The Binding

‘Emmett?’ Seredith said. ‘What are you doing in here?’

I turned to the bench. In this light my tools looked like pewter, and a silver smear of glue glinted on the wood like a snail’s trail. The pile of finished endpapers was all shades of grey: ashes-of-roses, ashes-of-peacock, ashes-of-sky.

‘I thought I asked you to sort out the stores.’

A draught flicked a fine sand of ice against the window and set a wire swinging above my head. There were more papers hanging there; more dim wings, more pages than we could ever use.

‘I finished. I made more endpapers.’

‘What? Why? We don’t need—’

‘I don’t know. Because it’s something I know how to do, I suppose.’ I looked round. There were rolls and rolls of book-cloth, piled like logs on the shelf, all sombre and shadowy in this silvery half-dusk. The cupboard below held goatskins, a box of leather scraps, bottles of dye … And next to it – the door was swinging open, the catch needed seeing to – the boxes of tools glinted dully, their tiny elaborate feet poking up into the light. Reels of gold foil gleamed. In front there were presses, another long bench, the board-cutter, the plough … ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘All this – to decorate books that you don’t even sell.’

‘Books should be beautiful,’ Seredith said. ‘No one sees, that’s not the point. It’s a way to honour people – like grave-goods, in olden times.’

‘But whatever happens in your locked room … that’s the real binding, isn’t it? You make books for people, in there. How?’

She made a sudden movement, but when I looked at her she was still again. ‘Emmett …’

‘I’ve never even seen—’

‘Soon.’

‘You keep saying—’

‘Not now!’ She staggered, caught herself and dropped into the chair by the stove. ‘Please, not now, Emmett. I’m tired. I’m so tired.’

I walked past her, to the locked door. I ran my hand down over the three locks. It took an effort. My shoulder prickled with the impulse to pull away. Behind me Seredith’s chair scraped on the floor as she turned to look at me.

I stayed where I was. If I waited long enough, this fear would pass: and then I would be ready. But it didn’t. And underneath it, like a sickness I hadn’t known I had, was a black misery, a sense of loss so strong I could have wept.

‘Emmett.’

I turned on my heel and left.

In the next few days we didn’t speak of it again; we only talked about the chores and the weather, treading carefully, like people edging across new ice.

IV (#ulink_c5ac94db-6309-5157-8f78-82f56e43a677)

I woke out of a dream of fire. I opened my eyes and blinked away the flickering red light. I’d been in a palace, a maze made of flames, so high and hot they sucked the air out of my lungs, and for a moment I thought I caught the bitter scratch of smoke in my throat; but the room was dark and when I breathed all I could smell was the subtle metallic scent of snow. I sat up, rubbing my eyes.

Knocking. That was what had woken me: a hard pounding at the front door that hardly paused. And someone shouting. There was a bell jangling too, a continuous clanging like an alarum.

I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on my trousers. The boards were cold under my bare feet, but I didn’t bother about shoes. I stumbled out into the passageway and stood there for a second, listening. A man’s voice, breathless. ‘I know you’re there!’ The door juddered in its frame. ‘Come out or I’ll smash your fucking windows. Out!’

I clenched my fists. At home Pa would have reached for his rifle, and when he swung the door open whoever was there would have stammered and fallen silent. But this wasn’t my house, and I didn’t have a rifle. I crossed the passageway to knock at Seredith’s door. ‘Seredith?’ I didn’t have time to wait for an answer. I pushed it open and peered round, trying to make out where her bed was. I’d never been in this room. ‘Seredith, there’s someone outside. Are you awake?’

Nothing. I could just see the pale crumple of her pillows and rucked sheets, next to the window. She wasn’t there. ‘Seredith?’

Something muttered in the darkness. I whirled round. She was curled in a chair in the corner of the room, shielding her head as if the sky was about to fall. Her eyes were open, gleaming at me. Her face was so pale it seemed to hover in the air. ‘Seredith. There’s someone knocking at the door. Should I answer? What’s going on?’

‘Come for us,’ she muttered, ‘they’ve come, I knew they would, the Crusade, the Crusade …’

‘I don’t understand.’ My voice wavered and I clenched my fists. ‘Should I open the door? Do you want to talk to him?’

‘The Crusaders, come to burn us all, come to kill us – nowhere to run now, hide, hide in the cellar, don’t give up the books, die with the books if you must—’

‘Seredith, please!’ I dropped to my haunches in front of her, so that my eyes were at the same level as hers. I pulled gently at one of her wrists, trying to uncover her ear. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you want me to—’

She recoiled. ‘Who – get away from me – who who who—’

I rocked backwards, off balance. ‘It’s me! Seredith, it’s Emmett.’

Silence. The pounding stopped. We stared at each other through the dense grainy dark. I could hear her hoarse breathing, and my own. There was the smash of glass from downstairs. ‘Hey!’ the man yelled. ‘Come out here, you old bitch!’

Seredith shuddered. I tried to take her hand but she scrabbled backwards into the corner of the room, scraping frantically at the plaster. Her face was gleaming with moisture and her mouth was half-open. For a second she’d known who I was, but now she was staring past me, her lips trembling, and I didn’t dare touch her again.

I stood up. She caught at my shirt and tugged. I nearly fell. ‘Seredith.’ I peeled her fingers away one by one. They were brittle and clammy, and I was afraid that I’d break the bones. ‘Let go of me. I have to—’

I pulled too hard, and she cried out. But as she shook the pain from her wrist, her eyes seemed to clear. ‘Emmett,’ she said.

‘Yes.’

‘I was dreaming. Help me back to—’

‘It’s all right. I’ll go. You stay here.’ I walked into the passage on shaking legs.

The man’s voice rose, clearer now that the window had gone. ‘I’ll smoke you out! You come out here and talk to me, witch!’

I don’t know how I got to the bottom of the stairs, or slid the bolts on the front door, but suddenly I was in the open doorway. The man in front of me startled and stepped back. He was smaller than I’d expected, and his face had a pointed, ratty look. Behind him more dark figures turned their heads. One of them had a torch. So I had smelt smoke.

He squared up to me as if he thought he was as tall as I was, though he had to tilt his head back to look me in the eye. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘I’m the witch’s apprentice. Who the hell are you?’

‘Get her down here.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want my daughter back.’

‘Your daughter? She’s not here. No one’s here but—’ I stopped.

‘Don’t try to be smart. You know what I’m talking about. You bring her book out here, right now, and give it to me. Or—’

‘Or what?’

‘Or we burn this house to the ground. And everything in it.’