The City of Dreaming Books (71 page)

Several Bookhunters were holding the tips of their arrows in candle flames, I saw. They must have been soaked in oil, because they caught fire at once.

Rongkong Koma was still pointing at the Shadow King. ‘I suppose you thought your treacherous attack had scared us into abandoning our profession. I’m bound to admit that my followers’ morale really did take a dive - it was all I could do to remotivate them. In the end, though, you only achieved the opposite of your intention. Now all the Bookhunters in the catacombs have banded together - under my leadership! - to put an end to you, Shadow King! We’ve never been stronger!’

The Bookhunters uttered a bellow of assent and clattered their weapons.

‘I should have killed them
all
while I had the chance,’ whispered Homuncolossus.

‘After your appearance in the Leather Grotto it was only a matter of time before you turned up here,’ Rongkong Koma went on. ‘Pfistomel Smyke guessed you would do so as soon as we told him. And here’s something else you should know before you die, Shadow King: you’re going to make us all, every last one of us, immensely rich. Once we’ve disposed of you, Smyke is allowing each of us to take as many books from this library as he can carry.’

The Bookhunters gave another yell.

‘What do Kibitzer and Inazia get out of this?’ asked Homuncolossus.

Rongkong Koma stopped short. ‘You do your only friends in Bookholm an injustice,’ he said. ‘No, they genuinely wanted to help you. The Nocturnomath and the Uggly were behaving so suspiciously, Smyke kept them under surveillance. We gave the two of them free rein. Someone had to let you into the library, after all.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ I called. ‘The Uggly can foresee everything. If she’s on our side, why should she let us to walk into a trap?’

Rongkong Koma deliberated for a while. ‘Hey, that’s a really good question! You think she foresaw you getting out of this mess after all? You think there’s still some hope for you?’

The Bookhunters roared with laughter.

He raised his hands for silence. ‘The other possibility is, it may be true what everyone says about Ugglies: that they’re a couple of books short of a library!’

Rongkong Koma positively basked in his followers’ yells of approbation. ‘
Is
there a way out?’ I asked the Shadow King in a whisper. ‘Are you in possession of some secret power you’ve been keeping from me?’

‘No,’ he replied, ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I’m strong but not invincible. One arrow and I’ll go up in flames.’

‘Then we’re done for?’

‘It seems so.’

‘Kill the Shadow King!’ Rongkong Koma commanded suddenly and the tumult died away. ‘Set him ablaze! Skewer him with a hundred flaming arrows and scatter his ashes in the labyrinth! But let the lizard live - cripple him and leave it at that. I claim Smyke’s reward for myself!’

‘You’re in luck,’ I told Homuncolossus. ‘You’ll only burn to death, whereas I’m to be crippled first and
then
killed.’

‘I don’t think you’ll be killed,’ he said.

‘What, then?’

‘Smyke has greater things in store for you. You’ll become the new Shadow King.’

That idea scared me even more than the prospect of death.

‘We’d better say goodbye,’ said Homuncolossus. ‘It’s been a pleasure and privilege knowing you.’

‘And it was an honour to be your pupil,’ I replied. ‘Even though it’s pointless now.’

The Bookhunters kindled some more arrows and took aim. Thin threads of black smoke rose into the air, which was filled with a sound like solemn humming.

‘Who’s making that noise?’ asked Homuncolossus. ‘Is it the Bookhunters? ’

‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s someone else.’

Strange, ghostly lights were appearing among the library’s vast store of books. They emerged from behind the crates and stacks of paper, the bookcases and stalagmites. There must have been hundreds of them, all slowly rising like little yellow moons. They were the eyes of cyclopean creatures, and the light in them pulsated in time to the humming that accompanied their appearance.

‘It’s the song of the Booklings,’ I said.

I
spotted Al, Wami and Dancelot Two. Dolerich Hirnfiedler and Evsko Dosti were also there, as were Rasco Elwid, Hornac de Bloaze, Perla la Gadeon, Inka Almira Rierre and many, many others. Considerably more Booklings had survived than I’d dared to hope.

The Bookhunters were thrown out of their stride. They lowered their weapons and stared at each other in bewilderment.

Rongkong Koma raised his hands in entreaty.

‘Take it easy, all of you!’ he cried. ‘It’s only those harmless dwarfs from the Leather Grotto. They aren’t even armed.’

‘I’ve heard they’re capable of witchcraft,’ shouted someone right at the back.

The Booklings stayed where they were, humming ever more loudly and insistently. I began to feel all warm and sleepy, and I could see that even the Shadow King’s head was drooping.

‘
Mmmmmmh . . .
’ went the Booklings.

One of the Bookhunters raised a crossbow loaded with a flaming bolt and aimed it at Al, who was standing nearby.

‘
Mmmmmmh . .
.’ went the Booklings.

The Bookhunter squeezed the trigger. The crossbow bolt whizzed past Al, missing him by a hand’s breadth, found its way through the slit in another Bookhunter’s helmet and hit him right between the eyes. He toppled backwards on to a stack of paper and lay still.

‘
Mmmmmmh .
. .’ went the Booklings.

A Bookhunter armed with a huge executioner’s sword raised it high above his head and decapitated the fellow warrior in front of him - the one wearing the mosaic death’s-head mask.

‘What’s going on here?’ Homuncolossus asked drowsily.

‘It’s the Booklings’ speciality,’ I said. ‘Just relax.’

‘I
am
relaxing,’ he replied.

‘
Mmmmmmh . . .
’ went the Booklings.

By now a battle was in progress such as the catacombs had never witnessed before. A contest of Bookhunter versus Bookhunter, each against all, it was fought without mercy and heedless of self-preservation. The warriors fell on each other with a contempt for death which suggested that they didn’t know the meaning of the word. Arrows whistled through the air, swords clashed, limbs were lopped off, axes bisected helmets and the heads inside them. And, in the midst of it all, the motionless Booklings kept up their peaceful humming.

‘This is the most incredible sight I’ve ever seen,’ Homuncolossus mumbled.

‘It’s the cyclopean song that’s doing it,’ I said thickly. ‘Think yourself lucky you aren’t a Murch.’

‘
Mmmmmmh . . .
’ went the Booklings.

Hargo the Humungous stove in Iguriak Dooma’s skull with a nail-studded club. Roggnald of Lake Blood transfixed Boolba the Heart-Eater’s throat with his spear. Tibor Zakkori’s helmet went up in flames because his hair had caught fire. Urchgard the Uncouth was slain with ice axes by the Botulus Twins.

I had no idea whether those Bookhunters were really called that. I simply made up the names while dazedly watching them at their mutual butchery. In any case, their real names would soon be forgotten.

‘
Mmmmmmh . . .
’ went the Booklings.

The din of battle was already subsiding, to be replaced by the groans and moans of the dying. Very few Bookhunters remained on their feet. One by one the last of them sank to their knees or toppled over like felled trees.

Only Rongkong Koma was still standing on his balustraded platform. He hadn’t budged an inch throughout this time.

‘
Mmmmmmh . . .
’ went the Booklings and their humming increased in volume.

Rongkong Koma drew his gigantic sword-cum-battleaxe from its sheath.

‘
Mmmmmmh .
. .’ went the Booklings.

He hurled the weapon high into the air. It gleamed as it rotated in the candlelight.

‘
Mmmmmmh . .
.’ went the Booklings.

He bent over and bowed his head.

‘
Mmmmmmh .
. .’ went the Booklings.

The blade came down, severing Rongkong Koma’s head from his body as neatly as a guillotine. It fell over the balustrade and landed in a basketful of books, but his body took two or three steps backwards, blundered into a heavy wooden chair, flopped down on it and sat there motionless.

The battle was over.

‘
Mmmmmmh .
. .’ The Booklings’ humming slowly died away.

I awoke from my trance. Beside me, Homuncolossus shook his head in a daze. The Booklings crowded round us, but they seemed to be in a distressed, exhausted condition.

Al, Wami and Dancelot Two elbowed their way over to me.

‘Phew . . .’ said Al. His breathing was laboured and asthmatic. ‘So you, er . . . made it.’

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘So near the surface, I mean?’ I well remembered Al telling me that the oxygen-rich atmosphere in the upper reaches of the catacombs didn’t suit them.

‘We . . . followed the Bookhunters . . . after the attack on the Grotto,’ Al wheezed.

‘Each Bookhunter . . . was trailed by . . . one detachment of us,’ Wami chimed in, also breathing with difficulty. ‘We planned to wait until they . . . reassembled somewhere and then . . . dispose of them all at once.’

‘Our opportunity came here . . . in the library,’ Dancelot Two went on. ‘They’re good at hiding . . . but we’re better.’

‘We can hardly breathe,’ gasped Al. ‘We must get back below . . . as soon as possible.’

The Booklings round us were listening like a bunch of patients in a tuberculosis sanatorium. The light in their eyes had dimmed alarmingly.

‘The Leather Grotto has been cleared,’ I said. ‘You can go back there.
He
did it.’ I pointed to the Shadow King.

‘We know,’ said Al. ‘We heard the Bookhunters . . . talking about it. We wanted to express . . . our gratitude.’

‘You already did,’ said Homuncolossus. ‘And how!’ He gave the gnomes an appreciative bow.

‘What . . . do you intend to do now?’ asked Dancelot Two.

‘Make for the surface,’ Homuncolossus replied.

‘We still have a giant to slay,’ I added.

‘Be careful,’ said Al. ‘From all I’ve heard . . . the person you plan to tackle is . . . a veritable ogre.’

‘You’d better be going now,’ I said, ‘before you all die of asphyxia.’

‘But first we’d like to . . . introduce someone,’ said Dancelot Two. He beckoned to the back of the crowd.

The gnomes stepped aside and thrust a tiny Bookling towards me. Pale green in colour, he was shuffling timidly from foot to foot.

‘Who’s this?’ I asked.

‘It’s . . . Optimus Yarnspinner,’ Al wheezed. ‘Our youngest.’

That was too much. My eyes filled with tears.

‘But I haven’t written anything yet,’ I sobbed.

‘We’re . . . counting on you,’ said Al. ‘We await your first book with . . . the keenest anticipation.’ He took the little creature by the hand.

I turned away and walked off in silence with the Shadow King. I couldn’t have endured a grand farewell scene.

‘Always remember,’ Dancelot Two called after me: