“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” chirped Ell cheerfully.
“Doesn’t it? I rather reckon it does, if we’re headed toward your gran,” groused Blunderbuss.
“But it doesn’t. I am a Librarian! Well, Assistant Librarian. And I haven’t worked a shift in ever so long. But that’s only because I was in prison! I wasn’t shirking. So I should still be a member of the Catalogue in Good Standing.”
“What does that mean?” asked September.
Ell beamed. “All Librarians are members of the Catalogue. That’s what you call a coven when it’s made up of Librarians instead of witches. Librarians have sorted and alphabetized all the magic that ever thought to put a rabbit and a hat together. Who do you think invented Special Collections? Severe Magic and Shy Magic, Dry Magic and Wet Magic, Umbrella Magic and Fan Magic and all the rest? Librarians, that’s who! And of course they learned a thing or two along the way. The Catalogue connects every Library to every other Library just the same as if they shared one long hallway. No one wants to wait for On the Criminology of Fairies to arrive by stagecoach when you could just pop out of the Municipal stacks and into the towering shelves of the Crowdleian Library and have it back in half a wing beat! It’s very necessary magic. I’m not meant to tell anyone—it’s one of the High Secrets of Circulation. The Catalogue would turn me into a bookmark if they knew! September? Is this right? Is this the way to win the Derby? Should I take us to Meridian? Or Wom? Or under the sea? Only I think Saturday would have to manage that.”
September squared her shoulders. She was the Queen of Fairyland, if only for a little while. She had better get used to deciding things, even if the idea of getting it wrong frightened her all over.
“Yes, Ell. Take us. We won’t tell anyone how you did it.”
A-Through-L stretched out his long crimson wings to gather them all close in. Blunderbuss snagged a bit of her yarn on his talon. September tucked it back into place without a word, and at that moment, the wombat began to love her a little. Hawthorn would have fretted over it something awful, but September simply fixed her up without a fuss. The truth was, Blunderbuss hated to be reminded that she was made of yarn while everyone else was more or less made of meat or meatlike stuffs. September peeked under his wing at the deep, rolling Barleybroom. She remembered the first time she saw it, how wide and wonderful it seemed—until the Glashtyn came roaring out of it. What lived beneath now, she wondered?
The Wyverary danced from foot to foot. His orange eyes blazed with glee. He carefully laid one long black claw against his snout and whispered:
“SHHHHHH!”
And all four of them disappeared with a sound like a date-stamp clonking down, leaving behind a puff of dust that smelled strongly of dictionaries, first editions, and the complete works of everyone ever.
CHAPTER VIII
GREENWICH MEAN TIME
In Which September Visits the Great Grand Library, Is Threatened by Numerous Bears, and Consults the Reference Desk