Pages & Co.: Tilly and the Lost Fairy Tales. Anna James

      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.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Grandma asked.

      ‘I don’t trust Melville Underwood at all, and I think there’s more to his story than he’s letting on.’

      ‘Ah, but they won’t go for him, surely,’ Grandad said. ‘He’s just got back from goodness knows where. No one knows anything about him. It’ll be old Ebenezer.’

      ‘I’m not so sure,’ Amelia said. ‘You haven’t been here over the last week; Melville may have just got back but he’s been darting around the Library whispering in people’s ears and I’m worried about what he’s saying, and what people are open to believing. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the Bookbinders have stopped grumbling from the sidelines and started to get more organised.’

      ‘If I could be permitted to chip in,’ Seb said. ‘I am a little concerned about where he has been all this time, as you say, Mr Pages – but others don’t share our reticence. The Bookbinders, as they insist on calling themselves now, are lapping up Melville’s tale because they are happy to gloss over all sorts of irregularities if it means having one of their own in charge. Ideologically, I mean. Better the devil you sort-of-know, and all that. But while he claims that he and his sister were attacked while leading a bookwandering group through a collection of fairy tales, there are no records of this attack happening. If a group of bookwanderers were attacked or lost there should be some note or diary or even personal memory, somewhere in our records. He says he can’t be sure what happened to the rest of the group, or his sister, and no one seems to be pushing him on it. Something smells fishy to me.’

      ‘But there’s no proof?’ Grandad said slowly.

      ‘Well, no,’ Seb said. ‘The lack of evidence or proof is just the issue. There’s no way to corroborate his story. We’re a group of librarians and archivists and storytellers; why aren’t we more concerned that there’s no record …?’

      ‘I do worry that unfounded claims such as these will merely make us look like sore losers, especially today,’ Grandad said slowly. ‘Is there wisdom in waiting and watching for a while, do you think? I must admit, I never warmed to Melville when I crossed paths with him back when we were both young men here.’

      ‘That’s the other thing,’ Amelia said. ‘He’s still a young man.’

      ‘Well, that’s nothing of note in itself,’ Grandma said. ‘Ageing works erratically in books as it is, and if he was in fairy tales then even more so.’

      ‘Yes, but he doesn’t seem to have aged a day,’ Amelia said. ‘He still looks to be in his late twenties.’

      ‘My dear Amelia, it’s easy to find evidence of what we already believe …’

      Amelia brushed Grandad’s reassuring hand off her arm.

      ‘Don’t you dare patronise me, Archie,’ she said. ‘I am not some conspiracy theorist, I know the Underlibrary of today better than you do. I understand that we are dealing with little more than smoke and whispers and instincts here.’

      ‘You know what they say about no smoke without fire,’ Seb said sagely.

      Amelia ignored him. ‘There is something else happening here,’ she said firmly, ‘and you would be wise to take my warning seriously.’

      Grandad nodded, chastened. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … I just, well, Elsie and I both care for you greatly as our friend and colleague and I don’t want to see you get hurt more than necessary.’

      ‘The hurt is already inflicted,’ Amelia said, steely-eyed. ‘And I can endure it. But I want it to be worth something,