The Voyage to Magical North (12 page)

“There's nothing special about magic,” said Marfak West. “Magic is just another form of energy. The ability to use it is what's special, and that comes from you, not the starshell.”

The starshell quivered, then rose up off Peter's hand. He caught it gently in his other hand and felt the last of its magic quietly disperse.

Marfak West applauded. “Well done.”

Peter's cheeks flamed. He knew that Marfak West was a liar, that—as usual—he was only saying the words Peter wanted to hear. Yet, somehow those two words of praise meant more than all the years with Tallis Magus.

*   *   *

Later, Peter climbed the ladder to the main deck slowly, lost in a confusion of thoughts, most of which came down to a single word—
why?
Why was Marfak West doing this? Why was he on board, why Magical North?

He had the bad luck to bump into Brine as he came out on deck. She sneezed, paused, and gave him a sharp look. “Have you been playing with magic?”

“Of course I have,” he said. “You told me I should practice, didn't you?” He set his face into a scowl and shoved his hands into his pockets. The starshell piece was empty, but he imagined he could feel a spot of magic buzzing against his palm, like a trapped fly. He'd had enough of this—enough of her playing at pirates with the crew, enough of her telling him what to do.

“How can you be sure Cassie won't try to sell us again?” he asked. “We don't know anything about her apart from what she's told us. How do we know it's not all lies?”

Brine opened her mouth and snapped it shut again. “Get lost, Peter,” she said. She brushed past him and walked away to join Cassie and Ewan.

Peter felt a stab of jealousy as he watched the three of them laugh together. How come Brine was suddenly so good at making friends with people? Especially these people. He brushed his hair back.
Ignore her
, he thought.
You're better than her
. He waited a moment for his heartbeat to return to normal, then strolled out on deck as if nothing had happened.

 

C
HAPTER
13

Information is truth, and truth demands respect. It is not our job to judge the stories of the world, to decide which ones are worthy of saving and which should be lost. The many rules of Barnard's Reach ensure that all information is handled with equal care. The first task of a new Book Sister is to follow the rules until they become part of her. Until she can't do anything except follow.

(
From
THE
RULES
AND
REGULATIONS
OF
BARNARD
'
S
REACH,
VOLUME
I:
INTRODUCTION)

“Land ahoy!” shouted Tim Burre.

Brine jumped up eagerly. She couldn't see land. The sea ahead was shrouded in mist. If she stared hard, she could just make out the shapes of other ships. She watched them, wondering why they looked so familiar, until she realized she was seeing reflections of the
Onion
.

“Mirrormist,” said Cassie, joining her. “They say it's caused by magic condensing when it hits cold patches of sea fog. The Book Sisters have turned it into a defense. If anything hostile tries to come through, the mist will thicken and make it impossible to pass. Fortunately, we're not hostile.”

Brine heard the snap of rope and turned to see Ewan Hughes untying a rowing boat. “You're not going to try selling me again, are you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Of course not,” said Cassie. “The Book Sisters wouldn't allow it, anyway. They have rules against that sort of thing.”

“They have rules against everything,” muttered Ewan.

Cassie ignored him. “Three people should be enough. Trudi, you can read a bit. Let's do me, you, and Brine.”

Brine looked around for Peter, but he was nowhere to be seen. Hiding belowdecks, probably, because he wasn't allowed on the island, she thought. Back on Minutes, she'd always been the one who was left out of everything. She remembered how that felt.

“Brine, are you coming?” asked Cassie.

She'd have to talk to Peter when she got back. She climbed down into the boat.

*   *   *

It had been so long since Brine had set foot on land that when she stepped out of the rowing boat onto the beach, she felt as if the ground were swaying underneath her. Cassie and Trudi didn't seem to notice—they were more used to it, Brine supposed. She looked around. She couldn't see any libraries—only gray cliffs with birds nesting on every ledge.

“Where—” she started to ask.

Trudi hushed her. “Keep your voice down. They say the whole island is made of glass, and any sudden noise will shatter it.”

“Who says?”

Trudi looked up at the cliffs and the circling birds. “I don't know. Just
they
.”

Cassie started toward a path that zigzagged up along the cliff face and began climbing, far too fast. Brine felt oddly deflated as she followed. She'd spent the past week imagining soaring towers made entirely out of books, but so far there was nothing to see but rocks and birds.

Admittedly, there were a lot of birds. They were everywhere, from black seamartins with flashes of yellow on their wings to the giant atlas gulls, whose feathers looked like a map of the world. The constant beat of wings was only drowned out by the even more constant sound of shrieking and cawing. Trudi was eyeing the nearest ones, and Brine knew she was imagining them boiled in pastry.

More birds scattered as they reached the top of the path. Cassie paused and rested her hands on her knees, breathing hard. A wooden sign stood to perfect attention before them.

Welcome to Barnard's Reach, Home of Knowledge. Please Follow the Rules.

Just behind it, a much larger sign read:

These Are the Rules

1. No admittance without appointment.

2. No men admitted ever.

3. No shouting.

4. No talking.

5. No whispering unless strictly necessary.

6. Do not run.

7. Do not walk on the grass.

8. Do not disturb the birds.

There were more rules, but Brine couldn't read them. The writing became smaller and smaller farther down the sign, as if the writer had realized she was running out of space.

Cassie straightened up. “We're here.” She sounded like she'd just run a hundred miles. She gave the sign a kick. “Ahoy, there!”

Brine winced, but the island failed to shatter like glass. It seemed that story, at least, wasn't true. “There's no one here,” she said uneasily.

“Don't worry,” said Cassie. “They're just hiding.” She looked around, then strode off in what appeared to be a completely random direction. But a few seconds later, she stopped and kicked something that made a metallic clang—a door in the hill.

It looked as if someone had dropped it there by mistake—a polished iron door, set in the side of the hill. A single streak of bird dropping marked one corner, and judging by how spotlessly clean the rest of the door was, Brine guessed that someone would be out soon to clean it off. There was no door handle, but an eye slot about three-quarters of the way up squeaked open.

A pair of brown eyes appeared on the other side of the slot, blinking rapidly behind thick spectacles.

“D-do you have an appointment?”

“We're pirates,” said Cassie. “We don't do appointments.”

The eyes blinked some more. “You can't visit the libraries without an appointment. It's the rules.” The slot began to shut. Cassie stopped it with the tip of her cutlass.

“We don't do rules, either.”

Brine calculated that it would be about two seconds before Cassie ran out of persuasive arguments and tried something more direct and cutlass-based. She squeezed in between the pirates and the door. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Brine Seaborne, and these are my friends, Cassie O'Pia and Trudi Storme. We'd like to make an appointment to visit the library in ten minutes' time. May we do that?”

The eyes widened at the mention of Cassie's name, then bobbed up and down in a nod. Brine thought she heard a squeak of relief. The slot in the door snapped shut.

Brine counted to ten, then knocked. The slot opened again.

“Hello,” said Brine. “My name is Brine Seaborne. My friends and I have an appointment. We may be a few minutes early.”

Bolts slid back inside the door.

“How did you do that?” asked Trudi.

Brine cast her a smile. “When you've been a servant as long as I have, you learn to get around the rules.”

The door opened. Brine thought she was looking at a heap of clothes, but then she realized there was a person inside them. A girl, a year or two younger than she was. A small thin face was just about visible behind masses of heavy, dark brown hair and a pair of glasses the size of clamshells.

“Please come in,” said the girl. Her glasses wobbled perilously. She spoke in a voice that was a fraction above a whisper, and she gave the impression that she thought even that was too loud.

They clattered inside, and the door whispered shut behind them. A single lantern on the wall was losing a valiant battle against the dark. All Brine could see was a spiral staircase leading down into a vast, deep hole.

“Where's the library?” she asked.

Their guide started down the stairs.

*   *   *

In the past two weeks of wondering what the library looked like, Brine's imagination had never even come close to this. An underground stairwell descended through spirals of books and, every thirty steps or so, a room opened out, most of them so narrow there was barely space between the bookshelves they all contained. Every so often, Brine caught sight of figures in brown robes, their feet making no sound as they walked. One of them pushed a small trolley full of books and was carefully putting them all away. Brine paused to watch but the nervous librarian guide hurried her on.

“How far do these stairs go?” asked Brine.

“Shhh.”

They continued down past several more rooms, then their guide stopped. A sign on the wall said
READING ROOMS. PLEASE BE SILENT.
A robe hung on the wall next to a door. “What brings Cassie O'Pia to the towers of knowledge?” it whispered.

Brine jumped. The robe stepped away from the wall, and a pair of thin hands reached up to push the hood back, revealing an equally thin face, pale and starved of sunlight.

“I am Ursula,” whispered the librarian. “Assistant Keeper of Books: Geographical Exploration and Poetry, Seventh Grade. There is nothing here for you. Please leave.”

Cassie shook her head. “We're not here as pirates. We're looking for information. What do you know about Magical North?”

Ursula stared at her while the seconds slid silently by. The librarian knew something, Brine thought. She recognized the look on Ursula's face—half-guilty, half-wary, as if she'd just been caught doing something wrong.

“Also,” added Cassie, “my young friend here would like to see the books.”

Ursula switched her stare to Brine. Brine tried to appear casual, as if she visited libraries all the time.

“Very well.” Ursula frowned. She gestured to the girl who'd brought them down. “Tom Girl, take the young lady on the visitors' tour.”

Tom Girl's glasses bounced as she nodded.

“I'd rather stay,” said Brine. Much as she wanted to see the library, she knew that the moment she was gone, Cassie was going to start talking about Magical North, and she didn't want to miss anything. Cassie waved her away. Sighing, Brine followed Tom Girl back up the stairs.

 

C
HAPTER
14

A magician must always take care to apply the correct spellshape. Magic is naturally dangerous, and containing it within spellshapes makes it safer to use. Never completely safe, but safer. It is extremely dangerous to deviate from the accepted shapes.

(
From
ALDEBRAN
BOSWELL
'
S
BIG
BOOK
OF
MAGIC)

Ewan Hughes had sent Peter to clean the galley while Trudi wasn't around. Instead, Peter had crept back down to the bottom of the ship. He was beginning to wish he hadn't bothered. Marfak West seemed irritable today, or maybe it was Peter himself. He'd practiced with the starshell until he could draw magic out of the pieces, lift things up, put them back down, and keep a small magical light burning for ages. He should have been pleased, but somehow it had all started to feel a bit boring.

“I thought you were the most powerful magician on the planet,” said Peter, lifting a pair of large, wooden crates into the air with a quick gesture. “How about teaching me some proper magic?”

Marfak West's eyes glittered. “You
are
learning proper magic. How many people do you know who can levitate packing crates?”

Peter set the crates back down.

“Real magic—magic that does not depend on spellshapes—takes practice, and practice takes time,” said Marfak West. “Don't think you can start rushing things, because you'll fail. And, believe me, when you're handling the raw power of magic, you do not want to fail.”

Peter hadn't come to be lectured at. He'd only come because it was better than scrubbing the galley. If he were Marfak West, he wouldn't be sitting in a cage wrapped in chains. He'd break out, take over the
Onion
and do … well, do something other than just sit there.

“Then what's the point of spellshapes?” he asked. “Why did Tallis Magus make me spend years learning them if you don't need them?”