Pages & Co.: Tilly and the Lost Fairy Tales

‘You said there was a vote?’ Oskar asked.

‘Yes,’ Grandma said. ‘Anyone who wants to put themselves forward for the position can make their case, and then it’s up to the other librarians to choose who they think is most suited for the role.’

‘So you were voted for?’ Tilly asked her grandad.

‘He won over thirteen other candidates!’ Grandma said proudly.

‘How many are there this time?’ Oskar asked.

‘Only three, I believe,’ Grandma said. ‘It would seem the situation with Chalk has rather cooled some people’s ambitions. Who would want to be in charge of that mess? So I believe there’s Ebenezer Okparanta – who’s worked at the Underlibrary since time began as far as I know, and a woman, Catherine Caraway, who’s a bit of a wild card …’

‘And then there’s Melville Underwood,’ Grandad said. ‘He’s an interesting character. Disappeared for decades with his sister, Decima, not long after I started working at the Underlibrary, and no one thought we’d ever see them again. They used to run fairytale tours for bookwanderers, and all sorts can go on in those stories. But he emerged again a couple of weeks ago, completely out of the blue, and without his sister. I’m sure he’ll talk about his triumphant return in his speech, but he’s a bit untested for the job. I’d put money on them electing Ebenezer. He’s the safe bet, and I’m not sure this is the time for surprises.’

(#ulink_0d7f249c-5f79-5eba-a8fb-774fe66e653a)

randad had booked a taxi to King’s Cross, and the sleek black car waiting on the street outside the bookshop did not help with the funereal atmosphere.

‘You said one of the candidates used to run fairytale tours?’ Tilly asked, wondering about the unusual phrase her grandma had used. ‘What does that even mean?’

‘Well, fairy tales are funny things,’ Grandad said. ‘Do you know where they come from? Who wrote them?’

‘The Brothers … something?’ Oskar tried.

‘The Brothers Grimm,’ Tilly said authoritatively. ‘And Hans Christian Andersen. Lots of people.’

‘You’re right – but that’s not the whole story,’ Grandad said. ‘Those people did indeed write many fairy tales down, and put their own spin on them for sure, but they didn’t make up most of the stories themselves – they collected them. Fairy tales and folk tales are born around campfires and kitchen hearths, they’re whispered under blankets and stars. Where they really come from, who had the idea first, which version is the original, it’s almost impossible to trace as we only have what was written down, which is rarely where they started.’

‘And can you think about why that might make them more dangerous?’ Grandma asked.

‘Because …’ Tilly started confidently, but to her frustration couldn’t think of anything. Oskar sat deep in thought.

‘Is it something to do with Source Editions?’ he said. ‘Usually when something is dangerous in bookwandering, it’s to do with that.’

‘Yes, you’re getting warmer,’ Grandma said. ‘Keep going.’

‘If there’s lots of different versions …’ Tilly said.

‘… And we don’t know where they came from …’ Oskar continued.

‘… Then are there even Source Editions at all?’ Tilly finished.

‘Precisely,’ Grandad said. ‘We have Source Editions of many of the different versions of course, that act loosely like Sources, but these stories aren’t rooted in written-down storytelling. They come from oral storytelling, stories that are told out loud and passed down generations and around communities.’

‘And roots are what make things stable,’ Grandma went on. ‘Fairy tales are rooted in air and fire, not paper and ink, so the usual rules don’t apply. Layers of stories bleed or crash into each other and you can end up wandering into an entirely different version of the story with little way of getting out. It’s incredibly dangerous to try and wander from inside one story to another; it’s like trying to find a route on a map but you don’t know where you’re starting from. Not to mention, fables fade in and out of existence; we tell new versions and we lose old ones. So they’re seen as a bit of a risk for bookwandering. Sometimes the Underlibrary would organise group visits led by someone who was a bit more comfortable there, and understood the risks and what to do to stay safe – or try to stay safe.’

‘Have you been inside any fairy tales? Can you take us?’ Tilly asked. Her grandparents exchanged a look and she couldn’t help but wish they weren’t quite so good at communicating without speaking. She wondered if she would ever be a team like that with someone and experimented by glaring at Oskar meaningfully.

‘Are … are you okay?’ he asked nervously. ‘You look like you need to sneeze.’

‘Never mind,’ she said, blushing and turning back to Grandma and Grandad. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘Actually, your grandma is one of the few bookwanderers who does bookwander in fairy tales officially and safely,’ Grandad said, looking at her proudly.

‘How come?’ Oskar said.

‘Well, as you both know, I used to work in the Map Room at the Underlibrary,’ Grandma said. ‘And as well as looking after the plans of real-life bookshops and libraries, it was also part of my job to know as much as I could about the layout of stories themselves. I did a bit of fairytale exploring back in the day, but that project was abandoned after … Well, after a difference of opinion, let’s say.’

Tilly thought about her grandma, who always took everything in her stride, and was intrigued. ‘There’s got to be more to that story?’ she pushed.

‘But it will have to be told another time,’ Grandad said. ‘We’re here.’

(#ulink_695c3fe2-4b69-56ad-9f98-9aa2b980b4c7)

o Tilly’s eyes, the steady stream of people in matching navy-blue cardigans weren’t doing a very good job of being inconspicuous inside the British Library. But despite the co-ordinated clothing and loud whispering, they didn’t seem to be attracting much attention from the regular library users.

‘They’ll assume it’s a tour group,’ Grandad said as they walked through the ‘Staff Only’ door that led inside the King’s Library, a glass-wrapped tower of books in the middle of the main hall. ‘People are good at not noticing things that don’t affect them. How do you think we’ve hidden a magical library here for decades?’

There was a queue to access the seemingly out-of-order lift that carried bookwanderers down from the main library and into the British Underlibrary. Tilly had expected the mood to be sombre, as it had been at Pages & Co., but there was a disconcerting buzz in the air, and lots of excited faces in the crowd.

‘Aren’t we supposed to be sad?’ Oskar whispered to Tilly.

‘We are,’ Tilly said, ‘because Amelia is our friend, but I guess lots of people are cross with her for keeping what she knew about Chalk a secret.’

‘We are … on the right side, yes?’ Oskar said.

‘Side of what?’ Tilly asked.

‘Whatever this is,’ Oskar said. ‘Because it is clearly something.’ And although Tilly was loath to admit it to herself, she had to accept that Oskar was right. A now-familiar panic rose in Tilly’s chest. The feeling of belonging and acceptance she’d experienced when she first found out she was a bookwanderer had been ripped away when she discovered that she was half-fictional. She was of their world and yet removed from it, and sometimes felt like one of those children she’d read about in novels, who were forced to live inside a plastic bubble because they were sick and couldn’t risk contamination – as though she had to keep parts of herself hidden and protected. And now there were all these complicated Underlibrary politics she couldn’t quite grasp, and there was a tiny voice in the back of her head asking whether everything would be easier if she’d never found out she was a bookwanderer at all. Who wanted to be special anyway? All it seemed to mean was secrets, suspicious looks, and a feeling of always being slightly on the outside.

Despite this, and the strange atmosphere crackling in the Underlibrary, Tilly couldn’t help but feel a sudden rush of wonder at the sight of the beautiful main hall that stretched high above her head, with its turquoise ceiling and sweeping wooden arches. A librarian rushed over to them and shook Grandad’s hand vigorously.

‘Seb!’ Oskar said happily, recognising the librarian who had helped them learn how to bookwander a few months ago.

‘How are you all? Mr Pages, sir, Ms Pages, lovely to see you,’ Seb said. ‘Tilly, Oskar.’ He was speaking incredibly quickly, unable to stop himself being polite, despite clearly having something very important to say. ‘If you wouldn’t mind following me, Amelia’s waiting for you.’ He shepherded the four of them off into an anteroom, keeping an eye on who was watching them go. The room he took them to was lined with bookshelves and warmed by a large fire, and pacing in front of it was Amelia Whisper, the former Head Librarian, her long black hair pinned up into a formal hairstyle that robbed her of some of her usual warmth. Her skin, usually a glowing brown, looked paler and duller than normal. She nodded her head to them as they came in.

‘Thank you for coming,’ she said.

‘Of course, Amelia,’ Grandma said, rushing across the room and trying to wrap her in a hug, which Amelia stopped with a firm hand.

‘Don’t be too kind to me,’ Amelia said. ‘You’ll make me cry, which is not very on brand for me at all. And I need to talk to you about something much more important than me and my feelings. Seb and I are worried about what’s going on here.’

‘Well, we all are,’ Grandad said. ‘Honestly, insisting you stand down, listening to these cliques and their hare-brained ideas.’

‘No, I mean something more than that,’ Amelia said. ‘Yes, I’m heartbroken that the Underlibrary is choosing to replace me, but, well, they’re within their rights to do so.’

‘Just,’ Grandad muttered.

‘But the issue is who they’re replacing me with. Or trying to.’