Niclas, completely unaware his every action was now being broadcast, sidled over to the red rope, ducked under it and snuck down the stairs.
The steps spiralled down and cold air breathed up from below. Downstairs was more stoney than upstairs. It was darker too. The gas lamps on the walls were a deep orange in glow, but not really that bright. The bookshelves were smaller, and the ceiling was lower, low enough that Niclas could stroke it, which he couldn’t seem to stop himself from doing.
The space was cramped, the shelves closer together. The books down there were caked in dust and cobwebs and were some of the oldest books in the city, probably some of the oldest in the known world. Their spines were tattered and their pages were a tea stained yellow. On the right hung the sign: Records of the Academy. On the left: Reports and Inquiries. Then there was Auld Istories and Auld Filosophies. None of the books looked like the one he was after. He’d have to go a lot deeper to find that one.
Soon there were no bookshelves at all, just piles of old manuscripts and chests piled up on one another, over filled with dusty old tomes.
Niclas let out a heavy sigh. It was clear that the book wasn’t going to be as easy to find as Balthazar had suggested. This was the Aladdin’s cave of old books. It could take years to find the right one – and only if a person could read. Niclas, who couldn’t read street signs, was entirely dependant on luck to be on his side; which of course, it never was.
It was best to start somewhere, he thought. He began rummaging through the chests, looking for a thick, leather-bound tome, untitled, with a black stone in its cover. Lots of books were untitled, and most of them were leather-bound, but not a single one had a stone of any kind whatsoever.
‘What are you doing down here?’ came a voice from behind.
Niclas stiffened up, the book in his hand dropped back into the chest and he swallowed a hard, dry gulp that hurt a bit as it went down.
‘Excuse me?’ The voice didn’t sound threatening. It was well spoken. A toff for sure, definitely not a thug, but he didn’t feel assured by that. Slowly, as if expecting to be shot, he turned around to face it.
‘I said, what are you doing down here? It’s forbidden, didn’t you see the sign?’
There stood a young girl with fair hair and a firm look on her face. She wasn’t much older than he was, not that her age made him feel any more at ease.
‘Uhh…’
‘Yes?’ she said quickly.
‘Well, wot you doin’ down ’ere ’n’ all?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well… you shouldn’t be down ’ere, miss. It’s forbidden, didn’t you see the sign?’
‘Oh, don’t try that on me. I’m only here because you’re here. Now, answer me, what are you doing here?’
Niclas swallowed again, painfully.
‘I work for the libraries miss. I’m just makin’ sure all the books are in the right places, innit?’
The girl said nothing at first, she looked Niclas up and down and narrowed her eyes.
‘That’s likely to be the worst lie I have ever heard.’
‘You callin’ me a liar, miss?’ said Niclas, with a dash of spurious exasperation.
‘Yes. I am. You’re far too young to be a librarian. Now, I suggest you tell me what you’re up to, or, I’ll fetch an actual librarian and we’ll see shall we?’
‘No need for that, miss. I’s only playin’, that’s all. Just havin’ me a browse. No ’arm meant.’
‘You’re a thief then?’
‘Wot! No! I ain’t no thief! I swear I ain’t. I ain’t never stolen anyfing in me life.’
‘There is no such word as ain’t,’ said the girl. ‘You either are not or am not. And you are a terrible liar.’
‘Don’t be calling’ me a liar, miss, I don’ts lie.’
‘Stop it. You just did, again. You’re a hypocrite too.’
‘I ain’t no hippo’s pit, miss. I ain’t lying t’ya, I ain’t–’
‘If you say that word one more time, I will call a librarian on principle alone.’
‘…Sorry, miss, me speakin’ ai…’ Niclas paused to think.
‘Is not,’ said the girl.
‘Is not… no good.’
‘Sign of a poorly read mind, that’s what my tutor always says. I have read many books and I have a good knowledge of many things. I’ve just finished Dr Shorlock Gnomes’ Science of Body Language you know.’
‘Body sandwich?’
‘Language.’
‘Wot’s that?’
‘It means I can tell you’re lying. I can read your movements. The way your eyes are flickering, the way you’re playing with your hands, the way you’re sweating.’
Niclas was suddenly even more uncomfortable, apparently that was possible. He paid attention to everything about himself, from where his feet were pointing, to how quickly he was breathing.
‘So… let’s try it again, shall we? What are you looking for? The truth, if you please.’
‘Troof… troof is…’ What was the truth? That he’d been rescued from the Guard’s Tower by a talking cat, verbally signed a contract of employment and had been sent out to steal a book which he wouldn’t be able to read but that he was pretty sure his new feline master would? When you put it like that, the truth really was an inconvenient one.
‘I don’t know wot the troof is, miss.’
‘You do speak funny don’t you? Are you from Cheapside? South of the river or something?’
‘Uh, nah, I ain’t ever bin sowf o’ the river, miss. Never ever. Not in all me life.’
‘Where are you from then?’
‘I’m from…’ Niclas’ little pea brain suddenly went into overdrive. It wasn’t very good at working on the spot. If he said he was from south of the river, she’d make him as a thief for sure. Northern folk, especially lady northern folk seemed to point their fingers and yell “Guards!” at southerners; no southern person had any business this far north of the river, not any reputable business anyway. But where else could he say? His own geographical understanding of where he was, was about the same as a rat that’s been spun around in an empty barrel of gin fumes, blind folded, placed in a maze and asked to find the cheese. As far as he was aware, north was south and south was west and west was probably also north. But his little pea brain took hold of the situation, raised its metaphorical hand against his chest and said, “I’ll take it from here.”
‘Brewery Quarter. Queen’s Garter. That’s where I live.’ Niclas felt the words come out, but wasn’t really sure how they had done so. It certainly didn’t have anything to do with him.
‘You live in the Brewery Quarter?’
‘Yeah. All me life.’
The girl didn’t look like she was going to buy this. That’s why it was all the more surprising when she said: ‘Well, that explains a lot.’
‘It does?’
‘Certainly. I’m glad we’re getting somewhere. Now, what brings you here?’
‘…’
‘Well?’
‘I’m lookin’ for a book, miss.’
‘… Yes, this is a library. The thought had crossed my mind that you’d be in here for one of those. But why down here?’
‘I was told I’d find it down ’ere, miss… It ain’t like t’other books. It’s a special one.’
‘Special?’
‘It’s a bigg’n, I knows that. It’s leather-bound. Probs got no title on the cover. And it’s got a big black stone on its front.’
‘Interesting… What is it about?’
‘About?’
‘Yes. History? Science? Language? A memoir?’
‘Dunno, miss.’
The girl was so taken aback by this that she literally craned her neck backwards as she looked askant.
‘That’s helpful,’ she said.
‘Not really, miss…’
‘Surely you know what it’s about? Why else would you be looking for… oh… I see… you’re getting it for someone aren’t you
?’
‘Wot? No? Wot makes you say that.’
‘Well, besides the look you just gave me, it’s obvious isn’t it.’
‘I don’ts know wot you fink’s going on miss, but I finks you’re probs wrong.’
‘How curious…’ said the girl, thinking aloud.
‘Curious? Wot’s curious?’
‘Someone has blatantly asked you to get this book for them. The question is why? Why can’t they get it themselves?’
It was an interesting question and Niclas for once had the answer. He so badly wanted to tell her but he flat-out knew it was a terrible idea.
‘Don’t know wot you’re talkin’ ’bout miss.’
‘Hmm… Of course you don’t.’ Something about the way she stared back at him, made him feel frightfully on edge. It was her body language thing, he was sure of it.
‘Come on then. Let’s start with these chests. All the really old books will be in there. Preserves them better.’
Niclas didn’t move. He watched as the girl crossed him and began rooting through the nearest dusty coffer.
‘You’re gonna ’elp me?’
‘Of course. I doubt you’d ever be able to find anything. And how am I going to know what this is all about, unless you do.’
The two of them went through the chests like wildfire. Two very different interpretations of wildfire. The girl moved fast, but treated each and every book with the same reverence as you’d treat a great grandmother, carefully placing them out of the way where they couldn’t get hurt. Niclas was faster, but tossed the books over his shoulder in a fierce dig, like a dog trying to find its bone at the bottom of a sandpit.
‘You’re certain this book actually exists?’ asked the girl after looting her third chest.
‘…’
‘Let’s keep looking.’
Soon they’d carved their way deep into a sea of lost manuscripts and kicked up a swell of bookish dust. There were books of all descriptions all around them, but none were marked with any kind of stone.
‘I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this one before,’ said the girl, lifting up a heavy red leather tome titled The Banterbury Tales. ‘Yes. I have. We’re doing this all wrong. We’ve mixed up the old books with the new books!’
‘They all look old to me, miss?’
‘No. I mean, we’ve mixed up the ones we’ve checked with the ones we haven’t. Argh, this is a disaster.’
‘…is it?’
‘We’ll have to start again, it’s the only way to be sure we haven’t missed it.’
‘Shh! Wassat?’
‘What’s what?’
‘Wait.’ Niclas lifted his finger and pricked up his ears.
The girl waited.
‘I don’t hear anything,’ she said at last.
But there was something. And now it was too late. The steps had reached the bottom of the stairs, and the shimmering light from a freshly aflame lantern shivered into the cold, dark space.
‘Quick!’ The girl pulled back the lid of a chest and nodded to Niclas to jump in. Without question he leapt into the coffer, tucked his knees into his chest and squeezed down so that it could shut.
‘Wot you gonna–’
‘Shush,’ the girl brought the lid down on him mid-sentence. She moved to the next chest. It was full of books. So was the one after that. The flickering lantern light was getting brighter, the steps louder.
Just before the lantern holder came within sight, she found a tattered portmanteau that stood out from the chests and crawled inside; shutting the lid just as the light shined over it.
At the end of the flickering lantern was a shaky, wrinkly hand. The librarian was a white bearded man, most librarians were. He glanced over the books and chests with old, prune-like eyes of suspicion and tut-tut-ed at the mess.
Those damn students had been at it again. They were supposed to carry things down the stairs and leave them in an orderly fashion, not trash the place. He shook his head and stroked his beard. He’d be sure to have words with the head librarian about it, maybe even write a nasty letter to the Academy.
But there was no one down there now, however; that was why he was there. From the stairs above, it sounded as if the rats had gotten in again. But everything was still and calm and there was absolutely nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. So the librarian turned, left, and took his bright light with him back up the stairs.
After a while longer, Niclas raised the lid on his chest and stuck his head out like a tortoise. ‘Psst. They’re gone,’ he whispered.
The girl shot up from the portmanteau and stuttered out a dusty cough.
‘You alright?’
‘Yes. I’m fine,’ she said, wiping the dirt from her dress.
‘That was close. Reckon they heard us? Reckon they’ll be back? Wot if they’re coming back? There’s only that stairs out? Wot if they’re watching at the top… uh? ’Ello?’ The girl wasn’t listening, she had become absorbed by something near her feet. If Niclas had to guess by the look on her face and the cobwebs hanging from her right ear, it was a spider. A big hairy one at that. Girls were all afraid of spiders. He hoped she wouldn’t scream.
‘Is… is it… is it a spider?’
‘Nope. Not a spider.’ She lifted up a large tome and held it out to him as if it were some sort of trophy.
‘Wot?’
‘This is it isn’t it?’
‘Wot?’
‘Your book? Big, leather bound, no title on it, and look, a black stone.’
She was right. The book cover had a shiny, marble sized obsidian shard melted into its centre. It was the blackest thing either of them had ever seen. The kind of black that makes ordinary black look like a rather pathetic shade of grey. It seemed to suck in all the light, what little light there was, like a dense black hole of the cosmos that could fit in your hand.
‘Well. Let’s see what this is all about shall we?’
‘Pass it ’ere!’ said Niclas, clambering over towards her.
‘No. Not until I have first look.’
‘But… I don’t fink…’
Before he could stop her, she’d turned the first page. Then the second. Then the third. Then the tenth. Then the sixtieth. Then the three-hundred-and-fourth. Each time her face got that bit more flabbergasted.
‘How strange.’
‘Wot?’
‘This writing… it’s… what a weird language… it’s not… it’s not anything I’ve seen before…’
‘Let’s see.’ Niclas wasn’t sure why he was so keen to take a look, it’s not like he’d be able to read it anyway. But when he looked at it, even he knew that it was written in a language from another time. Another place. Another world perhaps. The shapes and symbols looked like no drawings he had ever seen. They didn’t even look… human, if words could look human.
‘It’s all just gibberish…’ said the girl, an air of genuine disappointment in her tone. ‘Who did you say it was for again?’
‘No one, miss. I didn’t say it was for anyone… did I?’
‘Is this some sort of game?’
‘No miss, it’s very serious, ’and it over.’ Niclas tried to snatch it, but she reeled it away. ‘I fawt you was gonna ’elp me find it!’
‘I said I’d help you find it, yes. I don’t recall saying anything about letting you have it.’
‘Wot! You can’t do that. I needs it.’
‘Why? Who’s it for?’
‘No one! I’ve told ya.’ He tried to take it again, but the girl brought it up and out of reach.
‘I should take this upstairs to the librarians and hand you in. It’s a crime you know, stealing a book, even if you’re stealing for someone else.’
‘You wouldn’t do that. You’d get in trouble ’n’ all. Neiver o’ us are allowed down ’ere.’
‘Me, get into trouble. Ha! I don’t get into trouble. I’m not the sort of person who gets into trouble. But you,’ said the girl, with a haughty pointing finger, ‘you’d get into all s
orts of trouble.’
‘Please, miss, you gotta give it t’me. It’s me first job. Me first proper job. If I don’t bring it back… me master might give me the sack!’ Niclas begged, grabbing about the air, trying to snatch the book whilst the girl juggled it from hand to hand.
‘Aha! So you are stealing it for someone!’
‘…’ Niclas sighed. He’d been betrayed by his own sorry self. It was tragic.
‘Who?’
‘I daren’t say, miss.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Just some fella, you wouldn’t know ’im. Pass it ’ere, please.’
‘Is it a scholar? One of those Academy boys put you up to it?’
‘Nah, I don’ts know no Academy boys.’
The girl touched the side of her face to think.
‘Hmm…’ She brightened. ‘Someone who trades in antiques, I bet?’
‘No miss, I don’t fink so.’
At this, she stamped her foot the way someone usually does before they say “Oooh I give up!” Except she didn’t say that, she said: ‘Awgh moons!’
Niclas didn’t say anything. He’d given up trying to take the book and was now trying to give her his best puppy eyes. His expression was forlorn, hopeless, almost heartbreaking. It would have been slightly impressive had he been putting it on, but sadly, he wasn’t. He really was that pathetic.
The girl stared at him with a dubious stare. Then, slowly, she let go of the doubt and sighed. He clearly was desperate for the book, and looked about as helpless as a hungry kitten left out on a cold night. Though, nowhere near as cute.
‘Alright,’ she said at last. ‘It’s yours.’
‘Wot…’ said Niclas. No one changed their mind that quickly, did they?
‘But here.’ The girl lifted her satchel bag off her shoulder and dropped the book inside. ‘You’ll need this bag. That way, no one will notice you walk out with it. Let’s put a few more books in here too. They’re probably highly valuable and I think your master will be pleased to know you’ve gone the extra mile.’ She picked up a pile of old books that were falling apart, and dropped them inside the bag.
Niclas was struggling to find his tongue.
‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to thank me,’ she said, in a tone that implied he did have to thank her, and held out the bag to him.
Widdershins Page 5
