by Anna James
‘So you’re a bookwanderer too?’ Tilly asked Gretchen.
‘I am indeed,’ she said.
‘Do you know my grandparents?’
‘I know of them, yes,’ Gretchen said. ‘But I keep myself to myself rather. I was never one for all the rules and regulations of the Underlibraries … I’m more of a free spirit. Speaking of which, you guys should go and have some fun! Find a book you’d like to visit!’
‘I can’t remember the last person who told us to have fun bookwandering,’ Tilly said, that rebellious feeling bubbling up inside her again. Maybe Oskar was right and she had been overcautious, she thought. Gretchen and Clara were adults – and bookwanderers – and they clearly trusted her and Oskar. Her grandparents were just anxious because of what had happened to her mum, and that made sense, but they weren’t here and what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, surely? She took a deep breath. ‘Shall we come and tell you when we’ve decided where to wander?’
‘Whyever would you need to do that?’ Gretchen replied.
‘Well, in case something goes wrong, I suppose,’ Tilly said. ‘My grandparents like to know where we go, just in case. There are bad people out there – even bookwanderers.’
‘I mean, of course that’s true,’ Gretchen said. ‘But there are bad people everywhere, even in the Underlibraries. Do you know—?’
‘Come now, Gretchen,’ Clara interrupted, laughing affectionately. ‘Just because you did not find a home at an Underlibrary, does not mean they aren’t right for Tilly and Oskar. Now is not the time for conspiracy theories. We shall let Oskar and Matilda choose their own path, yes?’
‘That’s exactly my point!’ Gretchen said. ‘Find your own path! Don’t just blindly follow the one laid out in front of you.’
‘But I thought we had to follow Underlibrary rules?’ Oskar said, and Gretchen rolled her eyes.
‘Of course you don’t,’ she said. ‘This bookshop doesn’t. It’s not on any Underlibrary map, or subject to any of their rules. I only recognise the authority of the Archivists – who don’t meddle in individual people’s lives.’
‘They do not meddle at all at the moment,’ Clara said. ‘Whether we want them to or not.’
‘But I thought the Archivists were just legends?’ Tilly said.
‘I bet those squares at the Underlibrary told you that, didn’t they?’ Gretchen groused, and Clara laid a conciliatory hand on her arm.
‘The Archivists haven’t been involved in bookwandering for many, many years now,’ she said. ‘And so we should not be surprised that many bookwanderers have ceased to believe in them with no evidence. But I still have faith that they would help if our need was dire.’
‘How would they know, though?’ Tilly asked, thinking of Melville Underwood. ‘Can you, like, email them or something?’
‘I do not think they have email,’ Clara said, smiling. ‘They say that there is a map to find them, but I am not sure if that is a story too, or whether anyone would know where to find it any more.’
‘Someone must know,’ Tilly said, frustrated. ‘Otherwise what’s the point of having a map? What’s the point of even having the Archivists, if we can’t find them?’
‘I cannot answer your question, I am afraid,’ Clara said. ‘Now, you two do some exploring, oui? Where would you like to go?’ She cast her eyes around, and picked up a non-descript paperback book from a nearby shelf. ‘Here?’
‘But this is a book of fairy tales,’ Tilly protested.
‘You said you would like to read some old stories?’ Clara prompted.
‘Yes, but I mean read in the traditional sense,’ Tilly said. ‘My grandma told me we weren’t allowed to bookwander into fairy tales, that they’re dangerous!’
‘Well, this grand-mère thinks you two can hold your own.’ Clara smiled.
Tilly and Oskar exchanged a look.
‘I mean, if Mamie says it’s okay …’ Oskar said.
‘So they’re not really dangerous?’ Tilly pushed.
‘They’re a little wilder than stories rooted in the written word, sure,’ Gretchen said. ‘But that’s what makes them beautiful and exciting! You’ll be fine in there – just keep hold of the book, stick together, avoid obviously dangerous situations. Common sense goes a long way.’
‘You’re sure?’ Oskar said directly to Mamie, clearly desperately wanting to trust his grandmother. ‘We’ve been told pretty directly that weird stuff goes on in them.’
‘There is “weird stuff” in many places, Oskar,’ she said. ‘That is what makes life interesting, I think. But it is for you to decide, of course.’ She held a hand out for the book, but Oskar kept hold of it.
‘But aside from the usual weird stuff,’ Tilly said. ‘We heard that it was worse than usual at the moment?’
‘What do you mean?’ Gretchen asked, a little sharply. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘From the Underlibrary,’ Tilly said. ‘We were told that things were more unstable than they’d ever been before. Had you heard that?’
‘I think that’s rather exaggerated,’ Gretchen said. ‘I visited the golden goose the other day and everything was fine – positively domestic.’
‘Did you go and get a golden egg?’ Oskar said, eyes lighting up.
‘If only!’ Gretchen smiled. ‘You can’t bring things out of books – you know that.’
‘But we saw a hat that …’ Oskar paused and started again. ‘We have definitely seen someone bring something out of a book.’
‘And my mum brought something home too,’ Tilly said, thinking of the bee-shaped necklace she wore all the time. The one that matched the one her father had given Bea while inside A Little Princess.
‘Well, I’m not sure what your mum brought home, or how,’ Gretchen said, giving Tilly another appraising look. ‘Or where the hat came from that you don’t want to tell me about. But the rules are that you can’t bring something that is of that particular story out. Obviously you can bring out things like the clothes you go in wearing – imagine if everyone’s glasses disappeared as soon as they came out of a book! So the items you’ve seen must not have originated in the story they’ve come out of. So, sadly, no golden eggs for me.’
‘So you went into this book?’ Oskar asked, eager to move the conversation away from Melville. He held up the fairytale collection he’d been given.
‘That very one,’ Gretchen said. ‘So you can trust me. It was only the other day. How much can have changed since then?’
Tilly and Oskar climbed a steep, rickety set of stairs that led into another warren of rooms full of books, and one which housed a piano and a cat.
‘How are you feeling?’ Tilly asked Oskar carefully.
‘It’s just, like … Imagine a family member keeping that big a secret from you for your whole life!’ Oskar said, shell-shocked. Tilly raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Right, of course,’ he said. ‘Been there, done that.’
‘It does explain a lot, though,’ Tilly said. ‘About how you could bookwander with me and all of that. You were a bookwanderer all along.’
‘That’s cool,’ Oskar said. ‘I’m not just the best-friend character any more. I’m, like, legit magic in my own right.’
‘You were always magic in your own right,’ Tilly insisted, and Oskar grinned sheepishly, before sitting down at the piano and bashing out a very wonky version of ‘Chopsticks’.
As he played, Tilly wandered the shelves, pulling books out at random and flicking through the pages until she noticed there was a pattern.
‘Do you know,’ she said, starting to look properly, ‘a lot of these books are collections of fairy tales?’ She opened the book she was holding at random and it was ‘Little Red Riding Hood’. Again. Weird, she thought. The same story I was reading on the train.
‘I guess she collects them?’ Oskar said. ‘The shop is called the Faery Cabinet after all. And it’s not like fairy tales are particularly unusual. How dangerous do you think they really are?’ He held up the book Mamie
had given them downstairs.
‘It’s not that I don’t trust Clara or Gretchen,’ Tilly said uneasily. ‘But Chalk is hiding in a fairy tale somewhere, and Underwood got lost in one for decades, and his sister got killed.’
‘We don’t know that really happened,’ Oskar said. ‘I don’t believe anything Melville says.’
‘Fair,’ Tilly said. ‘But I trust Grandma and Grandad and they seem pretty sure. Grandma’s worked inside fairy tales so she knows what she’s talking about when it comes to bookwandering there.’
‘Yeah,’ Oskar agreed. ‘But I just think if Mamie says it’s okay and we’re doing it from here then it’s pretty low-risk, surely? And I just found out that I’m a full-on, in-my-blood bookwanderer! I want to do some bookwandering! And we can come straight back out again, I promise. Let’s just go to a really boring one, just to see. How about “Red Riding Hood”?’ he suggested.
‘I mean, safe apart from the wolf trying to eat everyone,’ Tilly said.
‘But we’ll just avoid that bit!’ Oskar said. ‘We’ll go in at the very beginning – just to see!’
Tilly shrugged nervously.
‘Okay, then, but right at the beginning,’ she said, steeling herself. She thought about what Anne would do, and instantly felt a little braver.
Once upon a time, there lived in a certain village, a little country girl, the prettiest creature that was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her much more. This good woman got made for her a little red riding-hood; which became the girl so extremely well, that everybody called her Little Red Riding-Hood.
Tilly and Oskar found themselves standing on the very edge of a wood, next to a pretty thatched cottage. The door opened as they arrived and out came a little girl holding a basket and wearing a bright red cloak.
Tilly and Oskar watched as she skipped away from the cottage and towards the woods.
‘Looks normal to me!’ Tilly said, trying not to think about the little girl wandering off into the dangerous forest. ‘Had enough?’
‘The thing is,’ Oskar said, ‘I know we said we were going to avoid any mention of wolves, but I feel kind of weird about letting her just disappear off and get eaten.’
‘Isn’t there a woodcutter around to help her?’ Tilly said, trying to convince herself as much as Oskar.
‘Not in this version,’ he replied, showing her the page he’d just checked. ‘She fully gets eaten.’
‘Well, she’s not really real anyway, is she?’ Tilly said quietly, watching the small girl walk into the shadowy trees. The problem was, though, she realised, as a cold feeling took root in her stomach, that if Red Riding Hood wasn’t really real, then neither was her father, and then where did that leave her? If this wasn’t real in some way, then neither was she. Tilly sighed, resigned. ‘I’m not helping if you get eaten by a wolf, though,’ she said to Oskar as they set off towards the woods.
kay, so we’ll just maybe try and get her to turn back, or not listen to the wolf?’ Tilly said, as they followed the girl into the woods.
‘Great,’ Oskar said, stumbling over tree roots as he tried to read the story all the way through. ‘Okay, so it just says, “as she was going through the wood” she met the wolf. Can you see anything?’
‘No, still just her,’ Tilly said, peering into the trees.
‘Okay, and then the wolf is too scared to eat her because there are woodcutters nearby, so he runs ahead, eats the grandmother, then waits for Red Riding Hood. Then eats her.’
‘I guess these are the darker fairy tales that Clara was talking about,’ Tilly said. ‘I can see why they changed it in other versions.’
‘I guess we should warn her,’ Oskar said. ‘Should we catch up and talk to her, maybe?’
‘This is your idea!’ Tilly said. ‘Your idea – your plan.’
‘Fine, let’s catch up, then,’ Oskar said, but before they could reach her, a lanky wolf loped out of the trees on to the path, stopping the girl in her tracks. Oskar pulled Tilly off the path and behind a tree, but Little Red Riding Hood didn’t seem scared in the slightest and greeted the wolf with a curtsy as he circled her on the path.
‘Whither are you going?’ he drawled.
‘I am going to see my grandmamma,’ Red Riding Hood replied politely. ‘To carry her a cake, and a little pot of butter, from my mamma.’
‘Does she live far off?’ the wolf asked, licking his lips hungrily.
‘Oh! Aye,’ the little girl said. ‘It is beyond that mill you see there, at the first house in the village.’
‘Well, I shall go and see her too. I’ll go this way, and you go that, and we shall see who will be there soonest.’ And at that the wolf ran back into the trees and disappeared from sight within seconds.
‘Okay, I don’t want to seem rude, but is she completely daft?’ Oskar whispered to Tilly. ‘Does she not know he wants to eat her?’
‘Apparently not,’ Tilly said. ‘But quick, we need to tell her so we can all get to her grandmother’s house before the wolf.’ They headed back on to the path and quickly caught up with Red Riding Hood, who was ambling along singing to herself, picking flowers and getting distracted by passing butterflies.
‘Excuse me,’ Tilly said, tapping her on the shoulder. The girl turned round but, just as when she had encountered a talking wolf, didn’t seem especially concerned or surprised.
‘Why, hello, would you like to know where I am going?’
‘You should probably stop volunteering that information,’ Oskar said. ‘Just a tip.’
‘I am going to visit my grandmother! She lives by the mill, which you can see just there, and it’s the first house you come to after that,’ she went on.
‘May we come with you?’ Tilly asked.
‘Why, of course, and it is such a beautiful day to be out in the woods.’
‘Don’t you think we should go a little faster?’ Oskar suggested. ‘You did just tell a wolf where to find your grandmother.’
‘Yes, he said we would see who would get there the quickest! What larks!’
‘I think his plan is to make sure he is the fastest,’ Tilly said, trying to stay calm. ‘I don’t want to upset you, but I’m not sure that the wolf is going to simply say hello to your grandmother. I think she might be in danger.’
‘From the wolf?’ Red Riding Hood said, astonished. ‘Whyever would you think that?’
‘Well, he’s a wolf, and wolves eat people …’
‘You think he means to eat my grandmother?’ she gasped, putting a dainty hand to her mouth in shock.
‘YES!’ Oskar said, impatient. ‘That’s what wolves do!”
‘Goodness,’ Red Riding Hood said, chucking her bunch of flowers over her shoulder. ‘I suppose we should get going, then. This path is actually a direct way to the village, but let us hope Mr Wolf encounters something to slow him down on his way!’
‘Finally,’ Tilly said under her breath. ‘By the way, what’s your real name?’
Red Riding Hood looked blankly at her.
‘Why, everyone just knows me as Red Riding Hood, because of my red cloak.’ She stopped and twirled around as she said it. Tilly and Oskar stared at each other in disbelief.
‘It’s a lovely cloak,’ Tilly said, ‘but we need to keep moving.’
‘And we meant, like, what is your real name?’ Oskar pushed on. ‘What did your parents call you before you had your red cloak?’
‘Do you know, I’m not sure I’ve ever been known any other way?’ she said, confusion momentarily flitting across her face. ‘I suppose I must have had another name at some point, but I can’t think of it at all. How strange.’ She shrugged, and the bewilderment vanished. ‘Oh well! You can call me Red, for short, if you wish.’
Tilly doubted whether they had any chance of beating the wolf back to Red’s grandmother’s cottage, but as they turned a corner the trees started to thin out and the mill itself came into view, a cottage tucked just behind it.
�
��There it is!’ Red said. ‘Oh, and there’s Mr Wolf!’ The wolf was prowling around the cottage walls.
‘Oskar, quick!’ Tilly hissed. ‘Distract him before he knocks on the door!’
‘What?’ Oskar said, horrified. ‘How am I supposed to do that?’
‘If only we could somehow get inside and warn her,’ Red said, still seeming to lack any particular urgency or fear.
‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ Tilly said, suddenly realising that was exactly what they could do. She found the line in the story where the wolf knocks on the door and grabbed Oskar and Red by the hand. ‘Let’s fast-forward a little bit …’
Suddenly they were inside the cottage, hearing the knocking outside. A frail-looking woman was lying in a bed, staring at them, and a warm fire burned in the grate. Tilly was about to try to explain why they had just magically appeared inside her home when the woman spoke.
‘Red! How kind of you to come and visit your ill grandmamma!’
‘Why is no one surprised by any of the seriously strange stuff that’s going on?’ Oskar whispered to Tilly.
‘My dears, will one of you kindly open the door? I think someone else is here. Perhaps it is that handsome woodcutter who has been visiting me every once in a while.’
‘Maybe we should ask who it is before we open the door?’ Tilly suggested hurriedly. ‘Who’s there?’ she called.
‘Your grandchild, Little Red Riding Hood,’ came a bizarre high-pitched squeak, which sounded nothing at all like Red, ‘who has brought you a cake, and a little pot of butter.’
‘How curious,’ Grandmother said. ‘For you are in here! I wonder who it could be? Red, won’t you go and see?’
‘Goodness me, these people,’ Tilly said, standing in between Red and the door. ‘It’s the wolf out there! He wants to come in and eat us all! We mustn’t open the door!’
