge, you can at least show me the other books!’
30
IN ONE WAY . . .
‘From whom did you obtain your imps?’
‘From Goodwife Brown!’
And like ripples on a pond, the implications spread.
A Forest of Gallows by Albrecht Prinz
Hazel and Titus followed a short corridor into a vast library lit by dozens of lanterns. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, with steps on wheels allowing access to the topmost tomes. Long rows of bookcases took up most of the floor space, but there was a reading area where a few men sat in silent study.
Titus breathed deep the smell of leather and parchment. ‘I’ve missed this place,’ he said in a reverential tone. ‘The wisdom of the world at our fingertips.’
‘Yes, very nice,’ Bramley whispered. ‘Now where’s this Necro-wotsit?’
‘The Forbidden Section used to be over in that corner,’ Titus replied. ‘Let’s take a look.’
Hazel followed him, trailing her fingers over the books and reading the titles embossed on some of the spines: A View Beyond the Borders of Sanity; Hosannas from the Circles of Hell; Brann Jente; Women in Black.
‘Here we are,’ Titus said, keeping his voice low.
Before them stood a wrought-iron gate secured with a chain and three well-oiled padlocks. Beyond was an octagonal room with no other doors or windows – Hazel realized it was situated in one of the castle’s corner towers.
Mahogany shelves rose to the ceiling, packed with a multitude of books: leather volumes with embossed spines, books bound with frayed cloth, bundles of parchment tied with twine. One huge volume entitled Liber Chaotica had been hinged and bound with bronze. Each book was carefully labelled with its own wooden tag.
In the middle of the room was a plinth, and resting on that plinth was a small and seemingly unremarkable book. The only striking thing about it was the way the cover changed colour depending on what angle it was viewed from: silky green to sapphire blue, tarnished steel to silver. It was both beautiful and unsettling.
‘That’s it,’ Titus said. ‘Petrov’s Necronomicon.’
‘The cover,’ Hazel breathed. ‘All those colours . . .’
‘Legend says it’s bound in demon skin. Seeing it now I think it’s true.’
It looked so close: after all the risk, all the work, success was within Hazel’s grasp; she just had to reach out and take it.
‘Can you pick those locks?’ Bramley asked.
Titus bent down to examine them. ‘Probably, but it’s going to take time. Time we don’t have . . .’
‘So what are we going to do?’
Hazel looked around. There was no one nearby and the bookshelves hid them from view.
‘I have an idea,’ she said. ‘Titus, do you have any string in those deep pockets of yours?’
‘Ouch! It’s too tight,’ Bramley exclaimed as Hazel tied the string around his waist. ‘Why is it always me who has to do the dangerous jobs?’
Hazel ignored him and turned to Titus. ‘Wait for my signal and then really let rip.’
‘Got it,’ Titus said as he picked up The Golden Egg by Imogen Cooper and made his way back up the aisle towards the reading area.
‘Go on, Bram,’ Hazel said, putting him down on the other side of the bars. ‘It all depends on you now.’
‘All right, all right, I’m going . . .’
Holding the other end of the string, Hazel watched her familiar scamper across the floor and scale the lectern, using his claws to dig into the wood. When he reached the top he set to work biting a hole in the corner of the cover. Hazel waited, every passing moment increasing the risk of their discovery.
After he’d finished biting through the leather, Bramley squeezed himself out of the loop of string and threaded it through the hole. Then, taking the loop in his mouth, he clambered down the plinth and back to Hazel.
‘Clever mouse,’ she breathed, taking his end of the string and letting him climb back on to her shoulder.
Titus was standing ready at the other end of the aisle. On Hazel’s signal he let out a series of racking coughs. Hazel tugged the string and the Necronomicon fell to the floor; Titus’s outburst covered up the noise of the impact and the scraping sound as she pulled it towards her and picked it
The book was small enough to hold in one hand, but it was heavy, as if the words inside held their own terrible weight. The shimmering cover felt dry, and was made up of tiny interlocking scales. So it is demon skin. Swallowing her distaste, Hazel tucked it into the back of her trousers and covered it with her jacket.
‘We’ve done it!’ Bramley whispered. ‘Now we just need to get away.’
Trying to walk as casually as she could, Hazel joined Titus,
and together they made their way back to the reception room. They were in luck: Graves had fallen asleep face down on the book he was reading. Down the stairs they went, smelling victory, tasting escape, and into the hall. Ahead was the exit and the wherry waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs.
Hazel saw someone in a fur-lined cloak talking to the guards at the door. She froze and grabbed Titus’s arm. ‘Grimstone,’ she hissed. ‘Damn it all, it’s Grimstone!’
31
. . . AND OUT THE OTHER
The hearts of men can rise up to the stars,
or sink down to the sewer.
A View from the Boundary by Henri Blofeld
‘He’s one of the Grandees,’ Hazel hissed, drawing Titus away from the door. ‘He knows me, and what’s more, he saw me jump into the river only a few hours ago.’
‘Then we need to find another way out of here,’ Titus said, his voice tight.
‘You know this place best,’ Bramley said. ‘Any ideas?’
‘As a matter of fact I do. And one thing’s for certain, Master Mouse, you are going to hate it.’
Titus led them back up the stairs and into a small room with rushes on the floor. A bench with six evenly spaced holes cut into the wood ran the length of the wall.
‘What is this place?’ Bramley asked from Hazel’s shoulder.
‘This,’ Titus said, spreading his arms, ‘is the room of easement.’
‘The room of easement? Funny name . . .’ Bramley sniffed. ‘It has a displeasing odour.’
‘Better get used to it.’ Titus lifted up the bench and pointed at a sloping stone chute disappearing into murky and odorous darkness. ‘Because this is our escape route.’
‘The sewer?’ Hazel said faintly, peering into the stygian depths. ‘Really? I think I’ll take my chances with Grimstone . . .’
‘Follow me,’ Titus said with a geniality that belied the one-way trip into excrement he was about to undertake. ‘And try not to be sick, Hazel. You don’t want to make the smell any worse.’ And with that, he stepped into the bench, crouched with his coat-tails tucked behind his knees, and slid into the darkness with a wet scraping sound.
