Endymion Spring

'Codswallop!' he roared suddenly. 'Nothing can replace the feel of a nicely bound book. The printed word is sacred.'

Involuntarily, Blake stiffened, but the leather-jacketed professor merely took the interruption in stride. 'Don't be such a Luddite, Giles,' he responded calmly, with a smile. 'It's an invention worthy of Gutenberg himself.'

Sir Giles eyed him coolly as finally the cork squeaked open and he poured the red liquid into a row of glasses.

Diana had gone over to investigate an assortment of old books on a large polished table next to the podium. Blake followed her, grateful for the diversion. She was wearing elbow-length gloves, which made her hands look like long-stemmed lilies. He guessed you had to wear these if you wanted to handle Sir Giles' books. They must be extremely valuable. Just a tinge of dust, like pollen, smirched her fingertips.

He itched to pick up the books — some were bound with clasps, others studded with  jewels — but he could feel Sir Giles watching him as he distributed glasses of wine among the assembled members. He decided to wait for permission first.

'Keep your eyes peeled,' he whispered to Duck, who had sidled up to him. 'We need to figure out who found the blank book originally — and, more importantly, who's after it now.'

There were so many faces. Blake recognized some of them from the dining hall, but many more had crept out of the Oxford woodwork just for the occasion. Mostly, they were academics like his mother, speaking a multitude of languages and clutching thick notebooks, ready to take notes. They spoke in low voices, as though in a library — or a church for worshiping books.

The reverential air was soon broken by Sir Giles, who rang a brass bell on the podium and encouraged everyone to take their seats. The room buzzed with expectation.

Diana Bentley summoned Blake and Duck to her side in the front row and they sat down next to her, feeling excited and yet nervous at the same time.

The meeting of the Ex Libris Society was about to begin.

20

Wearing an elaborate black robe with spidery gold embroidery on its sleeves, Sir Giles positioned himself behind the lectern and with fierce blue eyes surveyed the room.

'First, may I extend a warm welcome to you all on this memorable occasion,' he addressed the members formally, 'the fortieth anniversary of the foundation of the original Libris Society.'  There was a polite ripple of applause. 'Indeed, it was on a night like this, close to the start of Michaelmas, that a few of us gathered in a college library to track down the world's most elusive books…'

Blake shivered with anticipation, feeling as though he had traveled back in time and was embarking on the same treasure hunt. Fortunately, Endymion Spring had settled down in his knapsack and was no longer drawing attention to itself.

'…a quest that continues to this very day. I see we have attracted some new members,' he continued, eyeing the children sternly, 'but I regret that not all of our founding members are able to attend.'

A hint of a smile curled his lips and Blake felt there was a deeper, more malicious meaning to his words.

At this moment, Jolyon burst into the room. 'I'm sorry I'm late,' he announced, 'but I was unexpectedly detained. I bumped into an old member who incidentally, Giles, says hello.'

Sir Giles responded with a cold, forbidding look. His eyebrows darkened his face.

The professor, however, took no notice. He caught Blake's eye and nodded. The boy colored automatically and turned away. He pressed his legs against the bag beside his chair, feeling particularly conspicuous and vulnerable among so many authorities on rare books.

Sir Giles waited for Jolyon to take a seat.

'As I was saying,' he resumed haughtily, once the lumbering professor had found a chair next to Paula Richards a few rows back, 'a warm welcome to everyone. And may I take this opportunity to remind all present to sign the register, which Mr. Foxsmith is now placing by the door. Many of you will know that we have been signing this book since the original meeting forty years ago, and so we would be honored to continue marking the success and expansion of the society, devoted as it is to the preservation of the printed word, by including our names here tonight.

Blake squirmed in his chair, straining to see what he meant. A young man in a pinstripe suit holding aloft a thick book full of ribbon-like signatures. He placed it on a stand near the door.

Blake nudged Duck with his elbow. 'We've got to see inside that book,' he whispered. 'It'll—'

'Ssh!' hissed a woman behind him.

Sir Giles was beginning his lecture. 'And so, without further ado,' he said, tapping a sheaf of notes on the lectern, 'the reason you are here. My lecture, Whose Mortal Taste?  First Editions & Forbidden Fruit…'

While Sir Giles droned on at length about the history of collecting books, mentioning people who had lusted after rare volumes or broken into libraries to seek lost or forgotten tomes, Blake shuffled impatiently in his seat. The other members of the society bowed their heads and listened respectfully, coughing discreetly at intervals, but he was desperate to see the ledger by the door. Here, at last, he might learn the identity of the person who had first found Endymion Spring …and the person who had lurked in the shadow, desiring it.

He glanced over his shoulder and caught Jolyon watching him with a knowing expression. He blushed and turned away.

Finally, Sir Giles clapped his hands together and announced, 'And now some of my personal treasures.'

There was an audible exclamation round the room as books started exchanging hands, the scholars delving into the printed worlds they knew so well. Quiet murmurs of approval became raptures of delight. Blake was surprised to see that Prosper Marchand made the greatest show of all of examining the books:  he stroked the covers, caressed the pages and even held the paper up to the light like a connoisseur of fine wine. Only then did he read the words on the page.

Blake was beginning to despair that the book would ever reach him, when Sir Giles slapped a pair of gloves in his lap. 'Put these on if you're tempted to touch anything,' he growled, his dark eyebrows knitting together. 'Children and books don't mix.'

Blake was about to complain, but Diana murmured in his ear that gloves were merely to protect the books from the acid on his skin.

'See, I need them myself,' she said with a smile. That made him feel better and he pulled them on obligingly, sliding his hands into the long, snakelike gullets. He wasn't sure that he liked the sensation:  it seemed like wearing a blindfold at the end of each finger.

Yet when the book finally reached him Blake was pleased to have them on. Despite their treasure-like status, many of the volumes exhaled tiny clouds of dust that made him want to sneeze. Copies of The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, Paradise Lost and The Rape of the Lock passed before his eyes — a blur of words and menacing black-and-white illustrations. Duck peered over his shoulder, breathing enviously. Sir Giles had refused to let her touch anything.

Diana then handed him a slender green volume decorated what gold swirls. 'It's a copy of Goblin Market,' she murmured in his ear. 'The goblins look sweet and harmless, except they're not. They have real claws and sharp teeth…'

Breathlessly, Blake opened the covers and saw a multitude of cat-faced, bird-beaked, weasel-furred creatures wearing large hats and long coats. They were smiling and snarling and groveling in an attempt to seduce two young girls to sample their bushels of fruit. 'Come buy, come buy,' they sang in a chorus that repeated throughout the book like a trail of breadcrumbs, leading him further into the story.

'It's quite safe,' she purred. 'If you feel a little frightened, all you have to do is close the covers and the danger will disappear. That's the wonderful thing about books.'

He wasn't sure that he agreed with her — some books stayed with you long after you read them; they lingered in the unswept corners of your mind — but he wanted to impress her. He sensed that she believed in the power of books just as much as he did. She read them with a child's eye. A child's magic.