A New Keeper Read online

  Many of the books were in cardboard boxes, and several of these were stacked on top of each other. My heart boggled to imagine what might be hidden away under all the dust.

  Near the back of the store, there was a shelf which was at least partially organized. I skimmed through, but nothing caught my eye. There was a ladder to the uppermost shelves which I dared not to climb.

  A black Labrador poked its head out from under a table. I could hear its tail thudding against something as it wagged somewhere out of sight.

  “Hello there,” I said.

  The dog said nothing.

  I patted its head. “Good boy.”

  The dog had one of those faces where it seemed to be perpetually smiling. I smiled back and returned to my search.

  I know what my mother would have said at a time like this. ‘Why don't you just ask the guy at the front? It's his job to help you.’ People were always saying ‘useful’ things like that. Oh yeah, I’ll just march on up to him and say ‘excuse me, where is the classics section?’ and pretend that my private universe of Hank was not freaking out.

  There was enough freaking out enough going on just being in the bookshop on my own.

  I was closer to giving up and leaving the shop altogether than I was to saying two words to the guy behind the counter.

  As I scanned the shelves, a familiar name caught my eye: Dickens.

  I walked to the shelf and inspected his neighbors: Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, and Bram Stoker. He was in good company. I glided my eyes over the ancient spines in search of the same name I always looked for: Lewis Carroll.

  “I’m closing up in five,” the guy called from the front. I couldn't see him and thought it would be more awkward to be still inside the shop when he closed up than it would be to reply.

  “K,” I said, and felt bold for doing so.

  Then I saw it: Lewis Carroll's Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It was my favorite book.

  I pulled the book from the shelf. It was a beautiful old edition, red with gold leaf. It was the kind of book you dream about when imagining your future home library. I had seen copies like this before. Those copies always seemed to be in high places and behind counters where you couldn't get a closer look without talking to someone first.

  The book seemed to be in excellent condition. I leafed through the gorgeous and fragrant pages. I saw all the familiar characters who had kept me company one winter a couple of years ago.

  It was an old book, to be sure. I started to wonder how old. I flipped to the front and tried to find the publishing date.

  1865.

  “Whoa,” I said. I held the book with even more reverence. I didn’t really know when Alice was first published, but I was fairly sure that this must have been pretty close. I checked the inside cover to see if there was a price on the book. If there were no price, then there would be no sale, in accordance with a well-established rule for people like me.

  $1.99

  “I’m closing up!”

  My heart was pounding. I had to have this book!

  But then something occurred to me. I didn't have any money in my checking account! I always transferred everything over to my savings. If I were going to be able to buy this book today, I would have to transfer some money. Now.

  I opened my banking app with shaking fingers. The loading screen seemed to take forever.

  No Internet.

  I waved my arm around in the air, but the screen did not load. Then I remembered the ladder. I looked back to the front of the shop. There was no movement. It was now or never. I climbed up the first few steps of the ladder. No signal. I climbed a couple more.

  “I’m serious,” said the man.

  “Just a second,” I called.

  The dog watched me with curious eyes.

  There it was! A single bar of signal. The app loaded. I selected $20 to transfer, just in case they wanted to charge me more for some reason. I was always worried about that sort of thing.

  I didn't have time to check that it had gone through. If I didn’t get to the front of the store now then maybe the man wouldn’t sell it to me. Someone else would find it, and I would miss out.

  Or the store would disappear.

  I walked to the front of the store, trying to look casual and placed the book on the counter. “Just that, thanks,” I said. It was the only thing I ever said to shop people. It was slightly less awkward than saying nothing at all.

  “$1.99,” he said without checking the price. I handed him my card. He took it and placed it on the paywave scanner right in front of me.

  My body was alive with the feelings of awkward.

  There must be a dimension of time which opens up especially for moments like this.

  Did the money go through, or not?

  I always assumed that shop people thought I might be trying to steal from them, or that they thought I was trying to pay with no money. I don't know why I thought this, but it usually contributes to me feeling, and probably appearing, highly conspicuous.

  This was by far the worst moment. ACCEPTED or DECLINED? Random numbers and connections that I didn't understand would decide.

  I held my breath.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The man handed me my card, receipt, and the book. “Thanks,” I stammered and fled the store and into the rain. I tucked the precious book inside my sweater and under my arm and started to run.

  “Your late back,” said Mom, the instant I was in the door. Ordinarily, this would cause me to tense up, but I was far too excited.

  “I found a bookshop. Have a look,” I handed Mom my new treasure.

  She turned down the stove top and sat down to examine my find. I felt like a cat that had killed a bird for its master. I kind of wish cats brought you books. That would be pretty much the best thing.

  “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” she read aloud, “don’t you already have a copy?”

  “Look at the date at the front.”

  “1865. That's pretty old. Victorian. How much did you pay for it?”

  “Only two dollars,” I said, smiling like an idiot. “I think it might be a first edition.”

  Mom’s face went kind of blank. “First edition? Are you sure?”

  “I think so.”

  “First editions of major nineteenth-century writers sell at auction for millions of dollars, Alex.” Her tone was stern. Angry?

  My heart sank. For a dreadful moment, I thought that Mom was going to make me take it back to the store.

  “Really?” I said, feeling afraid.

  “Where did you say you got it?”

  “The bookshop down the road. Between the post office and the veggie shop.”

  “Huh,” said Mom, distant now.

  Mom was quite introspective at dinner which kind of made everyone quiet, everyone but Dad. He was kind of on a different wavelength from the rest of us.

  “Why is everyone not talking? Did someone die?” he asked, grinning. I imagined what it would be like if someone actually had died.

  I decided that I would not learn the books first edition status until I had read it through at least once.

  I wanted to make sure I had the perfect reading environment. I tended to read no matter what the circumstances: bus, family gatherings, the beach. When I was little I used to read books in the car at night, one sentence at a time by catching the light from each passing street lamp. But just because I don’t need certain conditions for reading doesn't mean I don't appreciate them.

  I began by giving my room a bit of a clean. By clean I mean I stuffed things under my bed and inside my closet. I put my school things out of sight to give myself the illusion that they didn't exist.

  I cleared a space on my desk and lit the candle which Grandma gave me for Christmas. It was small, lavender scented, and precious.

  “Alex!” called Mom.

  I closed my eyes in frustration. “Yeah?”

  “Can you come and help Jonny with his homework?”

 
“Mom! I’m busy!”

  “I don't ask much of you Alex,” she was walking up the stairs now. That's how I could tell I was going to lose.

  The scent of the candle caught in my nose. I decided not to blow it out. Instead, I let the aroma fill the room in my absence.

  Jonny was at the kitchen table. He was drawing bees on his maths homework. “Do you think they sing songs when they are sad?” asked Jonny as I sat down.

  “Who?”

  “The bees that live near the swings in the park.”

  “I don’t know, Jonny,” I said.

  “I hope they are OK.”

  It was a real struggle to get his attention back to multiplication. After about half an hour we still weren't done, but we were done enough. I loved Jonny, but Mom had trained him just to wait for me or her to show him the answers. It was enormously frustrating.

  Now it was time for tea. Once the kettle was boiled, I poured the hot water into my largest ornate teacup. The water collided with the English Breakfast tea bag and aromatic steam swirled upward. I smiled.

  I took a quick shower while the tea brewed. Once back in my room I pulled on my Tardis pajamas, took a sip of my tea, and lay out on my bed. My hair was still wet and smelled of shampoo.

  I carefully read the cover of the book. Most of the books I owned had glossy poorly designed covers, the sort that gave rise to much-repeated phrases. This book was different. It was a truly beautiful object. Within a simple golden circle against a red background was Alice, looking out at me, waiting for me to join her.

  I didn't much care if this book was worth millions of dollars. It was to be the prize of my collection, and I bought it for pretty much nothing.

  I opened the book to the first page and was greeted by that familiar fragrant smell which only truly old books acquired. It mingled with the lavender scent from the candle beautifully. I breathed it in and began to read.

  Alice was beginning to get very tired…

  I never finished that sentence.

  The light in my peripheral vision darkened. At first, I thought it was the candle flickering and going out. I felt like I was going to faint.

  My heart stopped beating. What's happening? I mouthed. I was scared, or at least I think I was scared. Fear is a weird concept when you don’t have a heartbeat.

  Then I was falling.

  It was like the page of the book was rushing at me. Soon it filled my entire experience, and I completely lost awareness of my body. All around me, I could hear a rustling sound like paper caught in the wind. This was no ordinary wind. It circled me, carrying with it the sweet smell of ancient books and rainy days.

  I tried to call out, but there was no air in my lungs. I thought I was dying, and found myself feeling guilty for not texting Lilly first.

  Time lost its meaning.

  My world drained away completely. From my room, the center of comfort in the universe, to utter darkness, chaos, and confusion.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When I opened my eyes, all I could see was a groove between two burgundy tiles, one of which was smushed into my face. It was cold against my cheek. I felt like I had woken up after an afternoon nap, disoriented and confused. I tried to remember where I had fallen asleep, but my memory was hazy.

  I got to my feet, straightened out my pajamas, and looked around. The first thing I realized was that I was in a public place. The second thing I realized was that I was in a library.

  But this was like no library I had ever seen before.

  It was a mosaic of staircases, ladders, and shelves, rising through level after level. My eyes followed upward until I was looking at what really ought to have been the ceiling but was, in fact, more library.

  I wandered.

  There were no sounds in the library save for my own footfall. There was no one anywhere to be seen. I was completely alone. Worries about walking around in my pajamas began to subside as I walked.

  In no time at all I was lost and in the most wonderful way.

  This library was the sort that lingers on the edge of the imagination but is never quite realized. It was more than just a collection of books, it was an ornate temple to reading. Almost every surface that could be polished hardwood was polished hardwood. The paths twisted and turned. The rich smell of old books occasionally mingled with some flowering vine curling down a staircase rail or a row of dried flowers hanging from the ceiling.

  In this place, one could learn the true meaning of nook. Every conceivable variety of chair, day-bed, and floor bag was arranged in every conceivable way. From under staircases and amongst the shelves, to hanging from thick ropes, swaying gently.

  Whenever I came to a window, and there were many, I looked out but what I saw never made any sense. Some of the windows looked out over sea cliffs and distant rain, others over deep valleys and rolling fog. Others looked over sun-drenched gardens, the sound of bees humming from somewhere among the petals and pollen.

  My heart swelled with awe and wonder. How could this place exist? How could it really be? It was like someone had reached into my dreams and recreated the ultimate place of comfort and exploration.

  I came upon an open space fitted with large glass cases where maps were displayed. I wandered silently among them. Now and then a coast or mountain range caught my eye, and I was drawn into the map, tracing its lines and reading the strange names of distant places.

  Time lost all meaning in the library.

  I felt my legs ache from wandering but couldn't say how far I had strayed. A distant and familiar sound caught my attention. It was the unmistakable sound of a kettle ready to boil. I made my way towards that sound.

  The kettle clicked as I rounded a corner, but it was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a large teapot, and a set of little teacups arranged on a side table.

  I poured myself a cup and looked about for somewhere to sit. A sizeable green couch caught my eye. It was under a window which hung in the air on the end of two long chains.

  I walked around the window. On each side, there seemed to be a different scene. On one side there was a lake on a fine day. On the other, there was a green countryside drenched in rain. I curled up and sipped my tea.

  “Is someone there?” asked a voice.

  I sat up and looked around. I couldn't see anyone. The voice was thickly accented, Scottish like Professor McGonagall’s.

  Hank heard it too. He clawed at my innards and reminded me that I was in my pajamas.

  Feeling the urge to hide I stood up from my seat, crouched behind the nearest shelf, and froze.

  I could hear that someone was getting closer. There was something strange about the sound they made as they walked. I looked at the teacup I was still holding. Did I steal someone’s tea? Was I even supposed to be here?

  They were getting closer now. Soon they would find me, hiding as conspicuously as possible. I looked about for somewhere to go. I saw a flight of stairs and crept towards it, trying to be as quiet as I possibly could.

  “I saw you there,” called the voice.

  I cringed as each step made the stairs creak. When I reached the top, I chose a direction at random and hurried as fast as I could. There was the thud-thud of movement behind me, but I dared not turn around.

  My heart was racing now.

  I ducked down another row of books and began to run. Candles set in lamps of brass and gold spontaneously lit as I approached them, spaced as they were every eight steps.

  I saw a door, old and imposing. I grabbed the handle, pulled it open, and plunged forward into the darkness.

  All was silent but for my beating heart. I tried to catch my breath.

  There was a vague smell of old fabric. I shuffled forward best I could and collided with a hanging curtain. My eyes started to adjust.

  In the gray light, I could see the vague silhouette of a huge piano a few feet ahead of me. Slowly I walked forward, captivated by its imposing shape. When I was close, I reached out and softly pressed one of the great keys.
r />   Light suddenly filled the room as three magnificent chandeliers lit.

  I was standing on a stage and looking out at an empty auditorium. My attention was once more drawn to the fact that I was in my pajamas. This was the stuff of nightmares. Hank burrowed deep into my gut and started pulling on things.

  “I can see you, you know,” said the voice, "wait there, would you?”

  I ran across the stage, into the wing, and through another door. It opened out onto a great cliff. I almost ran right off the edge, but stopped just in time, swaying on the precipice.

  It was an enormous canyon, lined on both sides with rows and rows of books.

  I was still in the library.

  I scanned the scene for some way out. There was a ladder leading up to the top of the canyon. I made for it. It was wooden and old and felt like it might collapse under my weight.

  I heard the door below me open and I briefly glanced back. A hulking great shape was down there. What on earth was chasing me?

  I ran down another row of books, and then another, searching for an escape. I saw a double door, wooden and ornate. Pushing my way through I was soon in another dark room.

  This room was circular in shape. A pale silvery light hung over several desks and shelves which were stacked with thick volumes. I looked up and saw that the ceiling was a glass dome.

  The light was coming from the stars.

  My wonder was broken by the sound of the door opening behind me. I looked about for someplace to run, someplace to hide, but there were no more exits.

  I was trapped.

  The hulking shadow thudded closer and closer.

  There was nothing I could do but stand there and wait, wait with a beating heart.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “There you are,” it said. Its massive eyes were foil in the starlight.