Spirits from Beyond (8 page)

“Hardly any, I’m afraid, sir,” said the Empty Librarian. “Given that the Druids possessed no written tradition of their own. Modern Druidry is a whole different thing, being mostly made up by a bunch of woolly-minded second-guessers.”

“Doesn’t anyone know anything about the original Druids?” said JC.

“You could always ask the Droods, sir . . .”

“I’d rather not,” said JC.

“Very wise, sir,” said the Empty Librarian. “Simply thinking about that horrible family is enough to make me mess my underwear. If I wore any.”

“Far too much information,” muttered Melody.

“We had an encounter with the ghost of the old god Lud,” said JC, talking quickly over Melody. “Down in London Undertowen.”

“Consider me officially impressed, sir,” said the Empty Librarian. “Did he have anything to say? I could always add another page to his official biography.”

“He said he wasn’t of this world, originally,” said JC. “That he came from another place, Outside our reality. And that there were others like him. One of whom recently reached down and made . . . alterations in me.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me at all, sir,” said the Empty Librarian. “You’re not the first visitor I’ve seen down here with eyes like those.”

JC knew a distraction when he heard one and shouldered it firmly to one side. “Have you any books on the subject of people being touched and changed by forces from Outside?”

“Stacks and stacks of the things, sir. Everything from the original
Siggsand Manuscript
to
Jane’s Field Guide to Abominations from the Outer Rings
. We used to have an illustrated edition of that last one, but it kept freaking people out, and I got fed up cleaning up after them. So now I only show it to people I don’t like. There are any number of very useful books on the subject, sir. However . . .”

“I just knew there was going to be an however,” said Happy. “Didn’t you just know there was going to be an however?”

“Shut up, Happy,” said JC.

“However,” said the Empty Librarian, firmly, “these are the kind of books where you have to study for years to be able to read them. Never mind understand them. Some scholars have been visiting here for years, working their way through a particular volume one page at a time. While making copious notes. And occasionally having to stand up face-to-face shouting arguments with other scholars over what it all really means. Fist-fights, head-butting matches, and rolling-around-on-the-floor biting contests were not uncommon until I got bored and started fining them body parts for each infraction. Nothing like losing the odd ear to calm someone down. In my experience, sir, you can’t get two of these so-called experts to agree on anything, where forces from Outside are involved. That’s Academe for you. Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”

“Yeah,” muttered Happy. “Because you’ve already been so helpful . . .”

“Shut up, Happy,” said JC. He gave the Empty Librarian his best determined smile. “How about . . . books on suddenly not being dead any longer?”

“Oh, there’s no shortage of those, sir,” said the Empty Librarian. “Most of them entirely contradictory, of course.”

“Of course,” said JC. “How about, more specifically, books on people dying, then being brought back again by forces from Outside?”

“Quite a lot of those, too, sir. Some days it seems like forces from Beyond can’t keep their hands off us. Hanging around our reality like ambulance-chasing lawyers. Or winos outside a bar, looking for a hand-out.”

“Is that what happened to you?” said Melody.

“Nothing happened to me, miss,” said the Empty Librarian.

Melody gave him a hard look, then decided to rise above it. “Do you have any computers here? Anything on-line I can look at?”

“Nothing like that in here, miss,” said the Empty Librarian. “The very idea . . . We are a Library; not a video arcade. We do have an Index you might find useful. Connected to every volume here, and voice-activated for easy use. If you’d like to follow me this way, miss . . .”

He shambled off, and the team hurried after him. Seen from the back, the empty suit of clothes appeared even more disturbing, if anything. The Empty Librarian led them through several sets of book-shelves, took a sharp left, and stopped abruptly. He waved an empty sleeve at an oversized volume set out on a gleaming brass reading stand. The book reminded JC of an old-fashioned family Bible. Someone had left it open, and the huge pages overflowed the sides of the reading stand. The Empty Librarian gestured for Melody to come forward and stand before the book.

“This is the Index for the entire Secret Libraries, miss. Like many useful things, it is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Thinking about that makes my head hurt, and I don’t even have a head. Blame the Travelling Doctor; he founded the Libraries, after all. Speak your wishes aloud, miss, and the Index will give you the name and location of the volume most likely to be of help. Do try to speak clearly. If you mumble, the Index gets confused, then people shout at it, and I have to put up with its sulking, afterwards.”

“Got it,” said Melody. “Now go away and help the others. I don’t like people peering over my shoulder.”

“Of course, miss. I feel the same way. And I don’t even know who’s down here to peer over my shoulder . . .”

The Empty Librarian led the rest of the team away. Melody glared at the Index.

“What have you got on strange occurrences down in the London Underground railway system? Ancient and modern? I want book titles, and a précis, if possible.”

The heavy pages fluttered quickly back and forth before her, so fast the print became a blur, then stopped abruptly to show her a double-page spread of book titles, complete with every detail, and a précis. Melody sniffed loudly, to make it clear she wasn’t going to be impressed that easily, and leaned eagerly forward to work her way through the various entries. It soon became apparent to Melody that there was no shortage of books on the subject: private and personal and professional. Strange sightings, encounters with ghosts and demons, weird happenings, and alien encounters. Reports of strange things went all the way back to when the first railway tunnels were dug out of the earth under London. Interestingly, though, there were no reports of any encounters with the old catacombs of London Undertowen. Which confirmed what Melody had already suspected—that the Undertowen wasn’t necessarily, literally, underneath London itself any longer. Melody turned her search to those volumes dealing with intrusions into the Tube system from Outside and was genuinely shocked at how many books there were on the subject. The Empty Librarian had been right; whatever happened to JC was neither a new nor a rare thing . . .

Melody asked the Index on where these books could be found and received her second shock. According to the notes that appeared on the pages before her, each and every one of these books had been recently removed from the Secret Libraries. On the orders of Catherine Latimer.

Melody called the Empty Librarian back to her, in a loud and carrying voice. He came striding through the stacks, his empty suit of clothes positively radiating outrage at being summoned in such a peremptory manner; but when Melody showed him how many books were missing, he was genuinely shocked and appalled.

“But this . . . this is simply not allowed! Books are never taken out of the Secret Libraries, under any circumstances! And I can tell you for a fact, miss, Catherine Latimer has not paid a visit down here in over a year. Whoever removed these books may have done so in her name, but she did not do it herself. More importantly . . . I have no record, and no memory, of these books’ leaving the Libraries. And I am always here! I do not sleep, I do not rest, and I never turn aside from my duties. Though I am forced to admit . . . this is not the first time such a thing has happened.” He leaned in close for a conspiratorial murmur, his empty collar close to her ear. “More and more, I get the feeling . . . that I am not alone down here.”

“Okay,” said Melody. “Let’s concentrate on the missing books, shall we? Look at the details set out in the Index; do you by any chance remember the contents of these books? What they were about?”

“Of course, miss!” said the Empty Librarian. “I have read every book in the Secret Libraries! Not much else to do down here, you understand . . . That title, there, was a detailed account by a young Institute field agent, on how she was attacked on a mission in the Underground, and how Something from Outside intervened to save her. I had the honour of speaking with this remarkable young lady on several occasions. Her eyes glowed like Mr. Chance’s until she learned to control it.”

“Who was this?” said Melody. “Do you remember her name?”

“Of course,” said the Empty Librarian. “It was Catherine Latimer.”

* * *

Sometime later, the Empty Librarian escorted Happy deep into the stacks, to the Acquisitions Suite. Not books, but rather Items of Special Interest that had been gifted to the Carnacki Institute, down the years. Basically, the Suite was an open space set aside to hold several rows of display cases, of varying size, with solid steel and silver surrounds and heavily reinforced glass. Containing things, objects, and general weird shit that had proved important or significant in the past. Happy looked them over dubiously.

“So these are all the important bits and pieces the Institute has gathered to itself, apart from those the Boss keeps in her office?”

“Exactly, sir,” said the Empty Librarian. “All Heads of the Institute like to hang on to reminders of their own time out in the field. Until they retire, and it all ends up down here. In the end, everything turns up down here, one way or another. There was a move, some years back, to have all dead field agents buried down here, as a security measure. But that was considered disrespectful. To the books. Some of them are very sensitive, sir.”

Happy nodded in a way he hoped indicated he neither believed nor disbelieved what he was hearing. He waited until the Empty Librarian had moved off before moving slowly up and down between the rows of display cases, studying their contents thoughtfully, while being very careful to touch nothing. Most of the items on display were simply . . . objects, presumably of some importance at some time but now without even a name or case history attached. Only an Index number. A single marble finger, a brass mezzotint, a bottle of comet wine, and a stuffed cat’s head with three eyes and drooping whiskers. A few still had names, or titles:
The Merovingian Crown
,
Cardinal Woolsey’s Scrapbook
,
The Doom That Came To Liverpool
,
The Sword Sacnoth
.

And then . . . Happy looked at the thing in the case before him and felt his strength drop away. He tried to examine it with his Sight, to make sure it was what it claimed to be, but the layers of protection laid down around the display case defeated him. So he stepped back and raised his voice, calling the others to him in an increasingly loud and hysterical tone. The Empty Librarian arrived first, running into the Acquisitions Suite, waving its empty sleeves.

“Please, sir, remember where you are!”

“Go to Hell!” said Happy. “How long have you had this? You had
this
here; and you didn’t think to tell us?”

Kim appeared out of nowhere to stand next to Happy, calming him with her proximity. JC and Melody came running through the stacks to join them. The Empty Librarian fell back, as Happy gestured wildly at the thing in the display case.

“That, right there, is supposed to be an actual part of The Flesh Undying!” he said loudly.

They all gathered together before the display case, maintaining a safe and respectful distance. Beyond the reinforced glass was a small, pulsating blob of . . . something. Something that didn’t belong in this world. It was no colour they could name, no consistency that made any sense, and it never stayed one shape for long. It rose and fell, turning itself inside out, throwing itself back and forth against the sides of the steel-and-glass case that contained it. Like a caged animal, desperate to be free.

“Someone put a bit of The Flesh Undying inside a box?” said JC.

“That is not a box, sir,” said the Empty Librarian. “That is a display case. Though I am forced to admit, it is one of our more secure display cases.”

“How was it brought here?” said Melody, staring fascinated at the writhing, pulsating thing.

“I’m not exactly sure, miss. It appeared here, a few weeks ago, already contained within its case. Along with an account of its acquisition.”

With the end of an empty sleeve, he indicated a heavy note-book set beneath the display case. JC and the rest of his team looked at the note-book, each of them quietly wondering why they hadn’t noticed it before. JC finally picked up the note-book, very carefully and very gingerly, and opened it, holding it out so they could all see. The handwritten pages contained a brief account of how this particular piece of The Flesh Undying had come into the possession of the Carnacki Institute.

They all recognised the handwriting. It was Catherine Latimer’s.

Apparently, a large communications company had been laying a new section of transatlantic cable. The machinery hit something, on the very bottom of the ocean, and the ship laying the cable was mysteriously lost, with all hands. Other ships went to investigate; and as a result the cable was redirected to another section of the ocean, many miles away. And to hell with the extra expense. Somewhere along the way, a small piece of what the original cable-laying ship had encountered had been acquired, then gifted to the Institute. No names, no details. And there the record ended.

JC put the note-book back under the display case and looked at the others. And then they all looked at the raging thing in its case.

“I’ve been trying to examine it through my Sight,” said Happy. “But forcing my mind through the defensive shields takes so much out of me . . . What I can See makes no sense at all. There’s so much of it, I can’t get a grip on it. As though it’s denser, realer, than everything else.”

“I wish I had my equipment with me,” said Melody. “I’d make this thing talk. Hell, I’d make it sing and dance and give up all its secrets.”