Endymion Spring (31 page)

Unwillingly, Blake peeled his thumb from the top of the card.

"Professor
Jolyon
Fall, eh?
 
Well, I'm honored to meet you, sir."
 
The porter made a poor attempt at a bow.
 
"You're a bit young, aren't you?"

"That's enough!" a sharp voice rang out behind them suddenly.
 
The children spun around in surprise.
 
Diana Bentley, dressed entirely in white, stood out like a marble statue in the dark, the wind whipping a few strands of silver hair around her face like electricity.

She glared at the porter with contempt.
 
"They're with me and here's my invitation."
 
She handed him her card.
 
"Now open the door."

The porter nodded and obediently unchained the door.
 
The children followed Diana inside.

A

Diana regarded them with interest as they passed under a stone archway towards the front quadrangle.

"Well, this is a surprise," she said mildly.
 
"It's nice to see you, Blake, and this must be your sister—"

"Duck," said Blake, introducing her.

She smiled.
 
"How... cute.
"
She chose the word rather like a candy, which she bit.

"I preferred the porter," Duck muttered gloomily under her breath, but Blake hissed at her to be quiet.

"Just be grateful we're in, OK?" he said.
 
"Behave yourself."

Thick walls of stone surrounded them on all sides, shutting out the sounds of the city.
 
It was as quiet as a tomb.
 
To their right rose two tall, silhouetted towers, which speared the clouds with their spires.
 
A small rectangular lawn, brilliant green by day, but black by night, lay in front of them:
 
a pool of darkness
moated
by a silver path.
 
On the far side of the quadrangle was a chapel with what looked like ghostly saints floating barefoot in the faintly illuminated windows.

Diana clearly knew the way.
 
She led them round the lawn and down a small stairwell into a dusky crypt beneath the chapel.
 
Echoes shuffled around them in the dark and the air smelled dusty and stale.
 
In the twilit shadows Blake could see rows of short pillars bearing the weight of a low vaulted ceiling, under which several sarcophagi had been stashed.

"What are those?" he asked timidly, reaching out to take Duck's hand.
 
Diana, however, laughed softly and glided in between them, steering them towards a hidden courtyard at the back of the college.
 
Stopping outside a heavy wooden door, half-obscured by vines, she swiftly seized a round iron handle and twisted it open.

They entered a long room with a trussed roof made from blackened beams.
 
A tapestry dominated the far wall.
 
In it, a white stag leaped nimbly through a needlepoint forest, filled with pale trees and tiny embroidered flowers, endlessly pursued by baying hounds — their slavering jaws agape for centuries.

Numerous people were seated before a podium at the front of the room and Blake shied away from their glance as they turned around.

Diana, however, pushed him forwards.
 
"We've got some new recruits," she ventured happily.
 
"Dr. Juliet Somers' children, Duck and Blake."

There were murmurs of surprise, more than approval, but only Prosper
Marchand
, seated lazily in the front row, seemed unfazed by the intrusion.
 
He was disputing the advantages of digital paper and electronic ink with a group of gray-haired scholars beside him.

"All the books in the world available at your fingertips," he was explaining.
 
"No more crumbling paper or fading print.
 
It's a universal library."

Blake caught sight of Sir Giles Bentley standing nearby, listening to the conversation.
 
His hands were clenched round the neck of a wine bottle, as if he wanted to choke it.

"Codswallop!" he roared suddenly.
 
"Nothing can replace the feel of a nicely bound book.
 
The printed word is sacred."

Involuntarily, Blake stiffened, but the leather-jacketed professor merely took the interruption in stride.
 
"Don't be such a
Luddite
, Giles," he responded calmly, with a smile.
 
"It's an invention worthy of Gutenberg himself."

Sir Giles eyed him coolly as finally the cork squeaked open and he poured the red liquid into a row of glasses.

Diana had gone over to investigate an assortment of old books on a large polished table next to the podium.
 
Blake followed her, grateful for the diversion.
 
She was wearing elbow-length gloves, which made her
hands
look like long-stemmed lilies.
 
He guessed you had to wear these if you wanted to handle Sir Giles' books.
 
They must be extremely valuable.
 
Just a tinge of dust, like pollen, smirched her fingertips.

He itched to pick up the books — some were bound with clasps, others studded with
 
jewels — but he could feel Sir Giles watching him as he distributed glasses of wine among the assembled members.
 
He decided to wait for permission first.

"Keep your eyes peeled," he whispered to Duck, who had sidled up to him.
 
"We need to figure out who found the blank book originally — and, more importantly, who's after it now."

There were so many faces.
 
Blake recognized some of them from the dining hall, but many more had crept out of the Oxford woodwork just for the occasion.
 
Mostly, they were academics like his mother, speaking a multitude of languages and clutching thick notebooks, ready to take notes.
 
They spoke in low voices, as though in a library — or a church for worshiping books.

The reverential air was soon broken by Sir Giles, who rang a brass bell on the podium and encouraged everyone to take their seats.
 
The room buzzed with expectation.

Diana Bentley summoned Blake and Duck to her side in the front row and they sat down next to her, feeling excited and yet nervous at the same time.

The meeting of the Ex
Libris
Society was about to begin.

20

W
earing an elaborate black robe with spidery gold embroidery on its sleeves, Sir Giles positioned himself behind the lectern and with fierce blue eyes surveyed the room.

"First, may I extend a warm welcome to you all on this memorable occasion," he addressed the members formally, "the fortieth anniversary of the foundation of the original
Libris
Society.
"
 
There was a polite ripple of applause.
 
"Indeed, it was on a night like this, close to the start of
Michaelmas
, that a few of us gathered in a college library to track down the world's most elusive books..."

Blake shivered with anticipation, feeling as though he had traveled back in time and was embarking on the same treasure hunt.
 
Fortunately,
Endymion
Spring
had settled down in his knapsack and was no longer drawing attention to
itself
.

"...a quest that continues to this very day.
 
I see we have attracted some new members," he continued, eyeing the children sternly, "but I regret that not all of our founding members are able to attend."

A hint of a smile curled his lips and Blake felt there was a deeper, more malicious meaning to his words.

At this moment,
Jolyon
burst into the room.
 
"I'm sorry I'm late," he announced, "but I was unexpectedly detained.
 
I bumped into an old member who incidentally, Giles, says hello."

Sir Giles responded with a cold, forbidding look.
 
His eyebrows darkened his face.

The professor, however, took no notice.
 
He caught Blake's eye and nodded.
 
The boy colored automatically and turned away.
 
He pressed his legs against the bag beside his chair, feeling particularly conspicuous and vulnerable among so many authorities on rare books.

Sir Giles waited for
Jolyon
to take a seat.

"As I was saying," he resumed haughtily, once the lumbering professor had found a chair next to Paula Richards a few rows back, "a warm welcome to everyone.
 
And may I take this opportunity to remind all present to sign the register, which Mr.
Foxsmith
is now placing by the door.
 
Many of you will know that we have been signing this book since the original meeting forty years ago, and so we would be honored to continue marking the success and expansion of the society, devoted as it is to the preservation of the printed word, by including our names here tonight.

Blake squirmed in his chair, straining to see what he meant.
 
A young man in a pinstripe suit holding aloft a thick book full of ribbon-like signatures.
 
He placed it on a stand near the door.

Blake nudged Duck with his elbow.
 
"We've got to see inside that book," he whispered.
 
"It'll—"

"
Ssh
!" hissed a woman behind him.

Sir Giles was beginning his lecture.
 
"And so, without further ado," he said, tapping a sheaf of notes on the lectern, "the reason you are here.
 
My lecture,
Whose
Mortal Taste?
 
First Editions & Forbidden Fruit
..."

While Sir Giles droned on at length about the history of collecting books, mentioning people who had lusted after rare volumes or broken into libraries to seek lost or forgotten tomes, Blake shuffled impatiently in his seat.
 
The other members of the society bowed their heads and listened respectfully, coughing discreetly at intervals, but he was desperate to see the ledger by the door.
 
Here, at last, he might learn the identity of the person who had first found
Endymion
Spring
... and the person who had lurked in the shadow, desiring it.

He glanced over his shoulder and caught
Jolyon
watching him with a knowing expression.
 
He blushed and turned away.

Finally, Sir Giles clapped his hands together and announced, "And now some of my personal treasures."

There was an audible exclamation round the room as books started exchanging hands, the scholars delving into the printed worlds they knew so well.
 
Quiet murmurs of approval became raptures of delight.
 
Blake was surprised to see that Prosper
Marchand
made the greatest show of all of examining the books:
 
he stroked the covers, caressed the pages and even held the paper up to the light like a connoisseur of fine wine.
 
Only then did he read the words on the page.

Blake was beginning to despair that the book would ever reach him, when Sir Giles slapped a pair of gloves in his lap.
 
"Put these on if you're tempted to touch anything," he growled, his dark eyebrows knitting together.
 
"Children and books don't mix."

Blake was about to complain, but Diana murmured in his ear that gloves were merely to protect the books from the acid on his skin.

"See, I need them myself," she said with a smile.
 
That made him feel better and he pulled them on obligingly, sliding his hands into the long, snakelike gullets.
 
He wasn't sure that he liked the sensation:
 
it seemed like wearing a blindfold at the end of each finger.

Yet when the book finally reached him Blake was pleased to have them on.
 
Despite their treasure-like status, many of the volumes exhaled tiny clouds of dust that made him want to sneeze.
 
Copies of
The
Tragical
History of Doctor Faustus, Paradise Lost
and
The Rape of the Lock
passed before his eyes — a blur of words and menacing black-and-white illustrations.
 
Duck peered over his shoulder, breathing enviously.
 
Sir Giles had refused to let her touch anything.

Diana then handed him a slender green volume decorated what gold swirls.
 
"It's a copy of
Goblin Market
," she murmured in his ear.
 
"The goblins look sweet and harmless, except they're not.
 
They have real claws and sharp teeth..."

Breathlessly, Blake opened the covers and saw a multitude of cat-faced, bird-beaked, weasel-furred creatures wearing large hats and long coats.
 
They were smiling and snarling and groveling in an attempt to seduce two young girls to sample their bushels of fruit.
 
"Come buy, come buy," they sang in a chorus that repeated throughout the book like a trail of breadcrumbs, leading him further into the story.

"It's quite safe," she purred.
 
"If you feel a little frightened, all you have to do is close the covers and the danger will disappear.
 
That's the wonderful thing about books."

He wasn't sure that he agreed with her — some books stayed with you long after you read them; they lingered in the
unswept
corners of your mind — but he wanted to impress her.
 
He sensed that she believed in the power of books just as much as he did.
 
She read them with a child's eye.
 
A child's magic.