by Anna James
‘How about … I imagine a ball of red thread that will lead us through the labyrinth?’ Tilly said, and Oskar gave her a thumbs up, still picking bits of wet paper out of his teeth.
A ball of thread rolled past their feet – however it wasn’t red, and it was also made of paper.
‘I don’t fancy our chances with that,’ Oskar said. ‘And honestly, at this point, I really don’t trust whoever or whatever is sending these things. Who sends a paper burger? It’s just cruel. I vote we go through there and find the train.’
Tilly nodded and, with only a brief look over their shoulders, they left the labyrinth behind them and crossed through the freshly imagined arch and into what was definitely a train station, complete with a train that was gloriously and blissfully not made of paper. It was resolutely made out of what trains were supposed to be made out of: steel and wood and smoke and paint. They stood agog until a boy, who looked about their own age, swung out of one of the doors.
‘Are you coming then?’ he called.
or a moment, Tilly and Oskar couldn’t do anything but stand and stare at the train. It was unusually long, with many more carriages than they were used to seeing at stations in London. And it wasn’t just the number of carriages that stood out, but their appearance; each one looked as though it had come from a different train. There were old-fashioned black carriages, a sleek section of shiny, matching ones towards the front, shaky wooden carriages, ones covered in brightly coloured peeling paint, some with windows, some without, and none of them looked like they should fit together at all, let alone stay on a train track and keep moving forward.
The boy who had called to them – and who was waiting impatiently for a response – was tall and wiry, with copper-coloured skin and messy dark brown curls falling over thick-rimmed glasses.
‘We can’t wait for you!’ he called. ‘We’ve just paused to drop something off! You’re looking at a one-time-only opportunity to hitch a ride on the Sesquipedalian!’
‘The what?!’ Oskar called as another squeal from the train’s whistle echoed in the air and a plume of glittering smoke billowed overhead as the train prepared to depart.
‘The Sesquipedalian! And it’s about to leave.’
‘Are we getting on?’ Tilly asked Oskar.
‘It’s a real train, complete with a real person, going somewhere that isn’t here,’ Oskar said. ‘What are we waiting for?’
‘But the Archivists …’ said Tilly as they walked towards it.
‘Maybe that boy knows how to find them?’ Oskar suggested. ‘If he’s here, then he must know something useful.’
Tilly couldn’t shake the thought of her mum, not to mention Orlando and Jorge, and how disappointed they’d be if she failed in the search for the Archivists. But she couldn’t disagree with Oskar’s logic, and she didn’t fancy getting lost in the labyrinth with no food or water or any way of contacting other people. The lure of a moving vehicle, not to mention another real person who might know more, was too tempting.
The train had started to shudder back to life and was moving slowly along the platform, meaning Tilly and Oskar had to break into a jog to catch up.
‘Come on!’ the boy called, his arm outstretched to help them onboard.
‘You go first,’ Tilly said, giving Oskar a shove so he was able to grab the boy’s hand and yank himself up on to the wooden platform on the back of the last carriage. Tilly gritted her teeth and picked up speed, holding out her hand for Oskar and the boy. Her fingers were just brushing theirs as the train jolted forward and she lost contact again.
‘I am not getting stuck here by myself!’ she shouted, and summoned a last burst of energy. Just as the train rolled out of the station, the boys managed to get a secure grasp on her wrists and hoisted her up off the ground and on to the train, the three of them crashing to the floor in an undignified heap.
After they had disentangled their limbs, Tilly and Oskar stood up and faced the boy who had helped them. He was wearing a slightly-too-small assortment of clothing: bottle-green trousers held up with braces over a not-very-clean white T-shirt. A mustard-yellow scarf was wrapped round his neck several times, matching the fingerless gloves on his hands. On his feet were brown boots, one with normal brown laces, and the other tied up with a purple ribbon instead. He looked like … Well, he looked like a character from a book, Tilly couldn’t help but think.
‘I’m Milo,’ he said, sticking a slightly greasy hand out for them to shake. ‘Welcome aboard the Sesquipedalian.’
Tilly introduced herself and Oskar.
‘And I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Welcome aboard the what?’
‘The Sess-quip-a-day-li-an,’ Milo said, sounding it out for them slowly. ‘It means long words, or the sort of person who loves using long words. But we call her Quip for short.’
‘I’m gonna stick with Quip,’ Oskar said, shaking Milo’s hand. ‘Thanks for having us.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Milo. ‘So, what were you two doing in the labyrinth? You’re lucky we were passing – this is a very new route for us.’
Tilly and Oskar exchanged a look, unsure of how much it was safe to tell Milo. He was certainly friendly, but, after everything they’d been through so far, they were hesitant to share what they were up to with a stranger.
‘We’re … looking for someone,’ Tilly said vaguely. ‘Or rather some people. We think. And we were given a map that brought us here. But we got a bit lost and none of the usual bookwandering rules seem to apply.’
‘What’s bookwandering?’ Milo asked, frowning at them.
‘Oh no,’ breathed Oskar.
‘You’re … not a bookwanderer?’ Tilly said in horror.
‘Ah no, I’m sorry,’ Milo said, breaking into a grin. ‘I’m just teasing! Of course I’m a bookwanderer. How do you think someone ends up on a train that travels through stories without being a bookwanderer?’
‘So that’s what this train does?’ Tilly asked in wonder, not even bothering to be annoyed by the joke.
‘Yup,’ said Milo proudly.
‘But we’ve never heard of you before,’ Tilly said. ‘And my grandad used to be the Librarian at the British Underlibrary.’ Tilly could have sworn she saw Milo wrinkle his nose at the mention of the Underlibrary.
‘Well, if you’ve come from the highfalutin’ official end of things, it’s no surprise you’ve never heard of us. In fact, I’d be worried if you had. We operate on a strict need-to-know basis.’
‘There are official and unofficial bits of bookwandering?’ Oskar asked.
‘Obviously,’ said Milo. ‘Pretty much everything has its official and unofficial bits, its open streets and its hidden alleyways, its rules – and its rule breakers. And the Quip and those who know of her are definitely from, if you’ll excuse the pun, the wrong side of the tracks.’
‘So, what do you actually do?’ Tilly asked.
‘We’re in the business of the lost and forgotten,’ Milo said. ‘Stories and books in particular. And sometimes lost-and-forgotten people too; those who need helping from one place to another, or have something to hide. People come to us because we know how to find things. And how to lose things. And we have an excellent success rate; we can get almost anywhere with this train.’
Tilly and Oskar looked at each other. Perhaps all hope of getting to the Archivists wasn’t quite lost.
o … the Underlibraries don’t know that you exist?’ Tilly asked as the train started speeding up through a narrow tunnel of stone.
‘Nope,’ Milo said. ‘We do have the occasional client who’s taking care of some personal business and would prefer to remain anonymous. But no, Horatio goes to great pains to make sure we go as undetected as possible.’
‘Who’s Horatio?’ Oskar asked.
‘He owns Quip,’ Milo explained. ‘And runs the business. He’s also my uncle, but he likes to pretend that’s not the case, so, if you do meet him, I wouldn’t bring it up. But you should hope you don’t meet him, as he won’
t be too thrilled to find two stowaways. No one’s allowed onboard for free – ever. But don’t worry, you can hang out in my quarters until the next stop or … Well, where are you going?’
‘Depends what the options are,’ Tilly pointed out.
‘The Quip can go anywhere you can imagine,’ Milo said. ‘But I don’t get told the routes. And this is only the second time we’ve been to that labyrinth place. The first time we stopped there, we then went on to a big old building where Horatio had a meeting. He called it the Archive, but he didn’t let me off the train. And then I suppose we’ll go on to …’
Tilly glanced at Oskar, whose eyebrows were raised.
‘So we’re going to that Archive place next?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.
‘I don’t really know,’ said Milo. ‘I don’t get told very much. The routes don’t always stay the same, but it’s where we ended up last time we came via the labyrinth. But it took, what, maybe half an hour to get there? So, why don’t you come in off the back of the train and we can have a cup of tea?’
Tilly and Oskar swapped another meaningful look as they followed Milo through the wooden door and into the final carriage of the train, which was almost pitch-black as it only had small slits for windows running along its top edges.
‘This is just a storage carriage!’ called Milo. ‘Try not to bang into any—’
‘Ow!’ yelped Oskar, catching his knee painfully on the corner of some anonymous object.
‘Too late!’ Milo said cheerily. ‘Just follow the sound of my voice!’
‘Hey, Milo!’ Oskar shouted. ‘Do you have any biscuits?’
‘So many biscuits!’ replied Milo. ‘Well, some biscuits! A biscuit! Probably! Do you mind if they’re a bit soft?’
As he spoke, he yanked open a door at the other end of the carriage and they could make out his silhouette a few metres ahead as they picked their way through the carriage. It was piled high with boxes, broken shelves, piles and piles of papers and things Tilly couldn’t even start to put a name to. Once they were out the other side, there was a narrow gap to jump over, which Milo helped Tilly and Oskar cross safely.
‘Welcome to my home!’ he said proudly as he swung open the door.
They were standing in a tiny, cosy snug of a room.
‘It used to be a sleeper carriage for two people,’ Milo explained, with a slightly embarrassed shrug. ‘But I took out the bottom bunk and made it just right for me. I’ve been fixing it and making it home ever since I started living here.’
‘When was that?’ Oskar asked.
‘When I was six,’ Milo said. ‘That was when Horatio unofficially adopted me, and I came to live with him on the Quip.’ Tilly noticed that he didn’t mention his parents and knew enough about complicated parental situations to understand that she shouldn’t ask any more questions just yet – and Oskar had been friends with Tilly long enough to know the same. Milo would tell them more if and when he wanted to.
They focused instead on his room. Now he’d pointed it out, it was obvious that his bed, which was tucked up towards the ceiling, had previously been the top half of a set of bunks. But now there was a small desk underneath it, complete with an inkpot, quill and a pile of parchment. Next to it was a full-to-bursting bookcase, with another pushed up against the far wall of the small carriage. A tiny kitchen area took up one corner, with a kettle, a hotplate and a glass bottle of milk in a bucket of icy water. A cracked mirror hung on one wall, and the rest of the wood panels were decorated with what looked like Christmas-tree lights (with quite a few bulbs missing), postcards of places from around the world and a vintage London Underground poster tacked up above the door.
Not much of the floor was visible underneath the squishy cushions and blankets heaped in a cacophony of clashing colours. The room seemed set up so that you could sit down whenever the mood struck you and curl up with a book – which was evidently what Milo often did, judging by the fact that several paperbacks were strewn across the floor, some with pages splayed open to show notes and underlinings in them. A marmalade tabby was curled up asleep on the largest of the cushions.
‘That’s Hester,’ Milo said. ‘She’s technically the train cat, not mine, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who feeds her, so she spends most of her time in here.’
Tilly picked up one of the books to see what Milo was reading. It was a copy of The Railway Children by E. Nesbit.
‘It’s one of my favourites,’ said Milo.
‘Mine too,’ Tilly agreed happily. ‘Although I see you’re a corner-folder. Just as I was starting to like you.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Milo said, taking the book and straightening it out. ‘I just forget where I’ve put my bookmark sometimes and …’
‘Only teasing,’ Tilly grinned. ‘Needed to get you back for pretending you didn’t know what bookwandering was. You can do as you like with your own books! They’re not museum objects!’
‘To be fair, some of the books on Quip are,’ Milo said.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Oskar.
‘Well, some of the books we carry are rather precious and some are … borrowed … from other establishments,’ Milo said carefully. ‘Or liberated, as Horatio says.’
‘You steal books?’ Tilly said in horror.
‘No!’ said Milo, sounding affronted. ‘But sometimes, if people find themselves in possession of a stolen book that they might like to be taken elsewhere, or sometimes, if we stumble across a book and it’s not entirely clear where it’s come from, we might help it on its journey.’
‘So you’re book smugglers?’ Oskar asked, impressed.
‘At your service,’ said Milo. ‘Although Horatio doesn’t like that word.’
‘So, saying you trade in lost-and-forgotten books is actually a very fancy way of dressing up the fact that you steal books?’ Tilly said, unsure how she felt about the whole set-up. She couldn’t help but think about how her grandparents would react.
‘But we do deal in lost-and-forgotten books,’ Milo said defensively. ‘I wasn’t lying, and it’s not like we’re petty thieves. Most of what we do is tracking down stories that people thought might have been lost forever and taking care of them! We’ve saved so many books and stories from being forgotten. Really you should think of us as book … rescuers.’
‘But how do books get lost or forgotten?’ Oskar asked.
‘For all sorts of reasons,’ Milo said. ‘Authors hide away books they never published, or stories are censored, or burned, or sometimes manuscripts end up in suitcases or stolen or just misplaced. We help find them. Every book that is read and loved and shared strengthens the magic of bookwandering. Surely you know that? And every book that gets lost or forgotten means the magic of stories loses a tiny bit of its power. We help keep imagination in balance. Or we try to anyway … Imagination can be a bit unpredictable, as I’m sure you know. But yes, we do get unusual requests from some of our more … private clients, only it’s not just stealing books, I swear. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re up on your high horse for – you’re clearly up to no good!’
‘What do you mean?’ Tilly said, offended.
‘We picked you up in that labyrinth, all by yourselves, and you’re being very cagey about why you were there or who you’re looking for.’
‘Actually, for your information, we’re up to very good,’ Tilly said awkwardly but incredibly self-righteously. ‘We’re trying to save bookwandering.’
‘What, all of it?’ said Milo. ‘Does it need saving?’
‘It would seem that way,’ Oskar said. ‘And, if you’re so clued into all that stuff you were saying about keeping imagination in balance, then you must be aware that something’s up. How about you tell us what you know, and we’ll return the favour – see if we can’t help each other out?’
‘I’m game if you are,’ Milo said, gauging Tilly’s response.
‘Deal,’ she said, and she and Oskar each took one of Milo’s hands and the three of them shook on it as
the Sesquipedalian
hey looked at each other, not wanting to be the first one to reveal their secrets.
‘Just so you know,’ Tilly said, ‘my mum knows where we are.’
‘She knows you’re onboard the Quip?’ Milo said, confused.
‘Well, no, not that bit,’ Tilly admitted. ‘But she knows what we’re looking for, and where we started, and we have friends there who know every step we took until we got on this train,’ she said, slightly fudging the details about how much Orlando and Jorge knew.
‘I’m not trying to kidnap you,’ Milo said, looking a little offended. ‘You do remember that I just helped you get out of the labyrinth? And you should go first anyway as you’re on my train. What are you up to?’
Tilly glanced at Oskar and he gave her a nod. She took a deep breath. ‘We’re trying to find the Archivists,’ she said.
‘Would they be the Archivists who reside at the aforementioned Archive?’ Milo said.
‘We don’t really know,’ Tilly admitted. ‘We hope so. You said you’d been there before; do you know much about it?’
‘Like I said, I didn’t get off the train,’ said Milo. ‘All I saw was a big old building we’d never been to before, and I know that Horatio was in there for a couple of hours. He doesn’t tell me anything about his meetings, before you ask.’
‘Well, we know that they help bookwanderers,’ Oskar said. ‘We’re following a sort of map to try and find them – that’s how we ended up in the labyrinth – although it looks like we’ve found a short cut.’
‘What do you need help with?’ Milo said. ‘That whole saving bookwandering thing you mentioned?’
Tilly nodded. ‘There’s been a coup at the British Underlibrary,’ she began. ‘These awful people have taken over and have stopped everyone bookwandering – and they’re threatening to stop children bookwandering ever again unless … Well, unless everyone agrees to help them,’ she finished, not wanting to tell Milo the truth about her parents and what the Underwoods wanted from her.
