Beetle gave Foxy a thumbs-up sign and said to Jenna, “I’d better go and take this down while I’ve got a chance.”
“Can I come?” asked Jenna, to Beetle’s amazement.
“What—with me?”
“Yes. I’d like to see what’s going to happen to the map.” Jenna was reluctant to let her only hope of getting Nicko back out of her sight for one moment.
“Well, yes. Of course. It’s, um, through here.” Conscious of Foxy’s stare, Beetle held open the door that led from the front office into the actual Manuscriptorium, and Jenna walked through. Eighteen pens stopped their scratching and eighteen pairs of eyes stared as Beetle and the Princess walked past the rows of desks toward the basement stairs.
The basement was actually a collection of cellars. Over many hundreds of years the Manuscriptorium had annexed its neighbors’ cellars, usually without any of them noticing, and it was now in possession of a long network of underground rooms in which Beetle hoped to find Mr. Ephaniah Grebe, the Conservation, Preservation and Protection Scribe.
Ephaniah Grebe not only worked in the basement, he lived there. None of the present scribes could remember ever seeing Ephaniah upstairs, although it was rumored that he did emerge at night when everyone had gone home. Even Jillie Djinn had seen him only once, on the day she was inducted as Chief Hermetic Scribe—but Beetle knew him well.
Usually anything in need of Conservation, Preservation or Protection was left in a basket at the top of the basement stairs every evening. In the morning it would be gone and in its place would be some of the Conserved, Preserved or Protected objects that had been left over the last week or so. Beetle would not have dreamed of leaving the precious fragments of paper in an unattended basket, so while Foxy kept an uneasy watch for Jillie Djinn—but no customers, as he had locked the door to prevent any danger of that—Beetle and Jenna set off in search of Ephaniah Grebe.
At the foot of the stairs was a long, dark corridor that ended with a door covered in green baize and big brass rivets.
Beetle gave it a hefty push and the door swung open on well-oiled hinges. The appearance of the basement was not what Jenna was expecting; it was light and airy and smelled fresh and clean. The walls were painted white, the flagstone floor was scrubbed, and from the vaulted ceiling hung lamps that burned with a bright white flame and emitted a constant hiss—which was the only sound that Beetle and Jenna could hear.
The first cellar was the one Beetle was familiar with—this was where Ephaniah had helped him rebuild his timepiece. It was what the Conservation Scribe called his mechanical cellar, and it was peopled by tiny and not-so-tiny automatons.
One of which—a rower in a boat followed by a circling seagull—suddenly sprang into action as Jenna walked by, and it was all she could do not to scream. But of Ephaniah Grebe there was no sign.
The next cellar was full of shelves that were stocked with a large array of colored bottles, each neatly labeled. On a table under a glass dome was a crushed Remember Me
Spell that Beetle remembered a distraught woman bringing in a few days previously. This cellar too was empty.
Feeling as though they were intruding, Beetle set off with Jenna deeper into the interlinked cellars, their footsteps echoing with the tinny sound that brick gives back. Beetle was amazed at the mixture of work in progress. In one cellar was a tiny book, laid out page by page, each one attached to a thick piece of paper by a long, thin pin. To one side were a pair of tweezers and a pot of newly collected paper beetle larvae. Another cellar held a small snake, rearing up as though about to strike. Beetle jumped back in shock and then, embarrassed, realized it was actually a stuffed snake, and a box of assorted snake fangs sitting beside it told him that its fangs were being replaced.
But still there was no sign of Ephaniah Grebe. Worried that time was ticking away, Beetle sped up. They scooted through one cellar after another, each with an ongoing project set out neatly on a table and each one devoid of Ephaniah Grebe, until at last they arrived at the wide archway that opened into the final and largest cellar.
Underneath Jenna’s cloak, Ullr unsheathed his claws.
At first sight this cellar also appeared empty, apart from a round table in the center with a bright white, hissing light suspended above it. But as they stood in the archway a slight movement drew their attention to a figure, bent over a task that they could not see, sitting on a tall stool at a bench in the far corner. The figure was wrapped in a white cloak, blending in perfectly with the whitewashed wall behind him.
“Ahem,” coughed Beetle quietly. There was no response. “Excuse me,” he said. Still there was no reaction. The figure continued with whatever painstaking task he was busy with. Increasingly worried that Miss Djinn’s interview would soon be at an end, Beetle hurried over and tapped him on the shoulder. The figure leaped with shock and spun around.
“Ephaniah, I’m sorry to bother you,” said Beetle, “but I—”
“Argh!” Jenna screamed. Too late she tried to smother it, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. Half the man’s face was that of a rat.
Rat nose, rat whiskers and two long, yellow rodent teeth. The rat’s mouth opened in shock, showing a pointed pink tongue. Quickly, the rat-man covered the lower part of his face with a long white silken cloth that had gotten loose and fallen around his neck. He readjusted it, winding it round and round until the swathes of silk covered the pointed bump of the rat nose.
“Oh,” gasped Beetle, realizing he should have warned Jenna what to expect. “I am so sorry, Ephaniah. I didn’t mean to interrupt like this.”
Ephaniah Grebe nodded and squeaked something. Then he pushed his thick bottle-glass spectacles up onto the top of his head. Beneath the spectacles, Jenna saw a pair of sparkling, decidedly human, green eyes and she relaxed. Beetle began to apologize once more but Ephaniah Grebe held up his hand to stop him, wriggled off his stool and bowed deeply to Jenna. Then he took a long silver box from his pocket.
Inside the box was an index of hundreds of small white cards. Ephaniah Grebe leafed swiftly through it, took a card and laid it on the table. He beckoned Jenna and Beetle forward and pointed to a well-thumbed card. It said: DO NOT BE
AFRAID. I AM HUMAN.
“Oh. What…happened?” asked Jenna.
Another, equally well-thumbed card took its place: PERMANENT RAT HEX. AMBUSHED AGE 14 BY DARKE
HEX DIARY AND DARKE RAT REBUS IN WILD BOOK STORE.
Beetle gulped. He had never asked what had befallen Ephaniah, but he wasn’t surprised. He had always wondered what would happen if two Darke books got together and ganged up on him.
Another card: WITCH MOTHER MORWENNA SAVED ME. NOW PARTIAL HEX ONLY. He held out his hands, which were human—although Jenna thought the nails looked strangely long and thin, a little like rat claws.
Beetle realized he had not introduced Jenna. “Ephaniah,” he said, “this is Princess Jenna.”
Ephaniah Grebe bowed and, after some frantic leafing through the index, he placed an unused, pristine white card on the table: WELCOME, YOUR MAJESTY.
It was followed by another, well-thumbed card: WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?
In answer, Beetle laid his roll of silk on the table and unrolled it. He groaned, horrified at the sodden mash of paper that lay in its folds. He realized that he had been so busy comforting Jenna that he had not really taken in the enormous damage caused by not only the collision, but also the water. The ink had run, most of the pencil markings were rubbed off, and many of the fragile pieces were now stuck together. It reminded Beetle of the papier-mâché mix he used to play with at his nursery school.
Ephaniah Grebe made a long aaaah
kind of sound, more like a concerned sheep than a rat, Beetle thought. The Conservation Scribe pulled his bottle-glass spectacles back down onto his long nose and peered at the disaster. Soon another card was placed on the table: WHAT
IS IT?
And so Beetle explained as best he could what it was and how the papers had come to be in such a bad state. While he was speaking Jenna looked more and more agitated until she burst out, “Please, Mr. Grebe. Say you can put them all back together again. Please.”
Another card on the table: IT IS DIFFICULT.
Then, seeing Jenna’s face fall, another: NOT IMPOSSIBLE.
“Those pieces of paper are my only chance of ever seeing my brother again,” said Jenna simply.