The Cornerstone (6 page)

‘They the ones that made The Cornerstone?’

‘Well done,’ Imelda approved. ‘Yes they are. It was created to allow passage - but only when necessary. It’s designed to allow safe and easy transport for anyone it deems fit.’

‘What, like me?’

‘That’s what troubles me. Why it would let you across is a mystery.’

‘Will the blonde girl get in trouble?’

‘All other forms of contact are banned and the doorway is closely monitored by The Cornerstone to prevent it.’

‘Looks like it wasn’t doing its job then.’

 ‘No, it wasn’t. It’s only meant to be used by certain people.’

‘Like you?’

Imelda nodded. ‘Yes. It’s the only contact I have.’ The sadness in her voice was unmistakable.

‘If it’s so important to you, why leave it lying around on that crappy shelf? Somebody could nick it.’

‘I have to leave it out in the library where it can be close to the other books. Nobody’s going to steal it, it won’t allow it. The Cornerstone can take care of itself.’

Max remembered something. ‘So that’s why the girl shoved it into the bookcase when it didn’t work. What do other books do? Charge it or something?’

‘It’s not the books. It’s what’s written in them. The knowledge they contain.’

That was about as cryptic as you could get. ‘The knowledge?’

‘Yes. Haven’t you heard the phrase knowledge is power?’

‘I have, but it doesn't help. I've still got no idea what you’re talking about,’ Max replied with absolute sincerity.

‘I’m sure you don’t… and you don’t need to know either. In fact, I’ve said way too much already. There was a reason he put me here all those years ago and it wasn’t to spill all our secrets to teenage boys.’

‘So what am I supposed to do?’

‘Go home. Pretend none of this happened.’

Max slammed the mug down onto the table, spilling the remnants of the tea. ‘That’s it, is it? I get sucked into the library from Hell because some blonde magically punted a bit of paper across dimensions, and you’re telling me to forget it and bugger off home?’

‘That’s about the size of it, yes.’

Max leapt to his feet, pointy finger at the ready. Imelda stared at him with her arms crossed. 

‘Well… well… I’m going to tell everyone about this you know! I’m… I’m going to tell my mum!’ he blustered, realising how embarrassing that sounded as soon as it was out of his mouth.

‘Really?’ Imelda said, amused. ‘Do you think your mother will believe you?’

This deflated Max’s anger even further. ‘Good point,’ he conceded.

‘It is, isn’t it?’

He came to the realisation she had him over a barrel on this one. ‘So you’re not going to tell me anything else then?’

‘No.’

‘And you don’t need my help?’

‘No. I can deal with it, thank you.’

‘But what about… you know…
her
? Will she be ok?’ he asked, feeling quite awkward.

Imelda had been round the block a few times and recognised an instant crush when she saw one. ‘The girl will be ok, Max. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. By the sounds of things, she has an Arma with her anyway, so I’m sure she’s fine.’

‘What the hell’s an Arma? You mean that big hairy sod?’

‘Enough!’ Imelda said, putting an end to the conversation by getting up and going to the door. ‘I suggest you make your way home, young man. It’s getting late.’

She held the door open and Max knew damn well he wouldn’t get anything else out of this harridan today.

There was something extremely weird going on here though, and he wasn’t about to let it go in a hurry.

Nobody shoves Max Bloom through a vortex in space time and gets away with it!

It wasn’t much of a clarion call to action, but it’d do in the circumstances.

He stalked out of the staff room, avoiding eye contact.

‘Max!’ Imelda called after him.

He turned and favoured her with a look of withering contempt. ‘What?’

‘The book, Max,’ she said, holding out her hand.

Max became aware that he was holding The Cornerstone, his only tangible proof that any of this had happened. He couldn’t remember picking it up. The idea of relinquishing it to this woman didn’t hold much appeal.

‘I don’t suppose you’d let me take it out on loan, then?’ he chanced.

‘No. I wouldn’t. Hand it over.’

Max frowned and gave it back to her.

‘I’m not forgetting about this, you know,’ he promised and marched off in a huff.

Imelda stood at the staff room entrance and watched him go, The Cornerstone grasped tightly in her hand, a very worried expression on her face.

- 2 -

Max had his keys this time around, saving the people of Farefield the spectacle of a seventeen year old boy trying to chew through a metal railing. The drizzle had let up as well, so the two mile ride home was less of a chore.

All the way, Max Bloom’s brain was on fire. 

He’d never heard stories of people being sucked into other worlds by magic books, but intended to spend a constructive couple of hours on Google making sure.

He also decided he hadn’t gone completely mad and dreamt the whole thing up. The brief conversation with the librarian had proved that.

If he had gone crackers and created a fantasy in his head, it wouldn’t have included a bossy middle aged librarian and a room decorated by Armitage Shanks.

Also, if it had been a fantasy, the librarian would have surely looked more like a bikini model.

His thought process was then diverted by the image of a gorgeous bikini-clad babe, holding a library card in a suggestive manner - and remained so until he was sat in his dad’s study at the computer googling:
supernatural, books, doorways, vortex, library, Cornerstone
.

The results that popped up were numerous but unhelpful, so he googled bikini models for a while, which while equally unhelpful, was a lot more enjoyable.

Max considered telling his mother what had happened today despite Imelda’s warnings, but dismissed the idea.

Amanda Bloom was the type of woman the phrase
highly-strung
described perfectly. She was wound tighter than a crossbow and survived on a combination of nervous energy and caffeine.

Max could just see her reaction if he told her a story as unbelievable as this one. She'd have him down the hospital for a check up faster than you could say attention deficit disorder.

He couldn’t talk to his dad Peter either, as he was currently away in Malaysia, doing whatever it was he did for a living. Max knew computer components were involved in some way, but his eyes always glazed over whenever his dad tried to explain further.

That left Moan-ica.

Max could almost hear the howls of derisory laughter and see the impressions she’d do of him running away from an invisible library monster.
Decades
would pass before Monica would let it go. Telling her was a definite no-no.

With his options dried up, Max resolved to sleep on the issue. Tomorrow might bring some inspiration.

Sleep was a long time coming though.

His mind refused to stop turning over the events of the day. Images of strange notes, glowing books, thick mist and a boiling purple sea played through the projector in his mind on a constant loop.

The one image that wormed its way into his thoughts more than any other was that of the beautiful girl he’d met.

As he finally started to slide towards sleep, Max promised himself he was going to see her again whatever it took - grumpy librarians be damned.

Imelda Warrington wasn’t getting much sleep either.

Unlike Max, she wasn’t at home. Instead, she was still sat in her brown staff room, The Cornerstone back on the coffee table.

She’d stayed after the rest of her staff had gone home for the night, citing the need to catch up on some admin, and had spent the next few hours in a frustrating and fruitless attempt to make contact with the world The Cornerstone opened a doorway to.

Her problem was the book had a high level of sentience and could be very temperamental. It would work when it wanted to, not when commanded.

It wasn't supposed to act this way, but it’s hard to design an object that powers itself on words conjured up by the conscious mind without a certain level of awareness
rubbing off
, as it were.

The Cornerstone had leeched knowledge, emotion and personality from the countless books it had been kept alongside for years and had developed a discernable character of its own because of it.

In short, it was bloody stubborn and point blank refused to let Imelda do anything with it tonight.

Speaking to those on the other side was something that annoyed her anyway. Usually, she’d just send a written report, like a travel correspondent sending back stories for a newspaper.

Tonight though, she was the one that needed information, so there was nothing for it but a trip back through the book to speak directly to them. 

If The Cornerstone would co-operate, of course.

The pages remained resolutely blank and there wasn't a flicker of power, no matter how long she left it stuck in the shelf next to the other books. She’d even put it in the classics section for an hour, hoping the high brow literature might please it and make it more tractable.

It hadn’t.

The book sat in front of her doing nothing.

If it had arms, they would be crossed.  If it had a head, it would be looking away and ignoring her.

This was the boy’s fault… and possibly the girl’s.

From the description Max had given, Imelda knew damn well that Merelie Carvallen had written the note and sent it, like an angler fishing for a bite.

The girl certainly had the skill, but no matter how desperate she was, Merelie should have known better than to break the rules like this.

She isn’t stupid though. There must be something pretty catastrophic going on for her to take a risk like this.

But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it?

Imelda felt sure she would have been contacted if anything untoward was happening.

No doubt about it… none at all.

She gave The Cornerstone a harsh look. ‘You’re really not helping matters, you know that?’ she said, feeling a bit silly talking to a book - even if it probably could understand her.

- 3 -

The next day dawned as drizzly and dull as the last.

Max woke with a start from a dream about a giant book with pointy teeth chasing him through a shopping precinct. The thing had cornered him by Waterstones and was about to bite him on the ankles when he snapped out of it.

He got up, dressed in yesterday’s clothes and yawned his way out of the bedroom.

The morning then took an immediate turn for the worse when Monica confronted him on the landing.

‘Morning crap face,’ she said. ‘What’s a horror bone, then?’

‘What?’ he replied, rubbing sleep dust from his eyes and cursing the invention of the little sister.

‘What’s a horror bone? You kept shouting it in your sleep last night, you big weirdo.’

‘
Cornerstone
?’ he ventured.

‘Cornerstone, horror bone… whatever. What is it, then?’

‘Nothing to do with you, dog breath.’

Monica gave her brother the most contemptuous stare she could muster for eight fifteen in the morning and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door in his face.

Max took this as some kind of victory and went downstairs to the kitchen.

His mother was in good spirits as she was due to spend the day with her sister Georgina on a hardcore shopping trip in the city. She didn’t even lecture him about wearing the same faded hoodie again as he rummaged around for breakfast cereal.

She did ask him how his day was yesterday and he made something up about going to Figgy’s house.

‘You spend way too much time with him, you know. He’s got a foul mouth… and his dad’s on the dole,’ Amanda said, in a tone that implied this was tantamount to being a raving psychopath.

‘Mum, he got made redundant by the Honda dealership. It’s not his fault… and Figgy only swears when he knows somebody like you is around to hear it.’

‘Whatever Max, I just don’t like him.’ Amanda’s tone changed and she smirked at her son. ‘So, who is she?’

‘What?’

‘Who is she? The girl?’

‘What girl?’

‘The one you kept talking about in your sleep.’

This could be awkward.

‘Er… what was I saying?’

‘You were mumbling about how much you liked her blonde hair… and something about selling her a door for 50p, which didn’t make much sense. Someone you know?’

‘No.’ Max thought for a second, ‘…er, I mean yes. I met her in the library yesterday.’

‘What's her name?’

‘Not a clue.’

‘Well go back! She could be there again, eh? If she is, get her name and ask her out. You obviously like her if you’re having dreams like that!’

Dreaming was about right when it came to his chances of going out with that kind of girl. Besides, the ability to ask somebody out on a date is somewhat hampered when they’re in a different reality to you.

‘Leave it out, mum. She was just some girl I met, nothing else.’

‘Alright, alright, I’ll drop it,’ Amanda said, disappointed. ‘So what are my firstborn’s plans for the day?’

‘Um… well, I thought I’d go back to the library.’ Max replied, which was the absolute truth. He did intend to go back, just not for the reasons his mother suspected.

‘Ah ha!’ Amanda waggled her eyebrows up and down.

‘Not because of her! There’s… there’s a book I’m interested in.’

‘Please... pull the other one, son of mine. You’re not the type to be sticking your head in a book, I know you too well.’

‘You’d be surprised, mum.’

‘Well, whatever your reasons, it’s better than being sat in front of that bloody X Box all day. It’s not good for you.’

Nor is being eaten by an invisible library monster.

‘It’s something to do,’ he agreed, turning his full attention to the bowl of Sugar Puffs he’d made.

Amanda went upstairs to decide on what outfit to wear.

Max munched his way through breakfast, wondering what the best strategy to employ would be when he saw Imelda Warrington again.