The City of Dreaming Books (44 page)

Al gave me an anxious look and it occurred to me, too, that reading the manuscript might be too much for him. At length the Vulphead lowered the sheaf of paper and just sat there for a while, breathing stertorously.

‘Thank you,’ he said at last. ‘It’s the finest piece of writing I’ve ever been privileged to read.’

‘Have you any idea who the author could be?’

‘No, but I can understand why Smyke banished you to the underworld. It’s too good for the world above.’

Regenschein handed back the manuscript and I pocketed it again.

‘May I ask you a question?’ I said.

He nodded.

‘Forgive me, but I simply can’t restrain my curiosity. Your quest for the Shadow King - was it successful in any way? Did you see him?’

A faraway look came into Regenschein’s eyes.

‘See him? No, but I’ve often heard him. Once I even touched him.’

‘You touched him but didn’t see him?’

‘Yes, in the dark, when he saved me from being crushed to death by a bookcase Rongkong Koma had overturned on top of me. I managed to catch hold of him for a moment, and . . . Aleisha, kindly pass me that little casket beside the bed.’

Al handed him a small black box. Regenschein opened the lid and held it out. ‘I tore those off his clothing.’

I looked into the box. Lying inside were some little scraps of paper covered with indecipherable symbols.

‘One moment,’ I said. I felt in my pockets and pulled out a few of the pieces of paper that had shown me the way to Bookling territory. I held them alongside the ones in the casket. They were identical.

‘These scraps of paper guided me to the Booklings,’ I said. ‘They formed a trail through the labyrinth.’

‘In that case,’ Regenschein said excitedly, ‘you, too, have encountered the Shadow King!’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It must have been he who saved me from Hunk Hoggno.’

Regenschein looked amazed. ‘You fell into Hoggno’s hands and lived to tell the tale?’

‘Somebody cut off his head in the dark.’

‘Typical of the Shadow King. It seems we both owe him our lives.’

‘That’s all very nice for you two,’ Al put in. ‘Personally, I’m alarmed that he knows the location of our secret headquarters.’

‘I don’t think you need worry about that,’ said Regenschein.

‘Have you any idea what his big secret is?’ I asked.

‘His frightful appearance, perhaps,’ Regenschein replied quietly. ‘On the other hand, he may wish to conceal the fact that he doesn’t look as frightful as we suspect.’

‘Like us,’ said Al. ‘Our fearsome reputation is a tremendous asset.’

Regenschein sat up even straighter. ‘But we aren’t here to chat about the Shadow King. You want to know how to get out of here, don’t you, Yarnspinner?’

‘Well,’ I said cautiously, ‘it would be very helpful.’

‘Good, then I may be able to assist you. But let me say something first, and please listen closely.’

I leant forwards and pricked my ears.

‘You’ll only be safe -
really
safe, I mean - if you stay down here with the Booklings. No route through the catacombs is without its dangers and even if you make it to the surface you could be killed the instant you see daylight. Is that clear?’

‘Because of Smyke, you mean?’

‘You wouldn’t get two streets from the exit. Judging by what Smyke told me before he banished me to the underworld, the situation looks like this: you and I are in the most closely guarded prison in Zamonia and Smyke has slammed the lid on us. And woe betide you if you lift it. The whole of Bookholm is swarming with spies, all of whom work for him.’

‘Perhaps I’ll be lucky.’

‘Yes, perhaps. Perhaps you’ll be lucky and Smyke’s accomplices will all be smitten with blindness just as you crawl out of a sewer.’

‘I could disguise myself and slip away under cover of darkness.’

‘Look at it this way. You’re a lucky devil: you’re alive! You could have been killed by Bookhunters or devoured by Spinxxxxes. There are a thousand different ways of meeting a horrible end in the catacombs. Instead, you’ve landed up in a snug, safe place whose inhabitants revere literature. You’re an author and authors can write anywhere. You’ll get used to the food and the poor atmospheric conditions. You’ll forget about sunlight and fresh air. Well, not altogether, but you’ll think about them less and less often as time goes by.’

‘Is there or isn’t there a way out?’ I demanded impatiently. After all, Regenschein himself had said that his time was short.

‘Very well, since you seem genuinely determined. But I’ll say it one more time: this route isn’t safe either - nothing in the catacombs of Bookholm is really safe - but no Bookhunter knows of it. It’s too cramped to accommodate any large and dangerous creatures. There are no intersections, so you can’t get lost, and it leads straight to the surface.’

‘Where does it come out?’

‘It doesn’t go all the way to the surface, but near enough. The city is already audible from there.’

‘That sounds like a genuine possibility.’

‘It’s a long climb, but you’ll get out in the end if you stay the course.’

‘Why haven’t you used this route?’

‘Do I look as if I’m capable of a long climb?’

I made no response.

‘The real problem will arise if you try to leave the city. Bookhunters will be after you. There’s bound to be a price on your head, just as there is on mine. You’ll yearn to be back in the catacombs - you’ll wish you’d remained here with the Booklings.’ Regenschein heaved a sigh. ‘Well, that’s what I wanted to tell you. There’s still time to reconsider your decision. Personally, I wouldn’t stake a dog-eared paperback on your chances of survival once you’ve left Bookling territory.’

I gazed into his bloodshot eyes.

‘Would
you
risk it if you could make the climb?’ I asked.

The Bookhunter sat up straighter still and grabbed my arm, eyes shining. ‘You can bet your Lindworm’s life on it!’ he gasped. ‘I certainly would, with my last ounce of strength! It would be worth it just to feel sunlight on my fur again, to fill my lungs with a single breath of fresh air.’

‘Then please tell me how to find this route.’

‘Aleisha,’ said Regenschein, ‘you’d have to guide him to the mouth of the shaft. It’s outside your territory. Would you do that?’

‘Of course,’ Al replied, ‘as long as it’s not too far up. I don’t like the idea, but if that’s what you both want . . .’

‘Then listen closely,’ said Regenschein. ‘It’s a natural shaft of volcanic origin. Not too far off, just a day’s walk.’

I leant towards him with my authorial godfather’s admonition ringing in my head:

‘
The last words of a dying man on the point of imparting a sensational revelation - make a note of that literary device, it’s a guaranteed cliffhanger! No reader can resist it
!’

He was about to go on when the chain curtain over the mouth of the cave jangled and a Bookling dashed in. We all turned to look. It was Lugo Blah, the demented Gagaist who kept pursuing me with his eccentric poems.

‘The Leather Grotto’s on fire!’ he gasped. ‘It’s the Bookhunters - they’re killing anyone that gets in their way!’

‘Push off, Lugo,’ Al said brusquely. ‘This isn’t the time for one of your jokes.’

Instead of complying, Lugo tottered over to the bed and raised his arms. I was afraid he was about to unleash one of his crazy poems on me when he collapsed at our feet. There was an iron crossbow bolt protruding from his back. Al hurriedly bent over him, then looked up at us with tears in his single eye.

‘He’s dead,’ he said.

Regenschein stiffened. ‘Run for it!’ he cried. ‘Don’t wait, save yourselves! It’s me they’ve come for. They’ll go away as soon as they’ve got me.’

‘We’re not leaving you,’ said Al.

‘But I’m as good as dead anyway!’ Regenschein said hoarsely. ‘Get going!’

‘Out of the question,’ Al told him. ‘You’ll outlive us all.’

‘You’re a cussed devil, Aleisha,’ Regenschein growled. He smoothed the covers down and seemed to deliberate for a moment. Then he said, in a surprisingly firm voice, ‘Very well, you leave me no choice. I shall have to die.’ And he sank back against the pillows with a sigh.

‘What are you doing?’ Al demanded anxiously.

‘I just told you,’ said Regenschein. ‘I’m dying.’

‘No you don’t!’ cried Al. ‘You can’t simply die of your own free will, no one can!’

‘
I
can,’ the Bookhunter said defiantly. ‘I’m Colophonius Regenschein, Bookholm’s greatest hero. I’ve done plenty of things no one thought I could do.’

He shut his eyes, uttered a final sigh and stopped breathing.

‘Colophonius!’ cried Al. ‘Don’t be silly!’

For a while, total silence reigned. I rested a hesitant paw on the Bookhunter’s heart.

‘It’s stopped beating,’ I said. ‘Colophonius Regenschein has died for our sake.’

C
olophonius Regenschein had taken his knowledge of an escape route from the catacombs to the hereafter with him, but there was no time for me to lament that fact. The Booklings’ domain was in dire peril - the Bookhunters had invaded it! We set off at once for the Leather Grotto.

‘Do you have any weapons?’ I asked Al as we hurried back along the tunnels.

‘No.’

‘None at all?’

‘Not unless you include paperknives,’ he said. ‘The most we’ve got are a few pickaxes and shovels.’

‘I . . . smell . . .’ a deep voice boomed at us from round the next bend. We stopped short and froze.

‘I . . . smell . . .’ the voice boomed again. ‘I . . . smell . . . Vulphead flesh!’

Without a word, Al pulled me into the nearest unoccupied cave dwelling. We cowered down in its darkest corner and watched the entrance, which was lit only by a single candle in the passage outside. Something was approaching with ponderous tread - something that cast a big, bulky shadow. Then we saw a terrifying figure slink past. It was of immense size and had a black face in which, to my horror, three eyes could be seen. Bizarre pieces of jewellery consisting of dozens of shrunken death’s-heads adorned its lank hair and dangled from its neck. The monster came to a halt and sniffed the air, then slowly turned its head in our direction. I felt sure it could smell us in the darkness, but instead of pouncing on us it grinned for an instant and continued on its way.

‘I . . . smell . . . Vulphead flesh!’ the figure growled again. ‘Are you there, Colophonius? I’ve come to settle some unfinished business!’

The shadow disappeared and the footsteps receded, but we remained in the cave until we were absolutely sure the sinister intruder had turned down one of the side passages.

‘Was that a Bookhunter?’ I asked softly.

‘Far worse,’ Al whispered. ‘That was Rongkong Koma himself.’

‘Why doesn’t he wear a mask?’

‘Rongkong Koma is the only Bookhunter who doesn’t need one. His real face is more horrific than any mask.’

The Bookling slipped out of the cave without waiting for my reaction. I sighed, rose to my feet and followed him.