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‘Okay,’ Tilly said, feeling a little calmer. ‘You know, when people talked about book magic, I didn’t realise they were talking about a physical thing.’
‘Same,’ Oskar said. ‘I thought it was all, like, ooooh, the magic of books! Reading is important! You know, like teachers say.’
‘Oh no,’ Seb said. ‘I mean, what teachers say is of course true, but our book magic is what runs through all stories and powers them. Did you hear what Melville said about fairy tales? They’re so unstable because they’re running on pure book magic that’s not contained in Source Editions and printed books. It’s ancient book magic – even Librarians don’t really understand how it works.’
‘But, Seb, hang on,’ Tilly started. ‘What did Melville mean when he talked about binding all the books? Does that use book magic too?’
‘Well, as Mr Underwood said, it’s not possible to take someone’s bookwandering abilities away from them – they’re a part of you. But you can stop people from accessing certain books. If a Source Edition of a book is “bound” then no one can wander inside any of the versions of it. It controls where people can wander. There was a group of bookwanderers back in the early nineteenth century who thought that bookwandering should be limited to only certain types of people – rich like them, mainly. Now there are some Librarians here who have taken their name, the “Bookbinders”, and are spouting nonsense about control being a good thing.’
‘But why?’ Tilly asked. ‘What’s in it for them?’
‘Power, mainly,’ Seb said. ‘If you control something it gives you power over the people who want it – or need it. People like the Bookbinders hate the idea of something being shared out and enjoyed. They think they deserve to have it all to themselves. And so it has always been.’
‘But just because something has always been that way doesn’t make it right,’ Tilly said.
‘Of course not,’ Seb said. ‘But it does make it difficult to change. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try, though.’
‘Seb,’ Tilly said. ‘Do you think Melville really has found Chalk?’
‘It would seem so,’ Seb said. ‘And that’s a good thing, even if we don’t agree with anything else he’s doing. Bookwandering is complicated; it’s not as easy as people who aren’t for us being against us.’
‘I think it’s clear he is definitely against us,’ Oskar said. ‘Not sure that’s too complicated.’
‘But that doesn’t mean we don’t want some things in common,’ Seb said. ‘Such as finding Chalk. It’s in no one’s interest for Chalk to roam around stories, especially fairy tales. So let’s focus our energies on stopping Melville’s bigger bookbinding plans, and let him deal with Chalk.’
At that moment, they heard a door being slammed shut, and they poked their heads out of the room to see three very angry, flustered-looking people glaring at each other in the corridor.
‘I’m just doing my job, Mr Pages,’ Angelica was saying. ‘I didn’t make this decision. And now I’m leaving. Take it up with Mr Underwood if you’re unhappy.’
‘Have you considered maybe thinking for yourself for one moment?’ Grandad said crossly. ‘You don’t have to do everything you’re told.’
‘The thing is,’ Grandma said, clearly making a conscious effort to remain calm, ‘it’s important to think about what you’re being asked to do, and whether you think it’s right.’
‘This isn’t something I want to lose my job over,’ Angelica said. ‘Isn’t the whole point of the senior librarians to worry about this sort of thing for us, so we don’t have to?’
‘No!’
Grandad exploded.
‘Their purpose is to protect bookwandering! Not to be blustering, idiotic tyrants!’
He noticed the others, peering through the door behind him. ‘Finally! Tilly, Oskar, let’s go. I do not want to stay one more moment in an institution which has become the very antithesis of what it was set up to do!’ He took Tilly and Oskar by the shoulder and steered them out of the door, Grandma and Seb following.
‘To the Map Room, yes?’ Grandad said. ‘We need to get back to Pages & Co. as quickly as possible.’
‘Do you think that’s wise?’ Seb said nervously.
‘I could not care less at this point,’ Grandad replied. ‘Could you please tell Amelia to get in touch with us as soon as she is able to extricate herself from this place?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Seb said. ‘And don’t worry about Tilly and Oskar,’ he added. ‘I didn’t stamp them.’
Grandad softened. ‘Thank you, Seb,’ he said. ‘I should never have doubted you. Please come and see us with Amelia if you can. There is a lot to talk about.’
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alf an hour later they were sitting round the kitchen table drinking very strong cups of tea, with out-of-character two spoons of sugar, or usually-reserved-for-special-occasions fizzy drinks.
‘I’m still not sure I understand how we can travel from the Map Room home,’ Tilly said. ‘Is it book magic too? And can we get to the Underlibrary the same way?’
‘Ah,’ Grandad said, a little sheepishly. ‘Well, yes and no. It’s not exactly an approved transport method. And Pages & Co. shouldn’t technically still be on the network.’
‘When you’re the Librarian,’ Grandma explained, ‘you get a few favours from some of our fictional friends. One of those is that a character who specialises in magical doors and portals, say a charismatic lion or similar, will come and create one in the Underlibrary Map Room that opens in the Librarian’s home bookshop or library – just in case of emergencies. It’s supposed to be closed when a new Librarian takes over, so we don’t have magic portals criss-crossing the country. Not to mention it’s generally frowned on to bring magical characters into the real world. But Amelia turned a blind eye when she took over, and I think we can assume that she won’t be letting Melville know that the Pages & Co. portal still exists.’
‘In case you need to get back in without him noticing?’ Oskar asked.
‘Precisely,’ Grandad said.
‘Although let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Grandma said. ‘We need to understand a lot more about what exactly is going on before we start sneaking around.’
‘So … What do we do first?’ Tilly asked.
‘Well, you two are doing exactly what you were always going to do.’ Grandma smiled. ‘You’re going to Paris tomorrow morning to visit Oskar’s dad for Christmas!’
‘But what about Melville and the stamping and the bookbinding? And banning children from bookwandering! Can’t I help?’ Tilly persisted.
‘While you’re away we will speak to Amelia and Seb properly,’ Grandma replied. ‘In hindsight, it perhaps wasn’t such a good idea for you both to come today but thankfully Seb has diverted any immediate problems – not that this is permission for you to bookwander anywhere dangerous of course.’
‘And don’t worry about us,’ said Grandad. ‘The stamping is an ethical problem, not a practical one. It will wear off soon and it’s not like we had any illicit bookwandering trips planned. The thing we need to focus on is stopping them binding books, and you can leave that with us. We’ll talk to some librarians about the Bookbinders. And, of course, leave Chalk to Melville.’
‘Is there really nothing we can do to help?’ Oskar asked.
‘Not right now,’ Grandad said.
‘Not even any research, or reading, or anything?’ Tilly persisted.
‘You can help by having a wonderful time in Paris meeting Oskar’s dad,’ Grandad said firmly. ‘Leave this one with us. And now, dinner!’
Half an hour later Grandad set down a big bowl full of spaghetti cooked with tomatoes and prawns. Grandma added hot buttery garlic bread and a rocket salad as Bea came and joined them from the just-closed bookshop. The table bore the marks and memories of years of the Pages family; the underside was still covered with the remnants of Tilly’s attempt to turn it into a spaceship when she was younger, sticking coloured paper buttons on with superglue. The surface had several red wine stains, a collection of pale circles where hot drinks had been put down without coasters, and copious scratches on the legs from Alice the cat. It held centre stage in the area that functioned as a dining room, a study and a private family space away from the bookshop. It was rare for the table not to be covered with piles of books, half-done homework, lukewarm cups of tea, or unopened post.
‘So, Oskar,’ Grandma said, sitting down. ‘How long is it since you’ve been to Paris?’ Oskar was busy trying to sneak a corner of garlic bread into his mouth, before realising quite how hot it was.
‘I haven’t been since the summer holidays,’ Oskar said, trying to suck cool air into his mouth as he replied. ‘With Mamie being poorly over half-term, and school and stuff … You know how busy everything gets. And Dad hardly gets any holiday so he can’t come here very often either.’
‘It’s very kind of your dad to invite Tilly as well,’ Bea said, twirling her fork around her pasta without ever raising it to her mouth. ‘What did you say his job was?’
‘He runs an art gallery with my stepmum,’ Oskar said. ‘They’re super busy all the time. I think it was Mum’s idea for us to go, probably.’
‘They do know I’m coming, though, right?’ Tilly said, alarmed.
‘Yes, of course,’ Grandma reassured her. ‘We’ve spoken to him several times on the phone to sort out train tickets and what you need to take – they’re really looking forward to meeting you. And you’ll get to meet Oskar’s grandmother too, as she’s staying with them – maybe you’ll even see some of her illustrations!’
‘There’s one of her paintings up in my dad’s place,’ Oskar confirmed. ‘It’s super creepy and cool.’
‘What a treat,’ Grandma said, trying to coax some enthusiasm out of Tilly.
‘It’s going to be strange not being at Pages & Co. just before Christmas,’ was all Tilly said.
‘But what an adventure!’ Grandad said. ‘Being in Paris at Christmastime!’
‘We’ll miss you a lot, though, won’t we, Bea?’ Grandma said, nudging her daughter.
‘I can barely remember what Christmas is like,’ Bea said, almost to herself. ‘It will be curious having a tree and turkey and all of that again.’
‘Didn’t you have Christmas in A Little Princess?’ Oskar asked.
‘Well, I assume we must have,’ Bea said slowly. ‘But I find it hard to remember anything specific about being there at all, really. It’s like trying to remember a dream. I just can’t seem to picture any of it.’ And she went back to toying with her wine glass.
Tilly had hoped that her mum would settle back into normal life more each day, following her rescue from A Little Princess. But the opposite seemed to be true. Bea spent more and more time by herself, and could be found lost in her own daydreams for much of the day. Pushing her glass to one side, Bea shook her head, and smiled – properly – at Tilly.
‘But you’ll only be gone for a couple of days, and you’ll be back in plenty of time for Christmas. Now, who’s for coffee?’ Bea moved her nearly full bowl away from her and stood up, mussing Tilly’s hair as she went to put the kettle on. Tilly tried to shove away her worries about her mother into a room right at the very back of her brain – along with her worries about what was going on at the Underlibrary. She wedged a chair under the door handle for good measure, to keep them locked in tight.
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here was something special about Pages & Co. first thing in the morning, especially if you were the only one in the shop. There was an air of expectation and endless possibility stacked neatly along the tidy shelves, adventure tucked between dust jackets. Tilly sat cross-legged on the emerald-green velvet sofa by the fireplace, and watched the snow fall outside. The shop was still chilly, and Tilly’s hands were wrapped round a hot cup of a home-made concoction that Grandma called mulled Ribena. She sipped carefully as the snowflakes danced and settled on the glass.
‘I sometimes imagine they are tiny dancing snow sprites,’ a familiar voice said, and Tilly turned to see Anne Shirley, the heroine of one of Tilly’s favourite books, sitting at the other end of the sofa staring out of the window in wonder.
‘Oh!’ Tilly said abruptly, looking at her. ‘Anne … Do you know that your hair is green?’
Anne turned and looked at her mournfully.
‘I have had such a terrible time of it. You would scarcely believe it could all happen to one person,’ she said dejectedly. ‘Truly the fates are against me. I thought I was dyeing it a beautiful, elegant raven black, but the man I bought the dye from at the doorstep has cruelly taken advantage of my vanity and, well, look. I have been washing it furiously for three days straight now and no change. My life in the most glittering of social circles has ended before it had a chance to even begin. It is one thing to go to a dance as a redhead, but quite another to make an entrance with green hair, especially in a town so ravenous for gossip as Avonlea. Just imagine what Rachel Lynde would say if she saw me!’ She flopped her head dramatically on to the back of the sofa and let out a groan of woe. ‘I am far too embarrassed to leave Green Gables – I will only permit dear Diana to visit as she is able to behave in the sombre manner that befits the situation – and so it’s a pleasant surprise to find myself here. Were you thinking of me?’
‘I suppose I must have been in some way, for you to arrive,’ Tilly said. ‘And do you know, short hair is very fashionable here? You could always cut it.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Anne said solemnly. ‘Why, the only thing worse than green hair would be short green hair. And if it comes to that I think I shall have to withdraw from polite society entirely.’
‘Well, fingers crossed it doesn’t come to that,’ Tilly said weakly, knowing – from having reread Anne of Green Gables just the other week – that it was destined to turn out exactly like that. Anne rested her green head on Tilly’s shoulder and sighed.
‘Winter is the most magical time of year, isn’t it?’
‘You say that about every season,’ Tilly said affectionately.
‘Perhaps,’ Anne said. ‘But the important thing is that I mean it fiercely in the moment. I do sometimes find that I mean things wholly and entirely when I say them only to discover that the next day, or the next season, my opinions have changed. Marilla says this makes no matter, and that falsehoods dressed up as enthusiasm are still falsehoods, but I think that if you mean something sincerely when you say it then it is the truth, whatever happens next, and that enthusiasm is a very good reason for almost anything – especially winter.’
‘I wonder what winter in Paris will be like,’ Tilly mused.
‘You’re going to Paris?’ Anne said, sitting bolt upright. ‘Why how perfectly romantic! When are you going?’
‘Very soon,’ Tilly said. ‘Our train leaves St Pancras station just before lunchtime, I think. Although I’m not sure it’s a good time to be going …’
‘Whyever not?’ Anne asked. ‘I should have thought that there was no such thing as a bad time to go to Paris!’
‘Well, a lot has been going on here,’ Tilly said. ‘And I don’t really know where I fit into it all. Grandma and Grandad say they’re going to fix everything while we’re away but I don’t really see how they will be able to do that, and Amelia – our friend – has lost her job, and no one seems worried about what Chalk is up to. And I just don’t know what anything means, and it feels strange to just pop over to Paris for a holiday when everyone seems so stressed and my mum is still so sad.’
‘She’s still sad?’ Anne asked gently.
‘Yes,’ Tilly said. ‘And she basically stays here all the time. She hasn’t gone into any stories since we said goodbye to my dad, and she won’t even talk to me about it either. It’s like we’re strangers.’
‘Well, it must be ever so peculiar to go from having a newborn daughter one day and then, suddenly, the next time you see her, she’s eleven and a whole proper person with her own dreams and memories and desires,’ Anne said. ‘It’s one of those ideas that sounds like it might be quite romantic if you read it in a book but when it happens to one of your bosom friends, you can’t help but worry it’s a little confusing and tragic.’
‘I mean, I’m not sure I’d go quite as far as tragic,’ Tilly said, bristling. ‘At least she’s back now. You shouldn’t feel sorry for me.’
‘I don’t at all,’ Anne said earnestly. ‘How could I feel sorry for someone who lives in a bookshop and has two grandparents, and one whole mother to love her, and is going to Paris in the snow! Why I would never trade Green Gables for anything, but I would not be so sad to have your lot in life.’
‘I suppose so,’ Tilly said, trying to feel as lucky as she knew she was, really.
The sound of the kitchen door banging made her jump, and she looked up to see Grandma heading her way.
‘Are you all right, love?’ she asked, sitting next to Tilly on the sofa, a book under one arm.
‘Anne’s just gone,’ Tilly said. ‘We were just chatting. And she had green hair.’
‘Ah, the green hair incident. I wish I could have seen it. It’s good to have friends you can talk things through with, you know,’ Grandma said. ‘I’m glad you have Anne, and Oskar. He takes in more than I think you sometimes realise. It will be lovely for you both to visit Paris and his family. Now, I wanted to share something with you before you go.’
Grandma placed the book she was carrying gently on her lap. ‘I thought you might like to have a look at this – it’s my book of fairy tales back from when I was working in the Underlibrary – it’s where I used to start from when I was mapping them.’
The book was very old and battered, with slips of paper marking certain yellowed pages and a few corners turned down. Tilly carefully opened the front cover and saw an intricately decorated contents page of familiar stories.
‘France is in some ways the home of fairy tales, certainly those in the Western tradition that are most familiar to us. Many of them were first written down in France, even if they originated elsewhere,’ Grandma explained. ‘It’s too dangerous to bookwander there at the moment, but if you’re keen, maybe we could go together once everything’s settled down?’
‘Yes, please,’ Tilly said, as she turned through the pages. ‘You said … You said there was a difference of opinion and that’s why you stopped working in fairy tales?’
‘Well, yes,’ Grandma said, a little hesitantly. ‘When I was the Cartographer I worked with another librarian, who used to be a close friend, and our job was to try and create a map of how fairy tales fitted together, and to research why the usual rules don’t apply there. We wandered together many times, exploring the stories and the fairytale lands. It really is a fascinating place. But once we started to get somewhere with our research, the next stage was to use what we’d learned to make fairy tales safer for bookwanderers, and to share our maps. However, my friend got what I can only describe as cold feet about the whole project. Through our time inside the stories, she decided that we shouldn’t be trying to make them safer, and their danger was what made them special. She believed that we were trying to impose order on something wild and beautiful. And to be honest, I agree with her to a certain point, but she started seeing conspiracy theories everywhere and ended up being forced to … Well, she ended up leaving the Underlibrary.’
‘Why does nobody seem to be able to agree on how bookwandering should work?’ Tilly asked.
‘Well, it’s all very complicated, more so than you realise,’ Grandma said. ‘Sometimes I feel that we should do away with the Underlibrary all together and let people just wander as they like, but then I think about Bea falling in love with your father and wanting to stay in A Little Princess, and then I think we need some rules and organisation. I’m not sure we’ll ever know the right answers to every question. We’re all just doing our best.’
‘Mr Underwood isn’t,’ Tilly said firmly.
‘Well, no,’ Grandma admitted. ‘What he’s doing isn’t for the best, I don’t think. But I am sure he believes it is. And if you can understand why someone is doing something it’s always a good start, even if you want to stop them. You heard what Amelia said: there’s something going on behind the scenes here, something motivating Melville Underwood beyond mere power. We’ll discuss with Amelia and Seb and see what we can uncover.’
‘And what about Chalk?’ Tilly said. ‘He’s just getting away with what he did to Mum. Don’t you think he should be punished in some way?’
‘Do you?’ Grandma asked.
‘Yes!’ Tilly said. ‘It’s not fair, otherwise.’
