The librarian brought him two volumes. "Look at this!" he whispered, pushing the first over to Mo. "See those places where the binding is eaten away? And inside it looks almost as if the ink were rusting. These are holes in the parchment. You can hardly read some of the words now. What can have caused it? Worms, beetles? I never used to concern myself with these things. I had an assistant who knew all about these sicknesses that books suffer, but one morning he disappeared. They say he joined the robbers in the forest."
Mo picked up the book, opened it, and passed his hand over the pages. "Good heavens!" he said. "Who painted this? I've never seen such beautiful illuminations."
"Balbulus," replied Taddeo. "The illuminator who was sent away with Violante. He was very young when he painted this book. Look, his script was still a little awkward, but now his mastery is impeccable."
"How do you know?" asked Meggie.
The librarian lowered his voice. "Violante has a book sent to me now and then. She knows how much I admire the craftsmanship of Balbulus, and she knows there's no one else left in the Castle of Night who loves books. Not since her mother died. Do you see the chests there?" He pointed to the heavy, dusty wooden chests by the door and under the windows. "Violante's mother kept her books in them, hidden among her clothes. She would take them out only in the evening and show them to the little girl, although I suppose the child hardly understood a word of what her mother read her at the time. But then, soon after Capricorn had disappeared, Mortola came here. The Adderhead had asked her to train the maids in the kitchen – no one said what exactly they were to be trained to do. Then Violante's mother asked me to hide her books in the library, because Mortola had her room searched at least twice a day – she never found out what for. This," he said, pointing to the book that Mo was still leafing through, "was one of her favorites. The little girl would point to a picture and then her mother told her a story about it. I was going to give it to Violante when they sent her away, but she left it behind in this room. Perhaps because she didn't want to take any memories of this sad place to her new life with her. All the same, I'd like to save it as a memento of her mother. You know, I think that a book always keeps something of its owners between its pages."
"Yes, I think so, too," said Mo. "I'm sure of it."
"And?" The old man looked at him hopefully. "Do you know how it can be preserved from further harm?"
Mo carefully closed the book. "Yes, but it won't be easy. Woodworm, the corrosive effect of the ink, who knows what else… Does the second book look the same?"
"Oh, that one" – the librarian cast another nervous look at the door – "Well, it's not in such a bad way yet. But I thought you might like to see it. Balbulus completed it not long ago, for Violante. It contains," he said, looking uncertainly at Mo, "it contains all the songs that the strolling players sing about the Bluejay. As far as I know there are only two copies. Violante owns one, and the other is before you and is a copy that she had specially made for me. They say the man who wrote the songs didn't want them written down, but any minstrel will sing them to you for a few coins. That was how Violante collected them and had them written out by Balbulus. The strolling players, you see – well, they're like walking books here, where real books are so few and far between! You know," he whispered to Mo as he opened the volume, "I sometimes think this world would have lost its memory long ago but for the Motley Folk. Unfortunately, the Adderhead is only too fond of hanging them! I've often suggested sending a scribe to see them before they're executed, to get all those beautiful songs written down before the words die with them, but no one in this castle listens to an old librarian."
"No, very likely not," murmured Mo, but Meggie could tell from his voice that he hadn't been listening to anything Taddeo had said. Mo was immersed in the letters, the beautiful written characters flowing over the parchment in front of him like a delicate river of ink.
"Forgive my curiosity." Taddeo cleared his throat, embarrassed.
"I've heard that you deny being the Bluejay… but if you will allow me…" He took the book from Mo's hand and opened it at a page that Balbulus had illuminated lavishly. A man stood between two trees, so wonderfully painted that Meggie thought she could hear the rustle of the leaves. He wore a bird mask over his face. "That's how Balbulus painted the Bluejay," whispered Taddeo, "just as the songs describe him, dark-haired, tall… doesn't he look like you?"
"I don't know," said Mo. "He's wearing a mask, isn't he?"
"Yes, yes, indeed." Taddeo was still looking intently at him. "But did you know that they say something else about the Bluejay? They say he has a very beautiful voice, not at all like the bird that shares his name. It's said that he can tame bears and wolves with a few words. Forgive me for being so forward, but" – he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone – "you have a very beautiful voice. Mortola tells strange tales of it. And then, when you have the scar, too…" He stared at Mo's arm.
"Oh, you mean this, don't you?" Mo placed his finger under a line beside which Balbulus had painted a pack of white dogs, and read: "'High on his left arm he will bear the scar to his dying day.' Yes, I do have a scar like that, but I didn't get it from the dogs in this song." He put his hand to his arm, as if remembering the day when Basta had found them in the tumbledown hut full of broken pots and tiles.
However, the old librarian took a step back. "So you are him!" he breathed. "The hope of the poor, the terror of butchers, avenger and robber, as much at home in the forest as the bears and wolves?"
Mo shut the book and pressed the metal clasps into the leather-covered binding. "No," he said. "No, I'm not, but thank you very much for the book, all the same. It's a long time since I had one in my hands, and it will be good to have something to read again, won't it, Meggie?"
"Yes," was all she said, taking the book from his hand. Songs about the Bluejay. What would Fenoglio have said if he'd known that Violante had had them written down in secret? And they might offer so much help! Her heart leaped as she thought of the possibilities, but Taddeo immediately dashed her hopes.
"I'm very sorry," he said, taking the book gently but firmly from her hands again. "But I can't leave either of the books here with you. Mortola has been talking to me – to everyone who has anything to do with the library. She's threatened to have anyone who so much as brings a book into this room blinded. Blinded, imagine it! What a threat, when only our eyes reveal the world of words to us! I've already risked far too much coming here with them at all, but I love those books so much that I had to ask your advice. Please, tell me what I must do to save them!"
Meggie was so disappointed that she would have turned down his request point blank, but of course Mo saw things differently. Mo thought only of the sick books. "Of course," he said to Taddeo. "I'd better write it down for you. It will take time – weeks, months – and I don't know if you'll be able to get all the materials you need, but it's worth a try. I'm not happy about suggesting this, but I'm afraid you'll have to take apart at least the first book, because if you're to save it, the pages must bleach in the sun. If you don't know how to go about it – and it must be done with the utmost care – I'll be happy to do it for you. Mortola can watch if she wants, to make sure I'm not doing anything dangerous."
"Oh, thank you!" The old man bowed deeply as he put the two books firmly under his thin arm. "Many, many thanks. I really do most fervently hope the Adderhead will let you live, and if he doesn't that he grants you a quick death."