She had stopped in front of a door that had an anchor with a dolphin coiled around it painted on the white wood. "This is a famous printer's special sign," explained Elinor, stroking the dolphin's pointed nose with one finger. "Just the thing for a library door, eh?"
"I know," said Meggie. "Aldus Manutius. He lived in Venice and printed books the right size to fit into his customers' saddlebags."
"Really?" Elinor wrinkled her brow, intrigued. "I didn't know that. In any case, I am the fortunate owner of a book he printed with his own hands in the year 1503."
"You mean it's from his workshop," Meggie corrected her.
"Of course that's what I mean." Elinor cleared her throat and gave Mo a reproachful glance, as if it could only be his fault that his daughter was precocious enough to know such things. Then she put her hand on the door handle. "No child," she said as she pressed the handle down with almost solemn reverence, "has ever before passed through this door, but as I assume your father has taught you a certain respect for books I'll make an exception today. However, only on the condition that you keep at least three paces away from the shelves. Is that agreed?"
For a moment Meggie felt like saying no, it wasn't. She would have loved to surprise Elinor by 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 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 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.