The City of Dreaming Books (70 page)

‘The route to the Smykean family library,’ said Kibitzer. ‘Would that do?’

‘You know how to get there?’

‘I didn’t build the labyrinth myself,’ he said, ‘but I completely renovated it three years ago.’

‘A
re you sure we can trust them?’ Homuncolossus asked, loudly enough to be heard with ease by Kibitzer and the Uggly, who were walking on ahead.

‘Who
can
be trusted down here?’ I rejoined.

‘I can,’ said Homuncolossus. ‘For instance, when I vow to rip the brains out of anyone who tries to hoodwink me. Even if he possesses three of them.’

Kibitzer gave an agonised groan. ‘I know what a burden of guilt we’re carrying,’ he said, ‘but we really mean to do our utmost to make up for it. At least give us a chance to do so.’

‘What choice do we have?’ I asked Homuncolossus. ‘Have you a better idea?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Here we are,’ said Kibitzer, coming to a halt.

We looked around. There was nothing special about this narrow passage lined with books.

Kibitzer half withdrew an unremarkable-looking book from the shelves and stepped back. The spine of the book opened to reveal a glass mechanism.

‘That’s the lock of the labyrinth,’ said the Nocturnomath. ‘And I have the key that fits it.’

‘There’s a key to the labyrinth?’ Homuncolossus asked.

‘Every labyrinth needs a key,’ Kibitzer replied. ‘Sometimes it exists only in the mind of its inventor. In this case it’s a
Nightingalian impossibility key.
’

He felt in his pocket and removed a tiny object. We had to bend down to see it at all. It seemed to consist of glass or crystal, but for some absurd reason it defied close examination however hard I looked. I can’t put it any other way: that key was a sheer impossibility.

‘Fascinating, isn’t it?’ Kibitzer asked in a dreamy voice. ‘I cut it myself out of a single diamond, following the instructions in Nightingale’s manuals.’

The Nocturnomath inserted the tiny key in the glass lock.

‘I used it to activate the mechanical labyrinth after renovating it. Now I can deactivate it. Watch!’

He turned the key. The glass mechanism emitted a series of melodious clicks and ticks and the passage began to move. Bookcases slid forwards and sideways, rotated 180 degrees or changed places. Within seconds the passage looked completely different. Even if one had memorised a few details, none of them would now be in the same location.

‘That’s the whole secret,’ said Kibitzer. ‘Every passage automatically reconstructs itself once you’ve walked along it. The mechanism has now been turned off.’

‘It’s even more ingenious than Shadowhall Castle,’ Homuncolossus said admiringly.

‘Shadowhall Castle?’ Kibitzer asked eagerly. ‘You mean it really exists?’

‘It’s a ventilation system,’ I said.

The two booksellers stared at me.

‘Er, yes, it’s a ventilation system installed by a giant with a hundred noses,’ I tried to explain. ‘It’s inhabited by Animatomes and Weeping Shadows, and - oh, all right, forget it!’

They nodded, looking relieved.

‘Right,’ said Kibitzer, ‘the labyrinth has now been delabyrinthised. You need only follow your noses and sooner or later you’ll come out in Smyke’s family library. Then our job will be done.’

‘Good,’ said Homuncolossus. He removed the Nightingalian impossibility key from the lock, threw it on the ground and stamped on it. ‘Just to be on the safe side,’ he said. ‘Now we’re quits. Goodbye.’ He turned to go.

‘One moment!’ Inazia called. ‘Are you really sure you want to go there?’

‘Is there any alternative?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not saying this because I want to stop you - destiny is unstoppable - but I’ve foreseen your future. And believe me, it wasn’t a pretty sight.’

‘I know what my future looks like,’ Homuncolossus said firmly. ‘We’re going.’

I nodded.

‘As you wish.’ The Uggly heaved a deep sigh. ‘In that case, Kibitzer, we must hurry back and leave Bookholm at once.’

‘Why?’ asked Kibitzer.

‘Because it’s our destiny,’ said the Uggly. She took him by the arm and dragged him away.

I
t was a thoroughly agreeable sensation, dear readers, walking through a delabyrinthised labyrinth after spending so much time in labyrinths that functioned only too well. No confusing intersections, no dead ends, no more racking one’s brains as to which turning to take, just a winding passage that would sooner or later bring us to our destination.

‘Have you kept that will somewhere safe?’ I asked Homuncolossus.

‘I have,’ he replied.

I forbore to ask where someone without any clothes or pockets would keep an object as tiny as an eyelash ‘safe’.

‘What will you do to Smyke when we see him?’ I pursued.

‘I shall kill him.’

‘I’m not sure that’s the best form of punishment for him,’ I said. ‘Do you really think it’s appropriate? He tormented you far more ingeniously. He locked you up in a dungeon and threw away the key. You could pay him back in the same coin.’

‘I know what you’re getting at,’ said Homuncolossus, ‘but you’re wasting your breath. My mind is made up.’ He raised his head. ‘Do you smell that?’

We came to a halt and I sniffed the air. ‘Old books,’ I said. ‘So what?’

‘A large number of old books,’ said Homuncolossus.

I took another sniff.

‘A very, very large number of very, very old books,’ I said.

We quickened our pace. When we rounded the next bend we were confronted by a spacious cave overgrown with stalactites and stalagmites. Lined with books and generously lit by numerous candles, it was clearly an annexe of the Smykean family library.

‘We must make for the central cave,’ said Homuncolossus.

We traversed several more caves, each bigger and more brightly lit than the last. The candlelight conveyed the reassuring impression that they were outposts of civilisation, but I knew only too well that we were nearing the nerve centre of Pfistomel Smyke’s budding empire.

And then, at long last, we entered the central cave. I almost wept at the sight. The library of the Smykes! This was where my troubles had begun and this was where everything would end. Well, not everything, or so I hoped, but at least Pfistomel Smyke’s reign of terror. The library looked just as it had when the Toxicotome knocked me out: the countless shelves hewn into the rock, the wooden and iron bookcases as tall as bell towers, the incredibly long ladders, the barrels, crates and massive piles of ancient volumes. And there - yes, there was the Toxicotome! It still lay open on the ground where I had dropped it. Smyke hadn’t even bothered to put it away.

‘What a waste,’ Homuncolossus said contemptuously. ‘To think of this intellectual treasure chamber. in the hands of a criminal!’

‘It could be yours,’ I whispered, ‘if you go about it the right way. Legally, I mean.’

We surveyed the subterranean mountain range of books, still overwhelmed by its sheer extent. Then I gave a start: one of the untidy mounds of books appeared to be stirring. I thought it was some Animatomes that had somehow found their way here and been awakened by our presence, but it was just a few ordinary books slithering to the ground. Less reassuring was the fact that the mound continued to stir.

‘Homuncolossus!’ I hissed.

He had noticed the same thing long ago and was watching intently. Book after book slid to the ground. Moments later a figure emerged from the summit of the mound. It was a Bookhunter! He was dressed from head to foot in black leather, wore a mosaic death’s-head mask and was armed with a heavy crossbow, which he levelled at us. It was the one who had threatened to hack off my paws in Bookholm’s black market.

Not far from him a second Bookhunter emerged from another pile of books. His armour was made entirely of brass and he was fitting an arrow into the string of the huge bow he carried.

And then the process was repeated in quick succession. A big barrel of books started to sway, toppled over and disgorged another Bookhunter, likewise armed to the teeth. The books in one of the rock-hewn bookcases fell out, shelf after shelf of them, and on each shelf lay a Bookhunter. Seven tall bookcases butted up against the wall of the cave fell forward, one after another, to reveal two armed figures standing behind each. Like a corpse arising from a coffin, a mailed warrior emerged from the midst of an untidy heap of tattered volumes on a big wooden table.

There were far more Bookhunters than there had been in the Leather Grotto - scores of them, in fact. Numbering well over a hundred, they probably included every surviving Bookhunter in the catacombs.

Finally, a heap of yellowed parchment scrolls enclosing an enormous stalagmite collapsed and a mighty cloud of dust went billowing into the air. When the dust subsided, there stood Rongkong Koma, the most fearsome Bookhunter of all. He had put on an especially festive-looking suit of red-lacquered armour but wore no helmet as usual. His frightful face wore a triumphant smile.

‘Welcome,’ he called to me. ‘It’s a long time since we saw each other. You’re looking well. You’ve lost weight.’

He rested his hands on the hilt of his weapon, a monstrous cross between an axe and a sword, which was stuck in a broad leather belt. Then he mounted a wooden platform that afforded a clear view of the library.

He pointed to Homuncolossus. ‘That creature beside you - that ugly monster - can only be the Shadow King. It’s good to see you at last, Shadow King! We’ve only met in the dark until now. What a hideous gargoyle you are!’

‘I should have killed him while I had the chance,’ Homuncolossus muttered.

‘My Bookhunters weren’t prepared for your cowardly attack on the Leather Grotto,’ called Rongkong Koma. ‘But we’re all the readier for you this time and we’re ten times as many.’