Pages & Co.: Tilly and the Map of Stories

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2020

Published in this ebook edition in 2020

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Text copyright © Anna James 2020

Illustrations copyright © Paola Escobar 2020

Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Anna James and Paola Escobar assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work respectively.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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Source ISBN: 9780008229948

Ebook Edition © September 2020 ISBN: 9780008229962

Version: 2020-09-11

For Adam

I love writing our story together.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Previously in Pages & Co.

Chapter 1. A Proper Plan

Chapter 2. A Small Inkling of Doubt

Chapter 3. I’ve Always Liked Treasure Hunts

Chapter 4. A Wild Goose Chase

Chapter 5. Though She be but Little

Chapter 6. At Least Eighty Per Cent Sure

Chapter 7. Sounds Like a Real Mess

Chapter 8. Good Bookshops are Hard to Resist

Chapter 9. I Know a Bank Where the Wild Thyme Blows

Chapter 10. Butterscotch and Campfires

Chapter 11. Begin at the Beginning

Chapter 12. A Flaw in the System

Chapter 13. The Library of Alexandria

Chapter 14. Signposts

Chapter 15. We Should’ve Seen This One Coming

Chapter 16. Covert Operations

Chapter 17. New Frontiers of Book Magic

Chapter 18. A Story Within a Story

Chapter 19. Readers Have to Set their Own Compass

Chapter 20. The Last Clue

Chapter 21. The Sesquipedalian

Chapter 22. Up to No Good

Chapter 23. A Short Cut

Chapter 24. Someone Who Knows Someone Who Knows Someone

Chapter 25. Fuelled by Ideas

Chapter 26. There’s Enough Magic to Go Round

Chapter 27. The Bibliognost

Chapter 28. Made of Imagination

Chapter 29. Unread Stories

Chapter 30. Errant Ink Splotches

Chapter 31. Fraying the Very Fabric of Stories

Chapter 32. A First-Time Customer Deal

Chapter 33. Boldness Shall be My Friend

Chapter 34. Endings and Beginnings

Chapter 35. An Extremely Ill-mannered Question

Chapter 36. Green Eggs and Ham

Chapter 37. Favours are Good to Have in Stock

Chapter 38. My Soul is in the Sky

Chapter 39. Slightly Less Normal Than Everything Else

Chapter 40. Hot Buttered Toast

Chapter 41. What a Thrill to be Bookwandering Again

Chapter 42. We Do Not Haphazardly Go into the Breach

Chapter 43. A Twist in Fortunes

Chapter 44. The Source Library

Chapter 45. The Chain of Writers and Readers

Chapter 46. The Fox and the Moon

Chapter 47. Each Book is Its Own Master

Chapter 48. Do Not Wander

Chapter 49. ‘Plays the Violin Well’

Chapter 50. Chosen Ones

Chapter 51. What a Waste of Immortality

Chapter 52. Pure Story

Epilogue: One Week Later

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

Books by Anna James

About the Publisher

Previously in Pages & Co.

In Tilly and the Bookwanderers, Matilda Pages discovered that she was a bookwanderer; that she could travel inside her favourite books. While looking for her missing mother with her best friend, Oskar, she discovered that her father was a fictional character and that meant she was half fictional herself.

In Tilly and the Lost Fairy Tales, Tilly and Oskar came up against the Underwood siblings. Melville Underwood has managed to get into power at the British Underlibrary and wants to control who has access to bookwandering. His sister, Decima, is experimenting with book magic in order to try and steal stories’ innate immortality and believes that Tilly’s half-fictional nature may be the key.

Tilly has found or been given several clues while bookwandering, and she and Oskar believe that there may be a map to find the Archivists, who are supposed to protect bookwandering but who haven’t been heard from for many, many years.

Matilda Pages and her grandad looked up from writing book recommendation cards to see a man standing in front of them at the desk of Pages & Co. The shop was quiet and golden-hour sunlight dripped in through the tall windows, making everything feel sleepy and peaceful.

‘Well, we can definitely help you with that,’ Grandad said, glad of a customer. ‘Which book was it?’

‘I can’t quite remember the title, I’m afraid,’ the man went on. ‘Or the author, now I come to think about it. But I know that it has a blue cover. Or at least I think so.’

‘Can you remember anything about what’s inside?’ Grandad said encouragingly. Tilly grinned: she loved watching him work out which book someone wanted from whatever tiny bits of information they could remember.

‘Not really …’ the man said vaguely. ‘How strange! I came to the shop specifically to pick this book up – it was my favourite when I was little, or was it my mum’s favourite? It slips my mind. And, now I’m here, I can’t remember the first thing about it. Maybe it wasn’t so special after all …’

‘Sounds like it meant a lot to you once upon a time,’ Grandad said. ‘I’m sure I can make some educated guesses if you can remember anything at all about it, or maybe we could help you find something different to read?’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ the man said politely, although he was already glancing back at the door. ‘But honestly – and I know this is the wrong thing to say in a bookshop – I just don’t seem to care any more.’

Grandad raised an eyebrow.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,’ the man went on. ‘It’s just the more I think about it, the more I’m confused about what I even came in for.’

‘A book,’ Grandad reminded him. ‘With a blue cover.’

‘I’m not even sure it was blue,’ the man said, shrugging. ‘Oh well, thank you for your help.’ And with that he was gone.

‘How peculiar,’ said Grandad.

‘People can’t remember what they’re looking for all the time, though,’ Tilly pointed out.

‘Yes, but usually, if they’ve bothered to make it into the bookshop, they’re a little more persistent, sometimes even quite annoyed that we can’t immediately identify what they’re after. He just seemed to forget what he even wanted as we spoke.’

‘Actually, there was another customer like that,’ Tilly said, remembering. ‘The other day a woman was just standing, staring at a bookshelf for about ten minutes, not picking up any books or anything, and, when I asked if I could help her find something, she said she wasn’t sure, and then wandered off.’

‘Mmm, very strange,’ said Grandad, but his attention had been distracted by a list of numbers on the screen of the till, his brow furrowed in concern. ‘Well, let’s hope it’s not a trend,’ he said. ‘We’ve been selling fewer and fewer books over the last couple of months. Maybe it’s just that it’s finally getting warmer and people are getting excited about being outside. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about. How are you coping without bookwandering?’

‘I hate it,’ Tilly said vehemently. ‘I hate that I can’t do it, and that I can’t talk to Anne or bookwander with Oskar, and most of all I hate that the Underwoods could just take it away without asking.’

Since Melville Underwood had become Head Librarian at the British Underlibrary and made his sister, Decima, his official Advisor, they had made good on their threat to limit bookwandering by binding Source Editions. They had promised, in a series of very formal statements, that it was only a short-term measure to keep bookwandering safe while they got to grips with their new roles, but the Pages family had very little trust in statements or promises from the twins.

‘Remind me how bookbinding works?’ Tilly said. ‘Why did somebody even invent that in the first place?!’

‘It was the Bookbinders,’ Grandad explained. ‘That group of librarians who, years and years ago, first wanted to try to control who could bookwander. They use book magic to do it: that black sticky stuff you saw when the Underwoods were breaking up the fairy tales. It’s barbaric, really, the uses they put book magic to – the very opposite of where it comes from.’

‘But how does it work? Have you ever done it?’

‘Books should only be bound in the most serious of situations,’ Grandad said. ‘And some would say never at all. While I was in charge at the British Underlibrary, we only bound a book once and I’m still not certain it was the right thing to do. However, the process itself is fairly simple. All you have to do is trace an X of book magic over the first word of a book’s Source Edition and it’s like locking the door.’

‘So the Underwoods have done that to all the Source Editions?’

‘All the ones at the British Underlibrary, it would seem. Although, knowing them, they got some of their underlings to do it – no doubt the librarians who’ve gleefully revived the Bookbinder name. But don’t worry, Tilly, we’ll think of something soon.’

‘I don’t understand why you’re so calm about it,’ Tilly said, the anger at having her freedom to bookwander stripped from her still prickling under her skin.

‘I’m not at all calm about it,’ Grandad replied. ‘I’m as angry as you are, but it’s too big a fight to just wade into and cause more problems. We have to make sure the Sources are protected at all times, as well as the people working at the Underlibrary. We need a proper plan.’

‘I suggested a proper plan,’ Tilly said mutinously.

‘I know you think that … I mean, I understand that you believe …’ Grandad faltered under the apparent strain of trying to say what he meant – without actually saying what he meant.

‘I know you don’t believe me that the Archivists are real, or that I know how to find them,’ said Tilly. ‘You don’t need to explain again. You’re not going to convince me, though. Two separate people told me and Oskar that they use maps to tell you where they are – and I’m sure I’ve been sent one.’

‘You weren’t given a map, sweetheart,’ Grandad said gently. ‘You found a collection of items that you think are linked together because you want to be able to help. And we love you so much for that, but it’s too great a risk to follow those clues … Well, we couldn’t follow them. Where would we even start?’

Tilly rolled her eyes. ‘We’d start at the Library of Congress, in America,’ she explained as if speaking to a child who wasn’t paying attention. ‘That’s where the first clue said to go. It had a … what did Mum call it, an American postcode?’

‘A zip code,’ Grandad said.

‘Right, a zip code! And it had a library classmark – you said yourself that classmarks are like maps – that’s how I knew!’

‘We can’t fly all the way to America to find a book, Tilly,’ Grandad said. ‘Now, give me a few moments of quiet so I can look through these sales figures again. Why don’t you go and find your mum, there’s a good girl?’

One of the things that Tilly loved most about her grandparents was that they almost always spoke to her as if she were a proper person who understood things, and felt things, and had good ideas. But that meant it stung even more when they spoke down to her, as though she were just too young to understand what they were dealing with.

She stood up without saying anything else, meaning to go and find Bea and talk to her about the map, but, before she could wander over to the stairs, the phone behind the counter started ringing.

‘Good morning, Pages & Co.,’ Grandad said. ‘Archie speak— Oh, Seb, hello, any news? Oh … Right …’ He looked up to check Tilly hadn’t gone and held a hand out to tell her to stay put. ‘I’ve got her here,’ he said down the phone, and Tilly felt a wave of fear crash over her. Grandad slammed the phone down and dragged her towards the door that connected the bookshop to where the Pages family lived.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. ‘You’re hurting me, Grandad!’

‘I’m sorry, Tilly,’ he said, ‘but we need to get you hidden. Right now. That was Seb. The Underwoods are on their way here – and it’s you they want.’

‘I dread to think,’ Grandad said, ‘considering that the last time you saw them they were trying to steal your blood.’

‘But it’s not like they can do anything here at Pages & Co.,’ Tilly said, out of breath as she jogged after Grandad right up to the top floor where her bedroom was. ‘And it’s not as though they’ve got anything to bargain with now they’ve already stopped us bookwandering.’

‘I’m not taking that risk,’ Grandad said. ‘As far as they’re concerned, you are at a friend’s house for tea. Your grandma and I will speak to them and find out what they want, and I’ll send your mum up here to wait with you. I’ll lock the door to the shop, and you must promise me that you won’t come downstairs. Yes?’

‘I promise,’ Tilly said sincerely.

‘This is the first time I’ve been glad that you can’t bookwander, so you won’t be able to disappear off somewhere,’ he said grimly as he shut the door behind her firmly.

Tilly listened to his footsteps fade as he headed back downstairs, and realised she’d left her phone in the bookshop and couldn’t even text her best friend, Oskar, to tell him what was happening. She had her bookcase, of course, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to sit and focus on reading when she was so anxious. Although, judging by the pile of only-just-started books by her bed, her concentration had been all over the place for a while. Tilly realised she hadn’t finished a book for nearly a week – a seriously long time for a reader of her commitment.

Tilly ran her fingers along her shelves, trying to summon that faith she had always had in the serendipity of a bookshelf – that you often ended up finding exactly the right book at the right time. Maybe there was something there that would distract her. Usually, her bookcase was so full that it took quite a yank to even get a book out, but Tilly noticed there were a couple of gaps at the moment. She couldn’t quite place what was missing – she must have left them downstairs or lent them to Oskar.

On one of the shelves was a curious selection of objects: the items that she was sure were clues to lead her to the Archivists. Even though Grandma and Grandad thought the Archivists were nothing more than a bookwandering fairy tale, Tilly just knew it was too much of a coincidence that these particular items had all ended up with her.

A slim book and a ball of red thread given to her by a librarian at the French Underlibrary, a key from The Secret Garden, a bag of breadcrumbs from ‘Hansel and Gretel’. All of them had found their way to her over the course of a few days. Surely they had to mean something? But, when she looked at them lined up like this, she couldn’t ignore a small inkling of doubt. It was hard not to see them as Grandad did – a row of unrelated objects she’d picked up while bookwandering, smothered in wishful thinking.

Tilly sighed. Not for the first time, she wished she could bookwander – to try to find some more clues, to get Anne Shirley’s take on the situation, or just to take her mind off whatever was going on downstairs in the bookshop. All of them had, of course, tried to bookwander after Seb told them what Melville had done, but it just didn’t work. There was a flash of a moment where you felt the familiar pull of the story, the leap in your stomach and even the faint smell of toasting marshmallows, but then there was a feeling like an elastic band that had stretched as far as it could and you were bounced back again.

Tilly grabbed a book at random off her shelf and stared at it in frustration. It was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It was one of Tilly’s favourite places to bookwander, and Alice often used to pop into the bookshop to say hello.

Tilly opened the book and, thinking about what Grandad had told her about bookbinding, stared at the first word. She could see that there was the suggestion of a shadow across it. She tried to scratch or rub it off, but nothing happened. There was still a slight mark there, echoing the book magic that had bound the Source Edition at the Underlibrary. She flicked through the pages, stopping at the familiar scene of the Mad Hatter’s tea party, the first place she had ever bookwandered to.

She sat on the edge of her bed and read it aloud, trying to conjure up the feeling of awe that she’d experienced the first time she had been pulled inside the pages of a book.

‘There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head.’

Tilly kept reading and let herself be swept away by the story. A few moments later, she sneezed.

‘Stupid hay fever,’ Tilly said to herself, brushing away the flowers that were too close to her face – before realising they had not been there a moment ago.

‘Where have you come from?’ she said, looking up to realise that it wasn’t just flowers that had appeared. Instead of her wooden floor, there was a carpet of grass, fragrant and slightly damp from the dew. More brightly coloured flowers were sprouting up in the corners of the room, and there was even the unmistakable sound of birdsong in the air, even though her skylight window was firmly closed against April showers. The wooden legs of a table seemed to be growing up out of the grass, creaking as they shimmered into existence.

Tilly started and the book fell shut on her bed, and in the blink of an eye it all disappeared.

She was thinking about when she’d accidentally pulled the secret garden out into her bedroom just before Christmas, and the fairytale forest that had escaped on to the train to Paris. She picked the book up again, a little gingerly, and turned over a few pages to the passage where Alice meets the tricksy caterpillar that sits on top of a mushroom.

Wanting to know more about what was happening, she tried to concentrate on pulling that scene out of the book, but all she managed was to make her bedroom smell like mushrooms. Tilly put the book down again and reached across for the large, ornate key that had stayed put even when the secret garden that had erupted into her bedroom had gone. She looked round her room, wondering if anything had been left behind this time – maybe another clue even – but there was only the faintest scent of spring grass in the air.

‘I bet the Underwoods would love to know about this,’ she said, smiling to herself. ‘They might have been able to stop me travelling inside books, but they haven’t stopped the stories coming to me.’

But her satisfaction in slipping round the edges of the Underwoods’ rules didn’t last long. After all, Melville and Decima were, at that very moment, in Pages & Co. The siblings looked like twins – both slender, blond and cold – but were less alike in character. Melville occupied the most powerful position at the Underlibrary, but it was his sister, Decima, who was the brains behind the operation. Melville had manipulated his way to the top with sly words and charm that he turned on and off as easily as a light bulb, while it was Decima who understood book magic, and what you could do with it. She was the one who had realised that some of the everlasting nature of stories might be contained in Tilly’s half-fictional blood.