Oliver Beindersnip sat at his accounts desk when the bell over the bookstore door jingled. He looked up and smiled. It was one of his favorite customers, Missy McGoldrick. She normally came in right after school on Mondays and browsed around for an hour or so before heading home for dinner. Every once in a while she even bought a book. More importantly, though, she was young and cute and friendly with a sparkling personality and a very good heart.
"Hi, Mr. Beindersnip," she trilled, "May I come in and wander around?'
Every time she visited she asked the same question and naturally got the same answer.
"Of course, Missy. And this week I've just unpacked a bunch of really old and really odd books. If you want to look at them they're on the third floor."
"Ooo, that does sound exciting! I'll go right up, shall I?"
"Enjoy, Missy. Just don't get lost."
It was his standard joke. They had both laughed over the urban legend of old bookstores that led (like wardrobes in English manor houses) into strange worlds full of talking animals and witches. And, in fact, Beindersnip's Olde Bokes would have been the perfect location for such a 'wormhole' as it was attached to the personal library of the Earl of Constable's country home—now owned by the National Trust and only home to the Earl's family on holidays like Christmas or the opening of grouse season. Tourists would tour the Earl's family library (dating to the XVII Century) and exit through Beindersnip's. The sight of all those rare old volumes frequently led to them buying similarly old, if not quite so rare, books from Oliver and providing him a modest, but adequate, living.
Climbing to the third floor required care to not trip over the books piled on the treads and to squeeze carefully by the piles that took up most of the landings. If a fire inspector had ever bothered to come in, it would have raised his hair but Missy was used to the clutter and soon found herself leaving the top landing and sidling into the work room where Oliver unpacked, repaired, packed for shipment and labeled the books as they came and left the shop. Donning a pair of white cotton gloves, the girl opened this or that enchanting, intriguing or mysterious volume, being careful to blow the dust off first.
Seeing nothing in the newest shipment that caught her fancy, she turned her eyes to the shelves surrounding the room. There, on a shelf barely within her reach, she saw for the first time a book with odd but simple title
Døørs
.
"I wonder what a døør might be," she asked herself and stretched up to take it down. But when she pulled on it, instead of sliding out—it tipped. There was a muffled 'click' and the entire section of shelving rotated out making an opening into another room, a dimly lit room, a room that stretched into the far distance.
"This is nonsense," she muttered under her breath, "and I am not silly enough to galivant in there and get lost. No, I shall take this big ball of string, tie it to a nail on this end and roll it out behind me so I can find my way back, no matter what."
*****
"Ook!"
"What do you mean you feel a disturbance in the force? What force? Whatever are you talking about?" The Lecturer in Recent Runes had been enjoying a convivial pint with the Librarian in the Patrician's Purse when the orang had suddenly sat up straight and exclaimed.
"Ik-ik-ik," the Librarian was obviously chuckling.
"Oh, another classical reference. Well, I suppose that's no surprise given you live in a world of books. So, you can tell when something is happening in L-Space?"
The Librarian tilted his head to one side and shrugged slightly.
"Eek."
"Under certain circumstances? Sometimes? Well, alright then, just what is it that you sense?"
The Librarian raised his mug to his lips and poured about half the contents down his throat. He drummed his fingers on the bar before once again shrugging and continuing to drum. "Ook."
"Something is wrong but you're not sure what. Is it coming our way? Is it a threat?"
The orang knitted his brows and pursed his lips. Turning his left hand palm up, he spread his fingers in bafflement.
"Eek-ik."
"Just wrong, hmm. Well, I certainly hope it goes just wrong is some other direction. Things have remarkably peaceful of late and I, for one, would like to see them stay that way. Mr. Caskwell, two more of the same, if you please."
*****
The ball of string Mr. Beindersnip used to repair old book bindings was a large one and by the time Missy reached the spindle she was far, far into the seemingly endless stacks. Worrisomely, she looked up toward the ceiling and saw the line of twine lying up there perpendicular to her current route. The mystifying sight made her pause and begin to seriously consider going back. Just then someone came around the end of one of the rows of shelving.
A boy of about her age, dressed in an old-fashioned frock coat, white shirt and bow tie, took one look at Missy and froze. "What are you doing here? Non-wizards aren't allowed in these shelves. Don't you realize how dangerous it is? You could get eaten! How did you even get here?"
Overwhelmed and nonplussed by the vehemence Missy pointed back the way she had come and at the string in her hands.
"I—I just came from back there and now I'm going to follow the string the way I came. I want to go home."
Just then a terrifying whistling roar came from the direction she pointed to.
"Oh gods," the boy wailed, "it's a
Thesaurus rex
. You can't go there, you won't last five minutes. Come on! We've got to get away."
Grabbing her arm, he pulled her down the shelves in the opposite direction, jerking the string out of her hands.
"My string! My stri-i-i-ing! How am I supposed to find my way home?"
Anger, fear and grief fought for dominance and sent her into tears. Fighting to stay upright as he pulled her first one way and then another, around corners and sometimes right into what looked like solid shelves, Missy stumbled along. Finally, they came out into an open space. It was a large rotunda with a dome overhead and classical statues of nymphs around the base of the dome.
Missy was pulled up to a tall, amiable-looking man in a false beard and long robes.
"Professor Pelc!" her captor exclaimed, "I found this girl wandering around in the restricted shelves. She says she came from the other side."
"And I was going to go back," Missy bawled, "and he made me drop my string and now I don't know where it is. How am I supposed to get home through all those books? I just want to go home!"
"Hastor," the man addressed as Professor Pelc barked, "have Melia bring us a pot of calming tea."
The youth looked properly cowed. "Yes, Professor."
"And Hastor—fetch the Librarian!"
"Immediately, sir," Hastor replied and bustled off.
The Professor's demeanor changed at once for something kindlier and more sympathetic. Producing a handkerchief from somewhere and handing it to the sobbing girl, he said, "Now, young lady, let me introduce myself. I am Lladislav Pelc,
Prehumous Professor of Morbid Bibliomancy
