The City of Dreaming Books (45 page)

Ihardly recognised the Leather Grotto, which was bathed in a wildly flickering glow and filled with clouds of smoke. Flames were burning everywhere. Glowing embers had been raked off the hearths and lay strewn all over the cave, tables and bookcases were ablaze. The book machine was enveloped in a dense pall of smoke, the furniture and candlesticks had been overturned. Turmoil reigned on all sides. Screams, words of command and peals of malevolent laughter rang out, arrows whistled through the air, swords and chains clattered. The fragrance of waxed leather had been completely supplanted by an overpowering stench of burning paper. The Leather Grotto was a battleground.

Al and I concealed ourselves in a rocky niche from which we could survey the course of events. I saw dozens of heavily armed figures attacking the Booklings with axes and swords, clubs and crossbows. Some of the little creatures were already stretched out on the ground, a few were still defending themselves or pushing bookcases over on top of the invaders, and others were milling around in helpless confusion, but most were sprinting for the various exits. I looked for Dancelot Two but couldn’t see him anywhere. ‘What can we do?’ I asked.

Al was speechless. He clung to my arm, sobbing and trembling.

Mailed figures were stalking along the upper walkways of the book machine and discharging their crossbows at the fleeing Booklings. The battle of the Leather Grotto was over bar the shouting. The Booklings had been defeated and put to flight, the Bookhunters had assumed control. I might just as well have answered my own question: we could do absolutely nothing.

‘There are so many of them,’ Al whispered.

Yes, I myself had never seen so many Bookhunters. There were several dozen inside the cave alone, and who knew how many more had fanned out in the neighbouring tunnels? They all wore different kinds of armour and concealed their faces behind fearsome masks, some in the form of death’s-heads, others representing mythical beasts or dangerous predators. The Bookhunters were armoured all over, many sheathed in metal, many in leather or other materials, and their every movement produced a terrifying rattle and clatter. Some had attached fluttering pennants to their armour and helmets, others were draped in shrunken heads or bones. They didn’t look like living creatures, more like fighting machines activated by some baneful magic spell. One of them was brandishing a long whip studded with razor-sharp blades and chain links that whistled through the air, another had silver pincers instead of hands. I caught sight of one Bookhunter who had kindled a coal fire in a brazier welded to his helmet and was trailing long plumes of smoke behind him. I had never seen a more terrifying sight.

‘We must get up on the book machine,’ said Al, who had suddenly found his voice again.

I bent down and hissed in his ear. ‘What?! There are Bookhunters up there. Anyway, what would we do on that rusty contraption?’

‘I can’t explain now,’ he said. ‘I know what I’m doing, trust me.’

‘How do we get there? Those devils are everywhere.’

‘The smoke is very thick over there, where those bookcases are burning. We can sneak through it and reach the machine unobserved. All you have to do is follow me!’

‘But what do we do when we get there?’

‘You’ll see when the time comes.’

Al seemed to have a plan of some kind. That was fine with me - anything was better than simply waiting to be slaughtered by the Bookhunters. He crept out of our niche first and I followed, bending low. We sprinted for a few yards, then plunged into the acrid smoke.

I could see nothing now. I had to shut my eyes and follow Al’s voice blindly, stumbling over unseen pieces of debris.

‘Come on!’ he whispered. ‘Come on, we’re nearly there!’

He was right. A moment later I blundered into the book machine’s iron framework. Cautiously, I opened my eyes. Whorls of grey smoke were enshrouding the machine like dense fog. I could hear it clicking and whirring away as I clung to a rusty handrail.‘We must get to the second floor,’ said Al. ‘Come on!’

On we went, this time over some iron gratings, up one flight of steps, then another. Suddenly the smoke parted. I rubbed my streaming eyes and surveyed the whole scene. We were standing on the second floor of the book machine, which was still in operation. Shelves were gliding past us, both horizontally and vertically. Al seemed to be the only Bookling left alive in the Leather Grotto, all the rest having fled. The Bookhunters, who obviously felt they’d won and need fear no further opposition, behaved accordingly. They were rampaging around, knocking over bookcases and rummaging in their precious contents. A few of them were loudly quarrelling over their booty.

Four heavily armoured Bookhunters were stalking up and down two floors above us, their footsteps clattering on the iron catwalk. Why had Al got us into such a hazardous position? It could be only a matter of moments before one of them spotted us. Had fear or desperation robbed the Bookling of his wits?

‘Al!’ I hissed. ‘What are we doing here? What’s this plan of yours?’

‘I’ve worked something out,’ he replied.

‘What?’

‘Here! With the aid of my table!’ Al held out his mysterious list, which he’d left up here on the machine. ‘This is it!’ He pointed to one of the shelves that were slowly gliding past. It drew level with us and came to a stop.

The Bookhunters down below started cheering: Rongkong Koma had just emerged from one of the tunnels and entered the Leather Grotto. To my horror, I saw that he was carrying Regenschein’s severed head.

‘Colophonius Regenschein is dead!’ he cried, tossing the head into the cave. It rolled past a few dead Booklings and came to rest in front of a heap of burning books. Al averted his gaze.

The Bookhunters roared with laughter.

‘The Leather Grotto is ours!’ Rongkong Koma cried. ‘Kill anyone else you find. And destroy that damned machine.’ He pointed straight in our direction - and stopped short. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he took several rapid steps towards the book machine. Finally he grinned: he had spotted us.

‘I smell . . .’ he said, ‘I smell . . . lizard flesh!’

All the other Bookhunters turned to look. Axes and spears were brandished.

‘It’s time,’ said Al. ‘Climb on!’

‘What?’

‘Climb on that shelf, I’ve got it all worked out.’

‘But they’ll kill us anyway!’

‘You must trust me. I can’t explain now.’

‘That nice, plump lizard there!’ yelled Rongkong Koma. ‘Pfistomel Smyke has put a big fat price on its head. Bring it to me!’

The four Bookhunters above us had already sprung to life and set off down the stairs. They had just reached our own floor.

I mounted the shelf and Al climbed up beside me.

‘Hang on tight!’ he commanded. ‘Hang on tight!’

The Bookhunters came pounding along the catwalk, heading straight for us. One of them raised a huge spear and levelled it at me. I shut my eyes and prepared to die. There was a whirr and a click behind me and I suddenly felt a breath of air on my cheek: we were moving! Opening my eyes again, I saw the Bookhunters staring up at us in bewilderment. The shelf had risen into the air.

‘I’ve got it all worked out,’ Al repeated.

The Bookhunters ran back up the stairs. The shelf had stopped on the fifth floor.

‘What now?’ I asked.

‘Stay on the shelf,’ Al said. ‘Just do as I say. Above all, hang on tight.’

‘Get them!’ Rongkong Koma called from below. ‘Hurry up!’

The Bookhunters had already reached our floor.

‘Damnation,’ Al muttered. ‘They’re too quick.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll have to hold them off. It’s a shame, I’d sooner have come with you.’

He jumped off the shelf and barred the Bookhunters’ path.

‘Al!’ I shouted. ‘What are you doing?’

The Bookhunters were so flummoxed, they actually came to a halt. Al raised one hand and addressed them in such a thunderous voice that they retreated a step. They probably shared the widespread and deep-rooted belief in the Booklings’ magical powers.

The Bookhunters looked at each other and exchanged grunting sounds. Al turned to me once more and cried,

I heard a loud, metallic click behind me. Chains rattled, rusty cogwheels ground together. The next moment the shelf retreated into the book machine’s dark interior. In front of me, two sliding panels converged like curtains, blotting out my view of Al, the Bookhunters and the Leather Grotto. Then the shelf keeled over backwards. I clung on tight, nonsensically calling out Al’s name. There was a loud noise like an iron bolt being drawn and the shelf abruptly plummeted into the depths.

I
magine, dear readers, that you are lying on your back on a toboggan travelling at breakneck speed down a snowy slope on a dark night. That conveys a pretty accurate idea of the situation in which I now found myself.

I would never have thought it possible for a bookshelf to propel itself at such a rate. It was mounted on rails, as the screech of metal and the showers of sparks to left and right of me indicated, but the light of the glowing splinters revealed no sign of a steering device, let alone a brake. So I clung on tight and shut my eyes. This did not, however, dispel the physical sensation of falling. It scrambled my brain and turned my stomach until I felt so queasy I thought I would have to vomit. Striving to pull myself together, I opened my eyes and craned my neck to see where this wild ride was taking me. It was while speeding downwards in this unnatural position that I saw it for the first time: the
Rusty Gnomes’ Bookway.

Its supporting columns, rails and cross-ties - every iron girder, every nut and bolt in this amazing structure - was coated with a film of rust that emitted a phosphorescent green glow in the darkness. Seen from my viewpoint, the Bookway resembled a huge, luminous millipede winding its way through an endless dark void.

Colophonius Regenschein’s book had given a detailed account of this miracle of the catacombs and also of its legendary builders. The Rusty Gnomes were a race of dwarfs who derived their name from their rust-coloured beards and their passion for anything to do with metal and corrosion. They were the first inhabitants of the catacombs to have given any thought to the transportation of large numbers of books.

In ancient times it had been a laborious business to convey large numbers of weighty old tomes from one part of the labyrinth to another, and dangerous as well. Wild animals, huge insects and book pirates lurked everywhere, as did the threat of yawning chasms, cave-ins and flash floods. The transportation of books, especially valuable ones, was immensely hazardous. The Rusty Gnomes, as Regenschein reported, had snow-white skin, rust-red hair and beards, and eyes with scarlet irises. They were better acquainted with the layout of the catacombs than any race before them. Inspired by love of scientific research, they fearlessly explored every last corner of the subterranean labyrinth and compiled a detailed atlas of it. They were also exceptionally skilful craftsmen and inventive mechanical engineers. They mined and smelted iron ore, canalised underground rivers, guided streams of molten lava along artificial channels and used it for heating purposes. They linked huge caverns by means of shafts, installed iron stairways and ladders throughout the catacombs, and greatly improved their stability with an ingenious system of buttresses.

The Rusty Gnomes bred a special type of rust and crossed it with luminous algae and phosphorescent fungi, thereby producing something that could not be assigned exclusively to the mineral or the vegetable kingdom. They used this substance, which emitted a subdued glow and continuously reproduced itself, to light large parts of their territory, and they eventually coated their Bookway with it. The other inhabitants of the catacombs referred to this rust mutation as
shimmermould.

In addition, the Rusty Gnomes left behind vast libraries of books devoted exclusively to problems of mechanics, chemistry and physics, as could be inferred from their drawings of mysterious contrivances, machinery and tools. These books cannot be read to this day, since the Rusty Gnomes’ script has still to be deciphered. It is said that they communicated with other life forms solely by means of sign language in order to preserve the secrecy of their own language and, thus, of their scientific expertise.