by Anna James
‘Thank you, friends,’ Melville said graciously.
Grandad raised his hand.
‘Tell me, Melville. Why are you the right person to lead now?’ he said. ‘When you have not been with us for so many years? Could you not stay, and learn, and observe, and look to take the helm in the future?’ Grandad’s voice was ice-cold, despite the politeness of his words.
‘Well, Archibald,’ Melville said, smiling at Grandad, ‘I believe that I can offer much to the Underlibrary, as I have just set out. But there is one other thing, something that I had not planned to mention, as it should not have any bearing on the election here today. But as you have forced my hand, Archibald, and in answer to your excellent question, let me share something with you now. I come to you not just armed with information about how we can save our beloved fairy tales, but also with incontrovertible evidence as to the whereabouts of Enoch Chalk.’
here was a second of absolute silence, before the room erupted into chaos. People were gesturing wildly and shouting over each other. Melville simply surveyed the crowd with a look of complete calm on his face. Tilly felt cold all over and saw Grandma and Grandad exchange ominous looks.
‘Now, see here,’ Cassius spluttered into the microphone. ‘That’s quite a thing to claim, Melville. What do you know? You are obliged to share it with us, you must see that!’
‘Of course,’ Melville said, quietening the crowd with one hand raised. ‘I did not want to sway the feelings of my colleagues at this delicate point, that is the only reason I did not mention it before. But I am eager to share what I have learned with you all. While on my travels searching for a way back from the fairytale lands, I happened across several characters complaining of a man being discourteous, and poking around, asking questions. I attempted to find him myself, assuming he was a bookwanderer and seeking a way home.’
‘What proof do you have?’ a voice from the back called.
‘Will you permit me a moment?’ Melville asked Cassius, who nodded helplessly as Melville slipped off stage and returned a few moments later with a cardboard box in his hand. The tension in the air was electric as he set the box down on the desk.
‘Will this suffice as proof?’ And with one hand he pulled out a grey bowler hat that was unmistakably Enoch Chalk’s.
A brief pause hung in the air, and then the majority of the audience started applauding loudly. Amelia raised an eyebrow at Grandad.
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ Tilly whispered to Grandma, confused. ‘I thought we wanted to find Chalk. Doesn’t that prove Mr Underwood is on our side?’
‘Perhaps,’ Grandma said. ‘But perhaps not. I don’t trust Melville, but I do trust Amelia’s instincts. There are many questions unanswered – how would Melville know Chalk was a threat in the first place? And we – of course – want Chalk found and dealt with, and we may align with Melville on other things too. Who knows. The one thing I am sure of is that something strange is afoot.’
Cassius was back on stage, trying to calm everyone down again.
‘I think … I think the only thing we can do now is vote,’ he said. ‘We will invite you up a row at a time to cast your ballot, so please return to your chairs until you’re called, and well, we shall go from there. Current employees of the Underlibrary only,’ he said, looking directly at Grandad, who rolled his eyes. There was a lot of hushed conversation as, row by row, nearly fifty librarians filed up to the front, marked a piece of paper, and posted it through a large wooden casket, all under Cassius’s flustered glare. Once everyone had voted, Cassius and another librarian carried the ballot box out of the hall. Half an hour later, Cassius returned, looking slightly pale.
‘We have counted and verified – more than once – the votes, and I am, well, I am happy, yes, to announce that the next Librarian of the British Underlibrary will be Melville Underwood.’
There was thunderous applause as the name was announced, although as Tilly craned her neck, she could see small pockets of librarians who weren’t clapping at all. But the mood was undeniably in Melville’s favour, and he approached the stage once more, still clutching Chalk’s hat in his hand.
‘I look forward to working for you,’ he said, bowing his head reverently as the applause washed over him. Once it had died down a little, Cassius approached, and Melville took off his suit jacket, and rolled up his cardigan and shirt sleeves. A librarian had opened the book, and smoothed the pages down reverently.
‘So he just signs his name now and he’s the Head Librarian?’ Tilly asked.
‘There’s a little more commitment than that required,’ Grandad said. ‘You guys aren’t squeamish, right?’
‘Nope,’ Oskar said, craning to make sure he had a good view. Cassius stepped forward and looked at Melville, who gave a firm nod and held out his hand for the quill.
‘The ink of the Underlibrary represents our stories, which are now part of you,’ Cassius said formally. He took Melville’s wrist and held his fingers over the ink pot before quickly and firmly pricking his finger with the quill, and letting a drop of blood fall into the ink below. Tilly was watching Melville’s face, and he swallowed but didn’t make a sound. ‘And by giving a drop of your blood, you are now part of the Underlibrary,’ Cassius continued, handing Melville the quill, which he dipped into the ink before signing the great book on the table. ‘With this Inking Ceremony, the lifeblood of both you and the Underlibrary are one and the same.’ Cassius shook Melville’s other hand, and Melville’s face broke into a wide, warm smile. He pulled Cassius into a one-sided embrace, breaking the solemn mood of the moment.
‘Was that it?’ Oskar said, sounding a little disappointed.
‘Did Amelia have to do that?’ Tilly asked Grandma.
‘Why, yes,’ she said. ‘And your grandad too, of course.’ Grandad smiled and held up the ring finger on his right hand, where a tiny, faded black dot was visible.
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ Tilly asked. ‘Won’t you get, like, ink-poisoned or something by it?’
‘Oh no,’ Grandma said. ‘It’s just like getting a tiny tattoo, really.’
‘And I seem to be doing all right so far,’ Grandad said, smiling and absent-mindedly rubbing the pad of his finger where the tiny mark was. ‘Now, let’s get out of here before we have to make any awkward small talk. I could use a cup of tea.’
‘Not so fast,’ a voice cut in. They turned to see Cassius standing by their seats. ‘Melville would like to have a word. With all of you.’
he group followed Cassius back into the room where they had been talking before the ceremony. The fire had been stoked into a roaring blaze and the room was stiflingly hot. Seb, who was sticking to them like toffee, followed silently and closed the door behind them. The only person who still looked fresh and comfortable was Melville Underwood, who was sitting in a leather armchair right in front of the fire, a neat plaster wrapped round the tip of his finger. The charming man who had spoken at the Inking Ceremony had evaporated and his face was stern as he observed them.
‘Good to see you again, Melville,’ Grandad said in the voice he used when he meant precisely the opposite of the words coming out his mouth. ‘How on earth have you got Chalk’s hat? You claim a moment of heroism, yet surely when you met him you had no idea who he was? There’s no need for secrets at this stage. We’re all on the same side, right?’
‘I have a few orders of business to get through,’ Melville said, ignoring Grandad. ‘Firstly, while you have been invited here as a courtesy to your previous role, Archibald, you and your family are no longer welcome at the British Underlibrary except in cases of extreme bookwandering emergencies or at my personal invitation.’
‘You can’t do that!’ Oskar said, outraged. ‘Can you?’
‘Who are you?’ Melville said as if he had just noticed Oskar.
‘I’m Oskar, obviously, and you should know who I am because I helped rescue Tilly’s mum last year and find out the truth about Chalk.’
‘Ah, you were the other chi
ld who allowed him to escape through your meddling,’ Melville said coldly. ‘Of course there is no need to worry about that any more. We will be bringing him to justice shortly.’
‘So where is he?’ Tilly asked.
‘That is none of your concern,’ Melville said dismissively. ‘Why two children have already become so involved in this issue is beyond me. Your inability to see the big picture, let alone put it before your own personal vendettas and childish desire for adventure, is what’s got us here, with this dangerous man on the loose.’
‘Good grief, Underwood,’ Grandad said. ‘You know it’s not their fault – beneath all your posturing, you can’t get away from the fact that without Tilly and Oskar none of us would have realised that Chalk was an escaped Source character. Now, will you tell us why you have the man’s hat? This is no time for riddles and obfuscation.’
‘That’s the second time in mere hours that I’ve had to repeat myself to you. You must try and be a better listener, Archibald,’ Melville responded icily. ‘As I said, I was aided by characters in the fairytale land. As I searched for a way out I had heard rumours about a man asking questions, and I assumed he was an errant bookwanderer. I hoped I would be able to wander back to the real world with him. But when I found him, he was instantly combative and refused to talk to me, just muttered on and on about some nonsense I couldn’t understand. Once I’d realised he wasn’t in his right mind, I distracted him and slipped a book out from his pocket to ensure my escape route. Naturally I attempted to bring him with me but he resisted, and ran away, leaving only his hat on the ground. I picked it up in the hopes of identifying him when I’d found my way home. And once back in the Underlibrary, I was quickly able to work out who I had encountered. It also put his mutterings about a child who had ruined his plans into context.’
Melville looked at Tilly. ‘Which brings me to the next item on my agenda. I have become increasingly concerned about the effects that children have on the security of bookwandering. The exploits of your granddaughter – and her friend – do nothing to change my mind. I plan to limit bookwandering for under-eighteens until they can learn discipline, not to mention learn the history and traditions of our great institution.’
‘You can’t stop us bookwandering!’ Tilly said in horror.
‘That’s barbaric,’ Grandma said. ‘Why would you want to cut children off from the magic and wonder of bookwandering?’
‘Because they do not have enough respect for the rules, and because bookwandering is about more than magic and wonder,’ he said, managing to imbue those words with pure disdain.
‘Anyway, regardless of your shoddy logic, it’s not possible to stop someone bookwandering,’ Grandad said. ‘As you well know.’
‘We may not be able to stifle someone’s natural ability,’ Melville said calmly. ‘But we can certainly bind the books here at the Underlibrary and restrict access.’
‘But a book doesn’t know how old a reader or wanderer is,’ Grandad said. ‘There’s no way of putting an age limit on it.’
‘You’re right,’ Melville said. ‘So I imagine we shall have to bind the books for everyone and require people to file written permission to access them for bookwandering purposes. That’s a neat solution, don’t you think? We can ensure people are only bookwandering with valid reasons, not merely for a jaunt, or to cause mischief. Or indeed to seduce a fictional character.’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘How dare you make such crass implications about my daughter?’ Grandma said, and Tilly felt her hands squeeze involuntarily into fists, her fingernails pushing painfully into her palms.
‘That’s not fair!’ Tilly burst out. ‘That’s not what happened at all!’
‘I suggest you control yourself,’ Melville said. ‘Your outburst only supports my position.’
‘Do you know, you sound an awful lot like Enoch Chalk?’ Grandma said coldly, and Melville let annoyance cross his face for a moment.
‘I can assure you that I am the very opposite,’ Melville said. ‘Not that I have to justify myself to you. As you saw just minutes ago, the librarians are on my side. And one more thing. For the meantime, I think it’s probably wise to introduce a period of stamping, so we can keep track of everyone’s whereabouts.’
‘But that’s a gross invasion of privacy,’ Grandma said, and Tilly felt cold all over at the memory of Chalk stamping her without her knowledge so he could try to find out who her parents were.
‘Anyway, no one will agree,’ Grandad said. ‘Everyone will opt out.’
‘On the contrary, it’s already been agreed. It’s now mandatory to opt in.’
‘Mandatory opt-in?’ Grandad snorted. ‘A complete oxymoron. You can’t just change the meanings of words at your own will.’
‘On the contrary,’ Melville said. ‘Words can mean much more, or less, than they seem, and we can put them to such creative uses. The majority of our librarians understand, or are being made to understand, that stamping is for the best at this time of uncertainty. After all, if you’re not going anywhere you’re not supposed to, you shouldn’t have any concerns, should you? It would look awfully suspicious if you didn’t want your fellow bookwanderers to know where you were going. And before you get on your high horse, remember stamping only traces which books you’re travelling inside. No one will be watching your every move in your day-to-day life, or anything sinister like that. Come now, we’re librarians after all. Seb will take you to be registered. Thank you for your co-operation. It’s an exciting time for British bookwandering. You are honoured to be witnessing it.’
‘Hang on—’ Oskar started to say, but Melville interrupted him.
‘That’s all for now. Thank you for your time.’
‘You won’t get away with this,’ Grandad said to Melville.
‘And yet, I seem to be doing just that,’ Melville said, not looking up.
s soon as the door was closed behind them Grandad went to speak, but Seb glared at him and put a finger to his own lips.
‘Wait until we’re somewhere private,’ he whispered urgently, and so they walked in a silent line into another office, this one much more sparsely decorated than the last.
‘I refuse to be stamped!’ Grandad said, as soon as the door was closed. ‘It’s an obvious and egregious infringement of my rights as a person and a bookwanderer. The Underlibrary has no legal right to do anything to us.’
‘No, of course not,’ Seb said. ‘But it does have powers over bookwandering, and it is within its rights – if on dubious ethical grounds – to say, for example, that only stamped bookwanderers are permitted to wander within books under the jurisdiction of the British Underlibrary. You know a stamp isn’t permanent – Tilly isn’t still stamped from when Chalk was following her.’ Tilly shuddered at the memory.
‘Come on, Seb, you don’t need to do this,’ Grandma said.
‘I would never even think of it,’ Seb said, affronted. ‘But it’s not me that’s doing it. I only found out this was the plan during the Inking Ceremony when my friend Willow warned me. Amelia thinks that I should ingratiate myself with Melville, so I can report back. But I don’t think he’s convinced of my allegiance yet, and he’s sending along someone else to do the stamping so I can’t sneak you out. The only thing that I can think of is to—’ At that moment the door banged open and a petite woman walked in.
‘I’ll take over from here, Sebastian,’ she said formally.
‘Of course, Angelica,’ he said. ‘I’ll just take Tilly and Oskar next door.’
‘Why?’ she said, frowning.
‘Didn’t Mr Underwood tell you? Because of his new guidelines for child bookwanderers, they’re being stamped by Willow a few doors down, so there’s a separate record for under-eighteens. Surely … Melville told you, didn’t he? How embarrassing if I’ve spilled the beans before I was supposed to.’
‘Of course not,’ Angelica said, blustering. ‘I knew that – I was just checking you did. I’m actually rather in the inner circle nowadays,�
�� she said, smiling smugly.
‘Yes, yes,’ Seb said, ushering Tilly and Oskar out of the door. ‘Well done, very important I’m sure. I’ll take them in. How long do you need?’
‘Only ten minutes or so,’ she said.
‘What about Grandma and Grandad?’ Tilly hissed at him, as Seb shoved her and Oskar into an empty room.
‘I am sure they will think of something,’ he said. ‘If it came down to it, I’m sure they would prefer to make sure you don’t get stamped. They’re more than capable of fending for themselves.’
‘Can Underwood check if we’ve been stamped, though?’ Oskar asked Seb nervously.
‘Well, he can check the record, yes,’ Seb said. ‘And I will duly be writing your names down so they appear to be there. And if he checks the stamp to see where you’ve been then it won’t show any record of bookwandering.’
