Wolf had pulled a stepladder over to the place where he’d removed the panel in the ceiling. The three children climbed up – Wolf first, then Effie, then Maximilian – and wriggled through the hatch. The servants’ corridor was thin and dark, but they were just about able to stand up in it. There was a little wooden shelf with some candles, matches and a taper. Each of the children lit a candle, and then they started making their way forward in the soft flickering light. Every so often there were little wooden hatches with tiny windows and old wooden ladders. This must have been how servants moved through the old house in the past, long before it became a school, going about their duties silently, invisibly. The children went past the vast dining hall with its polished floors and dark wooden tables; the laundry; the headmaster’s study. And then, finally, they went down some steps to a wooden door that presumably led outside.
The door was locked.
Effie put her head in her hands. ‘Oh no,’ she said. It was now ten to five. She could just about get to her grandfather’s place by five, but only if this door would open. And it did not look as if that were going to happen. Next to its large brass handle was a big keyhole – and no key. The children looked around everywhere, but the key was nowhere to be found. The door must have been locked from the other side.
‘The sword,’ said Maximilian immediately. But he knew it would be no good. There was no space for Wolf to swing it at the door. Effie, now desperate, started trying to simply push her way out. It was ridiculous (especially as this was a door that opened inwards) but she remembered how strong she had felt before, playing tennis. If she could only get some of that strength back now. Maybe she could . . .
‘Shall I try the ring?’ she asked Maximilian.
He shrugged. ‘Give it a try. But . . . I don’t think the power will be enough.’
Effie slipped the ring back on. Again, that warm, lovely feeling. All the muscles in her body rippled with power and potential. She felt like she could pick up a bus, or run so fast she would start flying, or . . . But this time the good feeling didn’t last long. Soon she felt tired and had to slip the ring off again.
‘Maybe if I try?’ Wolf said. Effie reluctantly gave him the ring. It fitted on his middle finger. But, as soon as it was on, Wolf turned a bit green and had to sit down because his legs went so weak. ‘I feel sick,’ he said. ‘And – urgh – just horrible.’ He took the ring off and went back to normal.
‘These items,’ began Maximilian, ‘which are really called boons, by the way, they work with your true-born ability. They can’t be used by just anyone. They only work if they sort of match you. They are very specifically designed to— ’
‘Be completely useless in helping us get out?’ said Wolf.
Effie felt like crying. What were they going to do?
‘Effie,’ said Maximilian. ‘Do you mind if I try something else from your bag?’
‘Do what you like,’ she said. It was now five to five and hope was running out for her to get to her grandfather’s in time. ‘But hurry.’
Maximilian reached inside the pouch and found what he was looking for. The soft red leather glasses case, velvety and smooth from centuries of handling. Maximilian opened the case and there they were.
The Spectacles of Knowledge. Who would have thought that these things even existed outside of mythology and folklore? But of course Maximilian had learned that most mythology and folklore was real, and so he shouldn’t have been surprised. But he was. He was surprised and awed and . . . The sword hadn’t worked for him, of course, and the ring probably would do nothing either. But would these . . .? Would they . . .? Could they . . .?
He slipped the glasses out of the case. The lenses were very thin and old, and had been polished so much that they were almost clearer than air. The frames were antique silver. They were a bit tarnished, would need a bit of a scrub here and there with a silver cloth, but . . . Maximilian put them on. He looked around the cramped space and . . .
Yes. He was right. The whole scene was completely different. Maximilian could now see the original plans of the building overlaying the actual structure. The spectacles overlaid his normal vision with all the facts he could ever want about his surroundings, as well as a compass, a thermometer and layers and layers of historical knowledge about the place he was in.
He also had access to a dictionary, full translations of any language – including all the magical ones – and full subscription rights to the Digital Arcane Library, which cost hundreds of krubles to access via the dim web. He could also see vital statistics hovering around Effie and Wolf in the form of status bars. Her energy was still dangerously low, he could see . . .
‘Wow,’ he said aloud.
Wolf and Effie looked at one another. This nerdy creature was now totally blissing-out on having a new pair of glasses, which was actually quite sweet, but they really, really needed to get out of here, and . . .
‘Give me the letter opener,’ said Maximilian, with some authority. ‘NOT you, Wolf. Don’t you touch it. Thanks, Effie. Now. Let’s see. Original brass mortice lock, manufactured in 1898. Aha. I see. If I press here and turn this and find that lever there, then . . .’
With a big, solid CLICK the mortice lock opened and Maximilian was able to turn the brass handle and pull the heavy door towards them.
Outside were the wet cobblestones of the road that ran down the side of the Tusitala School for the Gifted, Troubled and Strange. Somewhere a clock was striking five. They were free. But was Effie too late?
Wolf darted off with a simple ‘Laters’. Effie took the spectacles back from Maximilian – they were hers, after all – and put them, and the letter opener, in her bag. She was tempted to try to use the ring again, to see if it would make her run fast, but she still felt too weak and tired to be able to use the extra strength properly. Instead, she hurried off into the early evening, drizzle falling all around her, wondering what she was going to find when she got to her grandfather’s place. Maximilian offered to come with her, to help. But she just wanted to be alone.
‘Effie . . .?’ he began, jogging after her.
‘What?’
‘Wait . . .’
‘I can’t. I’ve got to . . .’ Effie wished he would go away. But then she remembered that it had been Maximilian’s mother who had hurried after her this morning with the ring. Nurse Underwood who had been so kind to her grandfather in the hospital. And if it hadn’t been for Maximilian and his knowledge, she would never have escaped detention. And if he hadn’t taken off the ring, then she might well even have been dead.
‘It’s my grandfather,’ Effie said. ‘He’s . . . Well, he died, and left me his library. But my father says we don’t have anywhere to put the books and so the charity man is coming and . . . My grandfather left me these things as well, these magical things, these boons that you seem to know all about, and . . . I can’t explain now, but I have to save his library.’
‘Probably full of magic books,’ Maximilian mused, puffing. ‘Definitely worth saving. Especially as your grandfather . . .’
But whatever he was going to say was lost to a loud clap of thunder.
‘All right. Come with me. But hurry,’ said Effie.
And on they went through the rain, a long-haired girl in a bottle-green cape followed by a puffing, slightly fat boy, neither of whom had any idea that their destinies were now linked for ever.
8
At the Old Rectory there were several people standing outside, none of them happy.
‘I can get a locksmith in the morning,’ Effie’s father was saying to a bald man in an electric-blue shell suit. Was he the charity man? He must be. He looked extremely annoyed.
‘My client doesn’t like being kept waiting,’ said the charity man.
‘I do not like being kept waiting,’ agreed a third man, in a thin, cold voice.
Behind the charity man was a boy in school uniform. It was . . . Wolf.
‘Aha,’ said Orwell Bookend, as Effie and Maximilian c
reaked through the wrought iron gate and crunched up the wet gravel driveway. ‘Perhaps my errant daughter can shed some light on the mystery of the missing key.’
Effie frowned. She didn’t like it when her dad spoke to her like this in front of other people, as if she were a character in a book rather than a real-life person.
‘What missing key?’ she said.
‘Did you, or did you not,’ said Orwell, ‘hide the key so that we could not get in and remove the books that now belong to this man here?’
‘What man?’
The man with the thin, cold voice stepped out of the shadows and offered Effie a tiny pale withered hand.
‘Leonard Levar,’ he said, drawing out each L in his name. ‘Antiquarian Bookseller. I believe that you are the official owner of one of the books in my new library. I had hoped to purchase a complete library, of course, as I have been explaining to your father, and so I wonder if we could come to some arrangement about the final book, and— ’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Effie to her father, ignoring Leonard Levar. ‘They’re my books and I don’t know anything about the key. You had it last.’
‘I do apologise for my daughter . . .’
‘And you said before that they were “leather-bound junk”. Well, they obviously aren’t junk. How much is he paying you for them? For my books?’
‘Euphemia Truelove, please stop being so rude.’
‘I have already said that I will pay the girl for the last book,’ said Leonard Levar. ‘How much do you want, child?’
‘Don’t do it,’ whispered Maximilian, behind Effie. ‘Keep the book.’
‘All the books are mine,’ said Effie. ‘And you are not buying any of them.’
The charity man looked at his watch, and jangled a big bunch of keys. ‘I can bust down this door at any time,’ he said. ‘With the help of my nephew here.’
Wolf looked very uncomfortable. Effie glared at him for a few seconds until his cheeks went pink and he turned away.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Orwell Bookend. ‘Effie?’
‘I’ve already said I don’t have your stupid key,’ she said.
Her father’s eyes flashed with anger and he strode over and grasped her firmly by the arm. He dragged her over to the hedge where in theory no one could hear what they were saying, but really everyone could. Maximilian moved a few paces closer just to make sure he didn’t miss anything significant.
‘You have to give me the key,’ hissed Orwell. ‘Look, I know I said the books didn’t have any value, and that’s what I genuinely believed, but when the charity man offered me money for them of course I agreed to take it. We are very lucky, Euphemia, that the charity man works for Leonard Levar, otherwise we probably would have had to throw the books away. It transpires that your grandfather was only renting these rooms, and we have to clear them out by next Thursday or pay another month’s rent. He used to own the top floor of this building, and we should have inherited it, but it turns out that last year he sold it, no doubt to fund his ridiculous fantasies. We have nowhere to keep the books ourselves. Mr Levar’s offer for the books is really very generous. We can put the money towards a new house, which means you can have your own bedroom. If you give me the key now I’m sure we can come to some arrangement with Mr Levar. Perhaps he’ll let you keep five books. They’re all the same really in the end and . . .’
Through gritted teeth Effie said again, ‘I haven’t got your key.’ Her father’s grip tightened around her arm, and then he pushed her away.
‘I couldn’t help overhearing,’ said Leonard Levar. ‘And if the child plans to break up the collection I will have to withdraw my offer. I thought I had made it entirely clear that the offer was for the whole collection only.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Orwell reassured him. ‘As you know, I had promised my daughter one book, but I’m sure she won’t mind you keeping the collection intact if that’s the only way the books can be taken.’
Just then, the charity man’s pager beeped.
‘More good news, I presume?’ said Leonard Levar.
‘Yep,’ said the charity man. ‘Locksmith can do it after all. He’ll be here in five minutes.’
‘Wonderful,’ breathed Leonard Levar.
After that, it all happened very quickly. The locksmith picked the lock and the big wooden door clicked open. Wolf and the charity man went inside with Orwell Bookend and before long they had put a dust cloth on the stairs and were going up and down carrying boxes filled with the books from Griffin Truelove’s library. This was probably the worst thing Effie had ever had to watch. Wolf didn’t catch her eye the whole time this was going on. She’d thought they were friends, almost, but obviously not.
Up and down they went, Wolf and his horrible uncle, and before long their van was filled with all Effie’s grandfather’s treasured books. Then there was a metallic sliding sound and the van was closed. The locksmith closed the door, the old lock clicking into place as he did so. Leonard Levar walked slowly over to Effie.
‘Here’s twenty pounds,’ he said, offering her a damp banknote. ‘For the final book. Of course, I already have the book, because I now have the complete collection, but I wanted you to see that I am a man of my word.’
‘I don’t want your money,’ she said. ‘I want my books.’
‘Effie,’ said Maximilian. ‘Just take it.’
‘Aha,’ said Leonard Levar. ‘Good. A sensible young man. You’ll take the money, then, on behalf of your friend, and we can consider this transaction complete.’
Maximilian held out his hand and took the twenty-pound note.
‘It’ll come in useful,’ he said, once Leonard Levar had got into his small black vintage car and driven away after the van. ‘You’ll see.’
‘I can’t believe they took my books,’ said Effie, her eyes full of tears.
‘We’ll get them back,’ said Maximilian.
‘Yeah? How?’
The rain had now stopped but it was still cold. If only Miss Dora Wright hadn’t gone down south or whatever had happened to her. Effie needed someone kind to talk to, but there was no one. Well, apart from Maximilian, but he was just a child like her.
Effie’s father walked over. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go back to the university for a meeting, but Cait will be cooking dinner for you.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I can probably drop you home if we leave immediately, but . . .’
‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ said Effie.
Orwell sighed. ‘I don’t know why you make everything so difficult,’ he said. ‘But suit yourself. We can talk about this later.’ And he left.
Effie sat on the wall by the hedge. She felt like she might cry. Maximilian didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t put his arm around her or anything like that. It would be . . . Well, she was a girl, and it would just be wrong. He had never put his arm around a girl, or even thought about it. It would surely be years before he would even have to? He sat next to Effie and tried to think of something to say.
Just then, a rabbit hopped out from under the hedge. It looked this way and that way and then seemed to nibble some grass. It did this in a peculiar way, as if its mouth were already full and it were therefore only pretending to nibble the grass, and it kept throwing sideways glances at the children the whole time it was doing this.
Maximilian wondered what it was doing. He had never seen a rabbit acting more suspiciously than this one. In fact, he had never seen a rabbit acting suspiciously at all. A car went past in the street beyond, its headlights lighting up the wet cobblestones. Then, for a moment, all was quiet. Looking a little like something from a dream, the rabbit hopped over and dropped something at Effie’s feet. Then it waited.
Maximilian nudged Effie. ‘What’s that?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘The rabbit brought you something.’
Effie wiped her eyes and looked down. It was the key to her grandfather’s front door. She picked it up and wip
ed it on her school cape.
The rabbit looked up at her hopefully.
‘Well, you came a bit late,’ said Effie.
The rabbit immediately felt sad. It had not pleased the child with the special aura! Effie noticed the disappointed look start to creep over the rabbit’s face, and understood that the way it twitched its whiskers meant it was about to cry. Of course rabbits don’t cry in the same way humans do, but the main feeling is the same.
‘Oh no!’ said Effie. ‘Oh . . . I’m so sorry, poor rabbit. I meant thank you. Thank you so much. Of course if you’d brought the key before, then my father would have been able to get in without a locksmith, and I would never have been able to get into my grandfather’s rooms ever again. And even if the books have gone, I can still go in and see if there is anything else I can take to remember him by, and say goodbye properly to all my memories of visiting him there. You’re a lovely kind rabbit. Thank you!’
Do rabbits really do things like this, in the real world?
Only if you have quite a lot of magic in you.
9
Maximilian walked into the Old Rectory with Effie and followed her up the stairs. The house had stopped being a rectory around fifty years before, when it had been converted into two large apartments. Downstairs, Miss Dora Wright’s rooms sat quietly, waiting for her return. In the hallway a single coat hung limply from a hook, and an umbrella rested forlornly against an empty hat stand. Everything was a little dusty, and there were large cobwebs hanging across the ceiling. But thick oriental rugs spoke of a time of homeliness and comfort. There were several oil paintings on the walls, and glazed ceramic lamps on little tables.
Griffin Truelove’s rooms began on the second floor. Here was his small kitchen and dining room and his large sitting room, all the glass-fronted cabinets still full of interesting artefacts from his travels and adventures. Although this room was familiar to Effie, who had been coming here regularly since the worldquake, Maximilian could not believe what he was seeing.