The Cornerstone (23 page)

‘Grandad,’ Max said, ‘You have absolutely no idea.’

- 2 -

Max and Merelie sat in the lounge on the old floral sofa Charlie refused to get rid of, with Nugget flopped between them.

Merelie looked enchanted by the rows and rows of books covering every available wall space around her. More of them were stacked on the thick, oak coffee table in front of her, and she rested The Cornerstone on top of the pile.

Max thought his mind might be playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn the thing looked slightly
thicker
since they’d brought it into the house.

The lounge was gloomy in the grey November light and smelled of musty wood and damp dog.

A wide archway lead to a rustic looking kitchen, which held even more bookcases, in case Charlie fancied a bit of Dickens while he cooked.

The whole place had a cosy feel to it, as if all those books provided some kind of comfort and protection from the outside world.

It couldn’t protect against the smell of dog… but nothing can when the dog’s a big lad who’s fond of eating out of the bin.

Nugget let out a silent doggie fart, adding more of his aroma to the room.

Charlie came in with a tea tray, loaded with mugs of coffee and a selection of biscuits the Queen would have been pleased to receive.

He set the tray down and eased himself into a black leather armchair that looked older than dirt.

‘So grandson of mine, what do I owe the pleasure? Your monthly visit isn’t due for at least two weeks. I’ve already had the joy of your sibling’s company this morning and now I find my cup runneth over with the offspring of my offspring.’

Max paused before replying. It was usually best when speaking to his grandfather, who could mangle a sentence until it was unrecognisable.

‘Just thought I’d pop over and say hello, that’s all,’ he said, lying through his teeth.

‘And you’ve brought the beautiful Miss Merelie along for what reason precisely?’ He gave her a graceful smile. ‘Not that your company is not the shining light in an otherwise mournful day, my dear.’

‘She… er… likes books,’ Max ventured, ‘and you’ve got a lot of books.’

Charlie’s smile broadened. ‘Indeed I have, young man!’ He turned to Merelie, who was munching on a garibaldi. ‘Are there any specific genres of book you enjoy, my lady? Or are you a fan of all literary pursuits, broadly speaking?’

 ‘Books are everything to me, sir,’ Merelie replied, between mouthfuls of biscuit. ‘Where I come from they govern our lives. Without them, the world is a flat and empty place.’

Charlie was delighted by this - and a little taken aback. ‘Where do you hail from, for the written word to be so vital to your existence?’

‘Spain!’ Max leapt in. ‘She’s from Spain!’ This lie really wasn’t up there with the other whoppers he’d told recently.

Charlie’s eyebrows arched like a cathedral roof. ‘Spain, eh?’

Merelie, sensing this may lead them down a path that would take too long to navigate, changed the subject. ‘Your collection is very good, sir. I’m sure there’s enough power to work with.’

‘Indeed… ‘ he agreed, looking perplexed.

‘Like I said, Merelie loves the books!’ Max laughed nervously and plunged onward. ‘She… um… loves them so much, she’d like to put her book with yours for a bit. Just so it’s… er… not lonely?’ He made a face, knowing full well how stupid that sounded.

Charlie leaned forward.

‘You’d like to put your book in with mine… on the shelf?’ he said.

Merelie nodded.

‘So it isn’t…
lonely
?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Merelie said, deciding the next time she found herself in a situation like this, she’d do the talking.

Charlie remained sat forward, studying them both. Then, with lightning speed, he gathered up The Cornerstone, eliciting a sharp gasp.

He took in their shocked expressions.

‘Expecting something to happen, were you?’ he asked.

Both shook their heads quickly and gave him an awkward smile.

‘Right then.’ Charlie slotted The Cornerstone between Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and the memoirs of Winston Churchill.

Across the gulf of space time, five Wordsmiths noticed The Cornerstone glow with silver light for a moment, and redoubled their efforts.

 ‘How long do you think your book would like to stay there? I mean, one can never tell just how lonely a book can get, being kept from its kind,’ Charlie said as he sat back down.

‘Oh, I dunno… not long,’ Max guessed. ‘What do you reckon Merelie?’

She didn’t answer.

Merelie Carvallen was sizing things up. More specifically, Max Bloom’s grandfather.

This was a man who surrounded himself with books. He showed a love of words she hadn’t encountered in anyone else in her brief time here on Earth. Actually, she’d be hard pressed to think of many people back home who embraced books as much as Charlie apparently did.

He reminded her of Garrowain.

There might not be Wordcraft here, be there were people who still knew and respected the power of words.

She was frankly amazed Max could be related to somebody like this.

Knowing it was a massive risk, Merelie spoke. ‘Drop it Max. Your grandfather isn’t an idiot.’

‘No, my dear. I rather fancy I’m not,’ Charlie agreed. ‘Would you or my grandson like to explain why you’re actually here? I’m not buying the lonely book story one bit.’

‘Er, Merelie,’ Max said. ‘You sure this is a good idea?’

‘Yes, I am,’ she said and gave Charlie a careful look. ‘It’s not just a book.’ She got up, walked over to the charged Cornerstone and took it out. A single silver line of energy coursed down its spine.

Charlie’s eyes widened.

‘It’s a doorway,’ she told him, ‘a means to travel to different worlds.’

Charlie laughed. ‘You’ve just described every novel ever written as far as I’m concerned, my girl.’

‘Yes, but with this book, the meaning is literal. This is The Cornerstone Book of Carvallen. Its purpose is to open a gateway between this world and mine. I am not from this place
Spain
.’

Max jumped up. ‘Merelie! Too much information!’

‘It’s alright Max, your grandfather knows what books can do, for good or ill. He understands. And I need to know there’s someone on this side of the doorway who does understand… who knows the power of words.’

‘Maxwell? Has this fair maiden fallen foul of some affliction that befuddles her cognitive reasoning?’ It was evident Charlie Pearce was trying to cover his shock with some verbal gymnastics. He couldn’t take his eyes off The Cornerstone, which was now fat with power and glowed like an excited firefly.

Max gave up the pretence. ‘Nope. She’s as sane as you or me. The book does what she says. I should know; it’s taken me to her world twice already.’

Charlie picked up a bourbon biscuit and sat back. ‘Explain, please.’

- 3 -

Imelda got back into the library without much trouble. Only two PCs remained on scene guard at the entrance.

Quite proud of the excuse she gave them - a sentimental attachment to the rolodex on the front counter, given to her by her wizened old mother, just days before her untimely death in a freak boating accident - Imelda made her way over to the main desk. She had to walk carefully around the splintered chunks of book shelf and the discarded leaves of paper that still blanketed the floor.

Whatever happens with the Chapter Lands, I’m probably out of a job here.

If by some miracle nobody blamed her for this, the library would be shut for months undergoing repairs.

Imelda rifled through the rolodex, looking up occasionally to make sure the coppers weren’t watching. She found the card Max had filled in, popped it in the pocket of her slacks and headed back out into the late morning drizzle, offering the police an ingratiating smile as she passed.

Imelda drove her Fiat Punto the two miles to Max’s house, which lay in the lovely sounding Green Vale Road. It was neither green, nor a vale - obeying the rules of street naming in modern suburbs to a tee.

She parked up, went to the front door and rang the bell. If Max answered it was all to the good, if Merelie did even better.

If one of the boy’s parents came to the door, she could always use an excuse about checking on overdue library books. This might seem like overkill, but promoting a robust response to the non-return of library property would set a good precedent - as well as covering her tracks in a believable manner.

She hadn’t planned for
nobody
to answer the door.

Imelda walked round to the side of the house, checking to see if Max was hiding from her - she wouldn’t put it past him - but couldn’t see anyone through the windows or in the conservatory. The house was empty.

Heading back and wondering what to do next, her heart jumped into her throat when she saw Elijah standing in the front garden staring at her.

- 4 -

Charlie Pearce picked up another bourbon biscuit and took a thoughtful bite.

It was, without doubt, a story worthy of the telling:

A land ruled by five great houses, founded on the discovery of other dimensions. Creatures of ill device from a dark, cold place between those worlds, yearning for the warmth of human existence. A power-mad dictator, striking a pact with the inhuman beasts to defeat and enslave his enemies. And behind it all, the idea that the beauty and magnificence of great writing could be harnessed as a physical force – as
magic
, no less.

…with his grandson caught up in the middle of it all.

‘So, young Merelie, if I get this straight: you now intend to return to your world with no guarantee of survival and will try to overthrow this Morodai person? You think you stand much chance of success in this most dangerous of ventures?’

‘I don’t know, sir. But I’ve got no option.’

‘The police, mayhap? They might render some assistance.’

‘Grandad,’ Max said with disbelief. ‘She can’t go to the old bill. They’d just spend six months filling out paperwork, then arrest her for wasting police time. Even if they did take it seriously, we can’t let this world know about the Chapter Lands, it’d cause havoc!’

‘For once, fruit of the fruit of my loins, you speak perfect sense. We’ll have to rule out ‘the man’ as a source of help, then.’  He gave Max a speculative look and turned back to Merelie. ‘And what of this notion that young Maxwell here may well have powers secreted about his person, as yet undiscovered?’

Merelie sighed and her head dropped a little. ‘That’s what I believed for so long. But it isn’t true. This world has no Wordcraft. None at all.’

‘Imelda Warrington convinced you of this, I gather?’

Charlie was well aware who Farefield library’s head of department was. He’d often spent an afternoon perusing the paltry library catalogue, tutting as he made his way through the fiction section, a deep frown on his face. A conversation would usually follow with Imelda, when he would complain there weren’t enough books on offer.

Charlie Pearce was the reason she’d bought that copy of Catcher in the Rye from Amazon - proving it really is a small world… even if it does exist in a ridiculously large multi-verse.

‘She did, yes,’ said Merelie. ‘Imelda said there was no Wordcraft in this world and I believe her now.’

‘Don’t be so quick to dismiss my species in general and my grandson in particular, Miss Carvallen.’

‘Grandad,’ Max spoke up, ‘don’t say things like that.’

‘And why not?’ he replied, raising his chin. ‘If I wish to believe that untapped talents lie in that computer game addled brain of yours, I will. I can well believe the people of this world have become so enamoured with the sounds of their own voices that they’ve forgotten to stop and listen to what others might have to say. This planet is such a noisy place… no-one can hear themselves think! Maybe a little more silent reflection could lead to these Wordcrafting skills being unearthed.’

‘Do you believe that sir?’ Merelie said with renewed hope.

‘Of course, my girl!’

Merelie looked at Max, the excitement back in her eyes.

‘I am not a flaming wizard!’ he yelled, scaring Nugget into another bout of flatulence.

Fergil the Draveli Wordsmith
was
a wizard - if a pretty weak one - and now saw an opportunity arise. Lashing out with a needle of Wordcraft at The Cornerstone’s defences, he took the book completely by surprise.

While Charlie opened a window, Max got up and walked over to a bookshelf, getting away from Nugget’s latest contribution to the discussion.

The Cornerstone continued to glow, illuminating the coffee table in an unearthly silver radiance.

Max scanned the shelf and found what he was looking for. Charlie liked to keep things alphabetical and all the C’s were in the same place.

Max pulled out his grandfather’s copy of Call of the Wild and looked at the cover. The proud image of Buck, surrounded by white trees and mountains, was the same as his own copy. It was a picture that brought him great happiness.

If books had power, and power had weight… I wouldn’t be able to pick this up.

He measured the book in his hand, but it didn’t feel any heavier than the average paperback.

It was all nonsense. He was no Wordsmith.

His reverie was broken by a low growl coming from Nugget’s throat. Usually a placid and happy dog, hearing a noise like that, and seeing his jowls rise in a snarl, was quite disturbing.

‘What’s wrong, Nuggie?’ Charlie asked, patting the dog’s head.

Nugget now stood on the couch, hackles raised and the growl louder. He was staring at The Cornerstone.

‘Max!’ Merelie pointed at the book, which had begun to pulse with light. ‘They’re trying to get through again!’

‘Grandad! Grab Nugget and get back!’ Max shouted, as a sound like a thousand nails being scraped down a chalk board erupted from the glowing Cornerstone. He threw Call of the Wild onto the coffee table and grabbed Merelie’s arm.

 ‘What is it!?’ Charlie shouted. ‘Why is it doing that?’ He held Nugget by the collar, who was still barking loud enough to be heard over the din.