Matthew Skelton - Endymion Spring

He reached out a hand that he couldn't quite control and ended up pointing at the floor.

"I was already on my way here," said Christopher Winters, taking his son's hand and tucking it beneath the covers. "I'd been trying to contact you for days. I missed you."

His story was punctuated by a yawn.

"Besides, I heard from yours truly here" — he patted Duck on the head, who squirmed uncomfortably — "that Prosper Marchand was back in the neighborhood. I couldn't have him maing advances on your mother, so I rushed to the airport, boarded a plane last night and arrived in Oxford early this afternoon…to a chorus of shrieks and sirens. I knew that you and your sister must be up to your usual tricks."

Blake grinned, but was unable to take it all in. "You know Professor Marchand?" he said at last.

His father stiffened slightly and nodded. "He and your mother were once quite an item before I, um, complicated matters."

Juliet Winters shook her head. "What makes you think I would—" she started.

"I just wanted to make sure," he said, meekly wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I missed you…all of you."

"I missed you too," said Blake, with a tired smile. "I'm glad you're here."

"Come now, the boy needs his rest," said another voice from the edge of the room.

Blake craned his neck to see a familiar white-haired figure blocking the door with his giant frame. The movement set off an explosion of fireworks in his head and he winced.

Sensing they needed some privacy, Blake's parents got up. "Excuse us," they said. "We'll step outside for a moment."

"It's good to see you again, Jolyon," added Blake's father privately.

"And you, my boy, and you," murmured the professor.

They dragged Duck after them.

"I know what you're going to say," said Jolyon as soon as the room was clear. Blake focused his intent blue eyes on the man's face. "I was after the book…once. I was as desperate as Diana to get my hands on it."

"She said you broke the clasp."

Jolyon contemplated his thumb for a moment.

"Yes."

Duck, who had managed to sneak back in, gasped.

"Go away!" shouted Blake, but his voice was no more than a husky croak.

Jolyon intervened. "No, no, your sister has a right to hear this too. I'm afraid I've not been entirely honest with either of you."

Duck tiptoed closer. "What happened?" she asked, curious.

"I was jealous of George Psalmanazar," said the professor bleakly. "He found the blank book. We were good friends, but I ruined everything by trying to see inside it for myself. I wanted to solve its riddles."

"Like me," said Duck softly.

The old man did not seem to hear. He had retreated into his own private world of memory. "Yes, the book does that to you," he said. "It makes you greedy for knowledge, for power."

His voice clouded. "I tried to steal it from him," he remembered, "an action I regret to this day. The book must have sensed I was unworthy, for it rejected me and George disappeared shortly afterwards. He remained somewhere near Oxford, I believe, probably to keep an eye on the book, but he never uttered another word to anyone. That is, not until the night of Sir Giles' lecture, when he told me the shadow was getting closer."

Jolyon paused. "I thought he was referring to me," he said, shuffling guiltily, "but I was wrong."

"Diana Bentley wanted it even more than you," said Blake.

"Yes," said the professor, examining the floor. "She desired the Last Book more than anything — anyone — else. She seduced me, she used George and she finally took advantage of Sir Giles' money and influence to try to get her hands on it. The power it contained consumed her."

"But she couldn't find it," said Blake. "At least, not until we came along."

"I'm afraid the book awoke the shadows in us all," admitted Jolyon, broodingly. "Except in you."

Blake's confidence suddenly collapsed. "But, Professor Jolyon, I don’t' know where the book is! I dropped it from the library roof and—"

"Relax," said the professor mildly, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "The book is waiting for you, I promise. It will find you again — once you're ready."

"But how?" asked Blake doubtfully.

"Trust me. You are its rightful guardian, Blake. Endymion Spring chose you for a reason."

Blake shook his head. "I still don't know why," he muttered to himself as a nurse entered the room to tell them that visiting hours were over.

Jolyon heard the boy's last remark and smiled.

"Perhaps you should ask your father," he said mysteriously as he led Duck to the door.

Blake was once again in the college library, waiting for his mother.

"What's keeping her?" said his father, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. He glanced at his watch. "It's been an hour."

"You have no idea," said Blake, and together, they started walking up and down the corridors, running their fingers along the books. Christopher Winters peered at the shelves, revisiting old memories, while Blake pondered more recent ones. He couldn't help suspecting the portraits were still watching him — hunting for the book, even in death.

They paused as they came to the central staircase leading up to the gallery.

"Have you seen this?" asked Blake, eager for a diversion. He steered his father up the steps and showed him the illustration of the hunched yellow figure on the monk's knee in the illuminated manuscript.

Christopher Winters smiled. "Oh, yes, Theodoric and I go way back," he said, gazing fondly down at the tonsured monk. "There was a time when I spent most of my waking hours studying this book. I had quite a theory about it."

"No kidding?" said Blake, feeling the blood rush through his veins.

"It's all a bit complicated…" His father shuffled uneasily from foot to foot. "You probably wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

Christopher Winters glanced down at his son. "Well, this little yellow figure here almost perfectly resembles another on a coat of arms found in Germany at around the same time. The Gutenberg coat of arms, to be precise."

Blake tried not to show the shiver of excitement that ran through him.

"Scholars have disputed the identity of the yellow figure for years, but how anyone, let alone a monk in Oxford, could know of this enigmatic character is a complete mystery," remarked Christopher Winters. "I've always suspected that there's a direct link between this manuscript and Gutenberg's first printing press in Mainz. I'm not sure exactly how, but if you look closely, you can see that the figure is actually…"

"…a young kid like me," said Blake, with a grin.

His father gawped at him in amazement.

"Exactly," he said, shaking his head slightly.

Blake had tried several times in recent days to explain the strange goings-on to his parents, but until now they both attributed much of his story to his fanciful imagination. They believed Diana had desired an important book he had inadvertently found in a secondhand bookshop. For his part, Blake had been careful to describe the Faustbuch to them, instead of Endymion Spring .

"Yes, he's a young boy like you," said his father, "but with a hunched back, as though he's carrying a heavy burden. There's something on his shoulders."

"Oh no, not this again," interrupted Juliet Winters, joining them from downstairs. In her hand she held a draft of her most recent article, "The Faust Conspiracy," fresh from the printer in her office. Duck was with her and had bent down to stroke Mephistopheles, who arched and curved around her legs — his tail held high like an exclamation mark.

Christopher Winters looked hurt. "You never know," he said. "I might have been right."

Juliet Winters shook her head and led them out.