The Cracked Spine (3 page)

“If ye call me for supper, I'll bring the missus with me so ye can see that I'm not a fleysome sort of bloke.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I don't know what I'll be doing today or tonight.…”

“Aye. Just call me if ye need a ride. Supper can be whenever.” He paused. “I dinnae want tae alarm ye, we're a wonderful city, but dinnae ye roam aboot at night alone. Go with someone or be sure ye call a cab, even if 'tisna mine. Be canny now.”

“Thank you, Elias.”

“Aye, ye're welcome.” He tipped his cap.

It took much more courage than I thought it would to open the cab door and step out onto the narrow sidewalk. As Elias pulled away from the curb and drove up a short hill away from me, he honked the horn once and waved out his window. Immediately, I missed those eyes.

Then, I laughed at myself.

“Come on, Del, you can do this,” I said as I rearranged my purse strap on my shoulder and made my way toward my bold new adventure.

 

TWO

A bell above the front door jingled as I pushed through. I stepped inside and then stopped so I could inspect my new place of work. The shop was empty of customers and booksellers, which gave me a welcome and solitary moment to soak in the atmosphere. If the name of the smallest pub in Scotland had given me a sense of comfort, the interior of the bookshop sealed the fates for sure. I was right where I was supposed to be. It wasn't a museum in the strictest sense of the word, but it was
like
a museum. For books. Sort of. And in a good if messy way.

The space wasn't huge, but it wasn't necessarily cramped either, unless you took into account that each and every shelf that held books was crowded with them, stacked neatly in some places, haphazardly in other places. I gritted my teeth and told myself not to look closely at the books for a moment so I could ignore their pleas for assistance, their bookish voices, long enough to see the rest of the shop.

A desk that served as the checkout counter sat to my left. It held a short, modern cash register, a couple of newspapers, and a few wobbly stacks of books; I ignored them too, curbing the urge to at least straighten them. I didn't see a computer anywhere.

The entire shop was probably about twelve feet wide and extended back about thirty feet. There was a stained-glass window on the back wall that illustrated a set of scales piled with coins, tipping the scales to the right. Light also came in from a space to the left of the window. I thought I was seeing light from a glass door or a tall window on the back side wall but it was difficult to tell from where I stood. The high ceiling was topped off with deep and curved moldings that were painted bright yellow, and worked well with the dark wood shelves and the two large dark wood book tables placed in the middle of the shop. The floor was swirled off-white and gold linoleum, or maybe that was marble? I squelched the desire to crouch and feel it.

A ladder on wheels was attached to the shelves on the long left wall, but there wasn't a ladder attached to the right wall. I wondered about that enough to take a step to see why the right wall didn't seem to extend back all the way, but my forward movement was halted.

“Can I help you?” a lightly accented voice said from somewhere, it seemed from above.

I looked around, even behind and out the front door.

“Hello? Can I help you?” the voice said again. Not only was his accent much less pronounced than Elias's it must have been attached to someone much younger.

“I don't know where you are,” I said.

“Oh, of course. I'm up a wee bit, tae your right. You can't see me because the light fixture is in your way. Just another step or two and you'll spot me.”

I stepped forward and peered around the old brass light fixture hanging from the yellow ceiling to find a young man on a balcony. Surprisingly, he was dressed in Shakespearean clothing and stood over the wooden railing as he held open a large book and smiled down at me. He couldn't have even been twenty, and his clothing and his longish brown hair made me think I might have interrupted a performance.

“Hello,” he said. “Can I help you?” he repeated again.

“Hi. I'm Delaney Nichols. I'm a new employee.”

“You're Delaney? We weren't expecting you until tomorrow. I'm sorry. Half a moment. I'll be right down.”

He closed the book and sat it on something behind him before descending the short flight of stairs to join me on the main level. I spied more packed bookshelves along the wall behind the small balcony.

“I'm Hamlet,” he said as he extended a hand. “I work here too, well, part-time.”

Kansas girls are typically brought up a little better than to hesitate when being offered a hand to shake, but I couldn't help myself.

“Your name's Hamlet?” I said before finally returning the friendly gesture.

He laughed. “Aye, 'tis. 'Tis what my parents named me.”

“It suits you,” I said as I smiled and glanced at the large ruffled collar adorning his jacket.

Hamlet laughed again. “I know. Oddly, I'm also an actor who will be performing in a Shakespearean play in the park this afternoon, thus the costume.”

“I see. And let me guess. You'll be playing Hamlet?”

“No. Today it's Macduff. Today I get tae kill the other king. It's bad luck tae say his name but I expect you know who I mean.”

“I do, and, darnit, you just told me the ending.”

Hamlet didn't miss a beat, but waved away my false concern and said, “It's all rather confusing anyway. Mr. Shakespeare never did like tae be all that clear.”

“So true.”

I could see now that Hamlet most likely
was
still a teenager, though an older one. He was cute in the way that attracted angst-riddled teenage girls, thin with longish dark hair and intelligent brown eyes that surprisingly held only a small glimmer of artistic torture.

“Ms. Nichols, welcome tae Edinburgh. I am at yer service,” Hamlet said with a respectful nod.

“Thank you. It's wonderful to be here. I'm sorry I'm early. I couldn't wait to see the place.”

“Ye're welcome anytime.”

The pause was brief and not all that uncomfortable.

“So, do you have any idea what I'll be doing?” I said.

Hamlet blinked. “I've no idea. Edwin will probably be here soon. We'll ring him in a minute if we need tae. Can I get you a cuppa—tea or coffee? Americans like coffee, Scots do too. We have some, though it's instant. I could run next door and get something better.”

“No, I like both, but I would love a cup of tea. If you just want to point me in the direction of the kettle, I can get it myself. I don't mean to disturb your work.”

“Come along. We'll make tea together. You should get a proper tour anyway. We'll have us a little blether until Edwin arrives.”

Hamlet turned toward the stairs he'd come from. I hesitated long enough that he turned back again.

“This way,” he said with a friendly smile. “This was a bank at one time. We've got some secret hidey-holes.”

“I love hidey-holes,” I said. I hoped I liked blethers too, whatever they were.

From the spot at the bottom of the stairs, I saw that the shop's right wall didn't, in fact, extend in a straight line. Beyond the stairway and balcony was another space, set back and squared-off. It was also filled with packed bookshelves, as well as two worn leather reading chairs and a rectangular table with four wooden chairs tucked underneath it. The table was covered with books and messy stacks of paper.

I followed Hamlet up the stairs where we turned left and walked into a short hallway past the small balcony. I wondered if at one time when the bank had been in business this had been some sort of crow's nest for a security guard to watch goings-on from a higher perch.

We walked down the hallway and Hamlet opened another door. He turned to me before leading me through and said, “This is actually part of the building next door. Edwin uses this space for offices up here on this level.” He pointed down toward the bottom level. “Our kitchen, the toilet, and his warehouse are down there.”

“A book warehouse?” I said.

“Oh, well, not only for books. Edwin didn't tell you about his collections?” Hamlet said.

“No, he didn't. Frankly, we didn't talk all that much about him or the shop. We talked mostly about me,” I said.

“I see. Well, you'll find it quite fascinating, I'm sure,” Hamlet said.

I heard doubt in his voice, like either he couldn't believe that Edwin hadn't told me about the warehouse or that I hadn't asked more questions, or maybe that I'd actually find its contents fascinating. He sent me a hesitant smile as he flipped up a light switch that was attached to an exposed bulb on the high, dingy ceiling.

This side of the wall was much less welcoming than the other side. We'd come out to another balcony and set of stairs, but he ignored the office hallway and took us down to the front part of the building with the blacked-out windows. The floors here were stained, and I silently hoped they weren't made of something as nice as marble. We'd left the scents of old books and ink back on the other side. This side also held hints of those pleasant smells, but it also carried a musty aroma tinged with what I guessed were some sugary scents that had sneaked in from the bakery. The scents weren't completely unpleasant, but surprising, and along with the shadowy space they made me think of an abandoned carnival that had served its last cotton candy years earlier.

Another hallway extended down the middle of the space and to the back wall. There was a window at the back, but it wasn't stained glass. It was tall and dirty and let in some light that was only able to stretch a short few feet into the hallway.

“This first door on our right is the toilet, and the next room is our wee kitchen. The door on our left is the warehouse. It's locked but I'm sure Edwin will give you your own key.”

I looked at the warehouse door. It stood out much more than everything else. It was an imposing bright red, ornate, with carved designs and curlicues, and slightly larger than any ordinary door.

“I can't wait to see in there,” I said quietly.

Hamlet didn't respond but led us into the kitchen. There was nothing fancy about it. A round table and two chairs filled up one corner, and the far wall was filled with a couple of shelves, a small refrigerator, tea and coffee supplies, two electric kettles, and a sink under a caged-off window.

“Wait, I thought the blacked-out window space was next to the pastry shop. How is there a window to the outside on that wall?”

“Aye, yes, there's a close in between us,” Hamlet said as he reached for a kettle and held it under the faucet.

I moved next to him and looked out. “An alley?”

“Aye, a close is an alley. But we named them closes because all the buildings were so close together. There's not much space there. There are lots of tales tae go along with them. They have names, usually after someone who lived on them a long time ago or some sort of business that was located on them. This is Wardens Close. I suspect that a prison warden once lived here, but I'm not certain. Edwin will probably know.” Hamlet paused and looked at me. “You do know that Old Town Edinburgh on the Royal Mile is a city built upon another city?”

“I don't understand.”

“There's a whole maze of underground closes and tunnels below Edinburgh. Not here in Grassmarket, but the parts of Old Town up there.” He nodded toward the direction of the castle. “We'll show you around and explain it better.”

“Close. Interesting.” I looked out the window again, at the bars. “Do people try to break in?”

“Edwin's big on security. With the warehouse and all, he's awful canny, particular, about those sorts of details.”

“I'm dying to know what's in the warehouse.”

“I'm sure he'll show you right away.” Hamlet blinked. The kitchen was lit with a normal glass fixture, but it cast almost as many shadows as the exposed bulb had. I thought I saw something pinch Hamlet's eyes, but I couldn't be sure if it was the weird lighting or if something else bothered him.

“What?” I said. “There's more?”

He looked at me for a long beat and then smiled easily. “So much more, but it's all for Edwin tae share.” He turned and plugged in the kettle. He gathered two mugs, a couple of tea bags, a carton of milk out of the small fridge, and then placed the items on the table.

“Have a seat,” he said.

As I reached for one of the two chairs, the bell above the front door jingled. Or that's what I thought I heard. It was a distant but distinct ring.

“Ah, perhaps that's Edwin. Or Rosie, our other employee. Or a customer. Edwin makes appointments sometimes for something he's stored in the warehouse. I'll be right back.”

“May I come with you?”

“Of course.”

We'd barely reached this side of the wall's stairs when a high-pitched voice sounded: “Haaamlet, do come help me.”

Hamlet picked up pace and I followed suit.

A woman had stopped halfway into the store. She held numerous items and had lots of colorful scarves wound around her neck.

“Rosie, hang on; let me grab something,” Hamlet said as he quickened his pace again down the other stairs to get to her. I still kept up.

“Och, what a morning I've had. I'm sae sorry I'm tardy, but it couldnae be helped. It just couldnae be helped,” Rosie said.

“Not a problem,” Hamlet said as he took three full shopping bags from her hands. She still had other bags tucked under her arms.

“Ta, love. Aye, here, this one too. Oh, pardon me,” she said in my direction. I smiled as I revved up my weary brain so I could translate her accent, which was much stronger than Hamlet's. “I'm all a fluster in front of a customer. Apologies, lassie.”