The Nowhere Emporium (14 page)

Michelle Sharpe giggled as she walked arm in arm with Lucien through the Emporium’s growing number of corridors.

“What have you made for me this time?” she said. “It cannot be more beautiful than the Crystal Lake.”

Lucien allowed himself a smile. He had created a new Wonder for Michelle every evening since they had met. One door led to a room made entirely from velvet-smooth chocolate. Another revealed a trek through the branches of an enormous Christmas tree, the aromas of roasting goose, spiced mincemeat and coal dust dancing in the air. It had taken him all evening to create the music mine – a vast cavern dotted with brightly coloured jewels that filled the air with beautiful melodies when they were plucked from the walls.

Lucien led her up a staircase to a solitary door.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Open it and find out,” he said.

She reached for the handle, opened the door, and took a few hesitant steps into the room beyond.

“It’s a garden,” she said, barely able to speak through her amazement.

She was right. It was a garden, an overgrown wilderness of plants and flowers and trees. But every petal of every flower was made of fire. The world inside this impossible room was dark, lit only by the flicker from the flaming plants – blues and greens, reds, yellows, oranges.

“It’s a fire garden,” said Lucien. “I thought of you when I made it.” He blushed as she turned and stared into his grey eyes.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, and she began to wander around the garden.

Lucien watched. “You can touch the flames if you like. They won’t burn.”

Michelle reached up, touching her fingertips to the flaming blossom of a tree. Burning cinders fell to the ground, but her skin did not burn, and she laughed and stared around like a child.

“I have a surprise for you,” Lucien said.

“Another surprise?”

He took her arm, led her through an archway of creeping ivy to a clearing surrounded by apple trees, each apple a ball of softly glowing fire. In the centre of the clearing sat a table loaded with food.

Lucien pulled out a chair for Michelle, keeping a keen eye on her as she sat.

“Is something the matter?” he asked. “You look a little sad.”

She shook her head and smiled. “How could I be sad in a place like this?” Then she nodded to the feast. “May I try something? It all looks so delicious.”

They began to eat, talking, as they loved to do, about running away together to desert islands and exotic cities where nobody would ever find them.

“Another drink,” said Michelle, and she stood and poured two large glasses of wine, handing one to Lucien. She raised her glass. “To you, Lucien. And your wondrous Emporium.”

Lucien clinked his glass against hers, and took a long sip of
the wine.

He knew something was wrong at once. The garden began to spin and blur around him. A distant, echoing ring filled his head, and he saw nothing but blurred streaks of fire. He dropped his glass and it shattered on the grass, wine spilling like blood. Lucien grasped at the table as the corners of his vision faded to black. The darkness began to close in around him. He was falling.

The last thing he saw before he hit the floor was Michelle, his broken vision fragmenting her face into many pieces. He reached out for her. She did nothing but watch.

Lucien was wakened by a slow, rhythmic pounding in his head. He screwed up his eyes to the surrounding fire-plants, grabbed hold of the table, and hoisted himself up. He did not know how long he had been unconscious. Every bit of him ached.

The table lay as he remembered: there were half finished plates of food and Michelle’s wine glass lay empty beside her plate. Lucien’s glass popped and snapped beneath his feet as he stumbled around.

Nothing made sense. What had happened? Where was Michelle?

The mist in his mind began to thin. A thought struck him. Dread choked him as he reached slowly into his coat pocket – to the place he kept the
Book of Wonders.

His fingers found nothing but material.

His pocket was empty.

More to the point, someone had emptied it.

Michelle was gone. She had taken the
Book of Wonders
with her.

High in the Emporium’s twisting corridors, Daniel and Ellie stood before a doorway in the midnight brick. Cracks were crawling along the walls even as they arrived.

The door swung open. Daniel felt a cool breath of air on his face, and a familiar, earthy scent lingered. The door led to a set of wooden steps. The steps opened up to a vast cavern filled with a calm black lake. All around, huge shapes stood in the water, monstrous shadows reaching towards a ceiling that might have been miles above.

A twinkle of light flickered somewhere in the gloom. Then another. And another. Gas lamps were glinting to life all around, blinking stars in the great darkness. The light was weak, but the darkness receded a little, and the giants in the water were visible for the first time.

They were bookcases.

When he had walked the streets of Manhattan, Daniel had often thought the tall buildings resembled great canyons of concrete and glass. The bookcases in this library were as tall as many of those buildings. Some of them stood in regimented rows, linked by bridges and stairways. Others took more interesting forms – spirals, pyramids and irregular mountains erupting from the black-mirrored surface.

A city of books,
thought Daniel.

He stood with Ellie on a tiny island of wood, a platform no more than three metres square, black water lapping gently all around. Then, far off in the water, Daniel saw the soft glow of a lamp floating towards them. The speck became the shape of a boat, and on the boat stood a tall hooded figure in white robes.

The boat pulled up at the platform. The figure stepped from the boat onto the wooden floor.

“Welcome to the Library of Souls,” it said, in a whispering voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Daniel wondered if the books themselves were speaking, and he shivered. The voice continued.

“Stories are precious. They are treasure. And the most precious story of all is that of life. Here, among these countless canals of ink, high in the bookcases, you shall find the story of everyone who has ever lived. Everyone who shall ever live. Past, present and future. Life and death. I will guide you to the tale that you seek.”

The figure said no more.

Daniel spoke first. “We’d like to read the story of Vindictus Sharpe please.”

Behind the white hood, the figure gave a nod. It stepped onto the boat, and motioned for them to follow. As the boat moved off, Daniel dipped a hand into the black liquid, rubbed it between his fingers. It really was ink.

The boat moved between great mountains of books, beneath archways and tunnels carved through the bookcases.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” said Ellie, her curls blowing in the breeze as the boat coasted on. “The story of everyone. Do you realise, Daniel, you could find your own book and read how you’re going to die?”

Daniel swallowed.

“I think I’ll leave it as a surprise.”

The boat docked in one of the narrow canals, between two bookcases hundreds of metres tall. High above, several rope bridges crisscrossed.

The hooded librarian led the way from the boat, hopping onto the wooden platform at the foot of the bookcase and up the first staircase. The climb was steep. Daniel’s legs were burning when the librarian called a halt at last.

“Where is he?” asked Ellie anxiously. “Where’s Sharpe’s story?”

The librarian strode to the bookcase, reached out, and pulled a very fat volume from the shelves. The cover was black leather, and the pages leafed with gold. On the cover, serious-looking golden letters spelled out Vindictus Sharpe’s name. The librarian reached out a hand, and offered the book to Daniel. It was heavier than he thought it would be.

He began to flip through the pages, but as he tried to read, it became obvious that something was very wrong. Words were moving on the page, disappearing and shifting and merging with other words. The whole book was a jumbled, wild tangle of letters.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he said, handing the book back. “What’s wrong with it?”

The librarian looked through the book. A pause.

“This person … has committed atrocities,” it said. “He has taken from others. Stolen time. He has torn and warped his own life … his soul … so much that it has become unreadable.”

“Brilliant,” said Daniel. “We’re stuffed.”

“Maybe not,” said Ellie.

“How do you mean?”

Ellie was half smiling. “Well, this library has the story of everyone, right?”

“Correct,” said the librarian.

“So … that means Papa is in here too.”

Daniel shook his head.

“Ellie, I think I know what you’re thinking. It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? If Papa’s story is here, we can use it!”

“But if we search for him, we could lead Sharpe straight to him,” said Daniel. “He’s hiding for a reason and we need to trust him. I almost got swallowed by a door full of bony hands last time I tried something like that.”

“I’m not talking about finding him,” said Ellie. “I’m talking about reading his life to see what it says about Sharpe.”

Daniel smiled.

“I know,” said Ellie, “I’m a genius.”

“Wouldn’t go that far,” said Daniel. Then he turned to the librarian and said, “Could you take us to the story of Lucien Silver please?”

Mr Silver’s story was not as long as Sharpe’s, which only proved to Daniel just how long Sharpe’s past stretched back. When the librarian pulled it from a shelf in the remotest of bookcases and handed it to Ellie, she wasted no time in leafing through the pages.

“How far do you think I should go? Papa’s quite old…”

A great rumble filled the air. Several books fell from nearby bookcases.

“Um. Ellie. Flip faster.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a sec.”

Another rumble, and the sound of distant splashing. The ink was growing choppy.

“What’s happening?” asked Daniel.

The librarian raised a hand. “I do not know.”

And then the hand was gone, and the librarian’s robe was filled only with black ink, soaking into the white material. The empty robe crumpled, the ink splashing back on Daniel and Ellie, who looked at each other with wide eyes.

“The library’s falling apart!” said Daniel. “We need to get out. Now.”

When they climbed back into the boat, the wind gathered pace, blowing stronger and stronger, whistling through the bookcase canyons, whipping the surface of the ink canal. The boat was tossed around like a toy. There were great groans and splashes from deep in the library. The boat bobbed in the swell as Daniel grabbed the oars and began to row. Then, as they hit the open water in the centre of the library, there was another rumble. Behind, a great mountain of books was collapsing, like a glacier, into the ink. As the weight crashed into the surface, a tall black wave formed, tearing towards the boat.

The boat was lifted high, carried faster and faster. Daniel held on to the side and linked arms with Ellie. And then the boat was upturned, and everything was spinning, and there was nothing but cold, wet blackness.

Daniel’s head broke the surface just as another wave crashed down on him, and he was pushed deeper into the ink. He felt like his lungs were about to burst. He did not know which way was up. The ink was thicker than water, and the weight of it seemed to be pushing and squeezing him. A desperate flailing of arms and legs, and he was back on the surface, gasping and gulping the cold air.

“Ellie!”

“Daniel! Here! Over here!”

He followed the voice, and spotted Ellie climbing up onto the wooden island that led back to the Emporium. Swimming
against the tide was not easy. He knew at any minute he might be crushed like a bug by a falling bookcase. He tried to ignore the groans and creaks, and at last he reached out an exhausted hand and grasped Ellie’s arm. He half climbed, was half pulled from the ink.

To the doorway they fled, ducking as wild books tore through the air overhead. Then the door was open, and they were falling onto the cold Emporium floor, scrambling up to push and push with everything they had against the door. As they fought the wind, a mountainous bookcase pounded into the water, a gigantic wave rose from the surface and swept towards the door. Daniel’s eyes widened, and he pushed harder. The door began to give, inching closed as the wave hurtled towards them…

The door slammed shut. The crashing wave roared against the closed doorway, making the entire Emporium shake. Far away, in the hall of staircases, several sets of stairs collapsed to rubble.

Daniel and Ellie fell to their knees, panting, covered from head to foot in ink.

“I lost Papa’s life story,” said Ellie.

“At least we’re alive,” said Daniel. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the
Book of Wonders.
Though he was soaked through, and his skin and clothes were stained with black ink, the book looked somehow untouched.

“I guess it’s back to the drawing board. I just wish someone would help us, someone who really knows every part of the Emporium.”

He opened the
Book of Wonders
at a random page and skimmed the contents. After a few pages of nothing particularly helpful, a familiar chattering interrupted the silence. A flash of silver. The surviving magpie hurtled towards Daniel. He ducked his head as it swooped, knocking the book from his hands.

“Hoi!”

The bird paid him no attention. It landed on the open pages of the book and sat as if it were incubating a clutch of eggs.

“Away you go,” said Daniel. With a half-hearted wave, he dislodged the bird. It hopped to the side of the book and twitched its head towards the open page, then fixed Daniel with a ruby stare. He gazed past the bird, to the page, and narrowed his eyes. Then he picked up the book and read. After a moment, he smiled a small smile. He stroked the magpie’s head.

“Clever girl,” he said. “Thank you.”

Then he turned to Ellie, who had been watching with bemusement, and said, “I know where we have to go next.”