Lost in a Good Book

are they’ll jump.’

‘It sounds a bit like ducking witches.’

‘It’s not ideal,’ said Harris gruffly, ‘I’m the first to admit that.’

Within half an hour Raffles had worked out the combination and now turned his attention to the secondary locking mechanism. He was slowly drilling a hole above the combination knob and the quiet squeaking of the drill bit seemed inordinately loud to our heightened nerves. We were staring at him and silently urging him to go faster when a noise from the library’s heavy door made us turn. Harris and I leaped to either side as the unlocking wheel spun to draw the steel tabs from the slots in the iron frame, and the door swung slowly open. Raffles and Bunny, well used to being disturbed, silently gathered up their tools and hid beneath a table.

‘The manuscript will be released to the publishers first thing tomorrow morning,’ said Kaine as he and Volescamper strolled in. Tweed pointed his automatic at them and they jumped visibly. I pushed the door shut behind them and spun the locking mechanism before searching them.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ said Volescamper in an outraged voice. ‘Miss Next? Is that you?’

‘As large as life, Volescamper.’

Yorrick Kaine had turned a deep shade of crimson.

‘Thieves!’ he spat. ‘How dare you!’

‘No,’ replied Harris, beckoning them farther into the room and signalling for Raffles to continue with his work. ‘We have only come to retrieve Cardenio—something that does not belong to either of you.’

‘Now look here, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ began Volescamper in an outraged fashion, ‘but this house is surrounded by SO-14 agents—there is no escape. And as for you, Miss Next, look here, I am deeply disappointed by your perfidy!’

‘What do you reckon?’ I said to Harris. ‘His indignation seems real.’

‘It does—but he has less to gain from this than Kaine.’

‘You’re right—my money’s on Kaine.’

‘What are you talking about?!’ demanded Kaine angrily. ‘The manuscript belongs to literature—how do you think you can sell something like this on the open market? You may think you can get away with it, but I will die before I allow you to remove the literary heritage that belongs to all of us!’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ I added, ‘Kaine is pretty convincing too.’

‘Remember, he’s a politician.’

‘Of course,’ I returned, snapping my fingers. ‘I’d forgotten. What if it’s neither?’

I didn’t have time to answer as there was a crash from somewhere near the front of the house and the sound of an explosion. A low, guttural moan reached our ears followed by the terrified scream of a man in mortal terror. A shiver ran up my spine, and I could see that everyone else in the room had felt it too. Even the implacable Raffles paused for a moment before returning to work with just a little bit more urgency.

‘Cat!’ exclaimed Harris. ‘What’s going on?’ [23]

‘The Questing Beast?’ exclaimed Tweed. ‘The Glatisant? Summon King Pellinore immediately.’ [24]

‘The Questing Beast?’ I asked. ‘Is that bad?’

‘Bad?’ replied Harris. ‘It’s the worst. The Questing Beast was born in the oral tradition before books so every dark horror that sprang from the human imagination owes its existence to the ancient Glatisant. It has many names but its goal is always the same death and destruction. As soon as it comes through the door anyone still here will be stone cold dead.’

‘Through the vault door?’

‘There is no barrier yet created that can withstand the Questing Beast—except a Pellinore; they have hunted it for years!’

Harris turned to Kaine and Volescamper.

‘But there’s one thing it does tell us. One of you is fictional. One of you has invoked the Questing Beast. I want to know who it is!’

The two prisoners looked at Tweed in a confused manner. There was another low moan, the light machine-gun at the front door fell silent and a splintering of wood met our ears as the Questing Beast forced its way through the main entrance—and moved its odious form closer to the library.

‘Cat!’ yelled Tweed again ‘Where’s that King Pellinore I asked for?’ [25]

‘Keep trying, cat,’ muttered Tweed. ‘We’ve still got a few minutes. Next—have you any ideas?’

I shook my head. Events were running ahead of me.

There was a crunching sound as the Questing Beast made its way down the corridor amid screams of terror and sporadic rifle fire.

‘Raffles?’ yelled Tweed. ‘How long?’

‘Two minutes, old chum,’ replied the safe-cracker without pausing or looking up. He had finished drilling the hole, made a small cup out of clay, stuck it against the side of the safe and was now pouring in what looked like liquid nitrogen.

The battle outside seemed to increase in ferocity with shouts, concussions from grenades, screams and the sound of automatic weaponry until, after an almighty crash that shook the ceiling lights and rattled books from their shelves, all was quiet.

We looked at one another. Even Volescamper and Kaine were quiet. Then a gentle tap sounded on the other side of the steel door. There was a pause, then another.

‘Thank goodness!’ said Tweed in relief. ‘King Pellinore must have arrived and seen it off. Miss Next, open the door.’

But I didn’t. Suspicious of loathsome beasts from the deepest recesses of the human imagination, I stayed my hand. It was as well that I did. The next blow was harder. The blow following that was even more violent; the vault door buckled slightly.

‘Blast!’ exclaimed Tweed. ‘Why is there never a Pellinore around when you need one? Raffles, we don’t have much time!’

‘Just a few minutes more…’ replied Raffles quietly, tapping the safe door with a hammer while Bunny pulled on the brass handle.

Tweed looked at me as the library door buckled under another heavy blow; a large split opened in the steel and the locking wheel sheared off and dropped to the ground. It wouldn’t be long now.

‘Okay,’ said Tweed reluctantly, grabbing my elbow in anticipation of a jump, ‘that’s it. Raffles, Bunny, out of here!’

‘Just a few moments longer…’ replied the safe-cracker, who was used to tight deadlines and didn’t like to give up on a safe, no matter what the possible consequences.

The steel door buckled as the Questing Beast charged it with a deafening crash; books fell off the shelves in a cloud of dust. Then, as the Questing Beast pulled itself back for another blow, I had the one thing that had eluded me for the past half hour. An idea. I pulled Tweed close to me and whispered in his ear

‘No!’ he said. ‘What if—?’

I explained again, he smiled and gave me a nod and I began:

‘So one of you is fictional,’ I announced, looking at them both.

‘And we have to find out who it is,’ remarked Tweed, levelling his pistol in their direction.

‘Might it be Yorrick Kaine—’ I added, staring at Kaine who glared back at me, wondering what we were up to.

‘—failed right wing politician—’

‘—with a cheery enthusiasm for war—’

‘—and putting a lid on civil liberties.’

Tweed and I bantered lines back and forth for as long as we dared, faster and faster, the blows from the Beast outside matching the blows from Raffles’ hammer within.

‘Or perhaps it is Volescamper—’