My mind churning, I strode down the hallway, not sure where I was going. I could hardly believe that Wigmere would suspend Will. My stomach was in knots. What would Will do for money? Would he return to pickpocketing? I sincerely hoped not.
Not to mention that I'd been counting on Wigmere to shed some light on the meaning of the events of last night. Now I didn't even know if he had received my report before he'd suspended Will.
And so I was on my own. I had to figure out why Awi Bubu thought the tablet was so very important—and whether or not that meant it was important to us. All without Wigmere's aid.
Very well. I'd exhausted all the materials in our reading room. There was nothing left to be found on our shelves regarding the Emerald Tablet. And Wigmere's vast knowledge was unavailable to me, at least for the moment. So now what?
Really, there was only one other place that might have more information. A place so off-limits and forbidden that it would have my parents gnashing their teeth if they knew: the British Museum. Its reading room, to be exact. There was a good chance it might have something that ours didn't.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Less She Spoke, the More She Heard
IT WAS SEVERAL BLOCKS TO THE BRITISH MUSEUM, but since I was spitting mad, I arrived at Great Russell Street in no time at all. Once there, I paused at the steps leading up to the entrance. I'd been lucky once, sneaking into the museum without calling attention to myself; I wasn't sure I'd be that fortunate again.
Hoping for an idea, I studied the small clusters of people on the front steps. A group of schoolgirls had just arrived, led by a tall thin woman who looked as spare and strict as a whipping rod. Most of the girls risked curious stares in my direction, no doubt wondering why I wasn't in school as they were. One of the younger ones stuck her tongue out at me.
They made their way up the stairs, and I fell into step behind them, as if I were the straggler in the group. It worked beautifully and I was able to walk in right under the porter's nose without so much as a "What are you doing here, miss?"
Once inside, I hung back in the enormous foyer while the school group headed for a flight of stairs. Though I felt a bit guilty, I was struck by how majestic the place was.
There were many corridors and stairways leading off the main hall. I took a moment to study the small signs that gave some clues as to where these hallways led: AMPHIBIAN COLLECTION, FOSSIL FISH GALLERY, READING ROOM.
I headed down the long corridor, my footsteps echoing against the stone walls and marble floors. As I drew near a large double door at the end, I began to encounter more and more gentlemen and clerks, many of whom gave me questioning looks, if not outright shocked stares. Clearly, not very many schoolgirls made their way down here. Pity.
I opened one of the heavy doors, stepped inside the reading room, and nearly gasped in awe. Books and papers rose from the floor all the way to the windows, which were nearly twelve feet up and ran the entire circumference of the room. There had to have been at least a million books in there!
There was a large round desk in the middle, and rows of reading stalls and study desks came off of it, like spokes on a carriage wheel. Truly a researcher's paradise. Indeed, most of the desks were filled with scholars. It was, I had to admit with a small sense of defeat, much grander than the reading room at the Museum of Legends and Antiquities.
I approached the center circle, where it looked like attendants were assisting visitors. One young clerk caught me hovering. His eyes widened and his mouth narrowed as he hurried over. "What are you doing here, young lady?" he asked in a library whisper.
"I'm looking for some research materials."
He recoiled slightly, as if he'd been expecting me to ask directions to the lavatory. "I'm afraid our reading room is for serious scholars only."
"What makes you think I'm not a serious scholar? I have a very important report I must write for my ... teacher."
The man leaned forward, and his face grew red. "This is not a mere library, you know, but the research archives for the greatest museum in the world. Have you a reader's ticket?"
"Er, no." I asked myself what Grandmother Throckmorton would do if faced with this same situation. I leaned forward too. "These publications aren't meant to be seen and read by British subjects then?" I asked.
He paused a moment, trying to think up an answer to that one. "Yes, but only serious, scholarly British subjects, not the riffraff."
Riffraff!
"If you wish to look at our materials, you must apply for permission and be issued a reader's ticket." He seemed very attached to that protocol, no doubt because it kept riffraff such as myself out.
"Now," he continued, "if you don't leave immediately, I shall have to call a porter to escort you out. You don't want that sort of scene, do you?"
"Of course not, but please, if you would let me look for just a moment."
He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.
I sighed in defeat. "Very well." I made my way back to the entrance, being sure to look as dejected as possible, which wasn't very difficult, frankly.
However, I had not truly given up. I had noticed that just outside the main doors to the reading room there were a number of other doors. Clerks hurried in and out of them, their arms full of books and papers. I was guessing the doors might lead to additional archives. My hand on the exit, I looked over my shoulder to find the obnoxious clerk watching me. I tossed him a wave, then opened the door and slipped down the hallway. Once there, I took the door immediately to my left.
The room was an absolute maze of groaning shelves and tiny cubicles and offices that closely resembled a rabbit war ren. I tried to make sense of the layout, but the only sort of identification were signs with numbers on them.
I didn't know what I'd been expecting. Something more helpful, perhaps. Like signs saying BOOKS ON THE EMERALD TABLET, THIS WAY!
Many of the small offices were occupied, although a few were empty. As I sneaked down the hallway, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, one of the nameplates caught my eye: THELONIUS MUNK.
Munk. Could that be any relation to Augustus Munk, founder of the Museum of Legends and Antiquities? The very gentleman who'd bought an abandoned warehouse full of very intriguing artifacts that had ended up in our museum's basement? It was too great a coincidence not to explore a little further.
I poked my head into the office, disappointed when I saw it was empty. Wondering what I should do next, I stepped back out into the hallway and nearly plowed into an old man tottering my way carrying a stack of scrolls and books.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," I said awkwardly as I reached out to keep him from toppling over. He was bent with age, and his skin was the color of old parchment. His frock coat was at least fifty years out of date, and he had a few tufts of hair sprouting from his ears.
He blinked twice. "Did you fall down a rabbit hole? Or come through a looking glass? I wonder."
I smiled at him. "Neither. Are you late for a very important appointment?"
The old man barked out a papery laugh. "Hardly. I think everyone's forgotten I even exist down here. Except you, so why don't you quit hovering at my door and come in so I can put these books down."
Unwilling to turn away an opportunity when it landed in my lap, I followed Thelonius Munk into the tiny, crammed office. It was full of papers and books and dust. Quite a lot of dust, actually. I sneezed.
"Bless you," the old man said, then creaked his way over to his desk and lowered himself into his chair. "Did you tell Mother I'd be late for tea?"
"I beg your pardon?"