The Quickening of Tom Turnpike (The Talltrees Trilogy) by W. E. Mann Page A

read a forbidden book?  And what the devil was that all
about; telling Caratacus we were choosing new reading books?  Honestly!  Do you
think Caratacus has never met me before?” 
    I
chuckled.  “Well we got away with it, didn’t we?”
    Freddie
began to head off towards the door.  But something had occurred to me.
    “Hang
on a mo, Fred,” I called after him.
    Stupidly,
it hadn’t previously occurred to me that, since Brave New World began
with a B and was at the end of a shelf, it was perfectly possible that there
might be more books by Aldous Huxley on the next shelf down. 
     “That’s
odd, Freddie, look!”  He came dashing back over.
    The
first book on the next shelf down, lodged between another book by Huxley called Crome Yellow and the end of the shelf was an unassuming and very slender
green hardback in mint condition.  If I had been glancing casually along this
shelf, I probably would not have noticed it at all.  It was entitled Moses,
Man of the Mountain by Z. Neale-Hurston.   
    “This
one’s out of position,” I said.  “It should be under N for Neale, not H for
Hurston.”  I managed to wrench the book from the shelf. 
    Freddie
slid his right hand into the narrow gap left by this book and spent a few
moments exploring the inside of the bookcase.  Turning his head away and with
the grimace of effort of an alcoholic desperately seeking a ten pfennig coin
down the back of an armchair, he pushed his hand as far in as he could without
removing any other books.  
    “Eureka!”
he exclaimed.
    This
time there was a gentle click and Freddie removed his hand and retreated. 
Again he waited for some magic to happen and, when it didn’t, he looked at me,
shrugging.
    I
stepped forward to replace the book.  But then, as I was forcing it back into its
space, the whole bookcase swung slowly and smoothly backwards.  I looked around
to ensure that nobody else had entered the Library.
    “Quickly,”
snapped Freddie, bundling forwards and giving the bookcase-door an extra shove,
“before anyone catches us.”
    Behind
the bookcase, about four feet away, was a second door that looked just like any
other door in the building.  We both squeezed around the bookcase-door and
pushed it shut from the other side.  There was another satisfying click so that
we knew that nobody who entered the Library now would have any inkling that we
were there.
    We
were now in what was effectively a very cramped and very dark chamber with the
bookcase-door behind us and this second door, presumably leading to the secret
room, in front of us. 
    I
felt around in front of me for the handle and pressed my left ear up against
the door.  There was no sound.
    “Hurry
up, will you?” said Freddie anxiously.
    “This
handle’s really stiff.” I struggled and forced all of my weight down upon it.
    Eventually
it gave way and I pushed the door open very gently.  The elongating light of
the evening slid into the tiny chamber.  I poked my head into the room beyond
and nodded to Freddie.
    We
closed the second door behind us.
     
    Like
the Library, this room was constructed almost entirely from wood and books. 
The room was quite small and square with a large window directly in front of
us, the window in which I had spotted Colonel Barrington and Doctor Boateng earlier. 
There was a lectern standing proudly in the middle of the room with a large,
ornate chandelier hanging over it like a clumsy booby-trap.  Over to our right,
surrounded, of course, by more bookcases, was another door like the one we had
just come through.  It had been left slightly ajar.
    The
whole room was shrouded by a thin layer of dust which, in the reddening evening
light, seemed to rise ghoulishly from where it rested.
    The
books ensconced in the shelves all around us were, if it were possible, even
more ancient than those looming in the higher shelves in the Library.  They
were colossal tomes which looked like roughly hewn logs, engraved on