Dragon's Green

by Scarlett Thomas

  He walked around looking at all the strange objects in the cabinets with wonder, rather as Effie had done when she was younger. The walls were covered with framed maps and charts and paintings of mythical creatures and endless green landscapes. The furniture was old and sturdy, but none of it matched. There was an old red sofa, a yellow armchair, a turquoise chaise longue and a coffee table made from a very dark wood that Maximilian had never seen before.

  ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Your grandfather really lived here?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Effie. She sighed, and walked around, touching the chair her grandfather used to sit in. ‘I suppose this is the last time I’ll come here. I don’t even know what to do.’

  ‘And your grandfather was really Griffin Truelove?’ he said. ‘I mean, the Griffin Truelove?’

  Effie shrugged, not knowing what Maximilian meant. ‘I guess so.’

  She was checking her grandfather’s desk for any other secret drawers; any objects she might have failed to rescue before. She had the feeling that he had made sure she now had all the most important things but . . . She felt behind one of the large drawers on the left hand side of the desk and, indeed, there was a catch she hadn’t noticed before. When she released it, a smaller drawer sprung out of the space between the large drawers.

  Inside, there were three letters, two with the same gold stamp on them and one without. Each was addressed to Griffin Truelove. Effie scanned the first one. It was from something called the Guild of Craftspeople – it was their gold stamp, it seemed – and told him that he was suspended from performing magic for five years. It had been dated not long after the world-quake. So he hadn’t been joking.

  Another letter, also with the gold stamp but addressed more recently, told him that his application to become a wizard had been turned down. The third letter had no stamp, no address and no signature. It simply said, You will pay. It seemed like some sort of threat. Effie put all three letters in the pocket of her cape.

  ‘Wow,’ Maximilian said again, after sniffing a box full of incense. ‘And where was the library?’

  ‘Upstairs. I suppose it’ll be empty now. I’m not sure I can even . . .’

  ‘Come on,’ said Maximilian. ‘You can at least say goodbye.’

  So they walked together up the wooden stairs, and through the black door with the blue glass window and the polished bone handle. And there it was. A room full of bookshelves with no books on them. One of the saddest things a book lover can see. Each shelf seemed to hold the memory of the books it had once housed. In some cases light had faded the wood around where the books had been; in other cases the shape was made by dust. The shelves seemed to be sighing to themselves, fretting and worrying about where their occupants had gone and when they were coming back.

  The room echoed with the children’s footsteps as they walked around looking at the places where the books used to be.

  ‘It sounds weird in here,’ said Effie. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ said Maximilian.

  ‘What?’ said Effie, touching one of the shelves.

  ‘Do you think your grandfather knew that any of this was going to happen?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, could he have known that your father was likely to sell the books? He made sure you got those magical items somehow. Did he leave you any instructions or anything to tell you what to do?’

  Effie decided this was not the time to tell Maximilian that she had ended up with the items almost by accident – and that she would not have the ring at all if his mother hadn’t come after her with it.

  ‘He left a codicil. But my father took it and destroyed it. I . . .’

  Maximilian looked uncomfortable for a moment.

  ‘Do you think your grandfather might have hidden something for you? Something important?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps . . . Maybe if we used the spectacles . . .?’

  Ever since Maximilian had taken the spectacles off, he had wanted to put them back on again. He felt it like an ache, a hunger. He’d read about these glasses, or ones like them, so many times, but he’d never dreamed he would get the chance to use them. He remembered reading that people had once tried to develop glasses like this that were purely digital, not magical, but they had never quite taken off. And they’d had nothing like the capabilities of these spectacles, of course.

  Effie got her grandfather’s old glasses case out of her schoolbag. She opened it and took out the spectacles. She could see her grandfather wearing them and suddenly wanted to cry again, because she remembered that he was dead and she would never talk to him again. Effie put the glasses on herself for the first time, wondering what she would see, but the world simply blurred in that way it does when you try on someone else’s glasses. It felt as if Effie’s brain had tipped over to the side slightly.

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ she said, talking them off. ‘I thought you said that they were magic, that they gave you some kind of special power or something . . .’

  ‘They do,’ said Maximilian. ‘But like I said before, you have to have the right ability – the innate potentiality – for them to work. Give them to me.’

  Effie hesitated, then passed them over.

  Maximilian put them on. Yes, there was the world, but clearer than ever before. He could see that Effie’s energy level was almost half-full now, which was good. There were other stats that he didn’t quite understand. He’d have to do a lot more research. He would never have told anyone this, but he was secretly pleased that Effie couldn’t see anything through the glasses. He was also pleased that he could see things through them; it meant that he really was a true scholar.

  Maximilian had often read about everyone having some innate magical ability, left over from a time when the world was a lot more magical, and he’d always hoped he’d find out he was a scholar, rather than a warrior or a mage or a healer. He felt special, probably for the first time in his life. Not only that; Effie needed him. She needed him to say what he saw through the glasses.

  ‘Well?’ she said now.

  ‘It’s the same as before. Your energy is looking a lot better, but you should get something to eat soon. Um . . . Right, well, these rooms are even more interesting with these on. I can see which books used to be shelved here – which will be useful when we have to try to get them back. And, well, I don’t know where to begin.’

  ‘Can you see if there’s anything hidden?’

  ‘Hang on.’ Maximilian took off the glasses and gave them a polish with the little cloth from inside the case. ‘That’s better. You got fingerprints all over them when you touched them. Right. Let’s see. There’s nothing hidden behind the shelves or under the shelves or in the ceiling cavity or . . . But, aha. I see. Over there, under the table, there’s a loose floorboard. I think there might be something underneath it.’

  Effie got down on her knees and started pulling up the floorboard. And yes, there was something there. A brown package in the shape of a book. Was she going to get her one book after all? The package felt both soft and hard in her hands. She stood up, not bothering to brush the dust off her knees.

  ‘You’d better unwrap it,’ said Maximilian.

  Again, Effie felt that she’d rather be alone. But she wouldn’t have found the book at all if it hadn’t been for Maximilian, so she started unwrapping it while he watched. There was a layer of bubble wrap, then brown paper, then another layer of bubble wrap, then another layer of brown paper, and then a layer of cloth, and then a layer of silk. It was a bit like a solitary game of pass the parcel.

  Effie unwrapped the last layer very carefully. And there it was. A pale green hardback, with gold lettering on it. Its title was Dragon’s Green. It was about three hundred pages long and looked very old and very new at the same time, like an antique book that no one has ever read. The cover was in perfect condition and the pages were still crisp and white. Effie opened the book and saw that there was an
inscription inside, in her grandfather’s handwriting, in his usual blue ink.

  To Euphemia Sixten Truelove, the last reader of this book.

  Something about the inscription made Effie tingle with fear and excitement. So her grandfather had meant her to have this book in particular. Of course he had – he’d told her to find Dragon’s Green, after all. But how would he know she was to be its last reader? And what did that even mean? And why hadn’t he made it a bit easier to find? Why hadn’t he told her where it was? It was surely only luck that she happened to have been in detention with someone who could use the spectacles. This wasn’t even a Magical Thinking problem – it was just completely random.

  Suddenly there was a noise from downstairs. A scratching, metallic sound, which went on for a few seconds, and was then followed by some drilling. Clearly someone had come to change the locks. Effie and Maximilian crept down the stairs until they could hear what was going on.

  ‘Yes, mate,’ she could hear someone saying, in a familiar, gruff voice. ‘House clearance tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock, mate. Locks today, clearance tomorrow.’ It was the charity man again.

  So this was it. This was her last chance to rescue any more of her grandfather’s things. But what should she take? Griffin had already made sure she had the most important, magical and precious things. Apart from the books, of course, which Leonard Levar had taken. All except for this one, Dragon’s Green, which she had almost not found at all.

  While the men continued to drill downstairs, Effie walked around the sitting room, looking at the paintings and globes and charts for the last time. The black book, she suddenly remembered. The one Griffin used all the time when he was writing translations. The one that had seemed so important to him. Where was that?

  It wasn’t on his desk, or on the little table by his reading chair. Effie remembered the Magical Thinking problem she had never solved. The lights her grandfather used most were . . . The main light in the library, the lamp by his armchair and the light in the wine cupboard. But he didn’t really drink that much wine. Maybe there was another reason for him using that light so often?

  Effie went into the kitchen and found the cupboard. And there, resting behind a very dusty bottle of Pomerol, was the black book. If Griffin had hidden it, it must be important in some way. Effie put it in her bag.

  Back in the main sitting room she scanned all the objects and artefacts, knowing she could only fit a couple more small things in her schoolbag. Maximilian was studying the maps and charts on the walls. She almost asked him what he thought she should take, as he seemed to know so much about these sorts of objects. He still had the spectacles on. For a moment Effie felt cross that she could not use them to see whatever he saw.

  Then something caught her eye. A candlestick set apart from the rest, which was silver and had the same pattern of dragons and the same red stone as on Effie’s ring. She took it, and a few candles too. Then she went back to the kitchen and took the last two jars of her grandfather’s homemade damson jam from the cupboard. He’d always given this to her on a spoon when she hurt herself, or when she was upset.

  With a sad sigh, Effie prepared to leave the room for the last time. Maximilian gave her the spectacles and she put them in her bag. When the drilling was over, Effie and Maximilian hurried down the stairs. Effie was afraid that they would be locked in, but luckily the locksmith had only changed the Yale lock, not the mortice, and so, once they were sure no one was watching, they opened the door and made a run for it.

  The children ran through the rain and back towards the Old Town. It was dark and cold and when they stopped running their breath steamed in the air.

  ‘I’m late,’ said Maximilian. ‘I’d better go home. Will you be all right?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ said Effie. She bit her lip. ‘Did you mean what you said before?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘About getting the books back?’

  Maximilian had said this when he had the glasses on. They had made him a bit braver somehow. But, yes, he had said it. He nodded.

  ‘Because if you really meant it,’ said Effie, ‘and if you’re really going to help me, then I think you’ll need these.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out the spectacles. ‘Take them home. Do some research, if you can. Find out . . . I don’t know. Find out about Leonard Levar and his bookshop. Maybe we can break in. And we need somewhere to keep the books once we have them.’

  Maximilian’s heart was bounding in his chest like a spring hare. Not just at the news that he could keep the wonderful, magnificent spectacles – well, at least, for now. But every time Effie used the word ‘we’ his heart soared again. He had a friend, a proper friend, for the first time, and he was determined not to let her down.

  Well, that is, not again.

  Maximilian blinked away his terrible secret and walked into the cold, dark, rainy evening, resolved to do everything he could to help his new friend.

  10

  Effie got off the bus in the usual place by the big triangle of grass that had once been a village green. In the depths of a nearby ditch lay a rotten stump of wood that had once been the village’s maypole. And what had once been a cheerful pub called the Black Pig was now boarded up. Its windows and doors all drooped with the sad knowledge that their time had come and gone, and never again would they bring light, warmth and safety to the travellers and local people that used to come here to smoke their pipes, sup their ale and eat their rabbit pie.

  This was now the bad side of town. Effie had promised her father and Cait that she would never take any shortcuts down any alleyways or speak to any strange people. She was to keep to the bright, well-lit paths, not that there were many of those. At least she wasn’t entirely alone; down one alleyway she could see some older teenagers talking, and hear the beep-beep-beep of their pagers going off. Beyond them, some younger boys were practising football, using the lights of old phones to see by.

  She was still four blocks from home when she saw something unusual. There, right in the middle of the pavement, was a wooden sandwich board with the words Mrs Bottle’s Bun Shop on it and a crudely drawn black arrow pointing left down the next alleyway. It seemed to have come from nowhere. Effie was sure it hadn’t been there this morning. And she’d never heard of the place. Mrs Bottle’s Bun Shop? Round here all you got were cheap pizzas and kebabs. As Effie tried to imagine what such a place would be like, her stomach began to rumble. She’d hardly eaten anything today. She pictured herself walking in through the thin front door of the tiny family house and being presented with another of Cait’s shakes. And then she imagined the taste of a bun. Her mouth started to water. Almost immediately she found herself doing the unthinkable and walking down the alley.

  It seemed to go on for ever. As she went she could hear sounds coming from the backs of houses: crying babies, mewing cats, the thwacks and ows of little brothers being beaten up by big brothers, sports or news on TVs turned up too loud. It was dark, wet and still cold. But at least there wasn’t a greyout due, with the horrible spooky silence when everything is turned off.

  At the end of the alley was another sign, just like the first. Turn left for Mrs Bottle’s Bun Shop, it said. Effie turned left. She walked along for two or three minutes until she came to another sign. Turn right for Mrs Bottle’s Bun Shop. More signs got her to turn left again, and again, and then right, until Effie was quite worried about how far from home she was. Then she came to a final sign that said, perplexingly and simply, Turn around.

  And there it was, nestled in an old parade of boarded-up shops, between a long-defunct dry-cleaner and a derelict hair-dressing salon with shattered glass on the pavement in front of it. In a place like this, Mrs Bottle’s Bun Shop was impossibly bright and cosy-looking. The façade was pink brick, like something from a fairytale. The windows had little yellow shutters, which were open, but all the glass was so steamed up it was impossible to see inside. Effie wondered what the remains of her lunch money – about seventy-five pence �
�� would buy her in here. Lunch seemed a long time ago – although she’d hardly been able to eat anything. Then she remembered Leonard Levar’s twenty-pound note. Not that she wanted to spend any of that. She wanted to give it back to him when she reclaimed her books. Oh – and Maximilian still had it anyway.

  Perhaps this was a bad idea? But she was so hungry.

  Just then the door opened and a woman poked her head out. She looked one way, then the other, then focused on Effie. The woman had blonde dreadlocks and was wearing bright red lipstick and a black apron.

  ‘Well?’ she said to Effie. ‘Are you coming in?’

  ‘Are you Mrs Bottle?’ said Effie.

  ‘Ha!’ said the woman. ‘The cheek! I love it. That’ll be Miss Bottle to you. Mrs Bottle was my dear mother, now sadly departed. Well, are you coming in before we put the secrecy back on, or not?’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Oh, do just come in, for the love of spoons,’ said Miss Bottle. ‘Have a bun. You look like you need one.’

  ‘I haven’t got much money.’

  ‘Money?’ Miss Bottle said this as if it were a completely alien word in this context, like ‘owls’ or ‘muesli’.

  ‘Er . . .’

  ‘Oh lawks, oh bless, you’re a newbie! A Neophyte! Have you recently epiphanised, love? Did it hurt? Was it . . . legal?’

  ‘A Neophyte?’ Effie said this the way Miss Bottle had. Knee-o-fight. It sounded weird, although not as weird as the other things she’d said. ‘I don’t understand . . .’

  ‘You are a Neophyte, aren’t you? Or higher? Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to see us and I certainly wouldn’t be able to let you in.’

  ‘Yes,’ Effie said, nodding. ‘I must be. I mean, I am.’ If it was true that only Neophytes – whatever they were – could see the shop, then Effie must have been one, since she could see it perfectly clearly. So it wasn’t really a lie. Anyway, it seemed the best thing to say, especially as she was now very curious about what was beyond this oddly misty-looking door.