Matthew Skelton - Endymion Spring

Hidden in the corner was a cream door that led up to the tall square tower that formed the principal peak on the library's prickly skyline. Diana motioned him towards it.

Another spiral staircase corkscrewed away from him — this time rising to what must be the very top of the library. What was she going to do? Throw him off the roof?

She forced him inside.

"Where are we going?" he asked nervously as she locked the door behind them and followed him up the stairs. The steps were tight and treacherous; his legs trembled. The bottom was a long way down.

Diana responded by prodding him sharply in the back with the tip of her key. He kept going, marching upwards — past two thin lancet windows and a tiny wooden door.

Blake's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Where's Duck?" he asked.

His question was answered by a frantic hammering on the other side of the door.

"Duck!" he cried, leaping towards it. He grasped the handle and pulled. "I'm here! I've come to get you out!"

The door was locked and would not budge. His sister was thrashing even more urgently now she could hear him. He knew she must be terrified. Duck hated confined spaces.

He turned to Diana, enraged. She was dangling a precious silver key from her fingertip. He lunged to grab it, but she deftly closed her hand in a fist.

"What's wrong with her?" he hollered. "Why can't she speak?"

"I took the liberty of gagging your sister's mouth," replied Diana curtly. "She was driving me to distraction."

Blake could not contain his anger. "Let her out!" he screamed. "She can hardly breathe in there! If anything happens to her, I'll—"

"You'll what?" asked Diana savagely, shoving him forwards. His ankle twisted and he fell, his knee catching the edge of a sharp stone step. He cried out in pain. Remorseless, Diana pulled him to his feet and pushed him further up the twisting staircase.

"I'll come back…" he called out to Duck, his voice cracking.

They came to a tall door with university archives engraved above it in the stone. A brass plaque on a central panel read: dr. d. bentley, archivist.

Blake looked behind him, surprised. "You work here?" he asked.

Diana frowned. "Naturally. Do you think Giles is the only person in a position of power?"

She unlocked the door and shoved him inside.

Blake stumbled against a desk in the middle of the spacious room and fell to the floor, winded. Dazed, he took in his surroundings. Four enormous windows, partially obscured by large wooden cupboards, provided spectacular views of the surrounding domes and spires. A choir of angelic figures stood on top of one of the nearby buildings, playing their silent instruments, while a statue of blindfolded Justice turned her back to him on the other side of the glass.

He raced to one of the giant windows and tried to flag down help from the people in the street far below. Tiny figures, no more than matchstick men, marched back and forth. The window had no latch and all he could do was hammer on the glass with his fist. The muffled sound did not travel far.

"Had enough?" asked Diana, behind him. "I have kept my part of the bargain. Now I suggest you keep yours."

He turned to face her. She was calmly inspecting a row of books in one of the cupboards.

"These are my favorites," she said, indicating several volumes, as large as Bibles, fastened with iron clasps. "I keep them up here, so that no one — not even Giles — can touch them." She stroked the dimpled black surfaces with her fingers. "They're books that date back to the foundation of the library."

Blake didn't respond. His eyes dashed to the door, which Diana nudged to with her foot.

"Don't even think about it," she said. "You can't go far. Besides, I have all the keys between you, your sister and freedom. The only way out of here is to give me what I want."

"I told you I don't have the Last Book ," he said defiantly. "I couldn't even find it."

"Oh, I doubt that," said Diana with a knowing smile. "You were chosen."

She slowly advanced towards him and he took two steps back.

"Give it to me," she said.

Blake flushed. "No," he defied her again, and involuntarily tightened his grip on the straps of his knapsack. He backed into a glass cabinet full of handwritten documents sealed with flattened dollops of red wax, like squashed bugs. Two more lines from Endymion Spring 's riddle floated unbidden into his mind:

The Lesion of Darkness cannot be healed

Until, with Child's Blood, the Whole is sealed…

His eyes landed on a sleek, silver paperknife placed crosswise on a pile of unopened correspondence on the desk.

"If you want the book so badly," he lashed out, "why don't you come over here and take it?" His heart felt like a bomb ticking down inside him. At any moment, it might explode.

"Yes, I suppose I could," said Diana without enthusiasm. He noticed her long white gloves and panicked, realizing that she had been careful not to leave any fingerprints behind. He could imagine her sliding her hands around his neck and throttling him.

Sensing the direction of his gaze, she slowly removed one of the gloves. She peeled back the smooth white material and pulled it from her fingers. Blake gasped. All of the fingernails on her left hand were black.

"It's like Professor Jolyon," he blurted out.

"Oh, this?" she said calmly, assessing her bruised nails. "Yes, I was snubbed by the book too. Just like Jolyon."

"Do you mean you're in on this together?" he asked, his mind working furiously. A recollection of a dark-haired Diana flirting with the youthful Jolyon in the Libris Society photograph flashed in his memory.

Diana was appalled by his insinuation. "Heavens, no. Jolyon and I haven't agreed on anything since the foundation of the Libris Society. However, we are both interested in the Last Book and would love to get our hands on it…for different reasons.

She watched his face register surprise. "Jolyon isn't such an angel either," she said coldly. "Disappointing, isn't it?"

"I don't understand."

She reached for a piece of powdered confectionery in a crystal bowl on her desk. Turkish delight. She bit into it with relish.

"I'm disappointed in you, Blake. Are you really so dim?"

He nodded; it was safer to keep her talking.

"Oh, very well," she muttered, brushing a smattering of icing sugar from her lips. "Jolyon broke the clasp on the blank book a long time ago, soon after the Libris Society was formed. He was convinced he could find the Last Book without any help from the rest of us. Of course, he was mistaken. He tried to steal the book from George Psalmanazar, who had found the book originally, but the clasp broke off and stabbed him in the thumb, branding him a traitor."

Blake inhaled deeply. His mind was spinning. No wonder the professor had seemed so agitated when he'd first mentioned Endymion Spring at the college dinner. No wonder he'd been unwilling to confess his involvement in the past…

Diana glanced at her blackened fingernails. "Of course, I rather fancied him more after that," she said dryly, clearly enjoying pulling off the scabs of Blake's delusion, "but he became so incredibly penitent afterwards. It was tiresome. He vowed never to go near the book again."

Her voice was filled with scorn. "He became boring."

"And what did you do?" asked Blake, eyeing her fearfully. "What turned your fingernails black?"

The smile died instantly on her face. "After the book rejected Jolyon, I had to connive my way closer to that ugly wretch, George." She spat out the name with distaste. "I could tell he was going to hide the blank book and I needed to lay my hands on it before the key to the Last Book eluded my grasp forever. It was my only chance — or so I thought."