Where there were no books, there was paper, and where there was no paper, there was ink. Barrels and barrels of ink. The tireless citizens of Aatol scurried like ants, with single purpose. They all carried ledgers of one sort or another, their hips jostling with bottles of coloured inks, quills at their fingers, scribbling down notes. They categorised, classified, grouped, rated and graded in a never-ending shuffle of organisational minutiae. The smell of ink in the air was intoxicating.
“What was it George said?” Ned asked.
“I’m pretty sure it was something about having read just as many books as the Librarian. That right, George?” teased Lucy.
Their lumbering tower of hair and muscle stayed unusually quiet.
“Eighteen eighty-seven – we have to pass through a few more years before I can show you,” explained the Elder Librarian to Benissimo.
“This is just one year’s worth?” mouthed the ape finally. “Crikey!”
They passed through several more caverns, each larger than the last. The Elder Librarian paused and handed them all a set of earplugs. “You had better use these, the scrivening rooms are unsettling to newcomers.”
And they were.
Scr, scr, scr, scr, came the incessant noise of quills on paper.
There were row upon row of wooden desks, each straddled by teams of creatures no larger than a man’s hand and each wielding at least two quills. Their lips and teeth were stained black with ink and they were all lost in the furious business of copying text.
“Inklings,” explained the Librarian. “Distant and even smaller cousin of the house gnome, but much quicker with a quill and far less bothersome to feed. Quite happy with a few scraps of blotting paper and a drop or two of ink to quench their thirst.”
One of them, in a smart albeit stained clerk’s outfit, saluted, and he did so with two of his six arms.
“Carry on, Butterslap.”
“Right you are, sah!”
“The older they get, the more arms they sprout. Fantastic little fellows.”
“What are they doing?” asked a staggered Ned.
“Making copies.”
“Wh-why?”
“It has always been this way. We are the world’s custodians, the keepers of its written words. Every story, every verse, every manual and blog. From its collective daydreams to the furthering of science.”
The Elder Librarian snapped his fingers and motioned to one of the Inklings, who shot off to a filing cabinet at the edge of the room. A moment later the nearly-gnome returned with a scrawl of writing.
“Let me see … ah yes: ‘grade C, again. Ned could do so much better and yet seems content with coasting. MUST TRY HARDER. Signed Mr Pilchard, head of maths.’ Sound familiar?”
Unnervingly so. Ned looked around the room in awe. The sheer volume of work was astounding.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to do it all on computers?”
The Elder Librarian turned on his heel and glared at Ned with a beady and reproachful eye.
“We modernised when stone cutting was no longer the fashion, but computers? Computers carry ‘bugs’. I read that somewhere.”
Finally he led the party through a narrow tunnel. Several locked doors later and they found themselves in a simple carved opening beside a small door.
“Within these walls the first inscription was carved, the very first record of written text. Aatol was built round it, to preserve it. To keep it both safe and hidden. It holds the key to unspeakable power. You are indeed, as I said, late. Some cunning individual smuggled a mirror into our city, hidden in a consignment of books. Last night in the early hours they used said mirror to break in.”
Ned’s heart nearly exploded. If Barbarossa had what he needed, then all was already lost!
But the Elder Librarian, now smiling, turned to him and Lucy.
“Do not worry. As I said, your appearance, though late, is both timely and welcome. Timely, because the thief was unable to remove the inscription on the walls inside that room. And welcome, because the inscription was carved there for you.”
The Secret in the Stone
ed’s mind was spinning. The Librarian had said that the inscription was meant for Ned and Lucy, and yet it was thousands of years old. How was that even possible? They were only fourteen.
“Enter, please, young Masters,” said the Elder.
As Ned and Lucy approached the chamber’s stone-carved doors, they rumbled, before parting with a will of their own.
“As I said, the room has been waiting.”
The interior was carved from smooth stone, its colour and texture like the sample Carrion had stolen from the British Museum. Along the floor to one side was a pool of Carrion’s mercurial liquid. Ned looked around in horror. The walls were smooth, and any hint of an inscription gone. Why had the old man brought them all this way, only to show them a bare room? And why had he said the thief had been unable to remove the inscription?
It very clearly wasn’t there.
“I-I don’t get it, there’s nothing here,” said Ned.
“Neither did he,” smiled the Elder Librarian. “Get it, that is.”
Benissimo’s mouth pursed as if he’d just swallowed an unfathomably bitter lemon.
“Elder, I do not wish to speak out of turn with a man of your standing, but the lives of those we hold dear hang in the balance and we have little time for riddles.”
The Elder Librarian smiled, clearly enjoying his moment enormously.
“The inscription along these hallowed walls is not there, because we removed it over a thousand years ago. Many of its pieces were scattered across the globe, such is the seriousness of what they contained. The last piece, the piece the thief was no doubt hoping to find here, was not sent away but turned to harmless powder. In short, they do not have it because it no longer exists.”
Joy, elation, relief, they all came to Ned in a burning glow. Lucy caught his eyes and smiled. This bought his parents some time, while Barbarossa hunted for something he would never find.
Then Ned’s smile faded, as he realised something else: if the plans didn’t exist, for whatever it was that Barbarossa wanted to build, then he wouldn’t need Ned’s dad any more – and that need had, at least till now, been keeping both his parents alive.
He glanced at Lucy and it seemed she’d reached the same conclusion.
“But … then … why bring us down here?” asked Benissimo.
“To explain what you are dealing with. Our history books are, as you can no doubt imagine, extensive. What we know is this: there was a time before history when a great war took place. On one side, the forces of light, on the other the purest of evils, the master of all Demons and their kind. He has many names, living on in half-forgotten tales. The King of the Demons could not be beaten by man or beast until the forces of light created a weapon to unmake him. The weapon banished him to the centre of the world, where he still languishes deep in its molten core.”
Benissimo’s expression hovered somewhere between humour and moustache-twitching irritation. “Surely you don’t expect us to believe the stories are true? The ‘Darkening King’ is a myth, at best a bedtime story to scare young ones into their beds.”
“I wish it were so, Ringmaster. You yourself fought in the last great war. Though it was before my time, our books here tell no lies. The Demons whom you rallied against, they were Lords and Generals – but did you ever stop to ask yourself: ‘Where is their King?’”
Both humour and irritation promptly fled the Ringmaster’s face, leaving both he and George with no expression at all. The Elder Librarian continued.
“When the fight was over, and the Darkening King imprisoned, they destroyed the weapon they had captured him with, and a shield was put in place to ensure such a war could not be repeated. The source of the shield’s power was hidden within a mountain.”
“Annapurna?” asked Lucy.
“Precisely. The walls of this room, meanwhile, held instructions, a clear and concise m
anual for the re-creation of both devices should we ever have need of them again. The weapon that can banish the Darkening King. And the shield that keeps his forces at bay.”
Ned’s mind was reeling. Unimaginable evil and ancient battles, what did it all mean?
“I don’t understand,” he said. “What do the instructions have to do with me and Lucy?”
“The Heroes of Annapurna?”
“My name is Ned. Hers is Lucy.”
“And you are the Engineer and the Medic, which makes you, willing or not, forces of light. The need for Lucy’s powers was demonstrated when she aided you in healing the Source. As for the weapon? It is an Engineer who would use their gifts to re-create the device should it ever be needed again.”
It was at this point that Barbarossa’s intentions became clear – and it was Benissimo who pieced it together first.
“What in Hades’ name? Barba has the boy’s father and sent a thief here to get plans for the device. If what you’re telling us is true, Elder, Barba aims to use Ned’s father to re-create the weapon. But why? Even assuming the Darkening King is real, which I am not sure I believe, you say he has already been defeated.”
The Librarian shook his head sadly.
“The weapon was destroyed for a reason, Ringmaster,” he said. “It was used to banish the most evil creature ever to live, sending it to the Earth’s core, but it worked both ways. It could also be used to summon it back again.”
“So …” said Bene, then stopped. “Oh.”
The room seemed to close in all about them. Then the Librarian cleared his throat. “Though much has been lost to time, there is a prophecy handed down between every generation of Elder Librarian and it is to do with the weapon. It tells of a critical moment, in which a young Engineer and Medic, with growing powers both dangerous and strong, must work together. You are both to be instrumental in this next chapter of events, though in what way I do not know. I can say only this: your paths, your destinies, whatever they might be, are interwoven and you will need each other’s gifts to see this through.”
Ned looked to Lucy, who met his gaze with equal urgency. The “voice” and now the Elder’s prophecy told him what he’d always known, that he and Lucy were linked beyond their rings, beyond a shared connection to his mum and their journey to the Source. They were in this as they had always been – together.
What he still didn’t understand was what “this” actually was.
“What about the inscription, though?” he asked, a little impatiently.
The Elder Librarian made a calming gesture.
“I brought you all down here to impart the seriousness of the knowledge that was inscribed on these walls. The security of this city has been compromised and we can no longer assume the safety of our tunnels. What I have not yet told you is that, before the walls of this room were scattered, a secret copy of its contents was made. I have said copy in my possession and can no longer keep it. In our codex of by-laws and rules it states that in the eventuality of an attempt to breach our security and obtain the inscription, the book must be passed on to an Engineer and a Medic. In this case, you, Ned and Lucy. The critical event in the prophecy, I believe, is nearly upon us. If your brother, Ringmaster, seeks the knowledge from these walls, if he has taken an Engineer, he undoubtedly wishes to reawaken the Darkening King.”
Ned could feel his head starting to swim and his heartbeat double.
“And this prophecy of yours? You think Lucy and I are supposed to stop him?”
“I believe so, though as I said, it’s unclear,” said the Librarian.
The Darkening King
hat moments ago had been a tale for the scaring of children suddenly became unnervingly real, etched on every furrowed brow and gasp of the gathered party.
The Elder Librarian pulled a book from under his robes and passed it to Ned. At first glance it seemed completely new.
“The Book of Aatol, impervious to everything. Trust me, we have tried to destroy it countless times.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Ideally, you keep it safe and away from Barba’s hands. You could try reading it, though I expect you’d struggle, and we never have. You see, the words in this tome are dangerous and we know a lot about words down here. Which leads me to my initial point and a warning. You need to know what you’re dealing with. This morning in my chambers I came across this.”
The Elder Librarian produced a minuscule bundle of metal in the form of an inactive winged ticker no larger than a housefly. It immediately brought back to Ned the vile memory of running through the halls of the Central Intelligence’s factory.
“We’ve come across something like that before. It belongs to Barba’s robot ally,” grimaced Lucy, still clearly traumatised by the selfsame memory of their encounter.
“Our caverns seem to be infested with the creatures, and I shouldn’t wonder they were instrumental in helping the thief make his plans. I’m afraid this one saw the book before my Inklings could deal with it.”
The Librarian’s revelation weighed heavily on all of them, but no one more so than Benissimo.
“Then my brother knows of the book’s existence. That is unfortunate news, Elder.”
“And he’ll be coming to get it,” said Lucy.
“Indeed, but not here,” said the Librarian, with a sad smile. “I’m afraid he’ll be targeting whoever it’s been given to. I’m sorry.”
Ned shuddered.
Though George didn’t say anything, the sagging mound of wrinkles that his face fell to spoke loudly enough to fill the room.
“You must, all of you, guard this with your lives,” said the Librarian. “But there’s something else: Barbarossa and his ‘robot’ would need the ear of something ancient to decipher the instructions in these pages. What it is I cannot say, though I pray you never find out.”
Which was when the voice made itself heard again, quiet and steady.
“NEed.”
Panic seized him and Ned glanced at Lucy, who had clearly heard it too, her face a washboard of white-faced horror.
“Ned? Lucy? Are you two all right? You look rather peaky,” asked a concerned George.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine, it’s just, well, it’s just a lot to take in,” mumbled Ned, who had never felt less all right in his entire life.
“MOorRe,” the voice urged.
The room started to tremble, like an aftershock or the beginnings of a quake, when suddenly and quite without Ned’s doing, his arm burned.
“Ned?!” shrieked Lucy.
But it was too late. The Amplification Engine at his finger let out a violent blast. The Librarian and everyone in their party were knocked to the ground in a bone-shaking instant, and the walls and ceiling of the chamber cracked themselves clear in half.
Through the falling rock and dust and beyond the pain in his bones and side, Ned could see quite clearly that the room’s walls, ancient and inflammable as they were, were in fact starting to burn.
The Book of Aatol
ires in paper cities are generally frowned upon. After the Elder Librarian’s Inklings put out the blaze with an inordinate amount of ink, Ned and his allies were officially banned from ever returning to its encyclopaedic halls, though the Elder Librarian did wish them luck even as he told them never to come back.
Benissimo and the others might well have been curious over Ned’s minor cup jiggling when he was talking to Madame Oublier, but his latest power spike had been like lighting a flare. Benissimo and George had both fixed Ned with some very curious glares, and would no doubt want answers, but whatever they might think was nothing to what troubled Ned now.
The voice had returned, once again outside his dream, and Lucy had again heard it too.
At least that part, for now, was a secret. That it might have something to do with the Darkening King was beyond terrifying – and what if Ned’s next outburst hurt one of the troupe, beyond even Lucy’s abilities to heal?
Their t
rudge through the snow was as quiet as the ice-heavy winds were cold. That was, until they finally arrived at the circus’s encampment, where Benissimo made his feelings more than clear.
“Tinks?! Hell and damnation! Where is my gnome?!”
The Tinker came out of his R & D truck and bumbled over to the Ringmaster.
“Here, sir,” he squeaked.
“Fire up the air-modulator, we need to get a message out, and quickly.”
“Right you are, boss, and who will we be messaging?”
“Everyone, Tinks.”
“But – Madame O, sir? She said to notify only her of any developments.”
“If what we have just been told is true, then this is bigger than our Prime.”
“And the message, boss?”
“Tell them Barba is seeking to raise the Darkening King. Tell them to prepare. In any way they can.”
Tinks went white. “Y-y-yes, boss,” he said.
Bene turned. “The rest of you, double the perimeter and make ready to leave!”
“Where are we going?” asked George.
“Anywhere that isn’t here,” said Benissimo. “Barba and his thief will be coming for that book and now Ned has it. We have to get him away.”
“He could use the Glimmerman’s mirror,” said Tinks.
“No,” said Bene. “That’s how the thief travels, and he could be watching.”
With the troupe effectively whipped into action, Benissimo took Ned by the arm and dragged him past George’s trailer with its eerie marble-faced Guardian, and over to Jonny Magik’s. Ned had rarely seen the man quite so fired up, though he wasn’t sure whether it was because of Barbarossa’s plans or Ned’s own outburst.
“Is this about me, or the Darkening King?”
Bene held up the Book of Aatol. “Apollo’s flaming chariot, boy, it’s about both! The strength of our troupe, the strength of any troupe, is wholly reliant on its individual parts. You are one spoke in a wheel, Ned, we all are. If we’re to get your parents back in one piece, if we’re to battle my brother and his plans for this, this machine – the wheel must turn. And Ned?”
The Gold Thief Page 13
