by Anna James
longside all the fancy glassware and cutlery on the table was a pile of menus. Horatio gestured towards it.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Get yourselves fed and fit. Starved children are of no use to me.’
Inside the powder-blue menus were lists and lists of every kind of food you could possibly imagine – and what book they were from. There was clam chowder from Moby Dick, or a picnic with all the trimmings from a Famous Five book. And you could follow it up with apple pie from The Railway Children, or some Turkish delight from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. There was a full afternoon-tea spread from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, glasses of raspberry cordial from Anne of Green Gables, and you could even order a gin cocktail from The Great Gatsby if you were old enough. The menu also listed something described as pickled limes from Little Women, but Tilly didn’t think they sounded very appetising.
‘Who makes all of this stuff?’ Oskar asked in wonder.
‘Our chef, Madeleine,’ said Horatio. ‘Our customers expect a level of luxury onboard the Sesquipedalian that I am happy to provide, and a level of whimsy that … well, people are happy to pay for.’
‘We borrowed her from a book,’ Milo explained.
‘So, she’s …’ Oskar started.
‘A fictional character, yes,’ Horatio said, glaring at Milo. ‘Not that we usually advertise that fact. And here she comes now.’
A woman with red hair swept into a tight chignon swept over to take their orders.
‘How ingenious,’ Will said, seemingly unperturbed by Horatio’s illicit catering business. ‘Now, I think some of the Queen of Hearts’ jam tarts should suit me, and a cup of the Mad Hatter’s tea.’
Tilly plumped for the apple pie that came from The Railway Children, together with a glass of Anne’s favourite raspberry cordial. Oskar dithered, sorely tempted by a slice of the enormous chocolate cake from Roald Dahl’s Matilda, but in the end going for some green eggs and ham from Dr Seuss.
Milo started to order something, but Horatio glared at him. ‘The boy will have plain porridge,’ he said. ‘From Oliver Twist.’
Madeleine nodded her head, and left. Milo just stared down at the table, and wouldn’t make eye contact with either Tilly or Oskar.
‘Won’t someone notice she’s missing from her book?’ Tilly said. ‘She must be a Source character to have stayed out of her book for so long?’
‘Not much gets past you, does it?’ Horatio said, begrudgingly impressed. ‘But no, no one will notice – she’s from a book that basically no one has read. Madeleine was an ingenious find on my predecessor’s part. I don’t even have the Source Edition to send her back to if I wanted to – no doubt it’s tucked into some dusty corner of an Underlibrary, or hidden somewhere clever.’
‘Was your predecessor a book smuggler too?’ Oskar asked, and Horatio shuddered.
‘We don’t use the s-word onboard this train,’ he said. ‘We run a respectable, if private, business. It is the rules of bookwandering that are out of sync with what readers want, not us. But yes, of course I had a predecessor – how old do you think I am? Although she wasn’t quite in the same line of business as we are; the Quip has a good few years on me. The former conductor ran it as a novelty – a jaunt through Story, dinners from your favourite books, a chance to hobnob with your favourite characters, that sort of nonsense.’
‘That’s not allowed, surely?’ Tilly asked.
‘Well, of course not,’ Horatio said. ‘All highly illegal if you consider the Underlibrary laws as set in stone. But shinier and more glamorous than my work, and so it was inevitable it would attract the wrong sort of attention. And, when she was in a tight spot, I was happy to help her evade official eyes, and took Quip off her hands at the same time. And I imagine Quip was in business before she bought her anyway; this is a train that has mischief in her very soul.’
Within a surprisingly short amount of time, Madeleine returned, pushing a trolley containing everything they had asked for.
‘Green eggs are better in theory than practice, aren’t they?’ Oskar said, looking at his plate – which contained a very large ham leg and a pile of bright green fried eggs – rather apprehensively. He took a forkful and closed his eyes as he ate. ‘Oh, not bad at all!’ he said. ‘Tastes like pesto!’
A bowl of porridge was set down in front of Milo, who said thank you politely, and started eating. Tilly moved it out of the way without saying anything.
‘Here, let’s share,’ she said. ‘I won’t be able to eat this whole slice anyway.’
‘Are you sure?’ Milo asked, looking longingly at the apple pie.
‘Of course,’ she said. Oskar nodded too, his mouth full of green eggs, and pushed his huge plate into the middle of the table.
Horatio shook his head wearily as if he didn’t understand them at all, silently sipping a cup of black coffee. Will nibbled his jam tarts and the three children shared an excellent if mismatched meal.
re you finished?’ Horatio said, eyeing the empty plates strewn round the table. ‘To business then.’ He rang a bell to signify he wanted the table cleared. ‘Artemis believes the clue to what is happening at your Underlibrary lies in what’s happened to the books that are going missing. Or that they’re linked, at least.’
‘Yes, and—’ Tilly started.
‘It wasn’t a question,’ Horatio interrupted. ‘And she has paid me to help you find them. The theory being that should they be hidden inside layers of stories, or other books, as Artemis believes, and should we be successful in tracking them down, you’ll be able to bring them back out into this world because of your particular abilities?’
Neither of them said anything.
‘That was a question,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Tilly. ‘Although I’m not sure I quite see the link with the Underwoods.’
‘I imagine the theory is that, as someone or something is causing havoc by hiding books, and as the Underwoods are stirring up other sorts of trouble, it’s not outside the realms of possibility that they’re either involved in, or at least aware of what’s going on with, these lost books. But what they get up to at the Underlibraries is the least of my concerns. Now where on earth is Madeleine to clear all this mess?’
He rang the bell again and glanced in frustration at the door through which the chef had left. But Madeleine didn’t reappear.
‘Milo, go and see where she’s got to,’ he said. ‘Make yourself useful and take a pile of these plates while you’re at it.’
Milo didn’t protest, but quickly stacked up as many dirty plates as he could carry and went to track down the chef.
‘So,’ Horatio said after Milo had gone, ‘I won’t beat around the bush, Tilly. Your skillset is of great interest to me, if you can do what you say you can. Both in search of the books on Artemis’s list, and in the future. I could pay you well to help me acquire items that were previously … inaccessible to me.’
‘Are you offering me a job?’ Tilly said in confusion.
‘Of a sort, yes,’ Horatio said. ‘It would be more on a freelance basis.’
‘But I’m twelve,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want a job. I want to work out how to stop the Underwoods, and make sure everyone can bookwander again. I thought that’s what we were doing. And then I want to just go back to normal and go to school and be at home and not go on any adventures for a bit or have to save anyone or anything.’
‘Personally, I don’t really want to go to school,’ Oskar said. ‘But I agree with the rest of it.’
‘You were not being offered a job, boy,’ Horatio said.
‘We’re kind of a package deal,’ Oskar said.
‘And we don’t want a job!’ repeated Tilly.
‘Just bear it in mind,’ Horatio said. ‘And anyway I need to know you can do what you say you can – would you be happy to demonstrate for me?’
‘I can demonstrate when we go and find the books Artemis has paid you to track down,’ Tilly said firmly. She suddenly wanted ver
y much to be back at Pages & Co. and to talk to her grandparents and her mum about what they should do next.
‘Here’s what I suggest,’ she said, trying to sound businesslike. ‘You take us back to London now. Tomorrow you can come to the bookshop to pick us up and we’ll go and get the books – that way you have a chance to do some research into where they are, or however you usually find books.’
‘An interesting suggestion,’ Horatio said. ‘And certainly one I’m open to. But, unfortunately for you, the price of a ticket to London has just gone up.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Oskar said.
‘I never promised fair,’ Horatio said.
‘What do you want?’ said Tilly nervously. ‘More imagination?’
‘A favour,’ Horatio said, with a smile like the Cheshire cat.
‘What sort of favour?’ Tilly asked.
‘Well, favours are the sort of things that are good to have in stock,’ Horatio said. ‘If I knew what I needed now, I would have asked for it, but I’m always keen to collect favours from useful people.’
‘And I’m a useful person?’ Tilly said, not sure if that was the compliment that it sounded like at face value.
‘Anyone who can do something no one else can is useful,’ said Horatio. Again, Tilly felt as though something more sinister lay behind Horatio’s smooth words.
‘Will?’ Tilly said, turning to him in frustration. ‘Aren’t you going to help?’
‘What would you have me do, child?’ Will said. ‘The man has named his price, Tilly. I am sure you … we can think of something once we have arrived. What harm is a favour?’
‘Don’t you care about saving bookwandering?’ Oskar said to Will.
‘Oh, child, hark what I say to you. These are such slight moments of history. Everything will come good again, I am sure of it. I do not embroil myself in the politics of bookwanderers any more for my heart has been disappointed too many times.’
‘But this isn’t really about politics,’ Tilly said, desperately disappointed. ‘I mean, it is a bit, I suppose, but it’s about reading, and freedom, and imagination.’
‘Ah, child, I wish I were not the one to reveal the truth to you,’ said Will. ‘For you will not get to be too much older before you understand that is not what stories are for. Their nature will always be warped by those who seek to use them for power and control.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Oskar said vehemently.
‘Tilly, Oskar,’ Will said more gently. ‘I say these words not to be cruel, or to hurt you. I have seen the world as a man, as a writer, and I have seen it go on and on and on as an Archivist. I have seen the same problems again and again, and reading is nothing but a merry distraction from it. A way to escape problems and cares, ay, but not a way to solve them. I wish ’twere otherwise.’
‘I don’t agree with you,’ Tilly insisted. ‘And I’ll prove it to you, one way or another.’ She turned to Horatio, full of frustration and anger, feeling she couldn’t place her trust in any of the adults around her. At least, if she owed Horatio a favour, he wouldn’t be able to give them the slip and not help them find the books on Artemis’s list. ‘Fine – one favour,’ she said. ‘Now take us home.’
‘Did you just agree to a favour?’ Milo said as he re-entered the carriage, pale-faced with concern.
‘It’s none of your business,’ Horatio said. ‘Now, where has Madeleine got to?’
‘She’s gone,’ Milo said.
‘Gone? What do you mean, she’s gone?’
‘I mean she’s not anywhere on the train – she’s just vanished.’
‘But … that’s impossible,’ said Horatio. He frowned. ‘Well. One more thing to worry about. But, before I deal with that – you two, where in London do you want to be dropped off? Pages & Co.? Whatever’s going on in Story is making it harder to park up Quip. We need to know where to make the gap a little further in advance. I have another stop to make before my next delivery – there’s some last books I have to track down for that client, and then I need to find Madeleine, and only then can I start locating these lost books for you. So, if you want to find them, I suggest you let me know where you’re going as quickly as you can. My patience is wearing thin.’
Tilly was about to ask him to take them as close to Pages & Co. as the train could get when she glanced across at Will, leaning his forehead against the train window, and she had a different idea. She stood up and gestured for Horatio to follow her a few steps away from the table and, checking that Will wasn’t listening, leaned in and updated their destination.
‘It makes no matter to me,’ Horatio said when he heard where she wanted to go. ‘But one more thing to remember,’ he said, turning to speak to Tilly and Oskar. ‘If I find out that you’ve spread the word about this train and our work beyond your immediate family, I will provide no further assistance in your quest – do you understand?’
Tilly and Oskar nodded as the train whistle started to blow.
he train stopped at a very small platform under a bridge over the River Thames.
‘Mind the gap,’ Horatio said.
They hopped from the step of the Quip across a channel of sparkling magic and landed on the cobblestones. Tilly, Oskar and Will watched as the Sesquipedalian chugged away, its engine dissolving in a cloud of glittering book magic. The last thing they saw before it vanished into the evening air was Milo, sitting on the back of the train, where they had first spotted him, waving goodbye.
And with that they were resolutely back in the real world – with the addition of William Shakespeare. The first thing that Tilly and Oskar did was to pull out their phones, and switch them on.
‘How long have we been gone?’ Oskar asked. ‘We’ve been so deep in Story I feel like it could have been anything from an hour to a year. Hopefully, not the last one,’ he said, feeling a bit nauseous at the thought.
Tilly checked her phone screen. ‘We’ve not even been gone a day,’ she said, pointing to the date. ‘We left for America this morning.’
‘I’m never going to get used to how time works when we bookwander,’ Oskar said, rubbing his head. ‘Well, at least my mum won’t be worrying yet.’
Tilly knew the same couldn’t be said of her grandparents. She texted them, and her mum, to let them know that they were safe and back in London and that she would call them soon. The moment the messages were sent, her phone screen lit up with her grandad trying to phone her, but, as guilty as Tilly felt, she cancelled the call and turned her phone off.
‘Where are we?’ asked Oskar, looking around.
‘In London,’ Tilly said. ‘Southwark to be precise. We’re here to remind Will of a few things.’
‘I see the river still smells much the same,’ Will said. ‘If not worse. Is this where your family resides?’
‘No,’ said Tilly, getting her bearings to make sure she knew where she was going. ‘You don’t recognise where we are?’
‘Of course not,’ Will said. ‘London hardly looks the same as the last time I walked these streets.’
‘Some bits do,’ Tilly said, taking Will’s hand and leading him round the corner, where a round white building with wooden beams and a thatched roof stood next to the river.
‘Oh,’ breathed Will. ‘It is still here? I had imagined it would be long lost to the river, or fire, like the first time. Or to neglect and irrelevance.’ Tilly felt Will’s grip tighten round hers as he looked up at the Globe theatre.
‘It’s not technically the same building,’ Tilly admitted. ‘But I think it’s pretty much in the same place, and looks the same – is it how you remember it?’
‘It is,’ Will said, his other hand resting on his heart in wonder. ‘I feel as though my soul is in the sky, observing this moment from above. May we enter?’
‘We can try,’ Tilly said. ‘I’m not sure if there’s anything on, or if they’ll let us in without a ticket, but we can see.’
They crossed the street and walked up the steps, through the gate in the wall that
surrounded the theatre. It was fairly quiet apart from a few tourists taking photos, and the doors to the Globe were shut fast.
‘Ah, there is no one here,’ Will said. ‘’Tis but a relic.’
‘No, sir,’ said an usher, eyeing Will’s outfit. He was perched on a folding stool in the courtyard by one of the doors. ‘There’s a performance on, so the crowds are all inside.’
‘Would you permit us to enter?’ Will said quietly.
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir,’ said the man, who barely looked to be out of his teens. ‘Once it’s started, the doors stay shut.’
‘I would so dearly love to see it,’ Will said, and Tilly could see the man decide that Will was probably one of Those Fans who took everything a few steps further than he was comfortable dealing with.
‘It’s really a very special occasion,’ Tilly tried. ‘Our friend is not in London for very long and this place means a great deal to him.’
‘Well, it means a great deal to a lot of people,’ the man said. He looked at Will and Tilly and Oskar and sighed. ‘It’s the interval soon,’ he said. ‘I can’t let you in, but you’ll be able to get a glimpse inside once the doors open. It’ll be about five minutes now, I think, if they went up on time.’
‘What play is it?’ Tilly asked, fingers crossed it was actually a Shakespeare play.
‘It’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ the usher said.
‘Perfect,’ Tilly grinned.
The three of them lingered by the doors, Will lost in his own thoughts, and Tilly and Oskar struggling to suppress yawns.
‘Tilly, do you have any cash?’ Oskar asked, eyeing the ice-cream stand that was setting up its wares in advance of the interval rush. Tilly took her purse out of her backpack; they still had all the dollars her mum had given her, but they’d spent most of their British money on the breakfast at the airport, which had only technically been that morning, but felt like weeks ago.
Oskar ambled over to the woman selling ice cream with the couple of pounds Tilly had shaken out of her purse, before returning empty-handed and affronted.
