Blake paced up and down the long passageway outside the Old Library. A cold rain pattered softly against the leaves of the plane tree growing in the enclosed garden beside him, and a chill breeze roamed the stairwells like a ghost. Hunched wooden doors led at intervals into secret rooms all along the cloisters.
There had been no response when he'd hammered on the solid oak door just a few minutes ago and he was beginning to despair that Jolyon had forgotten his invitation. Restlessly, he began to trace his fingers along the rows of jagged teeth carved around the entrance, glancing idly at the monk-faced figures hunched in the corners of the dark, beamed ceiling.
At that moment, a rush of footsteps rounded the corner and Jolyon appeared, stooped and out of breath. He wore the same scruffy jacket and soup-stained tie as the night before.
'I'm sorry I'm late,' he panted, towering over the children. 'There was an incident in the library last night and Paula Richards asked me to assess the damage.' His voice came out in stops and starts. 'Another visit from our nocturnal book-breaker, I fear.'
'Book-breaker?' asked Blake, confused.
He peered up into the man's face, which was as craggy as a cliff, but softened by tufted outcrops of hair. Deep, cuneiform lines surrounded his eyes.
'Scoundrels who tear books apart,' wheezed the professor. 'They rip maps and illustrations from old books and sell them for profit.' He took another deep breath. 'St. Jerome's, I'm afraid, has had its fair share of book-breakers through the years.'
Blake averted his face. Unlike the professor, he suspected he knew exactly wha the culprit had been looking for.
If the man noticed his agitation, he didn't care to comment on it. 'Never mind that now,' he said lightly. 'We have other things to discuss. More important things.'
A charge of excitement, like electricity, flashed through Blake, riveting him to the spot.
Jolyon beamed down at him. 'I'm delighted you could make it, my boy. And this, unless I am mistaken, must be your sister—'
'Duck,' said Blake, introducing her. She was standing a little way off, gazing up at the glowering sky, her thoughts elsewhere. She had been strangely subdued since lunch. 'But that's not her real name. Everyone calls her that because of the coat.'
The old man acted as though the name and yellow raincoat made all the sense in the world. 'I see, I see,' he said happily. 'I'm pleased to meet you, Duck.'
She gave him a shy smile, as if uncertain whether or not to trust his jovial nature.
'I would have come alone,' said Blake quickly, 'only my mother told me to look after he. I hope you don't mind.'
'It's quite all right, my boy, quite all right,' said the professor agreeably. He tested a reassuring hand on Blake's shoulder, which sagged slightly under its gentle pressure. 'Duck may have a part to play in this uncanny mystery of ours. She looks like an exceptional character.'
Blake was grateful for the way Jolyon treated him like an equal, but was displeased to hear how his sister had already impressed him with her intelligence. She hadn't even said anything yet!
Before he could protest, the professor took an old-fashioned key from his trouser pocket and inserted it in the lock of the iron-slatted door. 'Shall we?' he commenced.
Blake watched as the heavy wooden door creaked open. His face fell. In front of him was a short narrow passage, ending in a dusty, disused cupboard. A mop and bucket stood like sentries before it.
'Im afraid the Old Library doesn't get much use nowadays, except as a sort of glorified broom closet,' said the professor sadly, sensing the boy's disappointment, 'but I'm pleased to say that my office is still one of the best-kept secrets in the college.' He tapped the side of his nose and winked. 'This way.'
Hidden in the shadows was a faded tapestry that parted in the middle to reveal a concealed staircase that curled up the wall to the top of the square tower. Already, the professor's legs were disappearing round the first bend, receding into the darkness.
'It's quite a climb,' he called down from above, 'but well worth it, I think you'll find. It used to be the chapter house, where the monks held their official meetings.' His voice died to a whisper.
Blake didn't need a second invitation. He bounded up the stone stairs, taking them two at a time, feeling like a rock climber scrambling into the interior of a shell. Duck followed more cautiously, running her fingers along the uneven walls. She didn't like confined spaces and there was no rope or handrail to hold on to. She negotiated the slippery, timeworn steps with care.
Blake took a moment at the top to catch his breath and then let it out in an amazed gasp. It had to be the most magical room in Oxford! 'Wow!' he exclaimed, gazing around him in wonder.
A single fluted column opened like an umbrella in the center of the room to support a low vaulted ceiling, which hung above them like an ornate spiderweb spun from golden stone. Small rounded windows provided aerial views of the college: a gargoyle-inhabited landscape of spires, battlements and slate roofs, capped by gathering storm clouds.
Like the man, the room was wonderfully shambolic. Books were everywhere: piled on desks, propped against table legs, placed under lamps and perched on stools. There were even books on the armchairs, like sleeping cats, and Blake wondered whether he was supposed to sit on them or push them politely aside. But where he was supposed to put them? There wasn't an inch of available space anywhere. Books lay strewn across the floor, as though they'd been hurled there in a whirlwind of reading.
Blake looked around for a place to hang his coat, but couldn't find one. Instead, he folded it neatly over his arm and clutched his knapsack close to his side. The paper dragon inside was still.
Jolyon volunteered to take Duck's raincoat, but she refused.
'She never takes it off,' explained Blake, joining his sister on the sofa least obscured by books. He removed one or two volumes that were in his way and added them to a precarious pile on the floor. Jolyon sat opposite, on a wooden chair with clawed feet, rather like a throne, which made him look like a storyteller or a benevolent king. A stray spear of light from the window behind him silvered the edges of his body and made some of the books on the shelves gleam like gold.
'So what can you tell me about Endymion Spring?' asked Blake immediately, eager to learn the secret of the blank book he had found.
Here, in the study, the professor didn't seem nearly so agitated to hear the name. Yet if Blake was expecting a straight-forward answer, he didn't get one. The old man held up an ink-stained finger.
'Patience, my boy,' he stalled him. 'What I would like to know, first, is how
Blake shook his head. 'No, she's never mentioned him before.'
Jolyon seemed surprised. 'Are you sure?'
Blake considered the question thoughtfully. 'No…at least, I don't think so,' he said, less certainly.'
'How about at the dinner last night?' resumed the professor. 'Someone there?' He asked this more carefully, as though the college might be full of interlopers, all plotting to get their hands on the book.
'No,' said Blake, frowning and shifting slightly on his seat. He wondered why the man was asking so many strange questions. Perhaps he doubted a boy his age could find a book like
'Oh,' said the professor. His voice was soft, barely audible. An evasive look crossed his face.
Confused by the man's reaction, Blake asked tentatively, 'Is the book important,' Professor Jolyon?'
The man observed him steadily for a long, silent moment and then nodded. 'Yes, Blake, it is very important indeed.'
Blake felt his skin shrink with foreboding.
Duck, impressed by the portentousness of the professor's tone, finally spoke up. 'It had a magic spell inside.'
'No, it didn't,' Blake corrected her quickly. Then, under his breath, he added, 'It wasn't a spell.'
'More like a riddle, was it?' suggested Jolyon, raising a squirrelly eyebrow.
'How did you know?' Blake gazed at him in wonder, but the man was watching him earnestly, unwilling to divulge his secret.
