paper.
He gave up and looked out the window again and was surprised to see that the Fetchers had moved in the short space of time he’d been looking at the Atlas. They had formed into a ring on the road and were all looking up. A couple of cars had stopped because of them, but it was obvious the drivers couldn’t really see what was in their way. Arthur could distantly hear one of them shouting, the angry words faint through the doubleglazing, “Get that heap of junk outta here! I haven’t got all day!”
The Fetchers gazed up at the sky. Arthur looked too but didn’t see anything. Part of him didn’t want to see, because the fear was rising in him.
Don’t look , part of his mind said. If you don’t see trouble, it doesn’t exist.
But it does, thought Arthur, fighting down the fear. Keep breathing slowly. You have to confront your fears. Deal with them.
He kept looking, until an intense white light flashed just above the ring. Arthur shut his eyes and shielded his face. When he looked again, black spots danced everywhere in his vision and it took a few seconds for them to clear.
The empty space in the middle of the ring was no longer empty. A man had appeared there. Or not really a man, since he had huge feathery wings spreading from his shoulders. Arthur kept blinking, trying to focus. The wings were sort of white, but dappled with something dark and unpleasant-looking. Then they folded up behind the apparition’s back and in an instant were gone, leaving only a very handsome, tall man of about thirty. He was dressed in a white shirt with chin-scraping collar points, a red necktie, a gold waistcoat under a bottle-green coat, and tan pantaloons over glossy brown boots—an ensemble that had not been in fashion for more than a hundred and fifty years.
“Oh, my!” exclaimed someone from behind Arthur. “The very spit of how I’ve always imagined Mister Darcy. He must be an actor! I wonder why he’s dressed up like that.”
It was the librarian. Mrs. Banber. She’d crept up on
Arthur while he wasn’t paying attention.
“And who are those strange men in the black suits?” continued Mrs. Banber. “Those faces can’t be real! Are they making a film?”
“You can see the dog-faces?!” exclaimed Arthur. “I mean the Fetchers?”
“Yes…” replied the librarian absently, still staring out the window. “Though now that you mention it, I must be overdue for an eye checkup. My contact lenses don’t seem to be quite right. Those people are rather blurry.”
She turned around and for the first time looked properly at Arthur and his battlements of books.
“Though I can see you all right, young man! What are you doing with all those books? And what is that?”
She pointed at the Atlas.
“Nothing!” exclaimed Arthur. He slammed the Atlas shut and let go of the Key, which was a mistake. The Atlas shrank immediately into its pocketbook size.
“How did it do that?” asked Mrs. Banber.
“I can’t explain,” said Arthur rapidly. He didn’t have time for this! The handsome man was walking towards the library, with the Fetchers following. He looked a bit like Mister Monday, though much more energetic, and Arthur wasn’t at all sure that the same strictures that kept the Fetchers from crossing thresholds would apply to him.
“Have you got any salt?” he asked urgently.
“What?” replied Mrs. Banber. She was looking out the window again and smoothing her hair. Her eyes had gone unfocused and dreamy. “He’s coming into the library!”
Arthur grabbed the Atlas and the Key and stuffed them into his backpack. They glowed as he put them away, shedding a soft yellow light that momentarily fell on Mrs. Banber’s face.
“Don’t tell him I’m here!” he said urgently. “You mustn’t tell him I’m here.”
Either the fear in his voice or that brief light from the Atlas and the Key recaptured Mrs. Banber’s attention. She suddenly looked less dreamy.
“I don’t know what’s going
He gave up and looked out the window again and was surprised to see that the Fetchers had moved in the short space of time he’d been looking at the Atlas. They had formed into a ring on the road and were all looking up. A couple of cars had stopped because of them, but it was obvious the drivers couldn’t really see what was in their way. Arthur could distantly hear one of them shouting, the angry words faint through the doubleglazing, “Get that heap of junk outta here! I haven’t got all day!”
The Fetchers gazed up at the sky. Arthur looked too but didn’t see anything. Part of him didn’t want to see, because the fear was rising in him.
Don’t look , part of his mind said. If you don’t see trouble, it doesn’t exist.
But it does, thought Arthur, fighting down the fear. Keep breathing slowly. You have to confront your fears. Deal with them.
He kept looking, until an intense white light flashed just above the ring. Arthur shut his eyes and shielded his face. When he looked again, black spots danced everywhere in his vision and it took a few seconds for them to clear.
The empty space in the middle of the ring was no longer empty. A man had appeared there. Or not really a man, since he had huge feathery wings spreading from his shoulders. Arthur kept blinking, trying to focus. The wings were sort of white, but dappled with something dark and unpleasant-looking. Then they folded up behind the apparition’s back and in an instant were gone, leaving only a very handsome, tall man of about thirty. He was dressed in a white shirt with chin-scraping collar points, a red necktie, a gold waistcoat under a bottle-green coat, and tan pantaloons over glossy brown boots—an ensemble that had not been in fashion for more than a hundred and fifty years.
“Oh, my!” exclaimed someone from behind Arthur. “The very spit of how I’ve always imagined Mister Darcy. He must be an actor! I wonder why he’s dressed up like that.”
It was the librarian. Mrs. Banber. She’d crept up on
Arthur while he wasn’t paying attention.
“And who are those strange men in the black suits?” continued Mrs. Banber. “Those faces can’t be real! Are they making a film?”
“You can see the dog-faces?!” exclaimed Arthur. “I mean the Fetchers?”
“Yes…” replied the librarian absently, still staring out the window. “Though now that you mention it, I must be overdue for an eye checkup. My contact lenses don’t seem to be quite right. Those people are rather blurry.”
She turned around and for the first time looked properly at Arthur and his battlements of books.
“Though I can see you all right, young man! What are you doing with all those books? And what is that?”
She pointed at the Atlas.
“Nothing!” exclaimed Arthur. He slammed the Atlas shut and let go of the Key, which was a mistake. The Atlas shrank immediately into its pocketbook size.
“How did it do that?” asked Mrs. Banber.
“I can’t explain,” said Arthur rapidly. He didn’t have time for this! The handsome man was walking towards the library, with the Fetchers following. He looked a bit like Mister Monday, though much more energetic, and Arthur wasn’t at all sure that the same strictures that kept the Fetchers from crossing thresholds would apply to him.
“Have you got any salt?” he asked urgently.
“What?” replied Mrs. Banber. She was looking out the window again and smoothing her hair. Her eyes had gone unfocused and dreamy. “He’s coming into the library!”
Arthur grabbed the Atlas and the Key and stuffed them into his backpack. They glowed as he put them away, shedding a soft yellow light that momentarily fell on Mrs. Banber’s face.
“Don’t tell him I’m here!” he said urgently. “You mustn’t tell him I’m here.”
Either the fear in his voice or that brief light from the Atlas and the Key recaptured Mrs. Banber’s attention. She suddenly looked less dreamy.
“I don’t know what’s going
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