Dragonborn (15 page)

“Vengeabil,” he called out.

The man appeared, before Sam could draw breath for a second summons.

“Yes?”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don't know.”

“Very well,” said Vengeabil, and he left.

Sam thought he might go back into the small room and find a book and sit at the desk, or even in an armchair.

He pushed the green book again, stepped through, and closed the door behind him.

“Yes?” said the man sitting at the table.

He was thin, small, and had a savage mouth.

“Oh, sorry,” said Sam. “I'll go.”

“As you wish.”

Something about his mouth was wrong. It was wide and had more teeth than it should have, as though the man's greatgrandfather had been a shark.

The man carried on writing. Sam pulled on the door. It wouldn't open. He made a stronger spell. It still wouldn't move. He was locked in the small room with the man.

corrected. Vengeabil looked at Tamrin's notes and pointed a finger at the paper.

“That should be ‘breadcrumbs,'” he said, “not ‘pig vomit.' ”

“Sorry,” said Tamrin. She drew a neat line through the word and changed it. “That would make a big difference.”

Vengeabil smiled.

“It's not like you to make mistakes,” he said.

“No.”

“You may as well stop now. You're not concentrating.”

The room was very like the one Sam had found. It was not so tidy. As well as the table, there was a small desk and a couple of extra chairs. It was more like a schoolroom. Tamrin had the desk, Vengeabil the table. Both were covered with papers and books and other bits and pieces.

“How's he doing?”

“He found the first room straight away.”

“I knew he would.”

“He's in there with Kafranc now.”

“Oh,” said Tamrin. “That's frightening.”

“Yes.”

Tamrin chewed the end of the wooden pen. She had ink on her fingers and a smudge on her cheek.

“What was the library like?”

“When?”

“Before.”

“Before Frastfil?”

“Yes.”

Vengeabil perched on the edge of his table and folded his arms.

“You should have seen it then,” he said. “It was a market garden of magic. Everything you could want grew here. And it was tended and cared for, nurtured and nourished. Busy, but never loud; full of life, but never out of order. Look at it now.”

“Was that when Jackbones was in charge?”

“Jackbones was a man to meet,” said Vengeabil.

“Tell me about him.”

Vengeabil smiled.

“He was the sort of wizard who made magic look so easy, so elegant, so …” He searched for a word. “So perfect. As though there was nothing else.”

Tamrin pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, her chin on her knees.

“I wish I'd met him,” she said.

“You never know.”

“It's too late now. He's gone.”

Vengeabil flapped his hand and the air around his finger ends turned an angry red and black.

“Why did Frastfil sack him?”

“He didn't. Not really. I just said that to annoy him.”

“You said I should never tell lies.”

“And I was right. And I shouldn't have said what I did. And mark my words, it will come back to hurt me one day. Anyway. He wasn't fired. He left. Forced out.”

Vengeabil stood up and paced the small room.

“He loved this library. He loved the College. Then Frastfil came and changed everything.”

“When was that?”

“You should have seen the College then,” said Vengeabil.

Sam tried the best unlocking spell he had, and the door was still shut fast.

“Where did you come from?” asked Sam.

“What do you mean?” The man put down his pen and stared at Sam.

“I was here a minute ago. The room was empty.”

“How do you know?”

“I didn't see you.”

The man stood up and slammed his hand on the table. His mouth gaped, and the teeth glistened.

“Say that again,” he said.

Sam squared up to him, his fists clenched, ready.

“I didn't see you.”

“You said it,” said the man, “you really said it.”

His face crumpled up and Sam thought he was crying. He howled and stamped his foot. He fumbled in his sleeve and drew out a big red handkerchief. He wiped his eyes with it, blew his nose with a very loud sound, and wiped his eyes again. He shook the handkerchief and a cabbage fell out and rolled over to Sam's feet. Sam looked down; the cabbage grew short, thick legs and waddled back to the man, who picked it up, held it in his hands like a pigeon, and threw it up into the air, where it exploded into a shower of rose petals that fluttered down, settled on the carpet and his shoulders and in his hair.

“Oh, dear,” he said. He wiped his eyes again. “Oh, thank you, that's the funniest thing I've heard in years.” He shook his head in pleasure. “You didn't see me, so I wasn't here.”

“I don't see what's funny about that,” said Sam.

The man sat down and indicated the other chair.

“Sit down,” he said.

He held out his hand to Sam.

“My name is Kafranc,” he said.

“I'm Cartouche.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam,” he said, shaking hands.

Sam blushed.

“I'm sorry I laughed,” said Kafranc. “But I do like a good laugh, and there's not much to make me laugh here, these days.”

“It's not very polite.”

“Indeed not, but I've said I'm sorry, so there you are. Now, let me see. Do you really believe that something's only there if you can see it?”

His face was solemn now, no trace of laughter. Sam felt he was being tested.

“Close your eyes,” said Kafranc. “Think of somewhere else.”

Sam closed his eyes and thought of Flaxfield's house. He was in the kitchen. Flaxfield was at his table, scribbling on a sheaf of papers. Cold spring sunlight fell through the window in bright patches.

“Have you thought?”

“Yes.”

“Can you see it?”

Sam squeezed his eyelids together to stop himself from crying.

“Yes.”

“Can't hear you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Is there anyone there with you?” Sam nodded.

“Keep your eyes closed. Are you there or here?”

Sam could smell the wood smoke from the fire, feel the warmth, see Flaxfield, his head down, concentrating.

“I'm there,” said Sam.

“Are you here?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see you?”

“Yes.”

“Can you see me? Keep your eyes closed!”

“No.”

Kafranc lowered his voice.

“This other person. Can he see you?”

Sam concentrated. Flaxfield lifted his head and looked around the kitchen. He scratched his cheek, then went back to his work.

“Can he see you?”

Sam shook his head.

“You can open your eyes now,” said Kafranc.

Sam kept them closed.

“It's all right. He'll still be there the next time you look. Open your eyes now.”

Sam opened his eyes and was alone in the room. He tried the door, and it opened easily.

“Sam's leaving the room,” said Vengeabil.

He slid a little door that closed the peephole to the library.

“What do you think happened?”

“It's up to him whether he tells us or not.”

“How could one person spoil the whole College?”

“A good principal makes a good College.”

“And is Professor Frastfil bad?”

Vengeabil took another peek into the library. Sam was sitting on the bottom stair again, his head in his hands.

“That's the terrible thing,” he said. “Frosty isn't really bad. But he's weak, and bad people are making him do bad things.”

“How will it end?” she asked.

“I've got to go back and see Sam,” said Vengeabil. “Get on with your work.”

Sam heard Vengeabil approach. He kept his head in his hands while he wiped his eyes. Vengeabil ignored the red rims when Sam looked up.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“All right.”

“What do you want to do?”

Sam shouted at him. “Stop asking me that. Why do I have to decide what to do? Aren't you supposed to tell me?”

Vengeabil eased down next to Sam, who had to shuffle up so that there was room for the two of them on the step. It was narrow, so their shoulders touched.

“That's a start,” said Vengeabil. “Is that what you want? You want to be told what to do? Do you want to do the work that Dr. Duddle set for you?”

“You ripped it up. I can't.”

Vengeabil whistled, as though summoning a dog. The pieces of paper rose up from the basket, swirled around in the air, joined together again, folded themselves into a paper bird, and flapped across to Vengeabil, who let it settle on his hand and then passed it to Sam.

Sam smiled and stroked it. Vengeabil changed his whistle to a bird song and the paper bird grew heavy in Sam's hand, fledged and fluttered, and became a greenfinch.

“No,” said Sam, “I don't want to do his work.”

He opened his hands and the bird flew up, circled the library, hovered over the basket, broke into twenty scraps of paper, and fell like a flurry of early snow.

Sam looked up at the rows of galleries disappearing up for ever.

“How many floors are there?” he asked.

“No one has ever found out.”

“How do they all fit in? The College isn't that tall.”

“There's always a way.”

They sat in silence for a while. Then Vengeabil asked, “What do you want to do?”

“I don't know why I'm here,” said Sam. “I don't mean in the library, I mean in the College. I don't know what I'm doing here.”

“Why did you come here?”

“I was running away, and I met a roffle and he said I should.”

“You mean someone else told you to come here?”

“Yes.”

“And now you want me to tell you what to do?”

Sam stood and crossed to the door he had opened. He put his hand on the false books and let it rest there.

“Are all the false bookshelves doors?” he asked.

Vengeabil stood up and went to the librarian's table. He took a sheet of paper, dipped a pen in the inkwell, and wrote. Sam looked over his shoulder.

·
Why am I in the College?

·
How many floors are there?

·
How do they all fit in?

·
Are all the false bookshelves doors?

“And are there any more questions?” asked Vengeabil.

“What am I supposed to do next?”

“You mean today?”

“No. I mean next, forever.”

Vengeabil wiped the nib on a piece of blotting paper.

“Five questions,” he said. “Do you want to answer them?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“If you like.”

Vengeabil smiled. “It's up to you,” he said.

“Where should I start?”

Vengeabil handed him the pen.

“You make the list.”

1. How many floors are there?

2. How do they all fit in?

3. Are all the false bookshelves doors?

4. Why am I in the College?

5. What should I do next?

“Very good,” said Vengeabil. “Now you have to decide. This is a library. Do you want to find out by reading in books, or by looking for yourself?”

“Both,” said Sam.

“Good answer. Let's get started.”

The door handle rattled. Someone bumped against the door, trying to open it.

“Who's that?” said Sam.

“You'd better open it and see.”

Sam remembered the shark-mouthed man as he opened the door, and he held himself tense, ready to fight or run from whatever stood behind it.

Tamrin couldn't concentrate on her work, and Vengeabil and Sam were busy, so she left by another door and went to wander the corridors of the College. She knew places and passageways that had been forgotten since the old teachers and the old College workers had left.

First, she went down a crooked staircase that led to the kitchens. She was supposed to be working there, but no one ever noticed when she didn't turn up. She sneaked in, grabbed a piece of bread and folded it around a slice of chicken, pocketed an apple, and sneaked out again, all before the cooks had time to notice she had been there.

She chewed on her meal and dodged back upstairs. If the hidden corridors and passageways went all through the College, Tamrin hadn't discovered all their secrets yet. She had to cross an open corridor to get through to the stairway to the roof, where she wanted to sit and eat her food. She looked both ways to see if the coast was clear, stepped out, and, just as she was making her
way to the next hidden entrance, Smedge turned the corner and saw her.

“Tamrin,” he called out. “Hey. How are you?”

He smiled and waved.

Tamrin couldn't dive into her secret corridor, because she didn't want to give it away to Smedge. She either had to run away from him or stop and say hello.

He was smiling at her in a friendly way. Tamrin scowled.

“Where are you going?” he asked her.

“Nowhere.”

Smedge laughed.

“That's where you always are. I'll come with you. I've never been nowhere.”

Tamrin stood still. She held the bread and chicken to her side, not wanting to eat while he was there.

“Do you remember when we first came here?” asked Smedge.

She nodded.

Smedge looked up at the ceiling and blew a puff of air from his mouth. It began to form into a canopy of tree branches, green leaves and sun dappling through. He smiled and started to make a bird to sing to them. Tamrin frowned. The tree cover trembled. Smedge smiled harder, tensing himself. He held his breath, and for a moment the tree started to blossom. Tamrin clicked her tongue. The bird shifted shape and became a snake, curled around a dry branch. The leaves withered, shook, and began to fall around their feet. The sunlight faded. The bare branches were gray against the gloom.