“They are a good fit?”
“Yes,” I lied, in the face of all the evidence.
He examined me, his head cocked to one side, looking rather like Baldbeak (who was preening on a high perch in the corner). “I left you ribbons as well, I think? For your hair?”
“I cannot wear them,” I said.
He cocked an eyebrow, and I felt the weight of his searching gaze again. I couldn’t read his expression. Finally, he smiled. “As you wish,” he said.
He had set up a makeshift bed, in the dustiest and stuffiest corner of the shop—little more than a thin mattress over a wooden pallet, behind one of the tall shelves. But it was a bed nonetheless, with sheets and pillows and a blanket much thicker than the threadbare quilt at Mieka’s workshop. I knewI would have to see her, or get word to her somehow, to tell her that I was staying—but for now I just wanted to sleep.
“Why are you being so kind to me?” I asked him, as he spread an extra blanket over the foot of the little bed.
“You remind me of someone I once knew,” he said softly. “And I suppose I am a sentimental old man.”
I waited until he had climbed the stairs and then undressed, sliding beneath cold sheets that warmed to my flesh. Baldbeak tucked himself under my arm, close to my body.
I fell asleep to the sound of the books’ papery whisperings.
I did not dream again.
Chapter Seven
The Lattice
‘A decorative stitch that doubles back upon itself to create a measured pattern perfect for crisp edges or large blocks of color.’
—An Exhaustive Compendium of Stitches
Both Holy and Base, 4th Edition
I woke with my Hair curled protectively about both me and Baldbeak, draped over us like a litter of snoozing ginger kittens. The shop smelled like my childhood. Not exactly, but close enough: the cloying, chemical stink of glue, cut through with the sharp scent of ink. Perhaps that was why the shop felt so oddly familiar.
“Books are like people,” I remembered Mother saying to me when I was first learning to bind them. “Hold them too loose, and they fall apart; too tight, and they can’t breathe.”
I saw her again at her desk, in her old gown that smelled of lavender and soap from my vigorous laundering, her gray-streaked hair hastily knotted. I had been small, too impatient to sit still as I watched her show me how to stitch the bindings, and she had to keep telling me to stop wriggling. Iremembered pressing my fingers to the thread while she tied off the last knot, marveling at how tight and smooth it felt.
“Can I try?” I had asked.
She had laughed—a soft sound, unguarded, full of pride. “Someday.”
Now, as I washed up in the little basin in the bathroom, I gazed at my reflection in the tiny shaving mirror affixed to the wall above it. It looked familiar and like that of a stranger, all at once. I grimaced, then scooped up my Hair and piled it on my head in a semblance of Milady’s elegant hairstyle, staring into my own pale eyes. Milady’s eyes had been peacock-bright, almost iridescent, and ringed with dark lashes rather than my coppery ones—but if I squinted a bit, I could pretend that mine were just as sparkling, and that my Hair approximated Milady’s shining gold. I let the Hair drop, and it tumbled down my back in its usual disarray before I yanked it back and wrestled it into a braid.
“Behave,” I told it sternly.
I dressed myself in the unfamiliar clothing, so clean and starched that it rasped against my skin, and went in search of the Book Man. I found him at the desk in his workroom, scratching away with a quill. As I walked in, he stopped and lowered his spectacles to blink and smile at me over their top.
“Good morning, my dear,” he said. “I trust you slept well?”
“I did, thank you.” I looked for a place to sit, but all available surfaces were covered with books or papers.
“Apologies,” he said, and lifted a pile from what turned out to be an elaborately carved but rickety wooden chair with a cane seat. I perched on the edge of it and was almost impressed at how thoroughly disagreeable it was. A lot of care had gone into making this chair as angular and hard as possible.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you,” I lied.
“I see you’re finding your way about the place.”
