“Of course. She had been very much in love with him, but they were only married six months before he was killed.”
“How did he die? Did she say?”
Evelyn put down her brush. The temperature in the room seemed to have suddenly dropped a few degrees. “I told you once. He was taken by Kullervo.”
“Is that all you know?” asked Connie, pretending not to notice her aunt’s suspicious looks.
“Connie, why are you asking me all this?”
“I just want to know. I think it might be important.”
“How important?” Evelyn had still not resumed painting. She had her full attention on her niece.
“You know, don’t you?” Connie replied, laying her brush down on the edge of the can and wiping her hands on the old shirt she was wearing.
“Know what?”
“About my argument with the Trustees.” The words that had remained unspoken between them for months finally emerged.
Evelyn nodded.
“And you agree with them?”
Evelyn sat back on her heels, shifting the unaccustomed weight of the baby from her knees. “I agree that you mustn’t even think about challenging Kullervo, but—”
“But?” asked Connie eagerly.
“But I don’t think you should be stopped from finding out all you can about defending yourself against him. You’ve had to fight him already and, though I hate to say it, will probably have to do so again.”
Connie felt a rush of gratitude toward her aunt. She wished she had spoken to her sooner. She should’ve never forgotten that Evelyn had been the first to defy the Trustees when the Society had expelled her last year.
“And you won’t stop me? Won’t report me?”
Evelyn smiled and picked up the brush again. “Do you really think you live in a house where any of us will go running to the Society to tell tales? Even if I didn’t agree with what you were doing, I’d never do that. I’d pack you off to your parents first. That’d keep you out of trouble.”
Connie grimaced. “Thanks.”
“What’s more, I want to help you. I’ll give you all that I know about George Brewer if that’s any use.”
“Brilliant! So what do you know?”
Evelyn left for a moment and came back with a bundle of old letters. “I thought we might get ’round to discussing this. If you hadn’t raised it, I was going to. So I got these ready for you.” She handed them over to Connie.
“Can I read them now?” asked Connie.
“They’ve waited over sixty years; they can wait a bit longer. We’ve got a room to prepare. But you can keep them as long as you need.”
“Okay,” said Connie reluctantly, tucking them into her pocket. She turned back to the wall. Now where should she put the siren? Flying with the seagull or on the rock with the dragon?
Connie and Evelyn got quite carried away with the mural in the baby’s room. By the end of the day, it resembled nothing so much as a miniature version of the library in the Society’s headquarters: a riot of creatures swimming, flying, and running. Evelyn was a bit scornful of the seascape at Connie’s end, but Mack loved it. He thumped Connie enthusiastically on the back when he came in, making her spill paint all over his boots.
“And I left you the Kraken to do,” said Connie handing him the brush and a can of black paint. “There’s a space in the center.”
“Right!” said Mack, rolling up his sleeves. “Time to watch the master at work.”
“Master!” protested Evelyn, gesturing at her beautifully drawn circle of dancing banshees. “So what’s this?”
“The work of an inspired amateur,” replied Mack with a roguish grin.
Connie slipped upstairs. The letters had been burning a hole in her back pocket all day. She couldn’t wait any longer to read them.
Sitting on her bed, picking the speckles of paint off her arms absentmindedly, Connie read her way through the small bundle of letters. Most of them were badly weathered as if they had passed through many a storm on their way from the Arctic to England. They smelled faintly of wood smoke. George’s writing was how she pictured him: firm and resolute, commanding the reader’s attention as it strode confidently across the paper. It was not until she reached the last letter sent from “somewhere in the Arctic Circle” that she found something to justify her intrusion on the past.
Dearest Sybil,
I write this in the knowledge that it is possibly my last letter to you. Either because I will succeed and be back with you very soon or…well we both know what might happen to either of us during these terrible times.
I received a letter from Reggie with the first installment of notes. I expect he told you about them before he was called up. I was right! It does seem that the key to combating the cursed creature is to survive the transformations until he adopts one that is weak. If you last long enough, he’s bound to do this under the rules of the combat that he laid down. In his pride, he has declared that he has to keep changing form in answer to every counter-attack. Surely, eventually one of these will be something you can defeat?
I’ve been waiting for further information from Reggie but I don’t know where he is.
Connie sat up: of course, the letter he was waiting for had never been sent! It had been left in the library.
If I know the army, they’ve probably packed him off to some training camp in the middle of nowhere where he’s completely out of touch with the Society. Do you know where he is? We can’t wait much longer as Kullervo is on the move and approaching our positions. We were thinking that between us we should be able to keep him at bay long enough. We have creatures and companions from every company here. Bruin is eager to take him on—you know what the bears are like!—and I must say I feel the same. If we don’t hear from Reggie soon, we’ll just have to do our best, even without the advice of our universal.
The griffin that carries this also brings my love. It is a good show that love weighs nothing or he would not be able to fly with the extra burden! Keep safe.
Your loving husband,
George
Connie could have wept as she put down the letter. Foolish, stupid, brave George: of course, he didn’t stand a chance. You can’t keep Kullervo “at bay” with only a few teeth and claws. The universal’s mental tools were the only powers strong enough to keep him in check for any length of time. George had led others into a trap. Kullervo had probably crowed with delight as he saw them sledge their way to their deaths. Poor Sybil.
Moving to the window, Connie looked out into the darkness. She hoped she would never be so headstrong as to lead so many others to a pointless death. No, if she risked anything, it should be her own life and not that of her friends. Maybe it was just as well that she was in this alone. It should be between her and Kullervo—no one else. But when had he ever transformed into anything weak? Had George really been right? He was hardly likely to turn into a beetle for her to stamp on, was he? If there was a way, this wasn’t it. George had found that out at the cost of his life.
In her plans to fight Kullervo, Connie had reached a dead end.
Connie was on her way back to London again, this time for Liam’s birthday party. Unlike the hot sunny day when she’d last been to the Society headquarters, she was looking out of the train on a wet, chilly landscape. Not a proper winter’s day, she thought to herself, no satisfying showers of snow, just a damp smudge of a day. Mack and Simon sat opposite her doing the end of year sports’ quiz in the paper. But this time there was no Col to join in, no enthusiastic voice to shout out the answers and tease Simon about his team.
Connie traced his name on the window. She missed Col badly. She wanted to tell him about her preparations even if he did disapprove, hear about his training, just be with him, but Col had barely been in Hescombe since joining the British team. The selection had changed Col, she thought. He had renewed confidence in himself, able to be more generous about other people’s gifts, including her own, now that he felt secure in his. The te
am was a very good thing for him—the only down side being that it had taken him away just at the time when she needed him. Not that she’d ever plucked up the courage to admit it to him.
Before going to Liam’s birthday party, the Lionhearts and Mack called in at the headquarters to visit the library. Connie had a book to return and wanted to look up some new tools in the universals’ reading room—“Before I’m banned,” she added under her breath. Simon did not mind the diversion as he was pleased by the fuss made over him by the porter.
“I’ve heard about you, son,” the porter said, holding out the book for Simon to sign. “Two companies, eh? How many badges have they given you?”
Simon proudly showed off his horse and lizard badges, which he had pinned to the center of his sweater.
“Treating you all right, are they, those Sea Snakes?” the porter continued. “If in doubt, you stick with us Two-Fours.”
A companion to the cerberi, the three-headed guard dog, Connie realized, as the shadow of the porter’s gift appeared in her mind’s eye.
“Watch it, mate,” said Mack good-humoredly as he buffed up his own lizard badge.
The porter was now used to Connie’s presence and made no comment as she signed herself in.
“You know where to go,” he said, waving them off. “Upstairs. First floor.”
“I’ll meet you in the café,” Connie said to her two companions. “Give me an hour.”
She ran up the stairs two at a time and then pushed the door open to the library. The light seeped into the chamber from the lantern dome, giving the room an underwater feel, like a sea grotto. This close to Christmas, there were few readers. A couple of pale faces rose at her entrance, blinking at her over their books like creatures disturbed from under the stones in a rock pool. Mr. Dove was sitting at his desk in the center of the room, nodding over a thick volume. Connie walked up to him and put The Early History of the Society softly on the desk in front of him. He started awake as if she had slammed it down and glared over the edge of the counter. For a brief moment Connie was reminded of the snake that guarded the universal’s reading room. When he saw who it was, however, his expression changed and he smiled pleasantly at her.
“So sorry, Miss Lionheart. I should not have been asleep. You caught me unawares. Was this any good?” He held up the book she had just returned.
“Yes, very helpful, thank you.”
“Funny bunch, your lot, weren’t they?” he asked conversationally as he checked the book back into the library records.
“My lot?”
“The universals. Got into some hot water. A dangerous crowd, if you ask me. It’s nice to have you with us, of course, but it’s probably just as well there’s only one of you.”
Here it was again: the prejudice against the universals. She had met it in its extreme form in Mr. Coddrington, but she was surprised to hear it from the mild Mr. Dove. Still, she wasn’t here to pick an argument.
“The key, please,” she said, holding out her hand. It would be a relief to get away from all the other members. No wonder the universals had shut themselves away, if they had to deal with critical comments like this all the time.
Then a thought struck her. “Mr. Dove, can I look up a creature in your index, please?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, but added quickly when he saw her disappointment, “only because I have to do that for you. It’s the rules.”
“Rules?”
“Well, there are some restrictions on particular creatures, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It’s to stop unscrupulous companions taking advantage of prey, you see. For example, if you were a companion to the Scylla, we might want to ask why you were interested in finding out all there was to know about the selkies. Or a fire imp companion about a water sprite. Do you get the idea?”
Connie felt relieved. That was all right then. “That wouldn’t apply to me, surely?”
Mr. Dove reached over for the volume she’d seen once before when he had brought it before the Trustees. “I suppose not. But rules are rules, and even the universals are under some restrictions. What do you want to know?”
Connie cleared her throat. “Are there any books about Kullervo?”
“Ah.” Mr. Dove put the book back on the shelf behind him. “We seem to have hit on one of those restrictions immediately.” When she said nothing, he added, “I’m under instructions not to divulge that information to you at the present time.”
“Says who?” she asked angrily, though she already knew.
“I’ve an order here from the Trustees. The restriction is to last until—”
“Until they think I can be trusted,” Connie finished for him bitterly.
Mr. Dove gave her a sympathetic nod and leaned forward over his desk to whisper to her, “I personally do not approve of the decision—quite unfair to stop the spread of knowledge.” He glanced around to check that they were not being overheard. “But might I point out that the order does not say you cannot look at the books? Who’s to say that you did not stumble across the right work quite by chance when you were looking in the central shelves of the universal’s reading room under ‘C.’” He gave her a ghost of a wink, sat back quickly, and said in a louder tone, “So you understand that I have absolutely no choice but to refuse to look that creature up for you.”
Connie gave him back a grateful smile. “I understand. Thank you.”
Mr. Dove held out the universal’s key on its blue ribbon. Connie was about to take it when the door to the library banged open, disturbing the centuries’ thick layers of peace that had accumulated in this chamber.
“Stop!” shouted Mr. Coddrington, striding purposefully across the room. The sleepy readers sat up, staring at the little group clustered around the central desk.
“Mr. Coddrington!” protested the librarian. “What is the meaning of this? How dare you burst in here like an ill-mannered great boar?”
Connie went cold, recognizing her enemy on the warpath again.
“Stop right there, Universal! Don’t give her the key, Dove!” cried Mr. Coddrington, thrusting himself between them.
“Why not? It’s hers to take—it’s her right,” said Mr. Dove stubbornly. The key swayed in his grip like a pendulum. Connie was tempted to grab it and make a dash for her reading room. Mr. Coddrington would not dare pursue her past the snake; he wouldn’t be able to put a foot over the threshold.
Mr. Coddrington swung around to glare at Connie as if he could guess her thoughts. His pale face was flushed with two bright spots high on his cheeks.
“Thank goodness I found out she had slunk into the building. At least some of us are not lax about our duties!”
Mr. Dove sniffed at the implied criticism. “I had not heard that Miss Lionheart was to be denied entry, Assessor. I did not know that your zeal to persecute the universal had reached that height.”
Mr. Coddrington turned back to the librarian. Connie noticed that most of the readers had left their places and come to stand in a ring around the desk. She met the gaze of one—an elderly woman with glasses dangling from a chain—and was dismayed to find that the woman was staring at her with a far from friendly expression.
Mr. Coddrington dug inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper which he brandished under Mr. Dove’s nose.
“Read this, Librarian. You’ll find I have here an order, signed by all the Trustees, to ban the universal access to the reading room with immediate effect.”
Connie’s heart plummeted.
“It took a lot of lobbying to get this much, I can tell you,” continued Mr. Coddrington, addressing the audience of readers, “but I managed finally to convince them, after vividly representing the consequences of a lack of vigilance against her unguarded activities.”
Mr. Dove gave Connie an apologetic glance and gingerly took the paper. He spread it out on the desk in front of him and bent over to read it.
“Well? You see I have the autho
rity,” snapped Mr. Coddrington, shooting Connie a triumphant look.
Mr. Dove cleared his throat. “It does appear to be as you say,” he admitted. He turned the paper over, paused, then smiled. “But you seem to have forgotten something, Assessor. The paper has to be countersigned by the Senior Librarian. She is—unfortunately—away today, and I am afraid I really do not feel that I have the authority to sign for her on so weighty a matter in her absence. It therefore would appear that the order has not yet come into effect.”
“But—!” spluttered Mr. Coddrington.
“I know, Assessor, that you would be the first to recognize the importance of following such protocols to the letter,” continued Mr. Dove, enjoying himself immensely. “We have to observe the proper channels or where would we be, eh? I’m sure I’ve heard you talk on this subject numerous times in the past.” He held out the key to Connie.
“Damn the proper channels,” cursed the assessor, his face apoplectic with rage. He pointed an accusing finger at Connie. “She’s a danger to us all. She’s got to be stopped.”
“But not by me—not until I have a direct order from my superior,” said Mr. Dove calmly. “And as far as I remember, the New Members’ Department has no authority over the library.” He placed the key in Connie’s hand.
Seizing her chance, Connie shouldered her way through the murmuring crowd and fled for the safety of the snake-guarded stairwell before someone else tried to stop her. She had forgiven Mr. Dove for his earlier slight against the universals. It was nice to know that she still had one or two allies in the Society.
Mrs. Khalid had organized Liam’s first ever birthday celebration, complete with games, presents, and cake. At home, Liam was lucky if his parents remembered, and they had never gotten around to inviting any of his friends over. When Mrs. Khalid learned this, she had decided his eighth birthday would have to make up for all the ones he had missed in the past. Liam had made a surprising number of Society friends over the last four months and the room was packed.