‘Oh, Harry . . .’ she breathed. ‘St Paul’s has a library. I had no idea . . . It’s . . . It’s . . .’
‘Magical?’
She nodded, her eyes drinking in the soaring ceiling, following the mezzanine that wrapped itself around the library like a hug, the exquisite carved wooden stacks. Little golden lamps glowed like eyes from the corners of the library. The war melted away as they stood in hushed awe, nestled in London’s secret library. The air smelt of beeswax and tallow candles. Her mind reached for her friend.Dorotha, you would love this.
The pang of longing to see her was so intense in that moment that she felt it like a visceral tug in her guts.
‘It’s hard to believe you’re in the heart of a great cathedral,’ she murmured.
‘Indeed it is, my dear,’ said a voice. ‘St Paul’s is the very soul of London.’
An elderly man stepped from behind the stacks.
‘This is Gerald Henderson, our chief librarian, also a member of the Watch.’
Gerald looked as old as time, but his movements were light and agile as he stepped forward to kiss Joyce’s hand.
‘You find us somewhat depleted, my dear,’ he said, gesturing to some empty stacks. ‘The majority of our most important books have been sent to the National University of Wales for safekeeping. Our dear Harry drove them himself, didn’t you, my boy?’
‘You never told me!’ Joyce exclaimed.
Harry shrugged. ‘Just helping out where I can.’
‘He’s being bashful,’ Gerald asserted.
‘And these . . .’ she gestured to the stacks.
‘Are books too fragile to be moved.’
‘So, you’re their guardian?’
‘I am, and it’s my privilege to be so. Guarding this library and the dome is an honourable night’s work for anyone.’
‘Gerald sleeps up here, like a wizard in his castle, with his bucket of sand.’
Gerald laughed. ‘I don’t know about that, dear boy, but it’s easier for me to put out incendiary bombs if I’m here. This dome is more than a building, you see. Imagine Paris without Notre-Dame, or New York without its Empire State Building.’
She shook her head.
‘Impossible, isn’t it? St Paul’s, in an almost mystical sense,isLondon.’
‘Yousleephere?’ she asked, spying a camp bed.
‘More often than not,’ he confessed. ‘We’re on orders from the man at the top, you see. Defend the cathedral at all costs.’
‘Your library is far grander than my little mobile library.’
‘With respect, my dear, I disagree. You take books to the people, where they’re needed. A library’s worth is measured by the people who use it. It doesn’t become a place of value until a hand slips the book from the stacks and opens it. Without readers,’ he swirled his hand through the air like a conjurer, ‘books are meaningless.’
Joyce cocked her head. ‘I like that. So, we librarians are the alchemists?’
‘Precisely. Introducing books to readers is a form of magic, is it not?’
In the distance, one of the Watch sounded a whistle, indicating the start of the evening shift, and Joyce swore she could feel the joists of the ancient cathedral stir and sigh, rustling her skirts and readying herself for the night ahead. It was their sign to go.
‘Goodnight, sir,’ Harry said, clasping both of Gerald’s hands in his. ‘Stay safe.’
Gerald smiled knowingly. ‘I am in God’s hands.’
