"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled when he finally caught up with her by the river. The current was strong, flowing fast. "Are you deaf or something?"
He clutched her fiercely by the arm and swung her round. Her eyes were dark and puffy, ringed with shadow, as though she had been crying.
"What's wrong?" he said, taken aback.
"Let me go," she said weakly, and struggled against his grasp. She managed to wriggle free.
"Look, I don't have time for this," he protested. "You've got to get back before Mum wakes up."
"I'm not going anywhere," she said petulantly, and dug in her heels. The dog whimpered and wagged its tail, confused.
Blake shook his head and kicked at the ground. "Come on, Mum's going to be real mad if she finds out you're missing."
He tugged on her coat, but she wormed her arm free and left he sleeve dangling. He let go.
"Fine, suit yourself," he said, changing his mind. He took two large strides back towards the road and then checked behind him. Normally, that would have worked; normally, his sister lost her nerve and followed. But this time she headed in the opposite direction.
"Oh, for goodness sake," he cried out, exasperated, and rushed back to join her.
"Who's the baby now?" she sneered.
"I'm not a baby," he defended himself, "but Mum's going to be furious if you're not home by the time she gets up." He glanced over his shoulder at a dark, creeper-covered house that was just visible through a gap in the trees. It straddled a small brook that threaded away from the river. An old wooden rowing boat had been moored alongside it.
Duck didn't say anything.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine."
She sounded anything but fine. He looked at her again, concerned.
"OK, I couldn't sleep very well," she confided at last. "I was thinking about the blank book and everything Professor Jolyon told us and then I heard the dog scratching at the door and I thought that…well, maybe…it could be important. The homeless man could be in trouble."
The dog regarded them hopefully, its tail set on autopilot. Without its red bandanna, it looked older and scruffier than Blake remembered and he felt sorry for it. It was probably hungry, poor thing.
"Well, do you think we should tell Mum where we're going?" he asked, trying to maintain some semblance of responsibility.
"And where exactly is that?" she scoffed.
He looked around helplessly and shrugged. On the north side of the river loomed a series of boxy boathouses, shrouded in mist, while an empty playing field stretched into the distance to his right. "I don't know," he said at last, "but at least we could tell her about the dog — and maybe about the homeless man. She might be able to help…if he really is in trouble."
Duck shook her head. "Are you crazy? She'd never let us go. This is our only chance."
Blake bit his lip. She had a point. Their mother would never agree to an early morning expedition, no matter how important.
"But what if it's a trap?" he asked, replaying Jolyon's warning in his mind. They could both be in danger.
"Yeah, right. A dog is trying to kidnap us! Just tell Mum you were trying to stop me," said Duck, marching after the dog, which once again led the way.
Blake remained where he was. He was convinced the homeless man knew something about Endymion Spring. Perhaps he could even help them find it! And yet his methods were more than a little unorthodox and Blake wasn't sure he could trust him.
"Well, let's just make this quick, OK?" he said, breaking into a trot to catch up. He didn't want to admit that he was frightened — especially to his sister — but he wasn't going to turn back without her. At the very least, he could defend her if something went wrong.
"Sure, whatever," she said, and wandered on ahead.
Against his better judgment, he followed.
◬
The mist was thicker away from the city and swans glided towards them along the water in silver Vs, like ghostly ballerinas. It was too early for rowers or joggers, and they were alone on the muddy path. They meandered past boggy fields and yet more boathouses, where the colleges kept their long racing boats and sculls.
Blake could see the shadowy outline of the city's buildings growing ever more distant behind an avenue of trees on the far side of the river. Its spires and domes dissolved in the dim light. Yet hidden somewhere inside that impressive backdrop, he was convinced, lay the secret of Endymion Spring, and he was determined to find it — no matter what it took. Even if it meant opening every book and following every clue until he tracked it down.
The mud squelched underfoot and spattered against his jeans as he walked. Duck had been sensible enough to put on boots, but she was cold. The morning chill penetrated her thin raincoat and she shivered.
To be kind, he offered his jacket, which she accepted with a small, grateful smile. She didn't say anything, but kept her eyes fixed ahead, her thoughts far away.
Was she envious because Endymion Spring had singled him out for attention? Or had she, too, heard what his mother had said last night — that they weren't going to be a family together after Christmas — and wanted to get her own back by disappearing?
He wasn't sure what to think; yet he was grateful for her company, a feeling that surprised him, even though he didn't mention it to her.
They trudged on in silence.
Behind them, a chorus of bells began to strike the hour. Four, five…six o'clock. A medley of bangs and bongs circled the city like a flock of iron birds. Blake raised the hood of his top and squirreled his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders.
This world seemed strangely unreal to him this early in the morning — like a dream. Mist clung to the trees on either side of the river like fragments of sleep, draping their silvery fronds in the murky water. The sun, he noticed, was struggling to burn through the haze, but it was too weak. Only a ring of dim gold leaked through the cloud. Clumps of mud stuck to the soles of his shoes like hoofs.
Just when he was beginning to tire of walking, he spotted a small village on the brow of a hill overlooking a narrow waterway in the distance and heard a rush of water spilling through a weir. It sounded like a waterfall. A sign indicated they were entering Iffley Lock and that cyclists should dismount and dogs be kept of short leads.
The homeless man's dog paid no attention to the sign, but guided them over a stone bridge towards a strip of tarmac with neatly tended flowerbeds planted along its sides. The children looked around them. The water flowing into the lock was deep, black and flecked with leaves and litter. Further along the river, a brightly painted longboat chugged upstream, leaving traces of coal-like smoke in the air.
And then they saw him.
The homeless man was seated at the bottom of a series of stone steps leading right down to the water's edge. Several ducks squabbled for the bits of bread he tossed into the current. He noticed the children, but did not get up.
"What do we do now?" whispered Blake.
"Join him, I guess."
"I'm not going down there," he answered, glancing at the man's stooped form. "It could be dangerous. If he wants to speak to us, he can come up."
They waited uneasily while the man continued feeding the birds. Blake was relieved to see another figure on the opposite side of the lock: a lock-keeper inspecting the moorings and other pieces of equipment, a coil of rope slung across his shoulder. He noticed them and raised a hand in greeting.
"You needn't worry about her," he yelled across the water, indicating the dog. "She doesn't need a leash. She's a real softie, she is."
As he said this, the homeless man got up rather stiffly and mounted the steps towards the children. Blake felt a splinter of fear run under his skin and pushed Duck behind him, to protect her. The man was wearing the same mangy robe and furry nightcap as the other day. Tall and gaunt, he carried a staff — a bit like a wizard.
The man and boy exchanged silent looks for a long, tremulous moment,
and then the stranger led them towards a small clearing behind a cluster of trees close to the lock: a private place where they could talk. Blake checked to make sure that the lock-keeper was keeping an eye on them, just in case they needed help.
The man waved.
Duck, too, seemed to have lost some of her initial bravado. Like Blake, she was probably wondering why they weren't safely tucked up in bed, fast asleep. Anything could happen to them out here and no one would know. Warily, they followed the man through the thin, nearly leafless trees.
There were remnants of a bonfire in the middle of the clearing and Blake sat down on one of the logs that had been placed nearby. The mound of twigs resembled a large, smoldering porcupine and he inched closer, grateful for its warmth. A scratchy, smoky scent prickled his nose.
The dog sidled up to him and place a grizzled muzzle on his knee, looking up at him with doleful eyes.
The boy stroked its head while the man selected some more wood for the fire. A tarpaulin had been spread across a pile of twigs on the far side of the clearing and Blake guessed that the man probably camped here often. There were a few tins and discarded blankets weighed down with bricks on the leaf-littered ground.
The stranger approached and pressed an armful of sticks onto the remains of the fire. The mound hissed and crackled slightly, but did not burst into flame. Shrugging, he sat down opposite the children, but not too close. He apparently didn't want to alarm them. His robe hung open behind him and Blake was fascinated to see dozens of pockets zigzagging across its lining. Scrolls of paper stuck out from some of them like vials, while books bulged squarely in others. He was carrying a portable library inside his coat. Blake longed to know what sort of books they were, but the man said nothing and waited patiently for him to speak first.
The boy wondered where to begin and then, clearing his throat, asked the question that was uppermost in his mind.
"Who are you?"
15
The man considered the question for a moment, but said nothing. Then, to fill the silence, Blake voiced the idea that had occurred to him earlier: "Are you Johann Gutenberg?"
Duck was the first to react. "Are you serious?" she cackled. "Of course he's not Gutenberg! Gutenberg died more than five hundred years ago, you idiot!"
Blake blushed. Curiously, however, the man's mouth softened into a smile. Blake was surprised by the transformation: It was as though someone had take a crumpled sheet of paper and smoothed it out, revealing a hidden greeting inside. The stranger's eyes no longer seemed so distant or far away, but showed renewed signs of life — unlike the fire, which he prodded again with his staff.
The man opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. Blake listened carefully, but the man's voice seemed to have dried up and only a distant sound of breathing could be heard. He closed his mouth again without uttering a word.
Blake frowned. "I'm sorry?" He thought he might have misheard, but the stranger merely shook his head and pressed a fingertip to his lips. His eyes, however, were smiling.
Blake turned to his sister. "Is he hungry, do you think?"
"Don't be silly," she said. "He probably hasn't spoken to anyone in ages. Perhaps he's lost his voice."
Blake pondered this for a moment. Could someone actually forget how to speak? That must be horrible. He chewed on his lip. The man obviously expected him to know where to begin, how to lead the discussion, but too many questions were bombarding his mind and he didn't know which one to ask first — let alone how to express any of them.
"Thanks for the dragon," he said at last.
The man doffed his hat and scratched at the thatch of scraggly hair beneath.
"What dragon?" said Duck.
He'd forgotten she didn't know. "A dragon he dropped off at the house yesterday morning," answered Blake.
"What?" she blurted out. "That's preposterous! What do you mean by a dragon? There are no such things as dragons! How could he drop off a—"
"I mean an origami dragon he made with special paper," said Blake. "Like the paper in the book I found."
"Why didn't you tell me?" cried Duck, offended. "I could have helped you!"
"I didn't need your help. Besides, I figured out what it meant on my own."
"Oh yeah? So, what does the dragon mean, Einstein?"
"It means we're — I mean, I'm — supposed to ask him about the blank book."
The man nodded, but neither Blake nor Duck noticed. They were glaring at each other and had started to argue.
"And what exactly are you going to ask?"
"I don't know," he responded lamely. "Something will occur to me as soon as you stop interrupting."
"Yeah, right. You wouldn't know what to say if he wrote down the question for you. Nice going, idiot."
"Look, you didn' t find the blank book and you didn't receive the paper dragon, so mind your own business. This doesn't concern you."
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the dog's bandanna, which he started threading round his fingers like a boxer taping his knuckles. "You're just jealous," he muttered, giving his sister a sideways glance.
"Oh yeah? Jealous of what?"
"Of the book I found."
"You mean the one you lost," she reminded him. "Or have you forgotten that too?"
"Of course I haven't."
She knew she had the upper hand. "The book probably realized its mistake," she taunted him, "and went back into hiding until someone else could find it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're too dumb to solve this mystery on your own," she said.
"That's what you think."
"Yep, and I'm smarter than you.."
"Well, you're not as clever as you think you are," he said angrily, rising from his log. "You're just a silly girl in a silly raincoat, who thinks Mum and Dad will stick together so long as you go on wearing it. But they won't, you'll see! They'll get divorced and then we'll have to live on different sides of the ocean. Then you'll be happy, won't you, because you'll never have to see me again! Anyway, Endymion Spring chose me, and not you, so get over it."
He knew he was hitting her everywhere it hurt, but he was not prepared for her reaction. Duck looked about to sneeze, but her face crumpled instead into tears. Immediately, he reached out to hold her, but she shook off his clumsy attempt at an apology and covered her face with her hands. She rocked back and forth, sobbing.
He hadn't seen her cry like this — at least, not since the Big Argument. His words had opened a deep and dangerous wound.
The man had been watching them with a subdued look of tenderness on his face, as though he knew the pain and suffering the book could cause. Yet at the mention of Endymion Spring he stood up and approached them. The name seemed to fit like a key in a lock and released him from his inactivity.
He still did not speak, but sat down between them and reached into one of his voluminous pockets. He brought out a battered book — the volume he had been reading outside the bookshop. It wasn't blank, as Duck had led Blake to believe, but full of densely printed words: old-fashioned words with barbed black letters and small illustrations of angels and skeletons and devils — not to mention men working on presses like the one Jolyon had shown them yesterday. Some of the pages were torn and others were covered in nasty brown blotches. The book was falling apart.
Duck stopped crying and looked up.
At last the homeless man turned to a series of blank white pages he had inserted near the back of the volume preceding them: the finest tissue paper, veined with silver lines.
Blake gasped. "How did you get this?" he asked, realizing at once that he was looking at part of Endymion Spring.
In answer, the man pointed to one of the blank pages, where Blake could see something forming. It was as if someone had breathed on a mirror and drawn a message on the foggy glass. Lines appeared — at first very faint, but then darker as more and more of the image was revealed. They were like pin scratches on skin befo
re they well with blood. The boy's eyes widened in astonishment.
"What does it say?" squeaked Duck. "Tell me!"
"Can't you see it?" he said, surprised.
"No. I could see the printed bits, but not this," she said, sitting on the edge of her log. "It's like it's the blank book I told you about."
She sounded upset and more than a little bit jealous still, but her curiosity was getting the better of her.
Blake wasn't sure how to describe the apparition. It was an ancient tree with an odd beast dwelling in its leaves. He could see it quite clearly and reached forward to touch it. The creature seemed to sense his presence and flicked its head nervously from side to side before darting away from his enquiring finger.
And then, perhaps at his touch, the animal shivered and disappeared. The tree was no more than a memory on the page, a wintry outline, becoming fainter and fainter, until it had faded away completely.
Blake held his breath. "What was that?" he asked eventually, thinking it had looked like the dragon he had seen in the tree last night.
"What was what?" cried Duck.
"A dragon, I think," he said less certainly, "in a tree. Something happened. I don't understand. It didn't answer my question at all."
Duck didn't know what the image meant either, but promised to find out something later in the library. Blake might be able to read from enchanted books, she remarked, but at least she could learn things from real ones.
Blake, however, wasn't listening. He had looked up at the homeless man. "How did you — how did the book — do that?" he asked, but the man was miles away, staring at the book, as if he could see something else.
Blake glanced at the page. It was blank.
"Who are you? he asked again. "What is your name?"
The man seemed to emerge from a daydream. He shrugged off a memory and flipped to the front of the book, where he underlined a partially obscured word with a grimy fingernail.
Endymion Spring Page 14
