Modern Magick

Toil and Trouble: 3

All things considered, Jay and I made an executive decision not to take the book straight back to Val. We carried it instead to my favourite study carrell, which happened to be safely situated two large rooms and a corridor away from the library.

It was pleasant to tuck back up in there again. It's a modest place — just a desk (albeit a splendidly well-preserved nineteenth-century example, all mahogany and mother-of-pearl), and a chair (ditto), placed in a concealed alcove off one of the reference rooms. I've spent untold hours there with stacks and stacks of books, researching one obscure topic after another. It's undoubtedly my study nook.

Jay took to it at once, for I caught him glancing around with an admiring, speculative look.

'Mine,' I told him.

'Sorry.'

I put the book carefully down upon the desk and — checking first to make sure nobody was too near to us — I opened it again.

'Good morning, madam,' said the book. 'Good morning, sir.'

'You can call me Jay,' said Jay.

'That would be an improper mode of address, sir, particularly in view of the fact that we have not yet been introduced.'

I summoned my best manners, and formally introduced Jay to the book. Jay made a decidedly courtly bow, which impressed me no end.

Then he introduced me, and I felt it incumbent upon me to match his exquisite etiquette with a curtsey.

It was an odd business.

The book was kind enough to overlook the irregularities in our behaviour, mostly because, as he said himself: 'I am not fortunate enough to have a large acquaintance here. In fact, I know no one else except for the odd, vulgar woman with the green hair, whose identity remains a mystery.'

Jay stifled his laughter — barely. 'You have no objection to Ves's pink hair?'

'The arrangement of Miss Vesper's hair might be highly irregular, but there is nothing to fault in her manners.'

I was glad he'd said that, for I was quite attached to my hair colour of the day. Rose pink (the dusky, antique shade), and perfectly curled. 'Thank you, Bill,' I said, beaming.

'We can't call him Bill anymore,' said Jay.

'An unnecessarily abbreviated name,' agreed the book.

'We can still call him Bill,' I offered. 'Darcy's first name was Fitzwilliam.'

'Bill Darcy it is.'

The book objected, but I overrode him. 'Matters are not as they were when you were written, Bill,' I unhappily had to inform him. 'You had better get used to our unnecessarily abbreviated modes of address.'

'If you insist, Miss Vesper.'

I gave up.

Secretly, I rather enjoyed being called "Miss Vesper." Jay, however, did not take so enthusiastically to "Mr Patel". 'That is my father,' he said sternly. 'Jay, please.'

The book heaved a resigned sigh, and capitulated.

Having got the formalities out of the way, it was time to do as Zareen had suggested, and launch a clever and subtle interrogation of Bill. I began with: 'Where does your map lead, Bill?'

'To the grave of my mistress.'

'Mistress?' said Jay.

'Grave?' said I.