by Anna James
‘I suppose we go and look,’ Tilly said, turning to Horatio, who nodded briefly.
‘Yes, you just need to get inside the book and change something and see if it sticks,’ Horatio said. ‘Just the smallest, smallest thing, in case it hasn’t worked, and you change something forever.’
‘Are we all going?’ Milo asked eagerly.
‘No,’ Seb said firmly, one eye fixed anxiously on the door that led back up to the Underlibrary. ‘If it hasn’t worked, then we can’t risk causing more damage to the Source. I really shouldn’t be letting you do this at all.’ He looked distinctly nauseous and was fussing with his bow tie.
‘I’ll go,’ Tilly said. ‘It’s my plan.’
‘Which means I’m obviously going too,’ Oskar said.
‘Two is more than enough,’ Seb said, before Horatio could volunteer to go too – he clearly wanted to see for himself if the book magic had made any difference. ‘We’ll stay here and keep watch – you should only be gone for a few seconds in our time. In and out, remember – and only change the tiniest detail.’
Tilly nodded and opened the book at random, linked arms with Oskar and read them to 221B Baker Street.
enumerated in my own mind all the various points upon which he had shown me that he was exceptionally well-informed. I even took a pencil and jotted them down. I could not help smiling at the document when I had competed it.’
The room that appeared around them was a pleasant, airy sitting room with comfortable-looking furniture and wide windows. For the famous abode of an infamous detective, it was actually rather generic; there were books and papers on tables, and a pipe on the mantelpiece, but it was disappointingly unmysterious. The sound of talking came from somewhere nearby, and Tilly knew that this wasn’t the time to explore – they certainly didn’t have time to try to explain to Sherlock Holmes why they were in his apartments. If any fictional character could deduce what was going on, it was him.
Tilly and Oskar started to look around for something they could change, comparing the details in the room to what was written down – it had to be something in the text for the experiment to work. And it had to be small in case it didn’t work.
‘Look, here!’ Oskar called, pointing at a journal lying open on a desk. In it was a list of observations that John Watson had made about Sherlock Holmes that was mirrored in the Source Edition they were holding. It read:
SHERLOCK HOLMES – his limits
1.Knowledge of literature – nil.
2.Philosophy – nil.
3.Astronomy – nil.
4.Politics – feeble.
5.Botany – variable. Well up on belladonna, opium and poisons generally. Knows nothing of practical gardening.
6.Geology – practical but limited. Tells at a glance different soils from each other. After walks, has shown me splashes upon his trousers and told me, by their colour and consistency, in what part of London he had received them.
7.Chemistry – profound.
8.Anatomy – accurate, but unsystematic.
9.Sensational literature – immense. He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in this century.
10.Plays the violin well.
11.Is an expert singlestick player, boxer and swordsman.
12.Has a good practical knowledge of British law.
‘We’ll just change something on here!’ Oskar said. ‘This doesn’t seem super important, right? I’ve not read the books, have you?’
‘No,’ Tilly admitted. ‘And, in hindsight, maybe we should have experimented with something we knew better. And that was less beloved.’
The noise of people talking started to get distinctly louder. ‘This’ll have to do,’ she said, and grabbed a fountain pen lying on top of the journal. She scanned down the list, looking for the thing that seemed like it would have the least impact on the story.
‘This!’ she said, crossing out violin and writing piano in scratchy writing above it. ‘How much difference could that make?’ she said.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Oskar said, opening the Source Edition up to the last page to read themselves back to the Underlibrary. But, just at that moment, the door to the room opened and two men walked in.
‘Hey there, what are you doing in here!’ the shorter man said. ‘This is private property! Sherlock, shall I ring for Scotland Yard?’
But the taller man with the piercing eyes was looking them up and down.
‘Girl of about ten,’ he said to himself. ‘Ink on fingers – not familiar with a nib pen, necklace with a bee on it – likely of sentimental value, potentially belonging to her mother or grandmother. Boy of similar age, acts like a brother to the girl, and holding a book with … my name on it. Peculiar … Both look distinctly like they are doing something wrong.’
‘I’ll say, Sherlock,’ the other man said. ‘They’ve broken in!’
But Sherlock simply cocked his head as if he couldn’t quite work them out. He took a step towards them.
‘Time to go, Tilly!’ Oskar said urgently.
‘It’s like in Latin or something,’ she said, panicking as she looked at the last line of the book.
‘Just sound it out!’ Oskar shouted. ‘Quickly!’
‘Populus me sib … sibilat, at mihi plaudo, ipso, no ipse, domi simul ac nummos contemplor in … arca,’ Tilly said, almost in a shout, and, to their relief, before Sherlock could take the book from Tilly’s hands or John Watson could summon Scotland Yard, 221B Baker Street melted around them and they were back in the Source Library.
Bea, Horatio, Seb and Milo were there, waiting.
‘You were barely gone a second,’ Bea said, relieved. ‘How did it go?’
‘Let’s find out,’ Tilly said, flicking back towards the beginning of the book to find the page with the list on it. She ran a finger down and stopped. ‘There, look,’ she said triumphantly. ‘It hasn’t changed!’
‘Oh, thank goodness,’ Seb said, letting out the breath he’d been holding.
‘Number ten – plays the violin well,’ Oskar read triumphantly. ‘It’s still exactly the same. We haven’t ruined Sherlock Holmes! And, more importantly, this isn’t a Source Edition any more …’
But, before they could decide what to do next, there was a clang that echoed round the hall.
‘It’s the guards,’ Seb said, looking pale. ‘We’ve kept them waiting too long.’
‘Okay, listen to me,’ Horatio said, quickly taking charge. ‘Milo and I will go with Seb. Hopefully, the guards have not been told how many to expect, and well, I’m sure I can provide some sort of distraction if need be. I think Matilda might need a few more moments in here.’
‘To save Will?’ she said.
‘Well, there’s no harm in trying,’ he said. ‘But I meant to carry out your plan to free the Sources.’
‘Oh yes, right,’ she said. ‘Of course.’
‘We need to go,’ Seb said, hurrying Horatio and Milo along.
‘Hey, Milo!’ Oskar said just as they turned their backs. ‘Is there any way we can contact you? Do you have a phone … or a computer we could email you on?’
Horatio rolled his eyes, but Milo’s face lit up.
‘There’s no computer or mobile phones on the Quip,’ he said. ‘They don’t work in Story. But you can write to me.’
‘But where do we send it?’ Oskar asked.
‘If you address it to Milo Bolt, the Sesquipedalian, and put it in between the back cover and the last page of a book – next to the Endpapers – it’ll get to me.’
‘It just magicks its way there?’ Oskar said sceptically.
‘Is that just one step too far with the whole magic thing?’ Milo laughed.
‘Fair enough,’ said Oskar.
‘But I wouldn’t worry too much about keeping in contact,’ Horatio said, with a sly smile. ‘Remember, Matilda, you still owe me a favour. I’ll be in touch.’
ea, Oskar and Tilly stood in the chilly hall of the Source Library, hiding amo
ng the shelves, listening to the great door clang open and shut as Milo and Horatio left with Seb. Tilly felt very far from the other end of the hall where the Underwoods still had Will; she hoped that he was able to stay this far away from her safely now they weren’t travelling through Story.
‘There’s a lot we need to catch up on once we’ve dealt with this,’ Bea said. Tilly nodded, hoping there was a point in the not-too-distant future where they’d all be able to sit down with a hot chocolate and compare stories about magical trains and mysterious Archives – and whatever was about to happen here.
‘Well, at least we’ve got one question ticked off the never-ending list,’ Oskar said cheerfully. ‘Why the paper forest had all that stuff in it from places we’d bookwandered.’
‘At this point in time, that’s what you’re thinking about?’ Tilly said, incredulous.
‘Yes!’ Oskar said. ‘It was never explained! I hate it when stuff like that is left hanging! It’s why the pirate ship from Treasure Island was there, and the lamppost from Narnia – it all came from our imagination. And that’s why we thought we might be back in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, because we’d just bookwandered there!’
‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ Tilly repeated. ‘That’s it!’
‘That’s what?’ Oskar said confused.
‘The last piece of the puzzle!’ said Tilly. She checked the shelves to try to get her bearings before leading them back into the depths of the Source Library. ‘I have an idea to help us free the Source Editions – but we can’t do it by ourselves. Horatio’s not the only one owed a favour. It’s time for me to call in one of my own. Just trust me, okay? Even when you see who I mean.’
‘So cryptic.’ Oskar grinned. ‘You know it used to be me convincing you to do things like this. But I think the time has come to make peace with the fact that the majority of our madcap plans are now definitely your idea.’
‘Does that make you the sensible one then?’ Tilly said.
‘No way!’ said Oskar.
‘Someone has to be the sensible one,’ Tilly said.
‘I am more than happy to take that label,’ Bea said.
‘You took two children to the airport in the middle of the night and sent them to America, Bea,’ Oskar pointed out. ‘So you do not get to be the sensible one.’
‘Right,’ Bea said. ‘Fair enough.’
‘Honestly, I think the time for being sensible passed a really long time ago,’ Tilly said. ‘Maybe no one has to be the sensible one.’
‘It’s clear who the chosen one is, though, eh, Tilly?’ said Oskar, good-naturedly poking her in the back.
‘Well, I hereby designate us all chosen ones,’ Tilly said.
‘So we’re all special?’ Oskar asked.
‘Or we’re all normal,’ Tilly said.
‘I think they might be one and the same when it comes down to it,’ said Bea.
‘Where are we going, Tilly?’ Oskar hissed as he and Bea followed her between the shelves, watching her check the spines of the books they were passing.
‘We need a bit of backup,’ Tilly said, stopping and pulling a book down. ‘And, now we know how to unbind the books, we can ask some friends.’
Tilly showed Bea and Oskar the cover of the book she had found.
‘Anne of Green Gables,’ Oskar read. ‘Of course.’
‘You want to pull Anne out of the book?’ Bea said. ‘But that’s not how it works.’
‘Mum, I don’t have time to explain properly,’ Tilly said. ‘But you remember what Horatio was saying about who makes up the rules? Well, there are some other bookwandering rules I think it’s time to break. It’s like Milo said – we’ve all got book magic in us if we know what to do with it.’
Tilly copied what Seb had done with Sherlock Holmes and laid a hand on the cover. She felt a little bit silly, but she thought intently about how much she wanted to read it, and asked the book to let her in, and immediately the black mark over the first word faded.
She quickly turned to a page near the beginning that described Anne, and whispered the passage as quietly as she could, but nothing happened.
‘Don’t be dispirited, sweetheart,’ Bea said. ‘It was a lovely idea, but I don’t think even you can completely break the rules of bookwandering. Now, what had you—’ But she was cut off.
‘What a strange, unpleasant feeling this place has,’ a high Canadian voice said behind them. The three of them whirled round to see Anne Shirley standing there, shivering slightly.
‘Tilly!’ she said happily. She bobbed a curtsy to Bea. ‘And lovely to meet you,’ she said. ‘My name is Anne. Spelled with an “e”.’ Tilly reminded herself how lucky she was that characters could remember her even after she’d left their books, something she was hoping would come in useful again very shortly. ‘Now, why on earth are you here and …’
Tilly shushed her quickly with a finger to her lips. ‘We have some more people to find, and then I’ll explain everything,’ she said.
They made their way from the Ms for Montgomery to the Cs for Carroll, which took them much closer to the room the Underwoods were in with Will. Tilly pulled down the Source Edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and before long Alice had emerged, alongside the Mad Hatter and the White Rabbit.
Oskar eyed Anne and Alice, who were looking at each other warily.
‘How exactly are they going to help?’ he asked.
‘Because they’re still Source characters for the time being,’ Bea said, realising what Tilly was planning, ‘they’re the most powerful versions of these characters you can get.’
‘And they’re going to be on our side, obviously,’ added Tilly. ‘They’re made of pure imagination – if anyone can help us to unlock the Source Editions, it’s them.’
‘Unlock the what?’ Alice said.
‘Okay, gather round,’ said Tilly. Anne, Alice and the other Wonderlanders huddled round her, and she explained where they were and what was happening.
‘And so we need your help,’ she finished. ‘We need your magic – we need to set all your books free so you aren’t trapped down here any more. We need as much imagination as possible.’
‘But what do we do?’ Alice asked. ‘This is a very curious plan, Matilda, and it sounds like ever such a lot of effort.’
‘I’ll tell you once we’ve got more people,’ Tilly said. ‘And I think I need to ask one person in particular. Now, get as many characters out of their books as possible, but quietly, please!’
Alice and Anne hared off, their feet silent on the stone floor, and started pulling down book after book, passing the message on to those who were newly arrived.
Before long, the spaces between the shelves of the Source Library were full; there were princesses and pirates, wizards and talking animals, and everything in between. Tilly could see some of her favourite characters talking to each other, and many, many more than she didn’t recognise.
But the noise was getting impossible to ignore. Tilly gestured to Anne and Alice who, with Bea, spread the word through the bustle of fictional characters. There was an unmistakable glitter and sparkle to the air lighting up even the darkest corners of the Source Library. Tilly and Oskar led the way back through the shelves towards the room where the Underwoods and their awful machine were, and where they hoped Will still was.
Then the door suddenly swung open, and Melville strode out, looking cross.
‘I thought I told you to …’ He stopped as he saw what was in front of him, and his knees buckled underneath him. ‘Who … What …’ He stumbled backwards towards his sister.
‘I’m afraid that we have some unfinished business here,’ Tilly said, hands on her hips. ‘And I’ve brought some friends to help.’
Tilly gestured for the characters to stay where they were, and walked towards Melville and Decima – who thankfully still had Will with them.
Melville tried to disguise the fear on his face as he shoved Will forward to stand in front of them. Will’s hands we
re smeared with a black, sticky liquid that was keeping them bound together.
‘No more of your tricks!’ Melville cried. ‘You’ll see Mr Shakespeare is unable to try anything like he attempted upstairs. He’s bound, like these books are. I don’t know how you have amassed so many people or who exactly they are,’ he said, a little shakily. ‘But be assured we still have the upper hand here, Matilda, unless you wish to physically overthrow us – and, even then, I promise you we have more than one way to evade you here. Who is that rabble anyway? Are they armed?’
‘You don’t know?’ Oskar said gleefully, realising Melville hadn’t worked it out yet.
‘What do you mean, boy?’ Decima said.
‘Go and take a closer look,’ Bea suggested, a small smile on her face.
Decima shoved Melville aside and her face fell as she recognised enough characters to know what Tilly had done.
‘But it’s impossible,’ she said. ‘These books are bound. There’s no way to do this so quickly.’
‘I think you’ll find there is always a way,’ Tilly said. ‘Especially when it comes to stories. A friend once told me I should try and make a little room for the impossible to happen.’
‘Oh, that is excellent!’ Will said. ‘May I borrow it for what I’ve been working on?’
‘Shut up,’ Melville hissed. He turned back to Tilly. ‘So what? It’s all well and good showing off that you can bend the rules – but we already knew that. You’re going to make fictional characters fight us? When we have the power to destroy their stories once and for all at our fingertips? You’ve not thought this through.’
‘I promise you I have,’ Tilly said, and she pulled out the copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that Orlando had given her, crossing all her fingers that this last gamble would pay off.
‘Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania!’ she shouted and suddenly the Queen of the Faeries shimmered into being before them, looking even more magnificent and more terrifying in the real world than she did in the forest.
