The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [53]
There.
He was on his knees, a dull throbbing pain in his hurt leg. He saw the title, bottom shelf, Coleridge's name. But the book did not move.
And then he noticed the dust.
A layer of dust had settled over time on the tops of the books and lay there undisturbed. Yet on The Rime of the Ancient Mariner there was no dust.
And the book would not move, would not be pulled away from the shelf.
Orphan stared at it for a long moment. That long, strange poem of Coleridge… He traced the edges of the slim book with his fingers.
It did not feel like the rest. It was hard, metallic, not leather. He gave up on trying to pull it out and, instead, gave it a push with his thumb.
The book slid effortlessly away from him.
There was a soft click.
The bookcase moved. It hit Orphan, sending more pain through his body, and he scrambled away and fell on the floor, cushioned uncomfortably by books.
The bookcase moved, swinging, and behind it was an emptiness, a lack of a wall and beyond that was a darkness. Somewhere in the distance he could hear what sounded like waves, and taste a sharp, almost rancid smell.
He stood up, looked one last time towards Jack. Then he retrieved the gun from where it lay on the floor and tucked it into its holster. He lifted the wide-brimmed hat from the floor and put it carefully back on his head, at an angle.
He stared into the darkness for a long moment, but could discern nothing beyond the bookcase. Then he took a deep breath and stepped forward, and into the darkness.
SEVENTEEN
The Man Behind the Screen
The Lion thought it might be as well to frighten the Wizard, so he gave a large, loud roar, which was so fierce and dreadful that Toto jumped away from him in alarm and tipped over the screen that stood in a corner. As it fell with a crash they looked that way, and the next moment all of them were filled with wonder. For they saw, standing in just the spot the screen had hidden, a little old man, with a bald head and a wrinkled face, who seemed to be as much surprised as they were. The Tin Woodman, raising his axe, rushed toward the little man and cried out, "Who are you?"
– L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
The ground sloped gradually beneath his feet. The earth felt moist, and his feet sank slightly into it with each step he took. The darkness was complete; he felt that he was set loose in the space between the stars, with no up or down, no weight…
There was the sound of waves. The air was warm, but a small breeze blew against his face. He had the sense of unseen things scuttling away from him in the darkness.
Where was he? he wondered. Somewhere underneath Charing Cross Road? He could not tell which direction he was taking. What was this place?
As he walked further he could discern a glow of light in the distance. Coming closer, the glow resolved and separated into strange orbs that cast a dim, greenish light over the surroundings.
He was standing in a cavern, and the orbs were hung on the walls. Before him was a black lake, and he was standing on its shore. There was sand at his feet.
He bent down and touched the water. It was cool to the touch, and he lifted some in his palm and drank from the lake. The water had almost no taste, yet it revived him.
He began to walk along the shore, his body casting two shadows onto the ground. A short way off, by the cavern's