The Burning Page

‘Get it off, darling!’ Zayanna pointed at Irene’s coat. ‘Quick. There’s something on the back . . .’

Where Alberich touched me . . . With the speed of sheer panic, Irene shrugged her coat off and dropped it on the floor. There was a patch of mould on the shoulder, shaped something like a handprint and visibly spreading. She shuddered in disgust, then tried to squint over her shoulder to see her back. ‘Is it still there – did it seep through?’

‘I think a bit got through onto that robe thing,’ Zayanna said, inspecting it. She pursed her lips as Irene discarded that as well. ‘All right, darling, I think you’re clean. It’s a good thing you’re wearing so many layers.’

The mould was growing faster now, colonizing the overcoat in vile streaks of grey and white, the same shade as the bone-coloured books on this room’s shelves. ‘We have to keep moving,’ Irene said. ‘If I don’t use the Language and if we don’t stay in one place, it’ll take him longer to find us. I think. I hope.’

‘I can’t think why it’s taking him so long as it is,’ Zayanna said as they ran down the stairs, following the book’s tugging. The clock in the distance seemed to be sounding a counterpoint to their running steps, its steady tick like a constant pursuit. ‘If he can see everything in here, why can’t he just reach out and squish us?’

‘I’m not sure, but I’m not going to complain.’ The book led them to the right, then three rooms along straight, then down again. The tugging was stronger now. ‘I think we’re closer.’

‘You realize this could all be a trap.’ Zayanna’s tone was more speculative than nervous.

‘Some things are worth risking a trap for.’

‘For you, darling.’ Zayanna glanced at the violet-bound books they were passing, then shrugged. ‘I’m a people-person, not a book-hunter.’

‘It’d be nice if I could be just a book-hunter.’ Irene was on edge, twitching at every creak or groan from an overloaded bookshelf, eyeing the shadows nervously in each new room. The clock seemed louder now, each separate tick a footstep of oncoming doom. ‘I was happy when it was just books!’

‘Were you?’ Zayanna shrugged. ‘I’m no judge, darling, but you seemed to me to be having a perfectly splendid time getting along with those friends of yours back there. I wonder if we’ll ever see them again?’ The question was casual rather than serious, toying with the idea, rather than actually worrying about it.

‘I have spent most of my life preferring books to people,’ Irene said sharply. ‘Just because I like a few specific people doesn’t change anything.’

‘Do you like me?’

Common sense urged Irene to say of course and reassure Zayanna. But she was justifiably bitter over those multiple murder attempts and the fact that Zayanna was complicit in Alberich’s attempt to destroy the Library. All reason supported a tart response: after all, Why on earth should I like someone who’d do that? Finally Irene said, ‘More than I should.’

The next room was ominous: it was the first one they’d come to so far where the books were all bound in black. It had no staircase and only two doorways: the one they’d come through, and another on the far side of the room.

‘This looks terribly exciting,’ Zayanna said.

‘Not my chosen adjective.’ Irene stepped forward to the far door. ‘Be prepared for anything.’

She prodded it with the orange-bound book that she was still holding.

Rather to her surprise, the door swung open at once. There was a wide-open space beyond, a terrain clustered with freestanding bookshelves, which ranged in height from waist-high to multiple-storey. In the distance, perhaps half a mile away, she could see an openwork tangle of stairs and points of light. The entire space was huge – larger than she had thought could be contained inside the beehive network they’d come through. It extended to either side. And as she looked up, she thought she could see bookshelves hanging from the ceiling incredibly high above. A blood-red light from some unseen source of illumination filled the place, gleaming on the dark wooden floor. The clock’s tick rang in the background, imperceptibly faster.

‘There is no way there isn’t going to be some sort of alarm,’ Irene said softly. ‘We’ll have to go fast and quiet.’

‘Where?’

‘To the centre, where else?’

‘He’ll be expecting us to go there.’

‘That’s our hard luck.’ Irene took a deep breath, tucked the book under her arm and crossed the threshold.

The sound was like a thousand dentist drills biting into a thousand innocent teeth. It shook the whole area, and jarred painfully in the ears. Books clattered down from their shelves: the ones falling from a greater height tumbled like startled birds, in a flurry of bright covers and pale pages which ended in a sudden crash against the floor. Irene reluctantly gave up on any hope of stealth, and simply ran.

‘Surprise,’ Alberich said from behind her.

Irene turned in time to see a set of shelves as high as a Georgian mansion falling towards her. It didn’t move with the speed of normal gravity, but like the finger of someone’s hand being folded down to touch their palm. Its shadow blocked out the red light, and there was no time left to dodge, no time to use the Language—

Zayanna shoved into her from behind, throwing her forward. Irene lost her balance and went tumbling, rolling forward frantically in an attempt to keep moving and avoid that terrible impact. Then the bookcase hit the floor, and the concussion of the blow knocked her another ten feet. She came to a painful halt against the base of another bookcase. Books tilted out of it and came landing on her in small aftershocks, thudding down on the arm she’d automatically raised to protect her head.