The City of Dreaming Books (58 page)

As for the Weeping Shadows, I was never sure if they registered my presence at all, or if
their
presence occupied another dimension that happened to coincide with ours at the point where Shadowhall Castle was located. From time to time I would glimpse one gliding through the eternal twilight, sobbing. Then my heart became heavy and I welcomed its disappearance.

Once, when I was lying sleepless in the semi-darkness, one of them entered the room and enshrouded me in its shadowy self with a sigh. Paralysed with fear at first, I soon became weary and dozed off. I dreamt of a city whose curious buildings were composed of the most unusual materials - cloud or flame, ice or rain - until it occurred to me that these were the imaginary edifices of which the Shadow King had dreamt in his childhood. Then I awoke to find the shadow gone.

Whether a guest or a prisoner, I was quite uninterested in leaving Shadowhall Castle ‘unaided’. Once outside, where would I have gone? Back into the domain of the Harpyrs and Bookhunters, or still deeper - if that were possible - into the catacombs?

If anyone could show me the way back to Bookholm, it was Homuncolossus himself, so I racked my brains on those endless, lonely excursions for some way of persuading him to guide me back to the surface. I was in an extremely weak negotiating position, admittedly, because I had nothing to offer in return but gratitude. What good would that be to him? It would only reopen old wounds and rekindle his hatred of Pfistomel Smyke. He would watch me ascending to freedom, whereas he himself would have to return to the darkness below. From the Shadow King’s point of view, not a good bargain.

I kept wondering what he really wanted of me. Why did he tolerate me, of all living creatures endowed with speech, in his palace populated by Animatomes and Weeping Shadows? Why had he told me his story?

One thing was certain: I would never succeed in leaving Shadowhall Castle, that place of windowless exile, without his help.

What did that remind me of? Of course, a passage in Colophonius Regenschein’s book. All at once, I perceived a thoroughly realistic way of helping Homuncolossus to resume life on the surface of Bookholm. Regenschein had devised the solution a long time ago. Yes, that could be the answer, the incentive Homuncolossus needed. But first he would have to reappear so that I could submit my plan.

T
owards the end of the fourth day (if one could speak of days in the catacombs; I simply counted the periods during which I was awake as days and the hours I spent asleep as nights) I found Homuncolossus in the dining hall where my frugal repasts were customarily left out for me. The spacious room was lit by only a few candles, the way he liked it. He was seated at one of the tables with a key, a jug and a glass in front of him. One or two Animatomes were scurrying around at his feet.

‘Good evening,’ I said.

He gave me a long, silent stare.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said at length. ‘Good evening. It’s an age since I heard anyone say that. I never know for sure if it’s morning, noon or night. Time means little down here. Nothing at all, in fact. Here, this food is for you. Sit down.’

He pushed a bowl of root vegetables towards me, also the water jug and glass.

‘Tell me,’ he said when I was seated, ‘in your opinion, how many days have elapsed since our last meeting?’

‘About four,’ I replied.

‘Four?’ he exclaimed in astonishment. ‘And I thought it was only one! I really have lost all sense of time.’

He reached beneath the table and produced a bottle. ‘Would you care for a glass of wine with your meal?’

‘Wine?’ I repeated, rather embarrassed by the tremor of excitement in my tone. I pulled myself together. ‘Yes, some wine would be nice,’ I said, doing my best to speak in a calm, steady voice.

He poured me a glass of red wine, and only iron self-control prevented me from draining it at a gulp. I took a sip. The wine tasted more delicious than any I’d ever drunk.

‘Excellent!’ I said, smacking my lips. I took another sip - a bigger one.

‘Forgive me if I don’t join you,’ said Homuncolossus, ‘but I seldom touch alcohol. The fact is, I’ve been a trifle tipsy ever since that bottle of Comet Wine started flowing through my veins. Even another two or three glasses might send me into a state fit only for the company of Bookhunters.’

‘A state of bloodlust, you mean?’ I quipped inanely, already emboldened by the few drops of wine I’d drunk.

‘That’s one way of putting it. Your health!’

‘Thank you.’ I took another sip and relaxed still more. ‘How does one get hold of wine down here?’ I asked.

‘You can obtain anything in the catacombs if you know how. This wine comes from Rongkong Koma’s personal cellar.’

I nearly choked. ‘The Bookhunter? You know his hideaway?’

‘Of course. I pay his cave a visit now and then. I turn the place upside down, steal a few books and some wine, bend his iron arrows, block up his source of drinking water and so on. It drives him crazy.’

‘Why have you spared his life?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps because Smyke was so insistent on my killing him. If Smyke is afraid of him, I told myself, he may come in handy some day.’

‘Rongkong Koma cut off Regenschein’s head,’ I said.

Homuncolossus sprang to his feet. I recoiled at the sudden movement.

‘Koma killed Regenschein?’ His voice reverberated round the dining hall, so loudly that the Animatomes scuttled off and hid beneath the other tables.

‘No, he cut off his head when he was already dead. Regenschein killed himself. He simply stopped living.’

‘He did that?’ Homuncolossus sat down again.

‘Yes. It was the most remarkable feat of will-power I’ve ever witnessed.’ Homuncolossus brooded in silence for a while. ‘What happened? How did Rongkong Koma get into the Leather Grotto?’

‘I’ve no idea. He raided it with a lot of other Bookhunters. They slaughtered some of the Booklings and drove the rest away. The Leather Grotto is now in their hands, I’m afraid.’

Homuncolossus fidgeted impatiently. ‘That’s bad,’ he said. ‘The Leather Grotto was one of the last bastions of civilisation in the catacombs. The Booklings took good care of it.’

‘I know. You guided me to them. Why?’

‘I’ve been observing them for a long time. They’re the only folk in the catacombs who don’t do business with the Bookhunters. I’m surprised the Bookhunters found the Leather Grotto. Still, I suppose it had to happen one day.’

‘What drew your attention to me, of all people?’ I enquired.

Homuncolossus laughed. ‘I’m surprised you ask. You’ve been behaving like a bull in a china shop ever since you entered the catacombs. I was on one of my reconnaissance trips when you fell into Goldenbeard’s clumsy trap and brought down half the labyrinth with you. They must have heard it up in Bookholm.’

I hung my head.

‘Then you landed with a crash in the rubbish dump and woke up all its inhabitants including that megaworm. I’ve been watching you ever since you crawled out of Unholm. I thought you were done for when the Spinxxxx captured you, but then Hoggno rescued you.’

‘You wouldn’t have?’

‘Probably not. I didn’t find you sufficiently interesting at the time.’

‘So why did you save me from Hoggno?’

‘I’d been eavesdropping on your conversation. You’d suddenly gone up in my estimation.’

‘Why?’

‘What is this, an interrogation?’

‘Forgive me.’

‘The next time I heard you I was on patrol near Shadowhall. It was that diabolical cry you gave on the Rusty Gnomes’ Bookway. Everyone in the catacombs must have heard it. That’s how I knew you were in trouble again.’

I felt thoroughly ashamed. From his point of view, I really had behaved like a total idiot since entering the catacombs.

‘May I ask
you
a question for a change?’ he demanded.

I nodded.

‘What brought you to Bookholm?’

I felt in my pockets for the manuscript and put it on the table. I had really wanted to save it for a more dramatic moment. ‘This,’ I said.

‘I thought as much,’ said Homuncolossus.

‘You knew I had it on me?’

‘I searched you while you were asleep, just before you encountered the Booklings.’

‘I remember. I dreamt of you that time.’

‘No wonder.’ He grinned. ‘I’d never been so close to you before. You must have been able to smell me.’

‘Did you really write this?’ I asked. ‘If so, you’re the greatest writer of all time.’

‘No,’ said Homuncolossus. ‘It was written by someone I ceased to be a long time ago.’

‘But I left Lindworm Castle in search of the person who could write like this.’

‘That’s really sad, my friend,’ said Homuncolossus. ‘You set off on a long and perilous journey, only to find that the person you sought has long been dead.’

On that note he got up from the table and left the room. The Animatomes gathered at my feet, squeaking expectantly. With a sigh, I tossed them the remains of my meal and proceeded to finish off the delicious wine. I had forgotten to tell Homuncolossus about my splendid plan. My courage had simply failed me.

I
awoke the next day with a curious buzzing in my head. The Aeolian music, the rising and falling walls, the scurrying Animatomes - all these things were starting to grate on my nerves. My one desire was to get away from this godforsaken castle and its lord and master, a demented phantom who had probably left his wits behind with his former existence. But I, too, seemed to have checked my brain on entering Shadowhall Castle. I was beginning to develop an affection for this paper monster, this serial murderer and universally anathematised ghost. I was becoming inured to self-propelled walls, Weeping Shadows and scurrying Animatomes! It was high time for me to leave.

I no longer wandered aimlessly through the castle’s halls and chambers but deliberately looked for an exit, tried to memorise the rooms’ special features, the number of tables and chairs, the location of the fireplaces, the nature of the ceilings, the height of the doors. I spent the entire day roaming around to no avail, only to totter back to the dining hall, where Homuncolossus and my supper were awaiting me.

Tonight, in addition to the usual eating utensils, the table was piled high with books. The candle that reposed on them lit up the Shadow King’s paper mask more brightly than usual. There was no wine this time; I could tell from the two empty bottles at my host’s feet that he had already polished it off.

‘You’re late,’ he said thickly. He was drunk and in a sombre, possibly even dangerous mood.

‘I’ve been looking for something,’ I replied.

‘I know. You didn’t find it, though.’ He gave an unpleasant laugh.

‘Very funny,’ I said, tucking into my bowl of insipid underworld vegetables.