“Indeed, indeed,” agreed the dean. “I am further given to understand by Mr. Cavendish, that, in her shock, his daughter came to believe that certain creatures on the map were signaling to her, and that she must act, as it were, on their behalf. Miss Cavendish, have I said anything thus far with which you would disagree?”
“No, Dean.”
“Good.”
“Such disregard for both propriety and the safety of the collection!” Reverend Thomas could not help voicing his opinion of her behavior.
The dean sought to keep him calm. “If you wouldn’t mind, Reverend, I will come to you for your thoughts shortly. Now, it is while you were reading one of these books that things took a turn for the dramatic, is that right?”
“Yes, Dean.”
The master of the library refused to stay silent. “Which is precisely why such books are kept under lock and key and not put within reach of those who have no notion what they are doing!”
“I am so sorry, Reverend Thomas.” Hecate felt it was right to apologize but had to dig her nails into her palm to prevent herself saying anything in her own defense.
“Sorry does not mend charred manuscripts or salvage ruined copies of important books. Sorry would not have saved the map or the library from fire,” he pointed out.
“It was not my intention to put any part of the library at risk, I do hope you will believe me,” she said, looking at both the dean and the librarian. “As Father says, I was not in my right mind. My thinking was … disturbed.”
“Well,” the dean asked, “can we be sure you are clearer in your thinking now, my dear? I mean to say, the tragic events which appear to have been the catalyst for your behavior are so very recent.”
“I assure you, I am much better now. Of course, I will grieve for Reverend Forsyth for a very long time, but that initial shock has passed. It is as if I have awoken from a dream state,” she assured them.
Reverend Thomas folded his arms across his ample stomach, his face stony. Hecate wondered if his anger was for show, was genuinely connected to his love for the library, or might be an indication of his own guilt. It was impossible to say. It was he who spoke next.
“In my opinion, Miss Cavendish has forfeited her right of access to the collection.”
“Oh, no!” Hecate was horrified.
The dean nodded. “It is very soon. Perhaps a period of absence…”
Her father came to her rescue.
“Permit me to say, I know my daughter. She will recover more quickly if she is kept occupied. What is more, she feels, as do I, it is only fitting that the task of restoring the library to good order should fall to her.”
“I wish very much to put things to rights,” she agreed.
There came the sound of Inspector Winter clearing his throat, causing all to turn in his direction.
“You have something to share with us?” the dean asked.
“If I may,” he said, stepping forward from the corner of the room where he had been standing. “You suggest that Miss Cavendish acted recklessly.… Neither she nor her father would dispute that. What is also agreed upon, however, is that this behavior was out of character. She has never before given reason for concern nor abused the trust placed in her by yourselves. In fact, she has, from what I am told, been an asset to the cathedral, and more specifically to the library, working diligently and respectfully throughout her time here.” He paused while the assembled company took in his points. “Furthermore, I myself have come to see that Miss Cavendish has about her a talent for detail and logic rarely, if I may say so, found in so young a woman. It would seem to me these are attributes that would be of great benefit to a librarian. As Mr. Cavendish says, best to keep such intelligence and eagerness occupied.” He gave a slow nod to indicate he had said all he had to say, before moving back a step, his angular frame cutting a quiet figure in the corner of the room once again.
“Thank you, Inspector, for the benefit of your wisdom. Miss Cavendish, while I do not condone your actions, I understand that you were greatly affected by the tragedy of Reverend Forsyth’s death. I am also mindful of the fact that you suffered an injury, and have taken into account your genuine regret at the damage done to the library. Therefore, I am content to direct you to the work of cleaning up the muniments room and restoring the contents as best you are able. You will also”—here he glanced in the direction of her father—“make good on any costs for repairs and suchlike arising.”
Hecate squirmed at the thought that she had caused her family extra expense, but was grateful her father had, clearly, offered the dean this recompense.
“I do not think it either necessary or prudent to dismiss you from your post,” he added.
“Thank you, Dean,” she said, already trying to decide how she could repay the money her father would have to pay out.
When the master of the library grumbled under his breath about this decision, his superior turned an uncharacteristically stern gaze upon him until he fell silent.
“Very well.” Dean Chalmers got to his feet. “Miss Cavendish, you have a deal of hard work ahead of you; I suggest you begin at once. Reverend Thomas, thank you for your assistance, I am sure your gout must be causing you much discomfort, so you will be pleased to hear you are now free to return to your home. Inspector Winter, if you would be so good as to stay and talk with me, I have many questions regarding the most recent desecration of tombs in the crypt. We must, I think, work as one if we are to be successful, would you not agree?”
“Indeed I would,” he said.
So dismissed, Hecate began to walk toward the door.
“One more thing,” Reverend Thomas called after her. When she had stopped and he had the attention of all present he asked, “You succeeded in opening the locked cabinet. The books it contains are both dangerous and valuable. I have attempted a swift inventory of its contents and I found one volume to be missing. After searching the damaged shelves, papers, and suchlike, I discovered it. As the cabinet has yet to have all its contents replaced and locks checked, I took it upon myself to guard this particular volume. I have it in my keeping,” he told her, lifting it from the folds of his robes.
She checked the impulse to step forward and demand he give her the book. For a moment she contemplated denying all knowledge of it. She glanced at her father and knew that he saw her struggling to find the right thing to say. The truth was, she had no right to it, and Reverend Thomas had evidently recognized that it was of particular importance. In which case, there was little she could say to change anything. In that moment so many thoughts crowded her mind. Would she ever gain access to the book again? How could she and Brother Michael translate the relevant texts if they could not take it from the cabinet at the next opportunity? Did the master of the library’s interest in the book strengthen the case against him, or was he merely doing his job? The main thing, she told herself, was that it had survived the fire. Now that she knew of its existence, knew that it must contain the words to return the spirits to their own realm, she was confident she would, when the time was right, gain access to it again.
“I am relieved that none of the important works have been damaged,” she said at last.
“I will be responsible for the care of this item of the collection,” Reverend Thomas announced. “As master of the library it is my duty to protect such rare works. Until the room is returned to good order I will secure it in the safe inside the sacristy, with your permission, Dean. That way we can be certain it will not fall into the wrong hands.”
The dean agreed this was a sensible course of action and the meeting came to an end.
Outside, Hecate hugged her father and thanked him for all he had done on her behalf.
“Couldn’t see my worker bee out of a job,” he told her. “Now, hurry back to that blessed library of yours and tidy it up. I want to express my thanks to Dean Chalmers. We must keep him on our side.”
Hecate stood on the threshold of the library and did her best not to give way to despair. Everything sat beneath a layer of soot and the place was thick with the lingering smell of burned paper and singed wood. She took a step, leaving the door open in the hope of freshening the air within. The sight of the damage and chaos shook her anew. It was now that she experienced some of the fear that she perhaps ought to have felt when she was so nearly killed. She noticed her hands were shaking and her mouth was dry. What would have happened had not the bull from the Mappa Mundi acted to save her? Would she have been overcome by smoke? Would her body have been burned along with the entire library collection and the map itself? She wondered then if the bull had acted for her salvation or its own. She shook off thoughts of terrible alternative outcomes, reminding herself whose child she was. Mr. Sadiki had been quite clear. She drew her strength from the goddess she now served. It was Hekate’s strength, given to her to use, that had ultimately seen her fend off the Resurgent Spirit. She could feel that strength with her still.
She picked her way through the debris to stand in front of the map, experiencing a wave of relief at the realization that it had suffered no damage save for a little dirt from the smoke. She reached out and touched the gritty surface, already planning what she would use to clean it and restore it.
“Don’t worry,” she murmured, “I will soon have you looking as good as new once again.”
