Free The Day the World Went Loki by Robert J. Harris Page A

pass.”
    Before she could dismiss them, Lewis said, “Actually, we need to see Mr Calvert.”
    Miss Perkins looked shocked. “You use the high priest’s name lightly. What business have you with him?”
    Lewis tried to think of an adequate reply. Failing to come up with one, he opened his backpack and pulled out
The Folklore of Time.
“I have to return this book to him.”
    Miss Perkins wrinkled her nose up at the book as if he’d just presented her with a rat sandwich. She tilted her head to view it from a different angle. “This is no manner of sacred scroll known to me,” she said haughtily.
    “That’s exactly why I have to take it to Mr Calvert,”Lewis explained.
    Miss Perkins winced, as though hearing the “high priest’s” name used so openly was physically painful. She sniffed. “Third floor, room one.”
    She dipped her quill in the inkpot and returned to her notes. The bird made a gesture with its beak that left them in no doubt they were being dismissed.
    “Over this way,” Greg said too loudly, beckoning towards an arch beyond which a flight of stairs curled upwards. With one accord, all the hooded figures lurking among the shelves turned towards them and said, “Shhhh!”
    The sound echoed through the vast hall like the crash of a tidal wave.
    “You and your big mouth,” Lewis muttered.
    Greg made a face and walked through the arch.
    They climbed the spiral stairway in silence and emerged in a long gallery lined with mummy cases. Greg walked over to the nearest one and stared it right in the eye. “Kind of looks like Wendy Armitage,” he observed. “She’s always slapping on too much make-up.”
    He started feeling down the side of the case for a way to open the lid. Lewis hurriedly pulled him away.
    “Are you out of your head?” he said. “Don’t we have enough trouble already?”
    Greg looked at the case and thought about anold horror film he had seen on TV a few weeks ago. “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded.
    Lewis pointed out the single door at the far end of the gallery. As they drew closer they could read the sign on it:
    Seekers of knowledge only.
All others report to the front desk.
    “You see, this must be the Fount Of All Knowledge,” Lewis said with satisfaction.
    “It took you long enough to figure it out,” Greg told him. He walked up to the door and knocked twice. There was no answer. He reached for the doorknob.
    “You can’t just walk in,” Lewis said.
    “What do you want to do? Stand around here all day? It’s going to be a
long
day, remember.”
    Lewis made a humphing noise. “Let me go first. He knows me.”
    Slowly he pushed open the door. The room beyond was surprisingly small after the great hall downstairs and the grand gallery that led here, but it was just as impressive in its own way. Fires burned in braziers along the walls, their light reflecting on the surface of a glass sphere that almost filled the room..
    It was a huge crystal globe about five metres across, set upon a square base of black obsidian. Inside it clouds of sparkling mist swirled about restlessly.
    “What do we do now?” Greg asked, once the door was securely closed behind them.
    “Get closer, I suppose.”
    As they approached, the mists cleared to reveal a slight, stoop-shouldered figure sitting on an ornate wooden chair in the middle of the sphere. It was Mr Calvert, the head librarian. He was still recognisable, even though he had sprouted a long, white beard and wore a tall pointed hat on his bald head. He had a packet of digestive biscuits in his lap and was nibbling at them with his large, rabbit-like teeth. When he noticed the visitors, he guiltily set the biscuits aside and stood up, adjusting his rimless spectacles as he did so.
    He peered through the glass, his brow furrowing as he strained to identify the boys.
    “Ah, Lewis!” he said. Lewis was relieved to hear the welcome in his voice.
    The head librarian hastily brushed some crumbs from the front of his robe