d left his bag in the cottage and brought a broom instead which now seems impractical. He doesn’t believe Lenore’s claim that so much time had passed but she has not returned and now he is half asleep and her book is quite strange and he is not certain he likes any of this.
He wonders about his mother, that she hid such a place in a cottage in the country.
Reluctantly he follows his compass back to the entrance hall.
He tries to open the door but it is locked.
He tries again, giving the handle an extra push.
“You cannot take that with you,” a voice says behind him. He turns to find the Keeper standing in his doorway, beyond the swinging pendulum. It takes Simon a moment to realize the Keeper refers to the gold-edged book in his hand.
“I wanted to read it,” Simon explains, though it seems obvious. What else would he want to do with a book? Though it is not quite true. He wants to do more than read it. He wants to study it. He wants to savor it. He wants to use it as a window to see inside another person. He wants to take the book into his home, into his life, into his bed because he cannot do the same with the girl who gave it to him.
There must be a formal book-lending process here, he thinks.
“I would like to borrow this book, if I may,” he says.
“You must leave something in its place,” the Keeper tells him.
Simon furrows his brow and then points at the broom still resting by the office door.
“Will that do?”
The Keeper considers the broom and nods.
He goes to the desk and inscribes Simon’s name on a piece of paper and ties it to the broom. The cat on the desk yawns and Simon yawns in response.
“The title of the volume?” the Keeper asks.
Simon looks down at the book, even though he knows the answer.
“Sweet Sorrows,” he replies. “It doesn’t have an author listed here.”
The Keeper looks up at him.
“May I see that?” he asks.
Simon hands him the book.
The Keeper looks it over, studying its binding and endpapers.
“Where did you find this?” he asks.
“Lenore gave it to me,” Simon answers. He assumes he does not need to tell the Keeper who Lenore is, as she is rather memorable. “She said it is her favorite.”
The expression on the Keeper’s face is strange as he hands the book to Simon.
“Thank you,” he says, relieved to have it back.
“Your compass,” the Keeper responds with an open palm, and Simon stares blankly for a second before taking the golden chain from his neck. He almost asks if something is wrong, or about Lenore, or any of his many questions, but none of them will consent to being articulated.
“Good night,” he says instead and the Keeper nods and this time when Simon tries to leave the door opens for him without protest.
He falls asleep standing up in the cage as it ascends, jolted back to half awake when it stops.
The lantern-lit stone room looks the same as before. The door leading back into the cottage is still open.
Moonlight shines through the cottage windows. Simon cannot guess what time it might be. It is cold and he is too tired to light a fire but grateful for his coat.