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showing contempt for her precious books, but she couldn't do it. Her curiosity was too much for

her. She felt almost as if she could hear the books whispering on the other side of the half-open

door. They were promising her a thousand unknown stories, a thousand doors into worlds she

had never seen before. The temptation was stronger than Meggie's pride.

"Agreed," she murmured, clasping her hands behind her back. "Three paces." Her fingers were

itching with desire.

"Sensible child," said Elinor, so condescendingly that Meggie almost went back on her decision.

But then they entered Elinor's holy of holies.

"You've had the place renovated," Meggie heard Mo say. He added something else, but she

wasn't listening anymore. She was just staring at the books. The shelves on which they stood

smelled of freshly sawn wood. They went all the way up to a sky-blue ceiling with tiny lights in

it, hanging there like stars. Narrow wooden stepladders on casters stood by the shelves, ready to

help any reader up to the top shelves. There were reading desks with books lying open on them,

held in place by brass chains that shone like gold. There were glass display cases containing

books with pages stained by age but showing the most wonderful pictures. Meggie couldn't

resist moving closer. One step forward, a quick glance at Elinor, who luckily had her back

turned, and she was right beside the display case. She bent lower and lower over the glass until

her nose was touching it.

Prickly leaves twined around pale brown letters. A tiny red dragon's head was spitting out

flowers over the stained paper. Riders on white horses looked at Meggie as if scarcely a day had

passed since someone had painted them with tiny marten-hair brushes. A man and woman

stood beside them, perhaps a bridal couple. A man with a bright red hat was looking angrily at

them.

"You call that three paces?"

Meggie spun around in alarm, but Elinor didn't seem too angry. "Yes, the art of illumination," she

said. "Once only rich people could read, so the pictures painted around the letters were to help

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the poor to understand the stories, too. Of course no one planned to give them pleasure — the

poor were put into the world to work, not to have a nice time or look at pretty pictures. That

kind of thing was only for the rich. No, the idea was to instruct the poor. Usually the stories came

from the Bible and everyone knew them anyway. The books were put in churches, and a page

was turned every day to show a new picture."

"What about this book?" asked Meggie.

"I don't think this one was ever in a church," replied Elinor. "More likely it was made for a very

rich man to enjoy. It's almost six hundred years old." There was no missing the pride in her

voice. "People have committed murder for such a book. Luckily, I only had to buy it."

As she spoke these last words she turned abruptly and looked at Dustfinger, who had followed

them into the library, soundless as a prowling cat. For a moment Meggie thought Elinor would

send him back into the corridor, but Dustfinger stood in front of the shelves looking so

impressed, with his hands behind his back, that he gave her no reason to turn him out, so she

just cast him a final distrustful glance and turned back to Mo.

He was standing at one of the reading desks with a book in his hand. Its spine hung only by a

couple of threads. He held it very carefully, like a bird with a broken wing.

"Well?" asked Elinor anxiously. "Can you save it? I know it's in terrible shape, and I'm afraid the

others aren't in a much better way, but..."

"Oh, that can all be fixed." Mo put the book down and inspected another. "But I think it will take

me at least two weeks. If I don't have to get hold of more materials, which could mean I need

more time. Will you put up with us that long?"

"Of course." Elinor nodded, but Meggie noticed the glance she cast at Dustfinger. He was still

standing beside the shelves near the door and seemed entirely absorbed in looking at the books,

but Meggie sensed he had missed none of what was said behind his back.

There were no books in Elinor's kitchen, not one, but they ate an excellent supper there at a

wooden table that came, so Elinor assured them, from the scriptorium of an Italian monastery.

Meggie doubted it. As far as she knew, the monks had worked at desks with sloping tops in the

scriptoria of their monasteries, but she kept this information to herself. Instead she took another

slice of bread and was just wondering how nice the cheese standing on the supposed

scriptorium table would be when she noticed Mo whispering something to Elinor. Since Elinor's

eyes widened greedily, Meggie concluded they could only be discussing a book, and she

immediately thought of brown paper, a pale green linen binding, and the anger in Mo's voice.

Beside her, Dustfinger surreptitiously slipped a slice of ham into his backpack for Gwin's supper.

Meggie saw a round nose emerge from the pack, snuffling in the hope of more delicacies.

Dustfinger smiled at Meggie when he noticed her looking at him and gave Gwin some more ham.

He didn't seem to find anything odd about Mo and Elinor's whispering, but Meggie was sure the

two of them were planning something secret.

After a short time Mo rose from the table and went out. Meggie asked Elinor where the

bathroom was — and followed him.

It was a strange feeling to be spying on Mo. She couldn't remember ever doing it before —

except the night before, when Dustfinger had arrived. And the time when she had tried to find

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out whether Mo was Santa Claus. She was ashamed of stealing after him like this, but it was his

own fault. Why was he hiding the book from her? And now he might be going to give it to this

Elinor — a book Meggie wasn't allowed to see! Ever since Mo had hurriedly hidden it behind his

back, Meggie hadn't been able to get it out of her head. She had even looked for it in Mo's bag

before he loaded his things into the van, but she couldn't find it.

She just had to see it before it disappeared, maybe into one of Elinor's display cases! She had to

know why it meant so much to Mo that, for its sake, he would drag her all the way here.

He looked around once more in the entrance hall before leaving the house, but Meggie ducked

down behind a chest just in time. The chest smelled of mothballs and lavender. She decided to

stay in hiding there until Mo came back. He'd be sure to see her if she went outdoors. Time

passed painfully slowly, as it always does when you're waiting for something with your heart

thumping hard. The books in the white bookcases seemed to be watching Meggie, but they said

nothing to her, as if they sensed that there was only one book Meggie could think about just

now.

Finally, Mo came back carrying a package wrapped in brown paper. Perhaps he's just going to

hide it here, thought Meggie. Where could you hide a book better than among ten thousand

others? Yes, Mo was going to leave it here and then they'd drive home again. But I would like to

see it, thought Meggie, just once, before it's put on one of those shelves I'm supposed to stay

three paces away from.

Mo passed her so closely she could have touched him, but he didn't notice her. "Meggie, don't

look at me like that!" he sometimes told her. "You're reading my thoughts again." Now he looked

anxious — as if he wasn't quite sure he was doing the right thing. Meggie counted slowly to

three before following her father, but a couple of times Mo stopped so suddenly Meggie almost

ran into him. He didn't return to the kitchen but went straight to the library. Without looking

back once, he opened the door with the Venetian printer's mark on it and closed it quietly

behind him.

So, there stood Meggie among all the silent books, wondering whether to follow him and ask him

to show her the book. Would he be very angry? She was just about to summon up all her courage

and go after him when she heard footsteps — rapid, firm footsteps, quick and impatient. That

could only be Elinor. Now what?

Meggie opened the nearest door and slipped through it. A four-poster bed, a dresser, silver-

framed photographs, a pile of books on the bedside table, a catalog lying open on the rug, its

pages full of pictures of old books. She was in Elinor's bedroom. Heart thudding, she listened for

noises outside; she could hear Elinor's energetic footsteps and then the sound of the library door

closing for the second time. Cautiously, she slipped out into the corridor again. She was still

standing outside the library, undecided, when she felt a hand suddenly laid on her shoulder from

behind. Another hand stifled her cry of alarm.

"It's only me!" breathed Dustfinger into her ear. "Keep quiet or we're both in trouble,

understand?"

Meggie nodded and Dustfinger slowly took his hand away from her mouth. "Your father's going

to give the old witch that book, right?" he whispered. "Has he taken it out of the van? Tell me. He

did have it with him, didn't he?"

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Meggie pushed him away. "I don't know!" she snapped. "Anyway, what business is it of yours?"

"What business is it of mine?" Dustfinger laughed quietly. "Well, perhaps I'll tell you sometime.

But just now all I want to know is whether you've seen it."

Meggie shook her head. She didn't know why she was lying to Dustfinger. Perhaps because he

had pressed his hand over her mouth a little too hard.

"Meggie, listen to me!" Dustfinger looked at her intently. His scars were like pale lines that

someone had drawn on his cheeks: two slightly curved marks on the left cheek, a third and

longer line on the right cheek running from ear to nostril. "Capricorn will kill your father if he

doesn't get that book!" hissed Dustfinger. "Kill him, do you understand? Didn't I tell you what

he's like? He wants the book, and he always gets what he wants. It's ridiculous to believe it will

be safe from him here."

"Mo doesn't think so!"

Dustfinger straightened up and stared at the library door. "Yes, I know," he murmured. "That's

the trouble. And so," he said, putting both hands on Meggie's shoulders and propelling her

toward the closed door, "so now you're going to go in there, the picture of innocence, and find

out what the pair of them are planning to do with that book. OK?"

Meggie was about to protest, but before she knew it Dustfinger had opened the door and pushed

her into the library.

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Chapter 5 – Only A Picture

For him that stealeth, or borroweth and returneth not, this book from its owner, let it

change into a serpent in his hand and rend him.

Let him be struck with palsy, and all his members blasted.

Let him languish in pain, crying aloud for mercy, and let there be no surcease to this

agony till he sing in dissolution.

Let bookworms gnaw his entrails... and when at last he goeth to his last punishment, let

the flames of hell consume him for ever.

– Curse on book thieves, from the monastery of San Pedro, Barcelona, Spain

They had unwrapped the book. Meggie saw the brown paper lying on a chair. Neither of them

noticed that she had come in; Elinor was bending over one of the reading desks with Mo beside

her. They both had their backs to the door.

"Amazing. I thought there wasn't a single copy left," Elinor was saying. "There are strange

stories about this book going around. A secondhand dealer from whom I buy quite often told me

that three copies were stolen from him a few years ago. All on the same day, too. And I've heard

much the same story from two other booksellers."

"Really? Yes, very strange," said Mo, but Meggie knew his voice well enough to know that he was

only pretending to be surprised. "Well, anyway, even if this wasn't a rare book it means a lot to

me, and I'd like to be sure it's in safe hands for a while. Just till I come back for it."

"All books are in safe hands with me," replied Elinor, sounding cross. "You know that. They're

my children, my inky children, and I look after them well. I keep the sunlight away from their

pages, I dust them and protect them from hungry bookworms and grubby human fingers. This

one shall have a place of honor, and no one will see it until you want it back. I don't really

welcome visitors to my library. They just leave fingerprints and stray hairs in my poor books.

Anyway, as you know, I have a very expensive burglar alarm system."

"Yes, that's extremely reassuring!" Mo's voice sounded relieved. "Thank you, Elinor! I really am

most grateful. And if anyone comes knocking at your door in the near future asking about the

book, please will you make out you've never heard of it, all right?"

"Of course. I'd do anything for a good bookbinder, and anyway you're my niece's husband. I

really do miss her sometimes, you know. I expect you feel the same. Your daughter seems to be

getting along all right without her, though."

"She hardly remembers her mother," said Mo quietly.