was the fly slowly being devoured in the cage of her lashes.
Drumming his pencil on his worksheets, he looked around. A small pile of books was growing near him as Paula Richards scanned various reference works to do with Christina Rossetti, the poet Diana Bentley had mentioned at the college dinner. One of the volumes had devilish goblins and demons clawing up and down its gold spine, while another had a plain plum-colored wrapper with ink blots on the leather. Paula Richards had left this propped open and he could just make out tiny scribbles in the margin — tight, miniscule words that looked like old-fashioned embroidery.
Not far from his elbow was the bestiary Jolyon had marked with his slip of paper. Slowly, so that Paula Richards could not see, he inched his fingers towards it and dragged the smooth white volume towards him.
Duck was watching him intently. Fortunately, the librarian was so engrossed in her research, she didn't notice.
Blake opened the book as casually as he could.
Jolyon hadn't been reading the entry of Leafdragons, but a different section altogether. A shudder of recognition passed through him:
Blake read the description carefully:
The Salamander, chefe among creatures, ys prooff against fyre, for it quenchyth flaumes wyth its bodie, while its skynne remaynes unscaythed. Yet beware: for thys beaste contaynes a secrete vennom, whych roted in trees will soure its fruit or releessed in a sprynge will polute its water and so cause an idyvyduall to die…
Blake scowled, puzzled. Why had Jolyon tried to alert him to this? The salamander sounded like a devious, untrustworthy beast, but it looked nothing like the dragon he had seen. Then he noticed the bookmark dividing the
He turned it over and was even more surprised by what he saw. He read it twice before he understood it.
Blake started breathing faster and faster. Jolyon must have left this here for him to find. He wanted Blake to be at a lecture tomorrow night, but why? Blake couldn't work out what the professor was after.
His mind raced. Going to the talk would give him a chance to learn more about the origins of the society and perhaps find out who had found the blank book all those years ago. Not only that; it might tell him who had lusted after it, whose heart was already black. His mouth felt dry as he considered the possibilities.
Duck was struggling to see the piece of paper in his hands, and he flashed it in her direction, careful not to let Paula Richards notice. She read the message quickly and a broad grin spread across her face.
He knew exactly what that expression meant: it meant they had to sneak into AllSoulsCollege, whether or not they had their mother's permission. It was an opportunity to uncover the past and perhaps solve the mystery for themselves.
Getting permission was not as difficult as they anticipated.
Juliet Winters returned from the Bodleian Library in a foul mood. This time she was annoyed with the librarians and not with them. Another scholar had requested the set of Faust books she needed to consult and she'd spent most of the afternoon trying to track them down.
'Who'd have thought so many people would be interested in Faust all of a sudden?' she said wearily as they waited for the bus. 'It not only means that I'm behind schedule, but there's also a chance someone else is researching the same topic. I'm going to have to push even harder to publish my findings first.' She closed her eyes and kneaded her brow with her fingertips.
The bus wheezed to a halt beside them and Juliet Winters piled into a seat near the middle. Duck and Blake positioned themselves behind her — like good and bad angels, one on either shoulder.
'If you need some extra time, we don't mind,' said Duck obligingly at the first set of traffic lights. 'We've been invited to a lecture. We could go to that while you work in the library tomorrow night.'
She was using her most soothing voice, like a hypnotist, to lull their mother into a false sense of security. Blake could not tell whether or not it was working. Her eyes were closed.
'We promise to be good.'
That did it. Their mother was instantly awake.
'What lecture is it?' she asked, her suspicions aroused.
'Sir Giles Bentley's. On collecting books.'
'You mentioned it the other day,' Blake added quickly. 'You told us we could go.'
'I did nothing of the sort.'
Blake held out the invitation for her inspection.
Juliet Winters frowned. 'Why are you interested in that all of a sudden?'
'Professor Jolyon thought we might be curious,' said Blake. 'Besides, Duck wants to ask some questions.'
'Sir Giles?' repeated his mother warily, scowling at the thick piece of paper. 'I'm not sure. All Souls is no place for kids. Plus, it's late at night.'
'But we've been invited!' protested Duck. 'We can't let Professor Jolyon down. He's relying on us.'
'Hmm, I wonder,' said their mother, still not convinced.
The bus swerved sharply to avoid an old man teetering on an even older bicycle, and she lost the thread of her argument.
'I promise to look after Duck,' said Blake, noticing they were approaching
He gave her a cheesy grin, but Duck tapped him on the elbow, warning him not to overdo it.
'Well, I don't know,' murmured their mother sleepily as the bus ground to a halt and the doors opened. 'I could certainly do with some more time to work, plus the Bodleian is advertising late hours this week, but…'
Blake knew he was almost there. One more push ought to do it. 'Just think of how much you'll accomplish,' he reminded her.
'OK, I suppose so,' said Juliet Winters, still with misgivings. 'Especially if Jolyon has invited you.'
'Thanks. You're the greatest!'
They both ran towards the house, smiling; but she was frowning. 'Are you sure you'll be all right?' she called out, perhaps remembering the trouble they'd put her to that morning. 'I don't like the idea of leaving you alone.'
'Don't worry,' the children chimed together. 'Nothing can possibly go wrong.'
That night, while their mother worked, Duck and Blake met in Blake's bedroom.
Blake knew what he had to do, but he was reluctant to go through with the procedure. It was a rite he didn't want to perform. The paper dragon was too beautiful, too intricate, to destroy; and yet, he needed to follow the instructions in Psalmanazar's book precisely and bring all the parts of the blank book together. The dragon was just one more piece of the puzzle.
With a heavy heart, he took the beast from behind the pillow, where he had left it, and started to unfold its many scales. The creases quickly disappeared, as if ironed by his touch, and soon the dragon was transformed into an enormous sheet of blank white paper, made from innumberable fine membranes of smooth skin. They flapped in the air, a gentle sail. Alive.
Feeling more confident, Blake folded the paper until it formed a small quire that fitted neatly in the palm of his hand. He then slipped it inside the leather volume and closed the covers, waiting for
And then it was over. The book lay still.
