The Stolen Ghosts Page 21

  “I don’t know why they want the book. How can a book even help them?” asked Sarah.

  Another crack of thunder boomed overhead. The sound of the rain intensified to a dull roar. A flash of lightning lit up the window at the far end of the attic. Sarah shuddered. The peace of a cleansing rainstorm fell away in the face of nature’s fury. Was Templeton breaking through already?

  “I don’t know what I’m looking for. Nothing’s in the right order and there’s no index. It’s like whoever wrote it wanted to make information hard to find.”

  She held the book in both hands. A memory flashed through her mind; her father sat at his desk. He needed a reference for a paper he was writing, but couldn’t remember where it was in the book. He allowed the book to fall open, and a smile broke out on his face. A ripple of thunder catapulted Sarah back to the present.

  “What have I got to lose?” she asked the bat.

  She held her spine straight and moved her hands apart. The book fell open, the smell of dust wafting up from its pages. She looked down and shuddered. The book fell open at page 104 and Sarah shuddered. The entire page was dedicated to Templeton, featuring three columns of spindly text and a rather unflattering woodcut portrait. Sarah didn’t remember seeing it when she first looked through the book, but she must have flicked past it, since she hadn’t known who Templeton was.

  “That sphinx would have been a lot more useful if he’d said he meant page 104,” said Sarah.

  “What does it say?” asked the bat. “I can’t read Human.”

  “It says here that Templeton was originally a Lord of the Fey, and his real name is Pharrio Phalanxius Pharbridge. He took the name Templeton to sound more human. He was put in charge of the realm of the dead after he tried to lead a revolt to take over the world of Faerie, so he was put into exile,” replied Sarah. Her eyes widened. “He went into retirement a century ago after the council formed and removed him from power, but they banned him from leaving the world of the dead. I guess he wants that power back. But how do you defeat a fairy?”

  “I don’t know, but if he’s threatening Fowlis, then we want to help,” said the bat.

  “Sarah?”

  Fowlis reflected in the freestanding mirror behind her. He looked pale, and it sent a shiver down her spine to see him in a mirror when she knew it was no reflection.

  “Fowlis!”

  “How are things going up there?” he asked.

  “Not too bad. I’ve got the book,” replied Sarah. “And I’ve got my anchor.”

  “Good. Stay there. Do not come back,” said Fowlis.

  “I have to. I have to help you!”

  “No, you do not, we can—”

  Two pudgy arms reached into view and pulled Fowlis out of the frame. Templeton strode into view and glared at her out of the glass. What would happen if she broke the mirror? Would it be seven years of bad luck for her, or for him?

  “Ignore what that curly-haired buffoon said. You are not to stay there under any circumstances! Have you found the blasted book yet?” Templeton’s face flushed red with annoyance.

  “I have, actually,” replied Sarah.

  “Then get yourself to a mirror, deposit your anchor and come back. Troublesome little girl, did you seriously think that snatching your anchor would put yourself beyond my reach?”

  “Well you can’t get me unless I give up my ring, so yes, I am beyond your reach. You forgot I’m not dead so there was nothing stopping me picking it up,” said Sarah. Fowlis probably envied her that ability right about now.

  “Just get back here!” A vein in Templeton’s forehead throbbed. He vanished from the mirror, and the reflection showed only Sarah, standing alone in the middle of the attic. The bat clung to her shoulder.

  “I genuinely cannot stand that man!” said Sarah, more determined than ever for her plan to succeed. “I wonder if there’s anything in the library about fairies. I mean, there’s certainly enough about everything else.”

  The rest of the bats detached from the wall and flitted across the attic to alight all over Sarah’s jumper. Standing carefully so that none of the bats would fall off, she closed the book and headed back down the central aisle of the attic. She flipped the attic switch on the stairs.

  The bats squeaked in protest at the daylight in the entrance hall. Sarah apologised and hurried to the library. Once inside, she drew the heavy velvet curtains. The bats dislodged themselves from her jumper and clung to the drapes. She lit the old-fashioned lamp hanging from a rusty hook beside the door then headed straight for the supernatural section of the bookcases where she eventually spotted a black leather-bound tome named Laws of Faerie.

  She pulled it off the shelf, carried it to the table then stood the lantern on the slate coaster provided by her mother in a doleful attempt to protect the woodwork. Sarah opened the book with trembling fingers and flicked through the pages. Nothing even remotely useful, or even relevant, appeared to jump off the page. On a whim, Sarah flipped to page 104.

  “A whole page of things the fairies don’t like!” Her eyes alighted on the word ‘iron’ in particular. She hurried across the room to the fireplace in the library. She rummaged in the brass scuttle beside the hearth and grabbed a poker.

  “Iron, backup, anchor…I think I’m all set!”

  She beckoned to the bats and they flitted across the library. They landed on her jumper again and Sarah went outside to the hallway where she found the mirror further down the corridor. She took a deep breath and hurled her ring at the glass.

  The glass swirled in a vortex of molten silver. Sarah reached out her hand and disappeared into the mirror.

  Chapter 30

  Sarah held her breath and the invisible force pulled her through the freezing silver sea. The wall of coldness parted and she stumbled forward into an unfamiliar room. Her vision cleared and blurry shapes turned into solid walls and a ceiling of finely carved plasterwork. Sarah rubbed her eyes and expected to see Templeton and his horde of haunters. Instead, the room was empty. It wasn’t even the ballroom.

  A plush carpet covered the floor, red vines twisting around blue flowers on a background of gold. Sarah sank her hands into the pile and marvelled at its depth. Walnut panels stretched halfway up the walls and deep blue paper covered the gap between the panels and the ceiling. Paintings in ornate frames hung on the walls, each one lit by a single bar lamp. Walnut furniture dotted the room, all in pristine condition.

  “Well, well! You must be the half-mortal!”

  Sarah jumped at the sound of the rusty voice. An elderly man stood in the doorway beside the fireplace. A dusting of fine white hairs sprinkled his bald head and deep wrinkles creased around his pale blue eyes. A thick blue dressing gown swathed his scrawny frame. The bats clinging to Sarah squeaked in fright.

  “Who are you?” asked Sarah.

  “Seth, Master of the Archives,” replied the elderly man.

  He hobbled into the room and lowered himself into an overstuffed armchair. The worn fabric was the colour of the night sky just before dawn. “And I assume you’re Sarah?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Yes, I know about you. I’ve been watching the goings-on. Templeton is certainly an interesting fellow, isn’t he?” Seth sat back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “An interesting fairy, you mean,” said Sarah.

  Seth grinned. “I see you followed Periseus’ clue. Eventually.” His gaze travelled to the poker in her hand.

  “Well, I’ve got it, but I don’t actually know what to do with it.”

  “Simply strike him with it. Fairies loathe iron.”

  “So I do what? Just hit him with it? I don’t think I’m strong enough.” Sarah tested the weight of the poker she held. She didn’t remember it being so heavy, or so solid, back in the library.

  “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, child.”

  “I just don’t understand any of this. Why is a fairy in charge of the dead?”

  “I
t’s a very long story, but to give you the short version, about a millennium ago, Templeton was a Lord of the Fey. His brother was king, but Templeton tricked him into leading a crusade to Asgard, and he left Templeton in charge while he was away,” said Seth.

  “Asgard? Isn’t that the Viking place?”

  “The very same. His brother left, bound for the halls of Odin, and Templeton ruled with an iron fist. He was a cruel tyrant even in Faerie. His main reason for existence is to rule others. At least, that he what he believes himself to have been born for,” replied Seth. “Odin warned the king what his brother was up to in his absence, and sent the king back with a contingent of Valkyries. They drove Templeton out and sent him into exile. No one really wanted him on the loose so the Managing Director stepped in and said she’d take him. She had a lot of work on at the time, so she put him in charge of the dead. Things were very different back then, and he brought a sense of hierarchy to the place.”

  Seth gazed into the fireplace. Nostalgia clouded his pale eyes and sparks danced among the dying embers in the hearth. He sneezed and the sparks flared into life. Tall flames weaved and swayed in the grate.

  “Did you do that?” she asked.

  “Indeed I did. I’ve got all sorts of abilities, my child. Now, what was I saying?” Seth held out his hands to warm them in front of the fire.

  “You were telling me about Templeton. Did he make up the rules of this place?”

  “No, child. The Managing Director is the only one who can do that. She wrote the original rules to keep Templeton in his place. For centuries, it worked, until he began to grow restless again. The council had already been formed to help shoulder some of the massive workload, and they sent him into early retirement. Talk abounded that he would be banished to the Beyond, but it never happened. He just started pottering about the Otherworld,” replied Seth. “We mistakenly thought he was no longer a threat, but I should have known what he was up to.”

  “Why does he need the book?”

  “Individually, the volumes of The Ghostlie Manifestoe do very little. They do act as a kind of directory, but they also contain snippets of our lore and other random things that the Managing Director saw fit to include. As they’re a product of our realm, they obey the same laws as our plane, which is why a book written in the 12th century can feature ghosts from the 1970s,” replied Seth.

  “That doesn’t sound too impressive.”

  “Ah, but if you put the volumes together, you can call upon the power contained within the book as a whole, and that power would be enough to punch a hole from our plane onto the mortal plane. They resonate with the power of the Veil, you see.”

  “Why would anyone even create a book that would hold that much power?” asked Sarah.

  “The Managing Director was originally making a sort of scrapbook. Time works differently for her, you see. She could add souls who hadn’t been born yet as if they’d already lived their life. It was only when she was halfway through that she realised what she’d made.”

  “Why couldn’t she just destroy it?”

  “Destroying it would destroy the souls of those she’d already added. She might be many things but she’s not a monster. Splitting it up into four volumes seemed a better idea, and for a long time everyone just assumed that it had always been nothing more than a ‘who’s who.’ Essentially that’s what it is, but having that much life in one place rather unbalances things. Eventually she’ll no doubt forget and add a fifth volume.”

  “It sounds pretty dangerous. Is that why you told Fowlis not to bring it back with him?” asked Sarah.

  “Yes. I would love the volume back in the archives, but it’s safer for all concerned if it remains on the mortal plane. You didn’t bring it back with you, did you?”

  “No. I don’t need it to get home, do I?”

  “Not at all. I suspect you already know how to get home, though.” Seth’s eyes twinkled with a smile that didn’t need to cross his face.

  “I guess I should probably get going,” said Sarah. “But why did I come through your mirror? Why didn’t I come back in the ballroom?”

  “You used a different mirror from the one you used to enter your plane. Templeton linked the ballroom mirror with the mirror in your bedroom. When he left the control room, I sneaked in and linked the mirror in the library with the mirror in my parlour,” replied Seth. “I wanted you to know more about him before you face him.”

  “How do I get back to the ballroom then? They’ll be waiting for me.”

  “Periseus will take you,” replied Seth.

  On cue, the door beside the fireplace opened, and the sphinx strolled in. It bowed to Sarah.

  “I am no fan of Templeton, my lady, but he has placed certain restrictions upon me which mean that I cannot directly help, so I decided to seek the counsel of the wisest of us so that he may help in my stead,” said Periseus. “Now I may guide you back to the ballroom, although I see you have brought back-up.”

  “They wanted to help.” Sarah stroked the head of one of the bats.

  “We all want to help, Sarah. Now go and see to this Fey!”

  Sarah thanked Seth and followed Periseus out of the door.

  * * *

  Narrow twisting corridors with low ceilings led away from Seth’s parlour. Sarah wondered if his parlour was attached to the archives; it would explain why the room seemed to be so far away from the rest of HQ. Sarah kept ducking to avoid cracked beams riddled with woodworm.

  “Which part of HQ is this?” asked Sarah.

  “The Knowledge Wing. Seth’s parlour is on the very edge of it; the archives lie beyond. They’re incredibly vast. Few people really come down here, which is why repairs aren’t usually carried out, although I believe a renovation is on the Managing Director’s ‘To Do’ list,” replied the sphinx.

  “How far is it to the ballroom?”

  “I would dearly love to provide an answer, but the flexible nature of space within HQ coupled with the variable speed of walking means I cannot,” replied the sphinx. “But it shouldn’t take us too long to get there.”

  “Why is HQ so weird?”

  “It is not weird. It’s merely not what you’re used to. The nature of living means that the mortal plane occupies a finite space, subject to laws that govern its existence and create order for its inhabitants. The dead do not have these limitations, and as such their plane is far more pliable. True, it still has laws in order to prevent the realm falling into complete anarchy, but these laws are less rigid, and allow some room for manoeuvre. Unfortunately, it is this flexibility that Templeton seeks to exploit.”

  A muffled crack of thunder split the silence in the corridor. The air itself rattled, and the walls shimmered. For a brief moment, Sarah saw beyond the space and into a dark realm populated by shadow.

  “We haven’t much time,” said Periseus.

  “That’s from Templeton, isn’t it?”

  “I suspect he has taken three of the four volumes to the ballroom. It’s enough to start causing these vibrations between the realms.”

  “Could he punch through at this point?”

  “He could certainly try.”

  They hurried on, only the sound of Periseus’s claws on stone and distant thunder breaking the silence. Sarah couldn’t believe that she would be able to escape this realm, and take this knowledge with her intact. Of course, she couldn’t exactly blog about it, or post status updates on her social networking sites about it. Even if anyone took the time to read them, no one would ever believe it. The knowledge would mark her out as either being insane or stupid, should she ever let slip that she possessed it. No, she was already an outsider, there was no sense in making her isolation worse.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” asked the sphinx.

  “Oh, just wondering how things will go when I get out of here. If I get out of here, that is,” replied Sarah.

  “Sarah? Sarah McKenzie?”

  Sarah turned at the sound of her name. A tall, painfully t
hin woman stood in the doorway they had just passed. Her long fingers curled around the doorframe like skeletal talons. Tidy white curls clung to her head, matching her pencil-thin white eyebrows. The woman looked as though she had been bleached; even her eyes were of the palest blue.

  “Miss Bigsby?”

  “Why, it is you! I haven’t seen you in years. How are you?” Miss Bigsby’s voice sounded like wind through dry leaves.

  She held out a trembling white hand. She hadn’t changed since she taught Sarah in primary school. It must have been, what, nine years?

  “I’m fine. Erm, should I ask how you are?” asked Sarah. A sinking feeling dropped through the pit of her stomach. How did you talk to the dead? Fowlis was easy, he’d been dead for centuries. But Miss Bigsby…Sarah remembered her when she was alive. She wouldn’t have her interest in the paranormal without Miss Bigsby and her Halloween stories.

  “I’m as well as can be expected,” replied the teacher. A smile forced its way across her craggy face. Sarah didn’t think there was any muscle in between the skin and the bone beneath.

  “Oh…um…have you been here long?” asked Sarah.

  “Only a year. They’re keeping me busy,” replied Miss Bigsby. “At first the council wanted to assign me as an assistant, but then I broke all the records on their aptitude tests, and I was all set to start my training to be a haunter when that bully Peace stuck his oar in and brought me onto his research team. He kept wittering on about some book or other. He wouldn’t listen when I told him that not all knowledge is contained in books.”

  “I don’t think he’s after the knowledge in that particular book.” Sarah shivered to think of the latent power in The Ghostlie Manifestoe. She wished she’d never mentioned it to Fowlis. Maybe if she hadn’t, he would never have found it, and then HQ would never have known that the last volume was at the house. Perhaps she would never have been dragged into this sorry mess. Sarah even wondered if the crow was in Templeton’s employ, and had been instructed to bring her onto this plane. Templeton had already been watching her through the mirror.