Free Year of the Griffin by Diana Wynne Jones

refectory bell rang for supper, Elda’s concert hall was littered with peculiar patterns, mingled with books, and all six of them were exhausted.
    â€œYou’re going to have to walk carefully in here,” Lukin said to Elda.
    â€œIt’s only for a few days. I’ll put a note for the cleaners,” Elda said blithely. “If Felim’s safe, it’s worth it.”
    â€œThank you,” said Felim. “I am most truly grateful.”

FOUR

    R USKIN SPENT MOST of the night reading The Red Book of Costamaret , first in the buttery bar with a mug of beer, then, when they turned him out, in his own room. He fell asleep after he had finished it, but he was up at dawn, pounding on the door of Elda’s concert hall for the rest of the books.
    â€œOh, good gods !” squawked Elda when the pounding was reinforced by Ruskin’s voice at its loudest. “All right. I’m coming!” She flopped off her bed platform, remembered just in time that the floor was covered with spells, and spread her wings, thinking it was lucky she was a griffin. She flew to the door, too sleepy to notice that the wind from her wings was fanning some of the spells out of shape. Meanwhile the door was leaping about. “Ruskin,” said Elda, wrenching it open, “please remember I can tear you apart if I want to—and I almost want to.”
    â€œI want Cyclina on Tropism ,” Ruskin said. “I need it. It’s like a craving. And I’ll take the rest of my books, too, while I’m here.”
    â€œFeel free,” Elda said irritably, moving away from the doorway.
    Ruskin rushed inside, skipped dextrously between spells, and pounced on Cyclina . “Do you want to read The Red Book of Costamaret ?” he asked as he collected the rest. “It’s full of the most valuable magical hints. You can have it now if you like, but I want to read it again before I have to take it back to the library.”
    Elda had not formed any great opinion of The Red Book —although it had indeed given her a hint, she realized—but she was too sleepy to refuse. “All right. Give it to me in Wermacht’s class this morning. Now go away and let me go back to sleep.”
    Ruskin grinned and departed, looking like a rattling stack of folios balanced on two small bent legs. Elda shut her door and flew back to her bed. But she found he had woken her just enough to stop her getting back to sleep again. She lay couched on her stomach, thinking crossly about the mess her room was in. Soon she was thinking what a long time it was until breakfast and then how lucky it was that she still had some oranges. After that there was nothing for it but to get up and tread carefully about, eating an orange. After that she thought she would try to get at least some of the ninety-nine pools of wax out of the carpet. That, even with efficient griffin talons, took more than half an hour of scraping and scratching, but there was still a long time until breakfast. Elda began hopping between spells, collecting the other forty-odd books from the library into piles. This was how she discovered Policant’s Philosophy of Magic . Ruskin had missed it because it looked very much like the other, more ordinary books.
    â€œOh, well,” said Elda. “Dad did say to read it.”
    She flew back to her bed with it and started to read.
    It was not at all what she had expected, although she saw at once why it would appeal to her father. Policant had a way of putting together two ideas that ought not to have had anything to do with one another, and then giving them a slight twist so that they did after all go together—rather as Derk himself had done to eagle and lion to make griffin, Elda thought. To her mind, the way Policant did it was a bit forced. But Policant kept asking questions. They were all questions that made Elda say to herself, “I wouldn’t ask this like that !” or,