The Burning Page (The Invisible Library 3)

‘Believe what you want,’ Irene snapped. She was closer to the central clock now. Unfortunately, said closeness involved a vertical drop of about five yards before she could edge any further on a horizontal level. Manageable with caution and with the Language, but less welcoming with Alberich there to mess things up. ‘I know—’

‘You obviously don’t know anything,’ he cut her off. ‘And nobody ever told you. No doubt to spare your feelings and keep you loyal. Are you some orphanage brat, Ray? Or were you stolen from a cradle?’ He was walking faster now, his steps keeping time with the clock. ‘If it wasn’t for the inconvenience you’ve caused me, I might even feel sorry for you. I know all about how it feels to find out your whole life was based on a lie.’

‘Really? So what was yours?’ It was a poor comeback, but it was the best Irene could do. The rest of her mind was flooded with the concept that she wasn’t what she thought she was. For every sensible objection of he’s lying and why should I believe him and he’s trying to confuse you, there was a counter-argument – in the way that he’d seemed genuinely surprised when she’d said she was the child of two Librarians. She would swear it hadn’t been faked.

Did it make any difference if she wasn’t the child of the people she’d called parents? If the fact of her birth was a lie, then was it such an important lie?

‘The Library claims to preserve the balance between chaos and order. But that’s a lie. That’s what children get told to keep them quiet and obedient.’ They were on a level with each other now, and he stopped to look across at her. ‘If you join me, I’ll tell you the truth.’ Irene remembered a line from that Grimm fairy story she’d read months ago, about Alberich and his sister. ‘Is it something to do with the “Library’s secret”?’ she asked. ‘One that we all “wear branded upon our backs . . .” But even if there is a secret, why would that make the Library a lie?’

‘Blind faith is just another word for slavery,’ Alberich said. ‘You say you’re preserving some sort of balance, but you’re really perpetuating stagnation. Wake up, Ray! Open your eyes. And if you’re too blind to see anything on a larger scale, don’t you feel anything for the books that you give the Library? It swallows them up and keeps them and will never let them go. Look at that book next to you.’ He pointed at the closest metal cage, which held a scroll bound in ribbons of gold and purple. His voice was full of pride and greed, a collector’s lust manifest in his every word. But he spoke as if he expected her to understand his desire, his joyful ownership of those priceless books. And perhaps she did. ‘The complete Mabinogion,’ he continued, ‘with the full tale of Culhwch and Olwen. All of the quests! And that one.’ He pointed to his left. ‘Hugo’s La Quiquengrogne, his sequel to Notre-Dame de Paris . . . Other books here, hundreds of them, all unique. Books you will never see anywhere else. Books that would be the pride of any collection.’

‘Which you stole.’

‘Only because the Library didn’t steal them first. Metal, hold her feet!’

His use of the Language had come without a change in tone or expression, and Irene was caught by surprise as the stair that she was standing on flowed up and round her shoes, writhing to her ankles. Chagrin bit at her as she realized she’d been distracted by the conversation. By the promise of books and secrets. What better bait? No doubt she could unloose the bindings as easily as Alberich had invoked them, but that would give him enough time to do something worse.

The clock hammered away and the air seemed to shiver with a growing power and tension. More torn pages drifted through the air, floating by like huge moths.

‘It won’t hurt,’ Alberich said, in a tone that pretended reassurance, but his eyes were full of that cruel amusement she’d seen earlier.

‘What won’t?’ There had to be an answer. She had to save the Library. Save the books. Save herself.

‘Chaos. There’s a point when the body either accepts it or destroys itself. Mine accepted it. And look what I can do!’ He stretched his arms out in a gesture that embraced the clock, the twisted staircases, the mad library. ‘You will join me or you will die. Tell me, Ray, isn’t it a relief to come to the end of choices? To know the game’s over? You can relax now. Stop being your parents’ tool.’

He spoke fluidly, with the grand indulgence of a man enjoying his words, but his eyes were on her throughout. He was waiting for her to use the Language to try to either free herself or kill him.

Irene took a deep breath. Why not just say yes for the moment? common sense suggested. Buy time. Tell Alberich some of what he wants to know. Get his trust. Be practical. You said to Bradamant earlier that there was no point in just getting yourself killed.

And the books here were unique, the fruit of all Alberich’s years of theft. Surely anything was worth it to save them? Even if it meant selling herself into slavery and betraying the Library . . .

No. This was a question of priorities, she realized. These books here were a priority. Her own life was a priority. But the Library, all the other Librarians, and all the books there were the biggest priority of all.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It is a relief. Paper! BURN!’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Irene’s shout echoed through the maze of stairways. The books went up like tiny novas, blazing like the hearts of stars. There was no hesitation, no slow kindling at the edges or catching by degrees. They burned as if they were glad to burn. The drifting pages caught fire as well, wafting through the air with a sudden new energy, and the surrounding bookshelves shook with the force of the concussion as their contents flamed up where they stood.

The clock gave one last jarring tick, and stopped.

‘No!’ Alberich shrieked. He was looking at her as if she was the criminal, the aberrant, the lunatic. ‘Fires, go out!’

For a moment Irene feared that he might succeed in extinguishing the flames. But they seemed to rise up with a new fury as he named them in the Language. She remembered her own attempts to put out the fire when she and Kai had been trapped by the broken gate. Perhaps it was due to the mixture of chaos and Language. Perhaps it was the power of Alberich’s own working, turned against him.

Perhaps she should get out of range before he turned his attention back to her.

‘Metal, release my shoes!’ she hissed, and stepped free as the stair retracted its clasp on her feet.

The scroll next to her was withering to ashes inside its cage. It had been a unique document, the lone copy of a story that only existed in one world. And now she’d destroyed it, and hundreds of others too. She’d felt embarrassment before in her life over quite a number of things – petty things, social errors, lack of politeness, moments of stupidity – but she’d rarely known true shame until now.

She tried to push that to the back of her mind, and mostly succeeded, looking around for somewhere to run towards. The prospects were minimal, and getting worse. Fire was spreading out in a great circle, leaping from bookcase to bookcase. Burning pages carried the flames with them like a contagion. High shelves were beginning to lean and topple as their underpinnings scorched and charred away. remembered a line from that Grimm fairy story she’d read months ago, about Alberich and his sister. ‘Is it something to do with the “Library’s secret”?’ she asked. ‘One that we all “wear branded upon our backs . . .” But even if there is a secret, why would that make the Library a lie?’

‘Blind faith is just another word for slavery,’ Alberich said. ‘You say you’re preserving some sort of balance, but you’re really perpetuating stagnation. Wake up, Ray! Open your eyes. And if you’re too blind to see anything on a larger scale, don’t you feel anything for the books that you give the Library? It swallows them up and keeps them and will never let them go. Look at that book next to you.’ He pointed at the closest metal cage, which held a scroll bound in ribbons of gold and purple. His voice was full of pride and greed, a collector’s lust manifest in his every word. But he spoke as if he expected her to understand his desire, his joyful ownership of those priceless books. And perhaps she did. ‘The complete Mabinogion,’ he continued, ‘with the full tale of Culhwch and Olwen. All of the quests! And that one.’ He pointed to his left. ‘Hugo’s La Quiquengrogne, his sequel to Notre-Dame de Paris . . . Other books here, hundreds of them, all unique. Books you will never see anywhere else. Books that would be the pride of any collection.’

‘Which you stole.’

‘Only because the Library didn’t steal them first. Metal, hold her feet!’