and all the shelves were empty. Ransacked, stripped clean. The Immortals had done their best to torch the place when they left, but the flames hadn’t taken much of a hold. Molly and I walked between smoke-blackened and half-charred wooden stacks, with the blackened and twisted remains of unwanted books left lying here and there on the floor. But finally, right at the far end of the library, there it was: hanging untouched on the wall, protected by ancient and unsuspected defences, a very old painting of the Old Library. I let go of a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding as I saw the flames hadn’t even touched the portrait.
“There is an especially hot place in Hell for people who burn books,” said Molly.
“You’d know,” I said generously.
It was a good-sized painting, eight feet high and maybe five feet wide, the bright and vivid colours seeming to glow in the gloom of the burnt-out library. Centuries old, artist unknown, the portrait depicted a view of the fabled Old Library. The original repository of all Drood knowledge, long thought lost or even destroyed until I found it. I took a key out of a special inside pocket. A key my uncle Jack had given me.
“Will that key fit this portrait?” said Molly. “There are differences between this world and ours, after all.”
“Only one way to find out,” I said. “If they key doesn’t work, there’s always the Merlin Glass.”
“Not too sure about that, either,” sniffed Molly.
“You want a slap, girl? I’ve got one right here in my pocket.…”
Molly batted her eyelashes at me. “Later, sweetie…You know I’ve got to be in the right mood for a spanking.…”
I laughed despite myself and leaned forward to study the silver scallops that lined the rigid steel frame enclosing the portrait. And sure enough, there it was: a very small keyhole hidden in the details of the silver scrollwork. I eased the key into the lock, turned it carefully and then relaxed as I felt the mechanism turn. I pulled out the key, and just like that the painting before us was no longer canvas and paint and a work of art, but an actual view. A doorway into the Old Library.
It was dark and gloomy in there, with not a light to be seen anywhere. This Hall’s family had never found their Old Library. Molly conjured up some witchlight, a cheerful golden glow that surrounded her hand as she held it up. The light shined out into the Old Library, challenging the shadows and pushing back the gloom before us. I stepped carefully over the frame of the portrait and into the Old Library. Molly was right there with me, holding her glowing hand high above her head. The air was cold and stale but perfectly breathable. The old protections had preserved the place perfectly. Clearly, though, no one had been here in ages.
I called out, anyway, to William the Librarian and his assistant Ioreth. Because you never knew…My voice seemed a very small and weak thing in such a huge and silent place. There wasn’t even much of an echo; the sound was soaked up by the rows and rows of book-packed shelving, stretching away for as far as I could see into the general gloom. There was no reply…I even called out to Pook, but no one answered. I think I was actually a little bit relieved at that.
“One of these days,” said Molly, just a bit tartly, “you are going to have to tell me the whole story about this Pook thing.”
“I’m not sure I know the whole story,” I said. “Or that I want to.”
“This setting feels longtime empty,” said Molly. “Look at the dust everywhere…just like when we found the original Old Library.…What, exactly, are we looking for here, Eddie?”
“Maybe…that,” I said, pointing. “Look…”
Not far from where we were standing, an old-fashioned brass reading stand was set up, supporting a single large leather-bound volume, its pages open to one particular place. Just waiting to be read. I took agood look around and then approached the reading
“There is an especially hot place in Hell for people who burn books,” said Molly.
“You’d know,” I said generously.
It was a good-sized painting, eight feet high and maybe five feet wide, the bright and vivid colours seeming to glow in the gloom of the burnt-out library. Centuries old, artist unknown, the portrait depicted a view of the fabled Old Library. The original repository of all Drood knowledge, long thought lost or even destroyed until I found it. I took a key out of a special inside pocket. A key my uncle Jack had given me.
“Will that key fit this portrait?” said Molly. “There are differences between this world and ours, after all.”
“Only one way to find out,” I said. “If they key doesn’t work, there’s always the Merlin Glass.”
“Not too sure about that, either,” sniffed Molly.
“You want a slap, girl? I’ve got one right here in my pocket.…”
Molly batted her eyelashes at me. “Later, sweetie…You know I’ve got to be in the right mood for a spanking.…”
I laughed despite myself and leaned forward to study the silver scallops that lined the rigid steel frame enclosing the portrait. And sure enough, there it was: a very small keyhole hidden in the details of the silver scrollwork. I eased the key into the lock, turned it carefully and then relaxed as I felt the mechanism turn. I pulled out the key, and just like that the painting before us was no longer canvas and paint and a work of art, but an actual view. A doorway into the Old Library.
It was dark and gloomy in there, with not a light to be seen anywhere. This Hall’s family had never found their Old Library. Molly conjured up some witchlight, a cheerful golden glow that surrounded her hand as she held it up. The light shined out into the Old Library, challenging the shadows and pushing back the gloom before us. I stepped carefully over the frame of the portrait and into the Old Library. Molly was right there with me, holding her glowing hand high above her head. The air was cold and stale but perfectly breathable. The old protections had preserved the place perfectly. Clearly, though, no one had been here in ages.
I called out, anyway, to William the Librarian and his assistant Ioreth. Because you never knew…My voice seemed a very small and weak thing in such a huge and silent place. There wasn’t even much of an echo; the sound was soaked up by the rows and rows of book-packed shelving, stretching away for as far as I could see into the general gloom. There was no reply…I even called out to Pook, but no one answered. I think I was actually a little bit relieved at that.
“One of these days,” said Molly, just a bit tartly, “you are going to have to tell me the whole story about this Pook thing.”
“I’m not sure I know the whole story,” I said. “Or that I want to.”
“This setting feels longtime empty,” said Molly. “Look at the dust everywhere…just like when we found the original Old Library.…What, exactly, are we looking for here, Eddie?”
“Maybe…that,” I said, pointing. “Look…”
Not far from where we were standing, an old-fashioned brass reading stand was set up, supporting a single large leather-bound volume, its pages open to one particular place. Just waiting to be read. I took agood look around and then approached the reading
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