“The bookmender begins to vex me . . .” Madame Eldritch’s voice grew louder as she walked in Peter’s direction.
Peter pressed himself against the wall, hoping very much that the armor beside him was keeping him hidden from view. He took a breath and slowed his heartbeat, trying to concentrate on the approaching footsteps. Madame Eldritch marched past him, and as she did, Peter caught a new odor that he had not detected before—the faint smell of very old pages.
Peter grinned and slipped out from his hiding place. He followed the woman to the end of the balcony, and when she stopped to open the door, he placed the tip of his blade against her nape. “Stand and deliver,” he said.
Eldritch, who was already standing, slowly turned around to behold her assailant. “If it isn’t our dashing young highwayman,” she said in a tone that led Peter to believe she might be smiling. “I wondered where you had gotten to.”
“This makes twice I’ve robbed you,” Peter said. “I should think you’d be used to the feeling by now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AKRASIA
At the very moment that Peter was stealing The Book of What from Madame Eldritch, Sophie was standing in Baron Magpie’s library, staring openmouthed at the silver beast that had just saved her life.
“That’s a first for me,” Sir Tode said from his cage. “A library with its own tiger.”
“Not a tiger,” Sophie whispered. “A tigress.” She could tell from the narrow shape of the head that the beast was female. Female tigers were supposed to be smaller than males. But this creature was enormous—her eyes were nearly level with Sophie’s own.
“You may call me Akrasia.” The tigress eyed Sir Tode, still locked within his cage. Something resembling a smile crept across her face. “You have packed a lunch, I see.”
Sir Tode stood in his cage. “If your aim is to intimidate, it will not work. You’re not the only one here who has bested an ape in combat.”
Recalling her manners, Sophie cleared her throat. “This is my companion, Sir Tode. My name is Sophie Quire.” She tried to curtsy but found that her shaking knees were not quite up to the challenge.
“Hello, Sophie Quire.” Akrasia licked her teeth, which were wet with blood. “The old witch spoke of you to the baron—the Bustleburgh girl who had found The Book of Who.” She walked a slow circle around Sophie, studying her like a loaded trap. “It is a remarkable volume you carry. May I ask how you came to be in its possession?”
Sophie placed an instinctive hand on the book. It was obvious that the tigress’s question was far from innocent—obvious that she knew that the book was special. “It belonged to my mother.”
The tigress stopped pacing. “Indeed?” She licked a front paw.
“Baron Magpie,” Sophie said, “is he your master?”
Akrasia gave a contemptuous growl. “I have no master. I have a jailer.” She stretched her neck to reveal a thick golden collar. Attached to the collar was a long thin chain that snaked across the floor to a bolt on the far wall—long enough to give her free rein of the library. “As you can see, mine is no common bond.”
Sophie reached out and felt the collar. It was warm to the touch, half-buried in thick silver fur. She noted that it had no lock or clasp and wondered how it had come to be around the tigress’s neck in the first place. The links of the chain were thin, no larger than what you might find on a necklace. “Surely you can break such a small chain.” It seemed absurd that such a mighty creature could be held captive by such a slender tether.
Akrasia turned back to her. “The chain is small but powerful—it is an enchanted trap, commonly known as a widow’s might. Once set, its bond is inviolable.”
Sophie let go of the chain. “What does that mean?”
The creature lowered her head. “It means I will never taste the rain or feel the sun on my back. It means I will never feel the earth beneath my paws or swim in the river. It means I will live out the rest of my days tethered to this wall, guarding this library.”
Sophie felt a pang of recognition and shame. How many times had she felt trapped in Bustleburgh? But seeing this majestic creature chained to a wall, never to see the world outside, she suddenly understood what being trapped really meant. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“A bad business, enchantments,” Sir Tode said, warming up to a favorite subject. “I am the victim of a pretty nasty hex myself. The hag who placed it on me ran off centuries ago, leaving me stuck in this absurd form for . . . well, forever.” If his intention had been to cheer up the tigress, it did not seem to be working.
“It seems we are both abandoned creatures,” Akrasia said. “You by your hag, me by my mistress.”
“Your mistress,” Sophie said. “Who was she?”
The beast’s eyes flicked to The Book of Who at Sophie’s side. “What does your book tell you, Storyguard?”
That the creature knew she was a Storyguard alarmed Sophie. But this did not seem like the time to ask her about it. Instead, she removed The Book of Who and held it in her hands. “Who was Akrasia’s mistress?” she asked. At once, the book opened and flipped to an entry:
VEENA BLUESTOCKING: Storyguard and scholar from the Lower Antipodes. Notable works include The Seas Beyond the Sea and March of the Kobolds. Former mistress to Akrasia, the tigress. Deceased.
~For more information, see: Book of Who, “Akrasia,” “Storyguard”; Book of Where, “Antipodes”; Book of What, “Four Questions”
“Veena Bluestocking . . .” Sophie stared at the name. “We have books written by her at the shop—I’ve read them all.” She closed the book, looking up at the tigress. “Your mistress was a Storyguard. Just like my mother.”
“And she was murdered,” Akrasia said. “Just like your mother.”
Sophie inched back, clasping the necklace at her throat. “You knew her?”
“Not only her, my cub.” Akrasia stepped closer. “You and I have met before. Many years ago. My mistress brought me to your mother’s bookshop. I was newly born then, as were you, and we played together at the foot of your mother’s workbench. I’m sure you’ve been told that you bear a striking resemblance to her.”
Sophie felt that shivering thrill that accompanies coincidences so extraordinary they can only be called fate. She certainly had no memory of playing with a tiger cub. Then again, she remembered very little from her infancy. But now, when she pictured herself at her mother’s feet, she could almost see a small silver cat licking her face, its tongue coarse against her newborn skin. “Why were you at the shop?”
“Your mother had requested that my mistress come to her shop in secret. Your mother needed to consult The Book of What, which my mistress guarded. She confided to my mistress that she had read something troubling in her own Book of Who about one of the other Storyguard, something that frightened her a great deal.”
Sophie stared at the creature’s narrow yellow eyes. It was impossible to know whether she was telling the truth. “What was she afraid of? What happened to my mother?”
“There is only one person who can answer that question. His name is Scrivener Behn.” The tigress’s voice had a dangerous edge. “It is but one of many things he must answer for.”
“Scrivener Behn . . .” Sophie said. “He’s another Storyguard, the keeper of Where. The Book of Who told us that his location and fate were unknown. Do you know where he is?”
Instead of answering, the beast snapped her head up, looking past Sophie. “Someone approaches,” she said, growling.
Sophie turned around to see Peter racing down the corridor, something green tucked under one arm. “Peter!” Sophie cried. “We’re in here!”
“Mind the dead ape in the doorway!” Sir Tode called.
Peter leapt over the carcass and landed beside Sophie, gasping for breath. “I . . . thought you . . . might want . . . this . . .” He held out a green book.
Sophie stared at the book—it had a green cover marked with four question marks.
�
�You found it!” If she hadn’t been otherwise occupied, she might have very nearly hugged him. Instead, she ran her fingers over the pages, which were ripped along the spine. Holding a book in such need of repair made her regret being so far from her workbench. “How did you manage to get it from Madame Eldritch without her noticing?”
“Oh, I think she noticed,” Peter said, sounding a bit too pleased with himself.
Sophie strapped the book to her belt and peered back at the hall. “What about Taro—did you defeat him?”
“Not exactly.” He lifted his head, searching the air. “Where are we?”
“You are in my library,” Akrasia said behind him.
Peter, who was not accustomed to people sneaking up on him, spun around. “Who’s that?” His blade was right in the tigress’s face.
“This is Akrasia,” Sir Tode said. “She’s a tigress who guards the library. She knew Sophie’s mother.”
Peter did not waste time on further introductions. Instead, he ran to the barred windows. “We’ll have to see if we can pry these bars loose.” He reached into his bag for a long metal file.
“Er, Peter,” Sir Tode said, “before you get too far along, it seems we’ve managed to jam the lock on my cage—terribly embarrassing. Perhaps you might be willing to apply your lock-picking talents and set me free?”
“No time.” Peter started filing the base of one of the bars. “We’ve got bigger problems.”
“Bigger how?” Sophie asked.
“You know how the baron had all those wild animals locked in cages?” Peter said. “Well, they’re not in cages anymore.”
At that moment, a great crashing sound rang out from somewhere deep within the castle. The air shook with the howls and snarls and screeches of a dozen vicious monsters.
“Peter,” Sir Tode said in a chiding tone, “what did you do?”
“I couldn’t help myself,” he replied. “Besides, I thought it would create a nice diversion.”
“What’s he talking about?” Sophie said.
The library shuddered as unseen creatures stampeded pell-mell through the castle.
Sir Tode gave an exasperated sigh. “Peter has a thing about cages—he can’t pass one without releasing whatever’s inside. Even if that something wants to eat us!”
“Let’s talk about this later.” Peter stepped back from the window, which remained barred. “We need to find another way out of here before—” He stopped in midsentence.
“Before what?” Sophie asked.
Akrasia pulled away from her and growled. “Before he finds us.”
Sophie turned around to see Taro standing in the doorway of the library. His clothes were soiled and torn—she presumed that he had been forced to battle his way through many a hungry beast to find them. He cocked his head, his dark eyes fixed on the books strapped to Sophie’s body.
Sophie inched toward Peter. “So when I asked you if you stopped Taro, and you told me ‘not exactly’ . . .”
“I meant not exactly.” Peter raised his blade and rolled back his shoulders. “En garde!” He leapt toward Taro, slashing his blade through the air.
Taro did not respond except to reach up and catch the blade before it struck his head. He wrapped his gray fingers around the tip of Peter’s weapon, his eyes still on the books at Sophie’s side. With a sharp movement, he flung Peter clear across the library. The boy sailed past Sophie, his body smashing into the far wall.
“Peter!” Sophie cried, rushing to him.
Peter rolled over, brushing splinters from his coat. “Keep behind me!” he said, squaring off in front of Taro.
The commotion in the library had been loud enough to attract other beasts. Already, a trio of razor-billed vultures had found the room and begun fighting over the body of the dead ape. Sophie heard a hissing as a feathered python slithered past Taro and into the room.
“I fear we are very quickly becoming outnumbered,” Sir Tode said, cowering in his cage.
Sophie inched backward, reaching out for Akrasia. But the tigress was not there. Akrasia had retreated to a spot by the wall that housed a series of golden levers. Rising onto her hind legs, the beast took hold of a lever with her jaws and, with surprising alacrity, pulled it down.
Sophie felt a rumbling directly beneath her. A panel of the checkered floor pulled away to reveal a small trapdoor. As in the menagerie, the room filled with a foul stench that put her stomach into her throat. “What’s down there?” Sophie asked, peering into the darkness.
“There is a sewer channel that leads out of the tower,” Akrasia said, rushing past her. “Follow the river—it will take you where you need to go.” With a snarl, she pounced on Taro. The tigress and the mandrake tumbled across the library and crashed into one of the wooden columns supporting the ceiling. Rubble rained down from above.
“What about you?” Sophie called. “We can’t just leave you chained up here.”
Akrasia sprang to her feet. “I will survive.” She spat out a chunk of grayish flesh that might or might not have once been Taro’s elbow.
Sophie felt Peter at her arm. “She’s giving us a chance to get out of here,” the boy said. “We’d be fools not to take it.” He pulled her toward the open trapdoor.
Sophie grabbed Sir Tode’s cage and, with a final backward glance at the tigress, leapt into the darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE NINE-ARMED DEATH
Sophie tried to scream as she plummeted down the long, narrow shaft, but the rush of air took the breath from her lungs. She fell for what must have been at least thirty feet before crashing to the floor, Sir Tode’s cage landing on top of her. To her relief—and then, immediately, dread—her fall was broken by something soft and slimy beneath her.
Sophie struggled to her knees. “What’s down here?”
Peter, who had jumped after her and was already on his feet, helped her up. “I’d rather not say.”
“Good heavens,” Sir Tode exclaimed in the nasal tones of a person trying very hard not to breathe. “It smells like a sewer crossed with an abattoir.”
“Follow the river, my cub!” A voice rang out high above them. “But whatever you do, don’t raise the floodgate.”
“Akrasia!” Sophie cried.
But Akrasia could no longer attend her. Taro had appeared at the opening and was trying to climb down after them. The tigress pounced on him and dragged him away. The two of them disappeared from view, battling their way across the floor of the library.
Sophie heard a giant crash, and the next moment, the opening was sealed shut by a fallen bookcase, leaving them in complete darkness.
“We have to help Akrasia!” she cried as rubble and books rained down on them.
She felt Peter’s hand grab her own. “No—we have to keep moving.”
Sophie picked up Sir Tode’s cage and then took Peter’s arm and followed him through the darkness.
For those of you who have never had the pleasure of visiting a dungeon, it will suffice to say that such places are as dreadful and damp as every romance and revenge-ballad has ever described. Most romances and ballads, however, leave out one crucial fact: Dungeons are generally built underground and, thus, have no windows. Without a torch to light the path, Sophie was forced to stumble blindly through complete darkness, clinging for dear life to Peter’s arm.
“Just stay with Peter,” Sir Tode said in a reassuring tone. “He’s in his element down here.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Peter said. “It would be nice to use my nose without gagging.”
They soon came upon what Sophie assumed was the channel that Akrasia had spoken of. She could hear water moving beside her. She tripped, her dress catching on something brittle and sharp—something that clattered across the slick floor. “Please tell me that wasn’t a skeleton,” she said.
On this subject, Peter remained troublingly silent.
They soon came to a larger area that was dimly lit by two rows of open trapdoors in the ceiling. An en
ormous iron gate separated the chamber from the rest of the dungeon. “I think that’s the menagerie up there,” Sophie said. She could hear the distant roars of animals. The foul odor was stronger here, and, as her eyes adjusted, she began to realize why.
Huge deposits of dung and molted fur rose up from the ground like rotting mountains. Thousands of skeletons and animal corpses lay scattered across the stones, many of them with viscera still attached. She stumbled backward, her eyes fixed on a skull that looked disturbingly human. “I think I’m going to be sick . . .”
“They cannot hurt you,” Sir Tode said. “Just close your eyes, and breathe through your mouth.” Sophie slid her trembling fingers through the slats of Sir Tode’s cage so that she might feel the warmth of his mane. She could not tell for certain, but she thought that the knight might be trembling as badly as she.
“Over here,” Peter said, ahead of her. He was standing at the edge of the channel, where a few steps had been cut into the stone. Floating on the black water was a small shallow boat that put Sophie in mind of a psychopomp’s ferry. “The tigress said we needed to follow the river, so we’ll probably want a boat. You untether it, I’ll work on a way out of here.”
Sophie watched as Peter ran to the floodgate that separated the dungeon from the river outside. The gate was made of thick iron bars and, like all doorways in the castle, looked to be controlled by some sort of gear-based mechanism. Peter climbed up the metal bars to better examine the gears. “Once we’re past this gate,” he called, “it shouldn’t be hard to row ourselves to shore.”
“Just make sure we get to shore before that waterfall,” Sir Tode said. “I’ve had plummets enough for one day.”
“Wait!” Sophie called. “Akrasia warned us not to raise the floodgate.”
“We don’t need to raise the whole thing. I’m just trying to open this service hatch so we can slip through.” He climbed up the side of the gears and started working on the release. “Just worry about that boat.”
Sophie rolled her eyes and set Sir Tode’s cage in the boat. She knelt down and started working on the thick rope tethering it to the walkway. The boat had clearly not been used in ages, and the knot was encased in a thick layer of slime, which she had no choice but to remove with her hands. She listened to the animal cries echoing upstairs and thought of Akrasia, fighting for her life in the library. “We should go back for Akrasia,” she said. “She knows something about what happened to my mother—something she’s not telling me.”
Sophie Quire and the Last Storyguard Page 16
