The City of Dreaming Books (31 page)

I
emerged from the huge skull and stood there in two minds. The candlelight in the interior, which flickered restlessly, shone through the gaps in the teeth and made it look alarmingly lifelike. Which way should I go? The way we had come? Back through the cramped stone labyrinth, where Spinxxxxes and other Unholm monsters awaited me? No thanks, not again.

In the other direction, then? Into the darkness, the unknown? Into a world that might be teeming with dangers more terrible still? They were tempting alternatives indeed. It was like being asked to choose between the gallows and the executioner’s block. I raised the torch above my head and peered into the darkness. Hey, what was that? Lying at my feet was a scrap of paper.

I picked it up. It resembled one of the bloodstained shreds of paper Hoggno had been holding in his lifeless hand. Closer examination revealed that it was covered with faded writing in a script unfamiliar to me, Bookemist’s Runic or something similar. And there, a little further away from the giant skull, lay another. I went over and picked that up too - and sighted yet another a few feet further on! What was this, a trail? A trail left behind by Hoggno’s killer? If so, had he left it deliberately or inadvertently? Should I follow it?

Well, that was a third possibility at least. I could now choose between hanging, beheading and quartering. But perhaps a vestige of hope still remained. It was possible that the killer had laid this trail unintentionally. If so, he would eventually, without realising it, guide me back to civilisation. Even if he had laid it on purpose, it didn’t necessarily mean that he had done so with evil intent. If he’d wanted to kill me he could easily have done so inside Hoggno’s strange pied-à-terre.

So I left the skull and its frightful contents behind in the darkness and followed the trail of bloodstained paper. At first it led me through a stalagmite forest exclusively inhabited by small, timid creatures that fled, squeaking and rustling, from the light of my torch. Water dripped on my head incessantly, wearing me down like a subtle form of torture, until I finally reached a dry, narrow tunnel of granite that zigzagged upwards. Remembering the misshapen ape that had lain in wait for me and Hoggno in a similar passage, I wondered what I would do if I encountered such a creature on my own. I wouldn’t even find the knife in my cloak and draw it in time.

At last I came to a broad expanse of loose rubble that might have been the remains of a rockfall from the roof - all I could make out overhead was a pitch-black void in which bats were noisily disporting themselves. The wind whistled round me, a chill, invisible current of air that had long been flowing in my direction. It had clearly found its way down from the surface through ducts of some kind. I envied the wind its knowledge of these, which might have provided me with a way out.

Then the temperature steadily rose and I came to some galleries that ran through solid coal. I picked up one scrap of paper after another, puzzled over the runes and stuffed them into my numerous pockets.

After a while I grew tired of collecting them. I couldn’t read the writing anyway, so I simply left them lying where they’d fallen. I’d spent so long staring at the ground for fear of missing one that I’d failed to note the composition of the tunnel walls. Imagine my surprise and delight, therefore, when I suddenly saw that they were lined with rough-hewn stones. These were no natural tunnels; they were passages created by some unknown hand! I was back in civilisation, albeit of a very primitive kind. And I was still finding those scraps of paper. They became steadily rarer and the intervals between them greater until I came at last to the first book I’d seen for a long time!

Lying on the ground in the middle of an otherwise empty passage, it was in such an advanced stage of decay that I knew it would fall to dust if I tried to pick it up, so I left it untouched. On top of the book lay one of the bloodstained scraps of paper, and something told me that this was the last. From now on I would have to find my own way unaided. I sat down with my back against the wall, happy and unhappy, weary but alert. I’d made it, but to where? I had escaped from Unholm and the uncivilised part of the catacombs, but where was I now?

I closed my eyes. Just a short rest, I told myself, but don’t go to sleep! That was impossible in any case, because images promptly performed a dance before my inner eye: the frightful insects in the sea of books, the megaworm, the Spinxxxx, Hoggno’s headless corpse . . . My eyes snapped open again, and I was horrified to find that my jellyfish torch had gone out. I was in total darkness. Panic-stricken, I felt for the torch but couldn’t find it. Had someone taken it? My mysterious guide, perhaps? How had he managed to do that in such a short space of time without my noticing? I went on groping until I encountered the book. It fell to dust at my touch, and I could feel fat white maggots crawling over my paw. Then I heard heavy breathing.

‘
Hhhhhhhhhhh . . .
’

I wasn’t alone. Something was there in the dark.

‘
Hhhhhhhhhhh . . .
’

It was coming closer.

‘
Hhhhhhhhhhh . . .
’

And closer. I shrank back against the wall.

‘
Hhhhhhhhhhh . . .
’

The unknown creature was very near my face - I could feel its breath, smell its smell - and it was as if someone had opened the door of a gigantic second-hand bookshop, as if a cloud of pure book dust had arisen and was wafting the musty scent of millions of decaying tomes straight into my face. It was the breath of the Shadow King!

Someone spoke and I woke up. Yes, I woke up and opened my eyes, and there was the torch once more. Neither extinguished nor stolen, it was faithfully illuminating the ancient book and the bloodstained scrap of paper on top of it. I had simply nodded off for a moment. I had nodded off and dreamt of the Shadow King.

Y
es, dear readers, I’d heard voices. Quite definitely. Or had they merely been the remnants of my dream? Stray echoes, catacomb noises? I took the torch, struggled to my feet, and . . . There! I heard it again, coming from the next tunnel! I followed the sound, which was no more than an unintelligible whisper, but it had gone by the time I entered the tunnel.

There were books, though! A whole passage full of books lying strewn across the floor - worm-eaten books, perhaps, but books nonetheless. Delightedly, I waded through this mass of paper, which seemed more precious to me than a treasure chamber filled with diamonds - and there it was again, that whisper from an adjoining passage. And wasn’t that a light I saw too? Shielding my torch, I turned the corner. The phosphorescent jellyfish clinging to the roof shed their usual weird glow, but this time I felt as if I were seeing the light of the sun once more. There were bookcases here as well, ancient ruins of worm-eaten wood enshrouded in dust and cobwebs but containing numerous books. I was gradually returning to civilisation! Civilisation, pah! My requirements had indeed become modest if a few worm-eaten bookcases filled with mouldering tomes struck me as evidence of civilisation. I went over to one and was about to remove a book when . . .

‘Well?’ said a voice, so loudly and distinctly that I flinched.

‘Well? To my eye it’s trash!’ someone replied. ‘Rubbish of the worst sort.’

The voices were coming from the next passage. Two Bookhunters at the same time? I drew the knife from my cloak.

‘Ha-ha, listen to this!’ said a third voice.

I shrank back against the bookcase.
Three
Bookhunters? I was done for!

‘
I arise from dreams of thee
,’ the last voice continued,

‘Night . . . bright,’ one of the other voices broke in. ‘What a tired old rhyme!’

I was so overcome with curiosity, I almost forgot my fear. I could still have slipped away unnoticed, but I simply had to know who these people were. I pocketed my torch, raised my knife and tiptoed over to the mouth of the mysterious passage.

Once there I drew a deep breath and stole a cautious glance round the corner. This passage, too, was lined with bookcases, and in the middle, knee-deep in paper, stood three strange, gnomelike creatures. All I could tell at first sight was that they were certainly not Bookhunters.

They all looked alike to a certain extent, although they differed in stature. One was fat and thickset, one slim but with chubby cheeks, and one thoroughly puny. All they had in common was their diminutive size - even the tallest of them only came up to my waist - and the fact that each had only one eye. The slim one was reading aloud from a book:

The gnome broke off and tossed the book into the dust. ‘To my eye,’ he said, ‘that’s trash too. Al’s right.’

‘I don’t think it’s as silly as
all
that,’ said the smallest gnome. ‘
I am the eye with which the Universe beholds itself’
- I find that a telling line.’

‘Really?’ said the fat one. ‘What does it tell you?’

‘Well,’ said the puny one, ‘I can certainly identify with “eye” in the singular.’

The little creatures didn’t look as if they presented any danger to me. They were Troglognomes or something similar - just harmless cave dwarfs. What was more, they seemed to be interested in literature. Nothing very bad could happen to me, surely?

I left my hiding place and raised a paw in greeting - quite forgetting that it was holding a knife. What with the raised dagger and my billowing cloak, I must have looked like an assassin as I suddenly emerged from the shadows.

The gnomes gave a terrible start and took to their heels, first blundering into each other and then running in three different directions. They hid themselves behind bookcases and mounds of books and paper.

‘A Bookhunter!’ cried one.

‘He’s got a knife!’ cried another.

‘He means to kill us!’ whispered the third.

I stopped short and threw the knife on the floor. ‘I’m not a Bookhunter,’ I called loudly. ‘I’ve no wish to kill anyone. I need your help.’

‘Oh, sure, hence the knife.’

‘I’ve dropped it,’ I said. ‘I’ve lost my way, that’s all.’

‘He looks dangerous,’ one of the gnomes exclaimed. ‘He’s a lizard. He’s probably got some other weapons hidden under his cloak. These Bookhunters get up to some very dirty tricks.’

‘I’m a Lindworm,’ I said. ‘I’m from Lindworm Castle.’

This was the second time I’d had to make that clear to someone. These denizens of the catacombs seemed to be pretty ignorant of the outside world.

Slowly, an eye peered round a stack of books and regarded me with curiosity.