“If the Swift was a weapon, he’d be a broadsword,” Jeffen said.
“No, a double-headed ax,” Franciss disagreed. “What d’you think, Alex?”
“No idea,” he replied. Leaving the book on the table, he went to the map and crouched there, looking it over and trying not to let himself be drawn into their conversation.
“Or a war hammer, maybe,” Jeffen said with a shrug. “But Alex, he’d be a knife.”
Franciss nodded. “Wickedly sharp.”
“Coated with acid,” Jeffen said, “so you don’t even know that you’ve been cut until all of a sudden you realize that you’re dead.”
“If you’re dead,” Alex put in, annoyed, “you can’t realize anything.”
“That’s true,” Franciss said.
“In the moment before you’re dead, then,” Jeffen reasoned.
Alex gritted his teeth and looked over the map. He’d missed the Family so much during the past few months that he’d forgotten how some of them made him completely crazy.
“Any chance of us getting some dinner?” Franciss asked.
Still crouching by the map, Alex turned to say something cutting, when he saw Jeffen lean across the table, pick up the book Alex had left there, and open it. At the same moment, he saw the symbol of the Lost Book scorch into the cover, outlined in an ember-bright flame.
Alex leaped to his feet. “I told you not to touch—”
“Gah!” Jeffen shrieked, staring at the first page. “Ants!”
A heartbeat later, a hundred black ants the size of a thumb swarmed out of the pages.
“Close the book!” Alex snapped.
Jeffen howled and dropped the book, which lay open on the table. Ants boiled out of it. He backed away, his eyes wide. “Gah!”
Franciss jumped off the table and whipped out her sword.
The ants scurried out onto the table, and then seemed to get their bearing. They ignored the two soldiers. With the scritch-scritch sound of a thousand tiny legs, they flowed into an attack on Alex.
In one bound, Alex left the map, crossed the floor, and dove, sliding on his belly across the surface of the table, the ants crawling all over him, and seized the book. The symbol burned under his fingers. A second later, he snapped the book shut. A creepy sensation prickled over his skin, and the ants were crawling up his sleeves and down the collar of his coat. With a yell, still holding the book closed, he rolled off the table, feeling ant bodies squishing underneath him.
“Get it off!” Jeffen shouted, and then Franciss was dragging him to his feet, unbuttoning his coat, and pulling it off him.
Feeling the sting of tiny bites on his arms, Alex kept a tight grip on the book and leaned against the table, shaking, while Franciss and Jeffen brushed him off and stamped on all the ants.
“Pages!” he croaked, and a moment later his pages flocked around him, ready to obey his orders. “Box,” he told them. “And padlock.” As the book writhed in his hands, he flung an order at Franciss. “Give me your dagger.”
She stamped on another ant, pulled a dagger out of a sheath at her belt, and tossed it to him, hilt-first. He caught it, set down the squirming book, and stabbed it straight through, the dagger biting deep into the table, pinning the book closed. It buzzed and chittered, fighting to get free.
“Hurry up!” Alex shouted. A second later, four pages swooped over them, dropping a metal box that landed with a thud on the tabletop; two more brought a padlock. As Jeffen shook out Alex’s coat, and Franciss stomped on the rest of the ants scurrying around on the floor, Alex transferred the insect book into the box, pulled the dagger out of it, slammed the cover closed, and locked it.
Staying quiet, Alex held the dagger out to Franciss, who took it with a nod. He inspected a few swelling ant bites on the skin of his arm. With a shrug, he started pulling on his shabby velvet coat.
“So,” Jeffen said. “You’re the librarian here?”
“Yes.” Alex pulled the ring of keys out of his coat pocket and added the key to the padlock. “Royal librarian.”
“He’s not going to like it,” Jeffen warned.
Alex released a shaking breath. “Yeah, I know. But that’s the least of my problems.” He pointed at the metal box that was holding the insect book. “Until about half an hour ago, that was in the queen’s greenhouse. What do you think would have happened if she’d opened it?”
21
With a bolt of cold horror, Alex realized the significance of what he’d just said.
Up to now, the marked books had only attacked librarians. Jeffen, Alex knew, was barely even a reader, yet the book on insect species had been activated when he opened it.
There might be books like that hidden all over the palace. Any book could be burned with the Lost Books symbol and turned into a weapon. Everyone in the palace might be in danger.
For just a second, he felt a prickle of panic. Kenneret had been right. This was all too much for him to manage.
He knew what his pa would say. One thing at a time, son.
Alex took a steadying breath. The thing his pa valued most wasn’t excellence with weapons, or bravery in battle, or anything like that; it was competence. The ability to get things done.
Right. No panic.
He would get this done.
“Page!” Alex shouted.
A second later, he was surrounded by pages, thirty of them at least. They were all trembling, as if they were frightened. “Two of you go and fetch my sword from my office,” he ordered, putting the key ring into his coat pocket. “And two more, go find Miss Bug. She’s probably still hiding in her cave.”
“What about us?” Jeffen asked, getting to his feet. Franciss was at his shoulder; she gave a brisk nod.
Alex considered them. Another thing his pa had taught him from the time he’d been a tiny kid was leadership. A good leader gave orders and all of that, but the most important thing he or she had to do was choose good, competent people to give them to. Being part of the Family was like having twenty intensely annoying older brothers and sisters. Who, apart from the occasional bug-related panic, all happened to be extremely well-trained fighters.
“I could use your help,” Alex admitted.
“Hah!” Jeffen exclaimed. “You hear that, Fran?”
“Yep,” she said, grinning. “Loud and clear as mud!”
Two of Alex’s pages swooped up and dropped his sheathed sword on the table. He belted it on and picked up the metal box. “I have to deal with this first.” Inside the box, the insect book buzzed, and there was a scrabbling noise coming from it like lots of tiny legs trying to escape. “Jeffen, wait here for Miss Bug.”
“Bug?” Jeffen asked, casting a dubious look at the box.
“She’s harmless,” Alex said. “At least, I’m pretty sure she is. Franciss, you’re with me.” He started toward the spiral stairs that led to the fourth level and headed up, Franciss a step behind him.
As they reached the balcony at the fourth level, Alex heard a muffled thump-thump-thump. “Light,” he muttered, and a moment later, a page darted up with a light-well. He peered down the dim, book-lined hallway the noise was coming from. A door at the far end was blocked with sandbags. The blackpowder explosions book was in there, he remembered. Behind the barricade, the door was shaking. The book was trying to escape. But it had been padlocked to its shelf, Alex was certain.
“What is it?” Franciss asked, peering over his shoulder.
Alex swallowed. “Dangerous book. I can’t deal with it right now.” He’d just have to hope the door stayed locked and the sandbag barricade held. “Come on.”
He started around the fourth-floor balcony, then stopped.
“What?” Franciss asked.
He shook his head and held up a hand for quiet. At the same moment, the letters on his wrist gave a warning prickle.
The light-well was a faint glow at his shoulder. Night had fallen—it was nearly dark outside the grimy windows of the library. From down near the floor came
another glow, the light he’d left with Jeffen. The rest of the huge room was filled with shadows. And with something else. Fear.
All the books—every single one of them—were trembling on their shelves.
Gah. He knew what this meant for them. It went beyond the fear he’d felt coming from them before. Now they were terrified. Of what? They knew the Lost Book’s power was growing, that they were all running out of time. “Sorry,” he said aloud. His voice echoed in the wide room. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
“Who’re you talking to?” Franciss whispered.
“The books,” Alex said. He spoke louder. “I’ll do whatever I can to protect you,” he promised them. Then he checked his wrist.
The word CODEX was gone. It had been replaced with a new word. KEYS. “Yes,” he said aloud. “Thank you. That’s what I thought.”
Franciss was giving him a strange look.
“Yeah, I know,” he said to her, and continued around the balcony. The books here were even more uneasy; the air shivered with their fright. Alex led Franciss down the hallway that led to the fortress room where he’d been storing the marked books. Six of them were in there, all locked into boxes, and the room itself was secured with a bolt and two padlocks.
When they got to it, the door was shuddering under an assault from within. Alex heard a crash of thunder, and a puddle of water seeped out from the crack under the door. The weather book was definitely loose. There was a faint thump-thump, thump-thump sound—the heart book had gotten out of its box, too.
And one of the padlocks on the door was hanging open. Unlocked.
“What’s in there?” Franciss asked.
“What do you think?” Alex said sharply.
“Books?” Franciss’s eyes widened.
“Really dangerous ones,” Alex said. “And the locks won’t hold them for much longer.” What to do with the insect book in its metal box? He didn’t have any time to waste. Quickly he pulled out his key ring, then handed the box to Franciss. “When I open the door, you toss that inside, all right?”
Franciss gave a brisk nod.
Trying to keep his hands from shaking, Alex inserted the key and unlocked the padlock. Then he pulled back the bolt. “Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
He jerked the door open, and Franciss hurled the metal box containing the ant book into the room.
Alex put his shoulder to the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Peering through the crack, he saw four marked books unchained and unboxed, all pushing against him. “Help!”
Franciss leaped to obey, adding her strength to his. In a whirl of white, Alex’s pages joined them, plastering themselves against the door. Another moment of struggle, and the door slammed closed.
“Hold it,” Alex gasped, and threw the bolt. Then he put on both padlocks and locked them both securely.
It might hold for a little while, anyway.
His pages slid to the floor, as if exhausted.
“No time to rest,” he told them, and they picked themselves up again. “Come on,” he said to Franciss, who had a hand on her sword, ready to draw it. “We need to hurry.”
They raced down to the ground floor, trailed by a cloud of Alex’s pages.
When they got there they found Miss Bug perched on a chair at one of the reading tables, her face pale, her eyes huge behind her thick spectacles, her two pages trembling at her shoulder. Jeffen stood nearby.
As Alex hurried up, Jeffen joked, “You’re only pretty sure she’s harmless?”
Ignoring him, Alex stalked straight up to Miss Bug. “You didn’t tell me everything you knew before. You’d better tell me now.”
She blinked.
“No more secrets.” He pointed toward the fourth level. “I’ve been having trouble with the locks to this place since the day I got here. Now the marked books are getting out of securely locked boxes. One of the Lost Books has already been found, hasn’t it?”
She blinked again.
“You are not incompetent,” he growled at her. “Don’t pretend to be. You told me one of the Lost Books was written by a whatsit with the locks. A locksmith?”
“A thief,” she said, in a thready voice. “A lockpick.”
“What’s it called?” Alex demanded.
“The Keys Treatise,” Bug answered.
“Keys, right, of course,” Alex muttered. So the word KEYS on his wrist had been what, a warning? “And anybody who has read the Keys Treatise has the power to open any lock, is that it?”
Miss Bug nodded, her eyes wide.
“The Keys Treatise must have been found months ago. But it’s not the only Lost Book in this library.” Alex bent down closer so he could look straight into Miss Bug’s big eyes. “And the other Lost Book is the one that was written by a king, isn’t it? The self of a king is trapped in it?”
“The Scroll of Kings, yes,” Bug answered. Her bony hands were clenched together.
“Somebody’s been looking for it,” Alex said.
Bug’s wizened face crinkled in dismay. “The one who reads it can use its power.” Then she shook her head, whispering to herself, “No, no, that’s not quite it.” She blinked up at Alex again. “The reader can command its power.”
Alex straightened. He tried to ignore the fact that Jeffen and Franciss were staring at him, and so was Bug. “Lord Patch has been searching the library for the Scroll of Kings,” he said slowly. And why had he been searching for it all this time?
The next thought hit Alex like a blow from a war hammer. It practically made his ears ring.
Lord Patch wanted the throne—he wanted to rule, as king. When he found the Scroll he would use it to go after Kenneret.
22
Even with everything going on in the royal library, Kenneret still had other queenly duties. Usually she worked late into the night in her office by herself, with two guards outside the door, and a secretary ready to come in to take notes if she needed him, and another servant waiting to bring tea if she wanted it. Tonight Charlie had insisted on staying with her.
Her brother, she knew, was worried about Alex, and was probably trying to figure out a way to make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble when the Swift arrived.
“Kennie,” he began.
“No,” she interrupted, without looking up from her notes.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he complained.
“Yes, I did. You were going to ask me to intercede with the Swift so Alex doesn’t get into trouble.” She gave her brother a raised-eyebrows look. “Weren’t you?”
He rubbed his chin with the thinking-mitten. “Yes,” he admitted.
“Charlie,” she said patiently. “You know very well that I can’t do that.”
“But you’re the queen,” he protested.
“All the more reason.” She dipped her pen into the inkpot. “The Family is the Swift’s business, not mine. I can’t meddle.”
“Yeah, I know,” Charlie said morosely.
Kenneret worked on, surrounded by a bubble of light from a brace of candles on her desk. With quick pen strokes she took notes, paused to read, then took more notes. The cushion on her chair was as uncomfortable as it ever was.
Charlie fell asleep, snoring loudly, and then snuffled and snorted and turned onto his side. Then his snoring stopped.
In the sudden quiet, Kenneret put down the pen and stretched.
Then she froze.
The flames at the ends of the candles on her desk were shivering. Something was disturbing them. She felt a trembling in the air, and heard a faint rustling noise.
A mouse?
Slowly she got to her feet.
The noise, she realized, had woken Charlie—she could see his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. He sat up on the couch, staring at her.
No, past her.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Behind you, Kennie,” he whispered back.
Her heart started to beat faster. Her desk faced the office door; behind it
, behind her chair, were shelves of . . . not books, exactly—not something anyone would ever read. They were there mostly for show; she wasn’t even sure what they were about. Dull reports on grain production, she thought, maybe, or tax records. They covered the entire wall, each one bound in brown leather, its title stamped in gold.
“Alex said they only attack librarians, right?” Charlie asked, still whispering.
Kenneret’s hands went to her desk drawer; she slid it open and pulled out the sleek dagger she kept there. If only she had a sword . . .
Charlie had gotten to his feet. “Kennie, I think you’d better come over here,” he whispered.
With the dagger clenched in her hand, she slid around the desk, and in three gliding steps was across the room next to Charlie, where she whirled to face the shelves.
The things that, maybe, were books after all, were vibrating.
A second later, they were bumping and thumping against their shelves, with a sound like a thousand running footsteps.
The thumping steadied until they were all banging the shelves in unison, loud enough that Kenneret wanted to put her hands over her ears.
Instead she gripped the knife, ready to defend herself, and her brother.
“What’s going on?” Charlie shouted.
“I don’t know!”
Then she heard the door bang open—and at the same moment, she realized what the books were doing. It was an ambush. She whirled, knowing who she’d see in the doorway. “Alex!” she shouted. “Duck!”
He didn’t hesitate—thank goodness, she thought in a flash, he knew how to take an order—dropping to the floor as five heavy books—yes, they were books—all blazing with the Lost Books symbol, hurtled through the air like cannonballs, passing just over Alex’s head and slamming into the wall in the passageway outside her office.
“Yipes,” Charlie gasped.
The books started thumping again. A soldier dressed in black was already dragging Alex out of the doorway. “Come on!” he shouted, leaping into the office, seizing Kenneret’s arm, and hustling her out of the room. Charlie followed, and the door slammed behind them. The air felt suddenly clearer. Kenneret took a gasping breath.
The Lost Books Page 15
