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Pages & Co.: Tilly and the Lost Fairy Tales
‘I don’t trust Melville Underwood at all, and I think there’s more to his story than he’s letting on.’
‘Ah, but they won’t go for him, surely,’ Grandad said. ‘He’s just got back from goodness knows where. No one knows anything about him. It’ll be old Ebenezer.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Amelia said. ‘You haven’t been here over the last week; Melville may have just got back but he’s been darting around the Library whispering in people’s ears and I’m worried about what he’s saying, and what people are open to believing. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the Bookbinders have stopped grumbling from the sidelines and started to get more organised.’
‘If I could be permitted to chip in,’ Seb said. ‘I am a little concerned about where he has been all this time, as you say, Mr Pages – but others don’t share our reticence. The Bookbinders, as they insist on calling themselves now, are lapping up Melville’s tale because they are happy to gloss over all sorts of irregularities if it means having one of their own in charge. Ideologically, I mean. Better the devil you sort-of-know, and all that. But while he claims that he and his sister were attacked while leading a bookwandering group through a collection of fairy tales, there are no records of this attack happening. If a group of bookwanderers were attacked or lost there should be some note or diary or even personal memory, somewhere in our records. He says he can’t be sure what happened to the rest of the group, or his sister, and no one seems to be pushing him on it. Something smells fishy to me.’
‘But there’s no proof?’ Grandad said slowly.
‘Well, no,’ Seb said. ‘The lack of evidence or proof is just the issue. There’s no way to corroborate his story. We’re a group of librarians and archivists and storytellers; why aren’t we more concerned that there’s no record …?’
‘I do worry that unfounded claims such as these will merely make us look like sore losers, especially today,’ Grandad said slowly. ‘Is there wisdom in waiting and watching for a while, do you think? I must admit, I never warmed to Melville when I crossed paths with him back when we were both young men here.’
‘That’s the other thing,’ Amelia said. ‘He’s still a young man.’
‘Well, that’s nothing of note in itself,’ Grandma said. ‘Ageing works erratically in books as it is, and if he was in fairy tales then even more so.’
‘Yes, but he doesn’t seem to have aged a day,’ Amelia said. ‘He still looks to be in his late twenties.’
‘My dear Amelia, it’s easy to find evidence of what we already believe …’
Amelia brushed Grandad’s reassuring hand off her arm.
‘Don’t you dare patronise me, Archie,’ she said. ‘I am not some conspiracy theorist, I know the Underlibrary of today better than you do. I understand that we are dealing with little more than smoke and whispers and instincts here.’
‘You know what they say about no smoke without fire,’ Seb said sagely.
Amelia ignored him. ‘There is something else happening here,’ she said firmly, ‘and you would be wise to take my warning seriously.’
Grandad nodded, chastened. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … I just, well, Elsie and I both care for you greatly as our friend and colleague and I don’t want to see you get hurt more than necessary.’
‘The hurt is already inflicted,’ Amelia said, steely-eyed. ‘And I can endure it. But I want it to be worth something, and it is time for some answers. Do you know, in recent weeks I have found myself wondering if I was ever really quite cut out for being in charge? Do you think I’d make a good rebel? I’m interested to see if I’ve got it in me.’ There was a definite twinkle in her eye. ‘Now, if only I can convince Seb to start disobeying some rules …’
‘One step at a time,’ Seb said, breaking out in a light sweat at the mere thought.
‘Considering our part in the whole Enoch Chalk debacle, I’m surprised we’re up here at the front,’ Grandad whispered.
‘All the better to keep an eye on us, I’m sure,’ Grandma said.
‘You know how it is,’ Seb said. ‘Tradition always wins out, and tradition states that any living former Librarians are guests of honour at Inking Ceremonies. And I imagine that if you don’t bring Chalk up, no one else will. People are happy to let Amelia take the fall for this; it’s easier to blame one person than to think about what’s really happening.’
Tilly was distracted from people’s suspicious glares when she noticed a young man emerge and stand just behind the platform, eyes closed, talking to himself under his breath. He had neat, white-blond hair and was wearing a navy-blue suit, with a librarian cardigan underneath the jacket. He looked very focused and Tilly could only assume it was Melville Underwood, the man that Amelia and Seb were so wary of. Behind him, talking to each other amiably, were a very old man with a silvery beard that curled its way down to his shins, and a middle-aged woman in a wheelchair wearing all black. As Tilly watched, a librarian came up behind Melville, and startled him out of his meditations with a tap to the shoulder. She spoke quietly to him, gesturing at the microphone, and Tilly saw a flash of irritation cross his face, quickly replaced by a polished warm smile. She nudged Grandad.
‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ she asked.
Grandad looked up and nodded. ‘And the man with the beard is Ebenezer, and the woman is Catherine,’ he said, as the three candidates and Amelia came and sat facing the audience. Amelia kept her head held high, her brow furrowed.
The crowd hushed as one, as if responding to an invisible signal, and only the occasional creak of a wooden chair echoed through the hall. A man who looked like he worked in a bank rather than a magical library climbed the steps on to the platform and tapped the microphone hesitantly, causing a shriek of feedback to bounce around the room. The audience grimaced, and the man blushed.
‘That’s Cassius McCray,’ Grandad whispered to Tilly and Oskar. ‘Chief Secretary of the Underlibrary.’
Cassius didn’t apologise, just glared at the microphone as though it was personally trying to undermine him. He cleared his throat.
‘Right,’ he started. ‘Well, we are gathered here today for the Inking Ceremony. This is a slightly unusual situation due to the, uh, circumstances. As you all know, our former colleague Enoch Chalk was revealed to be a, well, a fictional character from a Source Edition. He had been working here undetected for decades, trapping anyone who discovered him in books that he had tampered with. It was a … a less-than-ideal situation. Ms Whisper, our former Head Librarian, had her suspicions about his true nature and decided not to share them with us, her colleagues. We believe that decision makes her, well, unsuitable for that esteemed role, and she has been relieved of her duties. We thank Ms Whisper for her service to the British Underlibrary, and we have offered her another, more suitable, position here should she wish to remain and make amends by helping us discover the whereabouts of Mr Chalk. That investigation is ongoing, and we are confident it will be resolved satisfactorily. We will, of course, keep you updated. As is our duty.’
Throughout this, Amelia kept her chin in the air with no trace of penitence on her face. Tilly felt as though she wanted to applaud her, or run up and hug her, or do anything at all to show her she was on Amelia’s side. And there it was again in her head: the idea of sides, and of having to be on one.
‘Well,’ Cassius continued. ‘This of course means we must elect a new Librarian, and we have had three, uh, yes, three, candidates put themselves forward, and despite their, shall we say, current status, it is in our statutes that anyone who is eligible may speak to us. So, we will hear from all three and there will be the opportunity to put questions to them and then, as is tradition, we will have a private ballot to determine Ms Whisper’s successor. So, uh, shall we start with our dear friend Ebenezer Okparanta …?’ A librarian behind him coughed and Cassius corrected himself. ‘I mean, our colleague Ebenezer Okparanta.’
The old man with the long silvery beard took to the stage, a warm smile on his face.
‘My friends,’ he began. ‘For we are all dear friends here. I stand before you an old man, but one who wishes to unite us all under the principles we hold so dear. We are in a time of confusion and tumult, but it needn’t continue. We care for a magical and important thing here, and we are being distracted from our purpose by in-fighting and egos. We must continue our work to prevent the closure of bookshops and libraries while also working to protect ourselves and our community – two goals which can be achieved in harmony. I believe, at this juncture, my long past here at the Underlibrary and proven dedication to our goals make me the steady hand we need to steer us through this time. I have worked with you all for many years, and I hope that my experience speaks for itself. Thank you, friends.’
‘Any questions?’ Cassius said, and hands sprang up.
‘Ebenezer, what are you going to do about Enoch Chalk?’ a voice said.
‘I shall, of course, be working with Amelia to find out where he has gone, and—’
‘But,’ interrupted the voice, ‘I think, or rather I know, there are others here who believe that librarians should be tested to ensure we are all who we say we are.’
‘Why, no,’ Ebenezer said, sounding surprised. ‘I haven’t heard that. What do we have without trust in each other?’
‘Look where that’s got us,’ another voice said in a stage whisper, and Ebenezer started to look slightly flummoxed.
‘Enoch needs to be dealt with, of course, my friends, but there are bigger things at play,’ he said. ‘The waning of book magic as bookshops and libraries close, the erratic readings we’re getting from fairy tales.’
‘Let’s hear from Melville Underwood!’ a woman cried. ‘He’s been inside the fairy tales after all!’
‘Now, now,’ Cassius said. ‘It’s Catherine’s turn next. Let’s just leave it there with Ebenezer.’
Ebenezer walked off stage a little wobbily, clearly taken aback by the mood in the room, and was replaced by the woman wheeling herself up the ramp on to the stage.
‘That’s Catherine Caraway,’ Grandma whispered.
‘Fellow bookwanderers,’ Catherine said, sounding confident and warm. ‘For too long we have neglected our primary reason for existence and have been mired in bureaucracy. I want to lead an Underlibrary that is focused on bookwandering. What we need to do is contact the Archivists.’ Tilly could hear tutting spread through the room, and even a few derisive laughs. ‘We have abandoned them for too long,’ Catherine went on, her voice building in volume. ‘Why are we so surprised they have forsaken us? Let us give our problems to them to resolve, and get back to our true purpose.’
Tilly glanced at her grandparents and saw that they both looked deeply uncomfortable, as though Catherine had suggested enlisting the Easter Bunny to help.
‘Who would you choose?’ Tilly whispered to Grandma.
‘Leaving aside the obvious fact that Amelia is considerably more suitable than any of them,’ she said quietly, ‘Ebenezer’s heart is in the right place, I am sure, but I worry he doesn’t have the strength to cope with rebel voices here. And goodness knows what Catherine is talking about. She’s showing her naivety …’
‘But couldn’t the Archivists help?’ Tilly said. ‘I thought they were, like, the most important bookwanderers?’
‘Trusting in the Archivists is like relying on a unicorn to come and grant you wishes to solve your problems,’ Grandma replied.
‘Maybe Melville will be better?’ Tilly whispered, stealing another glance at the man who was watching Catherine field increasingly angry questions with a look of sincere polite interest on his face.
‘We shall see,’ Grandma said, and then they were shushed by someone sitting behind them.
Catherine wheeled her chair down from the stage and Cassius took the microphone again, looking very unsettled. Amelia tried – and failed – to keep a slightly smug expression off her face.
‘Right, well,’ Cassius spluttered. ‘Let’s just remember we’re all colleagues, shall we? So, where were we … Yes, well, finally, we have our rather last-minute candidate. A long-lost wanderer has unexpectedly returned to us and has put himself forward, which he is absolutely permitted to do. Some of you who have been here a while will remember our colleagues Melville and Decima Underwood, who were bookwanderers in the field, putting their own lives on the line to explore the limits of our stories in fairy tales. When they vanished without a trace we believed they had made, well, the ultimate sacrifice for their work in some of our most dangerous stories. But … a miracle has occurred, and we are encouraged by the return of Mr Melville Underwood.’
Cassius climbed down from the platform, and Melville Underwood took to the stage. The silence in the room was absolute and Tilly found herself leaning forward, eager to hear what he would say.
‘My friends,’ Melville started. His voice sounded as though it had been dipped in honey. ‘I am so grateful to have found my way back to you. I have endured years balancing on the brink of survival in the fairytale worlds, alone in my grief for my poor sister, Decima. The thought of coming home, to my British Underlibrary family, has sustained me. Although I have come close to the most dangerous elements of bookwandering, my experiences have not diminished my love for it. Indeed, they have, if anything, deepened my respect and awe for the bookwandering magic we are so fortunate to use. But that magic is by no means guaranteed, and I have witnessed first hand, and learned from my esteemed friends here, that there are signs that this precious magic is becoming unpredictable. At this time, we need to band together and protect bookwandering while we still can.’ He looked around the room, assessing how his words were going down, his eyes lingering just a second too long as he noticed Grandma and Grandad.
‘British bookwandering has long been at the heart of the whole global community, and we must keep it this way,’ he continued. ‘Now that the fairytale lands are increasingly unstable, I fear whatever is causing that will spread to our other stories. We must be vigilant! I, as we all should be, am grateful to Amelia for her work leading our community for the last decade, but the time has come for a different approach. We simply cannot allow incidents like the Enoch Chalk disaster to happen. It has threatened the very principles by which we live. I would ask us to unite! Unite in the face of instability and threats to the power and sanctity of our stories – and the British Underlibrary itself. I agree with both of my esteemed colleagues; Ebenezer is right that we must come together, and Catherine raises important points about our core purpose. I am grounded in both these principles, but I hope that my time in the fairytale lands – on the front line of our storytelling – has given me the clarity and purpose needed at this moment in our history. We have such wisdom and experience among our fellow British Underlibrarians. As well as Ebenezer and Catherine, I understand that while I have been away, some of our colleagues have been diligent in their research into the best ways to preserve and protect bookwandering under the ancestral name of the Bookbinders. If I were so fortunate as to be elected, I would be honoured to work alongside them, and you all, to unite us on the most effective and efficient ways of ensuring characters – and bookwanderers – are less likely to go astray!’ He smiled to the crowd, like they were all in on the same joke. ‘Now, I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have,’ he finished. ‘And I appreciate you will have many.’ A round of polite, appreciative applause rippled across the hall, and Tilly saw a flicker of anxiety run across Amelia’s face.
‘Thank you, friends,’ Melville said graciously.
Grandad raised his hand.
‘Tell me, Melville. Why are you the right person to lead now?’ he said. ‘When you have not been with us for so many years? Could you not stay, and learn, and observe, and look to take the helm in the future?’ Grandad’s voice was ice-cold, despite the politeness of his words.
‘Well, Archibald,’ Melville said, smiling at Grandad, ‘I believe that I can offer much to the Underlibrary, as I have just set out. But there is one other thing, something that I had not planned to mention, as it should not have any bearing on the election here today. But as you have forced my hand, Archibald, and in answer to your excellent question, let me share something with you now. I come to you not just armed with information about how we can save our beloved fairy tales, but also with incontrovertible evidence as to the whereabouts of Enoch Chalk.’
‘Now, see here,’ Cassius spluttered into the microphone. ‘That’s quite a thing to claim, Melville. What do you know? You are obliged to share it with us, you must see that!’
‘Of course,’ Melville said, quietening the crowd with one hand raised. ‘I did not want to sway the feelings of my colleagues at this delicate point, that is the only reason I did not mention it before. But I am eager to share what I have learned with you all. While on my travels searching for a way back from the fairytale lands, I happened across several characters complaining of a man being discourteous, and poking around, asking questions. I attempted to find him myself, assuming he was a bookwanderer and seeking a way home.’
‘What proof do you have?’ a voice from the back called.
‘Will you permit me a moment?’ Melville asked Cassius, who nodded helplessly as Melville slipped off stage and returned a few moments later with a cardboard box in his hand. The tension in the air was electric as he set the box down on the desk.
‘Will this suffice as proof?’ And with one hand he pulled out a grey bowler hat that was unmistakably Enoch Chalk’s.
A brief pause hung in the air, and then the majority of the audience started applauding loudly. Amelia raised an eyebrow at Grandad.
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ Tilly whispered to Grandma, confused. ‘I thought we wanted to find Chalk. Doesn’t that prove Mr Underwood is on our side?’
‘Perhaps,’ Grandma said. ‘But perhaps not. I don’t trust Melville, but I do trust Amelia’s instincts. There are many questions unanswered – how would Melville know Chalk was a threat in the first place? And we – of course – want Chalk found and dealt with, and we may align with Melville on other things too. Who knows. The one thing I am sure of is that something strange is afoot.’
Cassius was back on stage, trying to calm everyone down again.
‘I think … I think the only thing we can do now is vote,’ he said. ‘We will invite you up a row at a time to cast your ballot, so please return to your chairs until you’re called, and well, we shall go from there. Current employees of the Underlibrary only,’ he said, looking directly at Grandad, who rolled his eyes. There was a lot of hushed conversation as, row by row, nearly fifty librarians filed up to the front, marked a piece of paper, and posted it through a large wooden casket, all under Cassius’s flustered glare. Once everyone had voted, Cassius and another librarian carried the ballot box out of the hall. Half an hour later, Cassius returned, looking slightly pale.
‘We have counted and verified – more than once – the votes, and I am, well, I am happy, yes, to announce that the next Librarian of the British Underlibrary will be Melville Underwood.’
There was thunderous applause as the name was announced, although as Tilly craned her neck, she could see small pockets of librarians who weren’t clapping at all. But the mood was undeniably in Melville’s favour, and he approached the stage once more, still clutching Chalk’s hat in his hand.
‘I look forward to working for you,’ he said, bowing his head reverently as the applause washed over him. Once it had died down a little, Cassius approached, and Melville took off his suit jacket, and rolled up his cardigan and shirt sleeves. A librarian had opened the book, and smoothed the pages down reverently.
‘So he just signs his name now and he’s the Head Librarian?’ Tilly asked.
‘There’s a little more commitment than that required,’ Grandad said. ‘You guys aren’t squeamish, right?’
‘Nope,’ Oskar said, craning to make sure he had a good view. Cassius stepped forward and looked at Melville, who gave a firm nod and held out his hand for the quill.
‘The ink of the Underlibrary represents our stories, which are now part of you,’ Cassius said formally. He took Melville’s wrist and held his fingers over the ink pot before quickly and firmly pricking his finger with the quill, and letting a drop of blood fall into the ink below. Tilly was watching Melville’s face, and he swallowed but didn’t make a sound. ‘And by giving a drop of your blood, you are now part of the Underlibrary,’ Cassius continued, handing Melville the quill, which he dipped into the ink before signing the great book on the table. ‘With this Inking Ceremony, the lifeblood of both you and the Underlibrary are one and the same.’ Cassius shook Melville’s other hand, and Melville’s face broke into a wide, warm smile. He pulled Cassius into a one-sided embrace, breaking the solemn mood of the moment.
‘Was that it?’ Oskar said, sounding a little disappointed.
‘Did Amelia have to do that?’ Tilly asked Grandma.
‘Why, yes,’ she said. ‘And your grandad too, of course.’ Grandad smiled and held up the ring finger on his right hand, where a tiny, faded black dot was visible.
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ Tilly asked. ‘Won’t you get, like, ink-poisoned or something by it?’
‘Oh no,’ Grandma said. ‘It’s just like getting a tiny tattoo, really.’
‘And I seem to be doing all right so far,’ Grandad said, smiling and absent-mindedly rubbing the pad of his finger where the tiny mark was. ‘Now, let’s get out of here before we have to make any awkward small talk. I could use a cup of tea.’
‘Not so fast,’ a voice cut in. They turned to see Cassius standing by their seats. ‘Melville would like to have a word. With all of you.’
