Endymion Spring (17 page)

"How did you know?"
 
Blake gazed at him in wonder, but the man was watching him earnestly, unwilling to divulge his secret.

"First, tell me how you found the book," he said, leaning forwards to make sure he missed none of the details.

Slowly, Blake began to tell him about the previous afternoon.
 
He decided not to mention that he had been running his fingers along the shelves at the time, just in case the professor, like his mother, disapproved.
 
He might even accuse him of damaging the books in the library last night — and he didn't want to get into more trouble.

"And could you read what was inside?" asked the professor as soon as Blake had finished his story.
 
He studied the boy carefully.
 
Blake's light blue eyes were as pale as ice.

"Well, sure," said Blake, thinking the answer was obvious.
 
"I mean, I thought the book was blank at first, you know, but then I found some words in the middle of it, almost where you wouldn't expect to find any."

The professor leaned even closer.
 
"And what did the message say?" he asked, with bated breath.

Blake bit his lip.
 
He could feel the man's eyes boring into him.
 
Seated on his throne, the professor reminded him of the scholars he had seen in the portraits all over college.
 
Everything hinged on his next response.
 
Yet, despite his best efforts, Blake couldn’t remember the exact phrasing of
Endymion
Spring
's
poem.
 
The words eluded him.

"I don't know," he said at long last.
 
He pulled at his collar, which seemed to be growing tighter.
 
"I can't remember it very well.
 
It had something to do with the seasons.
 
The book was going to fall apart if something didn't happen."
 
He scrunched up his face with the effort of concentration.
 
"Only, I don't know what was supposed to take place.
 
I can't remember the words precisely.
 
They didn't make sense."

"And I didn't see them," said Duck, feeling this was important to mention.

"
What,
haven't you read the riddle again?" asked
Jolyon
anxiously.
 
"Have the words already disappeared?"

Blake glanced down at his empty fingers.
 
"I don't have the book any more," he confessed.
 
"It's gone."

"Oh dear."

The man's voice dropped so low, it seemed to sink through the floor.
 
Blake could feel the air of expectancy rush out of the room as though a book they had been enjoying together had been snapped shut, the story cut off in mid-sentence.
 
Rain began to patter against the roof, increasing his sense of discomfort.
 
The professor's office was clouded with gloom.

"I'm sorry," he started to say as thunder rumbled in the distance, but the man merely brushed his apology aside.
 
Blake couldn't tell whether he was angry or just concerned.
 
"I didn't know what to do," he resumed miserably, "so I put the book back on the shelf.
 
I didn't think I was supposed to take it from the library."

"No, no, you were quite right," admitted the professor, staring at the book-strewn rug as though something of immense value had slipped through his fingers and he was searching for where it lay.
 
He twisted his long legs broodingly.

Another thought suddenly occurred to Blake.
 
"But I did go back to look for it after I spoke to you last night," he said.
 
"Your reaction made it seem important."

The professor instantly raised his head, alert.

"And?"

Blake gazed at the shadowy figure opposite him.
 
He dropped his eyes.
 
"Only, I couldn't find it again," he muttered gloomily.
 
"I went back to the shelf where I had found it earlier, but the book wasn't there.
 
It had gone.
 
Someone must have taken it."

A troubled silence, deeper and darker than before, settled over them.
 
In the half-light, Duck glanced uneasily at her brother.
 
She sat on the edge of her seat, squirming uncomfortably.

But Blake was more concerned by the professor's next question:
 
"Blake, are you quite certain that the book was missing when you returned to the library last night?" he asked seriously, his chair creaking slightly as he leaned forward to emphasize his point.

Blake opened his mouth to speak, but the professor held up a finger to forestall him.
 
"Think carefully now.
 
This is important."

His voice sounded worried.

Blake closed his eyes and tried to
reimagine
the scene.
 
He could see the beam from his torch wavering in the darkness, illuminating the rows of silent, watchful books.
 
He visualized the two volumes tilting towards each other on the shelf at the end of the corridor and the crack of shadow in between.

"Yeah, quite sure," he said.
 
"It was gone."

"And did anyone follow you?"

The question caused a shiver of fear to creep up and down his spine.
 
"Well, that's the thing," said Blake nervously.
 
"Someone else
was
there."

The professor's eyes were on him in an instant.

"Who?"

Duck was breathing rapidly beside him, open-mouthed.

"I don't know," answered Blake, despairingly.
 
"It was dark.
 
I couldn't see.
 
The cat sneaked in after me, so I had to fetch him from upstairs.
 
That's when it happened."

"The books downstairs?" the man prompted him gently.

Blake nodded.
 
A lump had formed in his throat and he swallowed it painfully.
 
"The books were already on the floor when I came down," he said.
 
"Ripped pages were everywhere... exactly where I had found
Endymion
Spring
earlier.
 
It was like someone had been hunting for the blank book.
 
But I didn't hang around, you know?
 
I just wanted to get out of there.
 
I ran back to the dinner."

"No, no, that was advisable," admitted the professor with a sigh.
 
"Did you report what you'd seen to the librarian?"

"No.
 
I didn't wasn’t to get into trouble.
 
Besides, my mum was already pretty mad."

"I see."
 
Jolyon
was silent for a while.
 
Blake could tell that he was privately wishing he had been only a bit braver, or waited a moment longer, to catch the culprit red-handed.
 
The man
steepled
his finger against his lips pensively.

Blake didn't want to interrupt, but found
himself
apologizing anyway.
 
"I'm really sorry, Professor
Jolyon
.
 
I didn't mean for this to happen.
 
Honest.
 
I just wanted to find out about the blank book, that's all."
 
His voice wobbled.

The man's expression, however, softened into a smile.
 
"No one's blaming you, my child," he said kindly, his wrinkles losing their stern edges.
 
"You're not the sort of boy to damage books.
 
I know that.
 
You've simply stumbled into something, something..." — he searched for a word — "something much larger than you can possibly imagine.
 
Endymion
Spring
must have chosen you for a reason."

Blake gaped at him in disbelief.
 
"A reason?" he mouthed to himself, but Duck was quicker off the mark.

"It chose him?" she burst out, incredulously.

"Yes, I believe it did," said
Jolyon
seriously.

"But how can that be?" she cried.
 
"It's just a book."

"No, Duck,
Endymion
Spring
is not just a book," said
Jolyon
severely.

"What do you mean?"

"It just so happens to be one of the most legendary, sought-after books in the world and could be incredibly dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands."

Blake looked up from his lap, feeling as though a huge weight had suddenly fallen on his shoulders.

"Dangerous?" he asked, crushed by a new sense of responsibility.

"Oh yes.
 
Books are powerful things," said
Jolyon
.
 
"And, as you know, this book is not without its special
abilities
."

"But Blake was making up that stuff," objected Duck.
 
"I was standing right next to him when he found it.
 
The book had no words in it, I'm sure."

"It did so," retaliated Blake.
 
"I swear, Professor
Jolyon
.
 
I saw something inside it."

"Yes, I believe you," remarked the man.
 
"And if what you say is true, that the blank book threatened to fall apart if something didn't happen, then I fear the destruction of the volume — and all it stands for — could be imminent.
 
Which is disastrous, considering it had only now decided to reappear.
"

"
Reappear
?" both children asked simultaneously.

"Oh, yes," replied
Jolyon
soberly.
 
"You are not the first to be chosen.
 
There have been others before you, Blake.
 
And many more who have searched in vain..."

"Was it you?" said Duck quickly.
 
"Did you find the book?"

The professor gave her a rueful smile.
 
"No, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Duck.
 
It wasn't me."
 
For the first time his face revealed a real depth of sadness.
 
"I did glimpse it a few times," he said softly, "but fortunately it didn't select me."

He let his words settle for a moment, before adding: "It nearly destroyed the person it did."

12

B
lake didn't trust himself to speak.
 
He felt sick with horror.
 
What exactly had he found?
 
And what, for that matter, had he lost?

He sat back and listened as Duck asked the question that had died on his lips.
 
"What happened?"

"It's a long story," said
Jolyon
, and both children feared he was not going to tell them.
 
They fidgeted on the sofa.
 
It's a long story
was a way of not explaining something to them, an excuse for not telling them about the past.
 
That's how their parents often handled awkward or difficult questions.

Yet the professor was merely considering what he could — or could not — say.
 
For a moment his face darkened with misgivings and then, as though the incident were still painful to recall, he began to tell his tale.

"It was a long time ago," he said in a deep, unhurried voice, rubbing the corners of his eyes.
 
"I was a member of a society devoted to the study and appreciation of books.
 
The
Libris
Society, it was called."

"Isn't that the society that's here now?" asked Duck.
 
"The one in the dining hall today?"

A flicker of a smile passed his lips.
 
"That's perceptive of you, young lady," he congratulated her.
 
"The Ex
Libris
Society, as it is now known, is a highly regarded community of scholars, librarians and book collectors from all over the world who are devoted to the preservation of books.
 
All, that is, except for Prosper
Marchand
, who is at the cutting edge of a new technology threatening to make printed material obsolete.
 
Digitalization."

He said the word as though it were one of his personal bugbears.
 
"But at first there were only a few of us, united by our passion for books," he recollected more fondly.

"What kind of books?" said
Duck.

"Oh, the best kind.
 
The earliest,
handprinted
books by true Masters of he press:
 
Johann Gutenberg, Peter
Schoeffer
and Aldus
Manutius
."

Blake's eyes glazed over.
 
He wanted the professor to fast-forward the discussion, to say what happened next, but
Jolyon
was speaking slowly, with great emphasis, as though each word was impressed with meaning.

"And then one day," he remarked, "the shyest member among us, a real daydreamer, found a book unlike any other."

"
Endymion
Spring
," breathed Blake excitedly.

The professor nodded.
 
"Exactly.
 
Endymion
Spring
.
 
A legendary book we had never believed in before.
 
He was the only person who could see inside it.
 
To the rest of us, it was a closed volume, a dummy, its secrets locked between two apparently keyless clasps that only his touch could open.
 
The book, of course, was selective about its ownership; it needed to be.
 
After all, it led to something much more powerful..."