Endymion Spring

it's pulling me down there.'

He indicated the curb.

'Into the sewer?'

Blake paused, trying to figure it out. 'No. I mean, into the ground,' he said.

Suddenly his heart started to pound and the blood rushed into his head. He felt giddy with excitement. He stood up, unable to sit still. 'I mean,' he said, growing even more confident, 'Endymion Spring  wants us to go where all the books are kept — beneath the library, into the stacks Mum told us about. That's where the book is leading us. The Last Book must be hidden somewhere in the depths of the Bodleian Library!'

Just then their mother appeared, looking pleased with herself.

'So, did you learn anything new?' she asked.

Duck and Blake glanced at each other covertly.

'Oh yeah,' they said.

?

Later that night, while they slept, the telephone rang. The sound crept up the stairs and tapped on each of their doors, but they were fast asleep. Duck burrowed her head beneath her pillow, dreaming of Alice; Blake twitched uneasily, tormented by another nightmare that pursued him like a shadow through the stacks of the Bodleian Library; and Juliet Winters rolled over onto the empty side of the bed, holding out a hand to answer a phone that went on ringing, unanswered.

Thousands of miles away, Christopher Winters put down the receiver and then, after a moment's thought, picked it up again and dialed a different number.

'City cabs,' responded a voice on the other end.

'Yes, I'd like a ride to the airport.'

22

Blake could hardly wait. He'd been awake for several hours, riffling through Endymion Spring, trying to uncover its secrets; but nothing new had appeared. Both he and Duck were up and dressed long before their mother joined them for breakfast, and they nearly ran to the Bodleian Library, pulling her behind them.

'What's got into you?' she asked, struggling to keep up.

Blake and Duck said nothing, but smiled at each other. Despite the fear creeping into his body, Blake tingled with anticipation, egged by the book, which flickered and jumped in his bag. He passed through the gates of the four-hundred-year-old library into a paved courtyard surrounded by ancient iron-studded doors and tall, fortress-like ramparts. Pushing past a swarm of tourists who had already gathered to take photos of the Earl of Pembroke, a statue standing proudly on its marble plinth, he came to the main entrance. He heaved open the heavy glass doors and walked inside.

He stopped in amazement.

Facing him was a magnificent chamber flooded with an ethereal, unearthly light. Slender columns supported an ornate roof covered with finely chiseled leaves, crests and angels, all carved from the same honey-colored stone that filled Oxford with gleams of gold. Delicate stone bosses descended from the ceiling like marvelous stalactites.

In the far corner was a large wooden chest decorated with painted flowers and birds, fortified by an intricate system of locks. Blake guessed that this had once housed the university's treasures, when the library was expanding its collection of books.

He gazed around him in wonder, feeling as though he had been swept back hundreds of years to medieval Oxford. A deep, damp smell of learning seeped into his bones.

To his right, he could see a small gift shop full of bookish knickknacks and cat-themed souvenirs for the present-day tourists, while to his left was a depository for coats and bags, guarded by the first of two porters. Blake had been careful to press his mother for more information about the layout of the library. There were two stairwells, he learned, each leading up to the box-shaped reading rooms where the scholars worked. Both were guarded by porters who checked readers' cards on the way in and ensured that none of the university's precious collections went missing on the way out. It wasn't going to be as easy as he thought to sneak in, undetected.

'I'll meet you here in about two hours,' said their mother. 'Then we can do something special. It's early closing today.'

'Take your time,' they replied. 'We won't go far.'

She eyed them warily, her suspicions aroused. 'Well, be careful,' she said, moving towards the south stairwell. She showed the porter her reader's card and ascended the stairs.

While she wound her way up to the Upper Reading Room at the top of the library, Duck and Blake wandered over to the gift shop and pretended to interest themselves in the items for sale. There were book-themed tea towels, book-themed scarves, book-themed ties and even more book-themed books.

Another porter sat behind a small desk in an overlooked corner of the room, close to a second stairwell that disappeared into dimness. The children chose this as their best target. Thankfully, there were plenty of tourists to provide them with cover. Like spies, they leafed through the postcards and posters, all the while watching the porter carefully, trying to figure out the best route to the stacks.

Blake's mother had told him that there was a special lift transporting books up and down from the stacks, all day long, located in the north stairwell. Each time you requested a title from the reading rooms, a molelike librarian scuttled underground and scurried through the miles of shelves to find it. Out of the corner of his eye, he now glimpsed a rectangular shaft, encased in wire mesh, in the center of the staircase. This must be the conveyor she had mentioned. His heart galloped with excitement. They were on the right track.

The porter, a surly-looking man with stubby jowls and hair the color of cigarette ash, was frowning at his watch, counting down the minutes until his coffee break. A partially filled-in crossword lay on the desk before him.

Occasionally, students and scholars brushed past, unclipping their trousers from their socks and removing hard, beetle-like bicycle helmets from their heads. They showed the porter their library cards and quickly ascended the stairs. Those leaving had to have their bags inspected, just in case they were smuggling out rare books.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, Duck sidled up to Blake. She looked worried.

'How are we going to get inside?' she said. 'He looks ferocious.'

Blake was pretending to study a paperweight with dark medieval letters trapped beneath the glass like insects in amber. He glanced at the porter, who had rolled up his newspaper into a baton and was tapping it against the side of the table. A thermos stood on the desk beside him.

'Maybe there'll be a change in shift soon and we can sneak down then,' he said.

Duck looked unimpressed. 'Is that it?' she sneered. 'Is that your plan?'

'Have you got a better one?'

'How about I ask if I can use the bathroom?' she suggested. 'There must be one somewhere inside.'

She slid her hands between her legs and bobbed up and down.

'Do you need to go?'

'Well, I have to make it look realistic, don’t I?' she growled.

'OK,' said Blake, doubtfully. 'It's worth a shot.'

Together, they walked up to the porter, who frowned at them. 'Only readers beyond this point,' he said automatically. He unrolled his newspaper and tried to look busy.

'Is it OK if she uses the bathroom?' asked Blake, pointing at Duck. 'She really has to go.'

The porter pretended not to hear. He read a clue to his crossword, counted the number of squares and then tried to think of a word that would fit.

'Please,' said Blake. 'She's desperate.'

Duck squeezed her legs together and grimaced.