George stood, staring at the closed up doorway, in anticipation. The patterned paper on the wall started to come together and swirl around into a whirlpool of colours, like a dancing rainbow. It was as if the library knew what George’s intentions were. The colours then began to stretch out into the distance and it was almost as if he could see what was on the other side, but rippled, like looking into a pool of water, gently wafted by the wind. He felt every nerve ending in his body jangling within him, and on the tips of his fingers, as he gripped the Myths and Legends book tightly in his right hand. He had never felt so nervous in all of his life. He had also never felt so alive.

‘So you know what to do,’ Molly repeated.

‘Yes, Molly,’ he shouted back, ‘you’ve told me enough times and I’ve got the book as well if I need to check anything.’

He took several deep breaths and counted to three in his head before declaring;

‘Okay, here goes,’ he yelled.

He ran as hard and fast as he could across the room and, with a loud whumph, disappeared into the portal.

*

George picked himself up and wearily dusted himself off, spitting tiny specks of dirt from between his lips and picking clumps of moss and grass from his jacket with his finger tips.

He’d been catapulted through the doorway, with flailing arms and legs, making him tumble down into a messy heap. He made a mental note not to take such a long run up in future.

He looked over his shoulder. The portal was in between a couple of trees, where two large branches had met to make a huge archway. Apart from a few reasonably large boulders there was nothing else around him, except mist and darkness. He was in the middle of a field and the ground beneath his feet felt soft and squishy. In the distance he could see the outline of a wood and guessed that this must be where he was supposed to head for. He took the reading glasses off, which were askew on is face anyway, and put them, with the book, into his satchel which was slung around his shoulders. He decided it would be best, on this occasion, to leave the bookmark in place, because he had the feeling he would need to make a quick escape, later on.

With carefully placed footsteps he proceeded towards the haggard trees. Upon reaching the woods George didn’t feel any better about the prospect of entering into them. Luckily the moon above was bright, but in the thick canopy of the foliage, this would offer no help. He slipped his hand into the bag and blindly rummaged around until he chanced upon something metallic and cold to the touch. He pulled out a small thin torch about four inches in length. He normally used it to read under the bedcovers when he was supposed to have put the lights out and gone to sleep. It didn’t offer much light, but it would be enough to see the ground in front of him, so he could at least place step after slow step.

George moved forwards, tracing what appeared to be a track worn in the earth by past visitors. As the undergrowth got thicker he could feel wet leaves slapping and clawing at his clothes. Eventually, after several long minutes, he reached a narrow clearing about ten metres in length. At the other end he could just about make out two paths that headed off in different directions.

All of a sudden, as if on cue, he heard a faint voice coming from the direction of the path on the right.

‘This way George,’ it whispered, ‘this is the way to what you seek.’

The voice drifted and swayed in the air, singing to him in a magically enchanted way. He found it impossible to resist and moved off in the direction of the voice, as if hypnotised by its sound.

‘Come on George,’ it sang, majestically, ‘not much longer now, nearly there.’

George’s feet began to move more rapidly, carrying his body along quicker, but not quite jogging. He was now completely oblivious to anything he was stumbling into, determined to reach the source of the voice. Suddenly, as he crashed through the branches of a large bramble, the ground gave way underneath him and he began to fall.

With an instinct he didn’t realise he possessed his left arm shot out to try to grab something, anything, to halt the descent. He got lucky. A tree root was protruding out of the earth on the edge of the ravine, and he managed to hook his wrist into it. Somehow, with one fluid movement, he swung his body around to grab it with the other hand, ramming the torch into his mouth in the process, to leave him dangling over a drop which he could now see was at least a hundred feet deep. As he hung there stones mixed with earth crumbled over his head and body into the darkness below.

He didn’t dare to move, hanging there for what seemed like several minutes, trying to regain his composure and strength. Eventually he slowly, delicately, scrabbled and heaved his way back to the top before collapsing on his back, his chest heaving to regain some of breath back into it, with his ankles still hanging over the edge.

‘How could I have been such a fool,’ he remonstrated with himself. ‘What’s the point in having a survival guide if I don’t even consult it first?’

He pulled himself up onto his haunches before grabbing the torch, which was now on the sodden ground beside him after falling from his clenched teeth, and took the book out. He opened it up at the appropriate page.

When searching for the Leprechauns lair, situated usually in a cave deep in some woods, be wary of the Pixies. These mischievous little creatures are the bane of travellers and like nothing more than to lead them down the wrong path, often into danger.

He continued scanning the paper until;

One way of fooling a Pixie, so as to be sure not to be led off in the wrong direction, is to turn your overcoat inside out. This confuses them long enough for you to reach your destination…………be careful though, Pixies love Leprechaun gold and, once it is dug up from the ground, can smell it from miles around. No amount of treachery on your part will deter them from trying to steal it from you.

George put the book away and proceeded to turn his jacket inside out. He then gathered all his things together, straightened himself out, and headed back in the direction of the clearing. When he reached it he then took the other path. It wasn’t long before George could see, about twenty metres ahead of him, a cave in the side of a rocky outcrop. The trick with his jacket must have worked, because now he was making good time, unhindered.

The mouth of the cave wasn’t very big, only about four feet in diameter, but, brushing aside some of the foliage overhanging the entrance, he could see that it opened up into a much larger chamber inside, of which there was a small fire burning in the centre.

‘H..hello,’ he shouted into the cave, hearing the echo bounce around the walls. ‘Is anyone there?’

He waited a few seconds but there was no reply so he tried again;

‘I don’t mean to harm you, honest….please can I come in.’

Again he waited, without reply.

I suppose I should go in and wait then, he thought to himself but, just as he was about to crawl into the opening, a little, sharp featured, bearded face appeared from out of nowhere and blew fairy dust into his eyes.

*

‘Blisterin’ buff –gumbles,’ grunted the voice.

George fuzzily came to his senses as his vision adjusted to the dim, flickering, light.

Straddled across the top of the fire was now a small cauldron on a metal stand, with some kind of concoction bubbling away inside it, which the Leprechaun was taking sips from with a wooden ladle. He was muttering things in a strange language, while adding pinches of this and that.

‘Oh, so you’re awake then are ye’,’ he exclaimed in a distinct Irish accent. ‘Stormin’ in all uninvited like that, no manners ye’ aven’t, ye’ darned dumbimble.’

‘Sorry,’ George offered, rubbing his head. Now he knew what a hangover must feel like, or so he thought. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude….it’s just that I need to, well…’

‘I know what ye’ be needin’ ye’ great big scruff-guffle.’ He interrupted, flatly. ‘Ye’ don’t think now that you’re the only one to ‘ave been ‘ere wantin’ some of me gold do ye?’

George hadn’t considered it before, but of course he wasn’t.

‘Oh right, er yes well, if I could just have a couple of pieces then I’ll be on my way and I can leave you in peace...’

‘Ye’ don’t just get to come waltzin’ in ‘ere and expectin’ to take away some gold jus’ like that ye’ know,’ the Leprechaun protested, ‘you have to, let’s say, steal it from me, in a manner of speakin’.’

He studied the bemused look on George’s face, before adding;

‘Look in the darned book ye’ great big pile o’ stinkin’ pugmumble.’

George was shocked by the Leprechauns rudeness, which was in contrast to his tidy appearance, dressed neatly in a finely tailored bright red suit with gold edging and shiny, polished, buckles on his shoes and hat.

Again he took out the book and found the relevant paragraph –

Upon finding and meeting the Leprechaun you will find him most accommodating, but at the same time a rambunctious character, owing to his solitary existence. The only way he will allow you to ‘steal’ gold from him is to make him laugh. Warning: do not try to take the gold from him when his back is turned, for all you will end up with is a bag of smelly dirt.

George took a long, slow, gulp. This was going to be an impossible task he thought as he looked back across at the Leprechaun, arms folded, waiting, with a stony face.

‘Come on, bring it on, give it ye’ best,’ he said. ‘An’ I don’t wan’ te be hearin’ the same ones ye’ Ma an’ Pa told me last time either. Good as they were, I be hearin’ ‘em already now.’

George was stumped. All the best jokes he’d ever heard had been told to him by his mum and dad. He delved into the deep recesses of his memory to try and remember a few from the school playground.

‘Okay, here goes,’ he announced, ‘what type of monster really likes to dance?’

There was no reaction from the Leprechaun.

‘A boogie man,’ George said, enthusiastically.

Still no face movement from the diminutive man sitting opposite.

‘Alright, maybe not that one then…erm...how about this one: What do you call a fairy that never has a bath?......Stinkerbell.’

Still nothing, not even the slightest crease of the upper lip.

‘Oh come on,’ George said, ‘surely you found that funny?’

‘Oh, to be sure, it was mildly amusin’, but not enough to make me split me britches.’

He saw the fettered look pasted on George’s face and, almost but not quite, felt sorry for him.

‘Look, I tell ye’ what, ye can have one more try. Think of the best one ye’ can, but then ye’ll have to feddle yer diddle an’ let me have me supper, okay.’

‘Right, it’s a deal,’ George replied, biting his lip in deep consideration. ‘Are you ready for it?’

‘Go on; give it ye’ best shot.’

‘Okay, here goes,’ He shouted.

George jumped up and darted around the fire, pounced on the Leprechaun, and bundled him onto his front, tickling him furiously all over his tiny body. The Leprechaun started letting out high pitched giggles and squeals.

‘Alright, alright,’ he gasped, ‘you win….leave me alone or I’ll wet meself.’

George pulled away, catching his breath, emitting little ‘he’s’ and ‘ha’s’. He hadn’t had that much fun in a long time. By now the Leprechaun had lifted himself off the cave floor and was releasing little, excited, breathless gasps.

‘Bhago Dhaia, boy, that’s the best of ‘em yet. I’ll gladly give ye’ some o’ me gold. Follow me,’ he said.

The Leprechaun wiggled his finger, directing George to follow him to the back of the cave, picking up a small spade on the way. He plucked a twig out of the ground and started digging on the same spot. Not long after he lifted a miniature treasure chest out of the hole and shook the earth off the top of it.

He then lifted it up to his mouth and whispered something into the lock and the lid clicked open. Inside it there were several tiny leather bags. Leprechaun gold was obviously not very big.

‘Here, take a bag. There’s a few pieces in there, ought te last ye’ a while,’ he said, ‘but ye’’ll need te be quick now mind, the pixies’ll already be smellin’ the scent.’

‘Thank you,’ George said, shaking his hand, before slinging the satchel around his neck and scrambling back outside the cave.

He didn’t want to waste any time as he sprinted back along the track, hurdling over the outline of tree trunks and ducking under branches. The idea of being beaten up and robbed by a gang of marauding pixies wasn’t his idea of a good time.

As he made his way along the path, crashing through branches and brambles, he could hear little yelping sounds to the rear of him and to the side. His heart thumped inside his chest and his legs pumped even harder as the noise got louder and louder.

He finally reached the edge of the wood and exploded into the field, sending leaves and undergrowth flying into the air. He could see the portal in the distance, the mist having now cleared. It was only now, in the bright moonlight, that George could see his pursuers, and then wished he hadn’t looked. Hundreds of tiny blue figures, about a foot in height, all dressed in green costumes swarmed out from every opening at the edge of the trees and closed in on him in a massive semi-circle. Red, silver and purple Pixie dust exuded from every footstep, rising, to create a huge bulging cloud in the air.

Closer and closer he got to the archway, but he was now tiring, his lungs protesting vigorously to every yard of ground he covered. A few of the Pixie front runners had jumped onto him, swinging from his coat tails and pulling at his hair while they clamped their legs to his shoulders.

He flayed his arms around, batting and swatting them away, keeping the leather pouch of gold tightly enclosed in his fist. He only had a few feet to go now so, with a sudden burst of energy and resolve, he took a huge leap head first into the portal, leaving several confused Pixies gliding through the air.

George shot through the open doorway, fell to his knees, and slid across the slimy wooden deck of the ship.

He lifted his head to catch his bearings and was greeted with the sight of about a dozen, open mouthed, pirates who were stood completely still having immediately stopped whatever task they were in the middle of performing. It was as if he had gate crashed a game of musical statues.

‘Er…hello,’ he said, red faced.

Suddenly the pirates came to their senses and released one conjoined roar into the breezy sea air. They all jumped, to a man, on top of George forming an untidy pile of arms and legs in the middle of the deck.

George managed to find a gap to squirm his way through and crawl from beneath the teeming mass of smelly armpits and greasy limbs. His freedom was short lived though as another pirate, coming to see what all the commotion was about, grabbed him as he took to his feet. The pirate twisted George’s arm around his back and put a cutlass blade to his throat.

‘Going somewhere are we?’ he said, menacingly.

‘Get up you scurvy bag of scum,’ the pirate shouted at the others on the floor. ‘Go and get the Captain.’

One of them, a tall thin man with thick spectacles, peeled himself off the top of the pile and headed up some steps to the side, onto the upper deck, tripping on every third stair.

After several seconds of loud bumps and sounds of ‘Ouch’, ‘Gerrof’ and ‘Who put that there’, the man came back accompanied by the un-mistakable figure of Captain John Ladybird.

‘What have we here then, a stowaway?’ said the Captain.

‘We found him on deck sir, trying to steal our booty he was,’ said the pirate holding George.

His breath stank as he spoke and George tried to pull his face away. He tried to say something but the sharpness of the blade persuaded him otherwise. Luckily the Captain saw through the pirate’s false claims.

‘I hardly think that to be the case,’ he said, calmly, ‘considering we don’t actually have any booty, as you call it, do we?’

All the pirates looked down at the floor together and, in unison, shrugged and grunted.

‘Well I’m sure if we did, he would’ve tried to steal it, sir…..can’t we just get the cat ‘o nine tails out anyway, just to be sure…..please,’ he pleaded.

All of them nodded their heads and a mirage of toothless grins graced the Captain’s eye line.

‘No,’ he shouted with authority. ‘We shall let the boy speak first and see what he has to offer in way of an explanation.’

Captain John looked directly at George. ‘Well, boy. What do you have to say for yourself?’

George desperately wanted to show the gold coin to the Captain.

‘I have something in my pocket that will explain everything, I think,’ he gargled.

George moved his free hand towards his inside pocket but stopped sharply when his other arm was pulled tighter up his back.

‘Aaaaargh,’ he wailed.

The Captain, luckily, sensed he wasn’t a threat and put his hand out to stop any more of the torture.

‘Colin,’ he ordered, ‘see what it is he wants to show us, if you please.’

A gormless looking, short, scruffy haired pirate walked over and reached into the inside of George’s coat. He pulled something out and hoisted it into the air.

‘Look sir, a gold coin,’ exclaimed Colin.

He examined it more closely, fiddling with it between his fingers.

‘Hang on. This isn’t real,’ he said.

He peeled away at the gold with his dirty fingernail to reveal a chocolate coin. George looked up to the sky, exasperated. He couldn’t believe this was happening. That novelty coin had been there since Christmas.

‘The other pocket,’ he shouted desperately. ‘Look in the other pocket.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Colin, taking a bite of the chocolate.

He again slid his hand into the inside of George’s jacket, this time pulling out the Leprechaun gold.

‘Hang on, is this some kind of joke,’ Colin said, trying to scrape the gold away from the coin.

Captain John suddenly grabbed the rail and hurdled over onto the steps and bounded down to the deck below, snatching the coin from Colin’s grasp.

‘Let me see that,’ he said.

He held it up to the light and inspected it more closely. He turned to the pirate holding George.

‘Let him go, immediately,’ he barked.

George twisted and stretched his sore limb, which had now been released.

‘You, come with me,’ he said, pointing at George, before marching into the inner part of the ship.

George picked up the book from the sodden wooden planks and discreetly removed the bookmark, before following the Captain into what was now just a normal doorway.

*

George stood inside the Captain’s quarters, now minus the reading glasses which had been safely put away. In the middle of the room was an old desk set at a strange angle to the walls with various nautical measuring instruments and charts adorning the top of it, and an equally old chair resting to the side. There was also an old pewter tankard, with goodness knows what murkily residing within it, sliding gently back and forth to the rhythm of the swaying ship. In the corner was a bunk, only a foot or so off the ground, with a stained woollen blanket dumped roughly at its base.

Captain John took a swig from the grubby tankard and immediately pulled a face then shook his cheeks from side to side.

‘So, the stories were true then, what my Mother told me when I was young,’ he said, almost to himself, staring blankly out of one of the portholes.

He turned his head towards George. ‘So, what do they call you then….they do still use names in the future, don’t they?’

‘Yes sir, my name is George, sir.’

The captain nodded.

‘Right then, George. I assume you’re here because you need my help in some way,’ he said, coldly. ‘So, while you’re here you can be of help to me too. I need another able seaman to assist with some of the duties on board. One of them went and died on me recently, most rude it was.’

His expression remained serious. It was clear he wasn’t having a joke with George.

‘Yes sir,’ said George, solemnly.

’Right well, go and see the crew and get yourself better attired for the job. Then, when I think you’re on your way to actually being of use to us, I’ll ask you what it is you need my help for, understood.

He looked back out towards the sea.

‘Yes, but I….,’ said George, desperately.

‘Is that understood,’ interrupted the Captain, sternly, without turning back to face him.

‘Yes,’ George agreed meekly. He realised there was no point arguing with the Captain at this stage. He would just have to play ball for the moment and hope that his mood changed for the better, and that he would soon come to terms with the situation unfolding on his ship.

‘Oh,’ said Captain John, with a sly smile creasing up at the corner of his mouth, ‘do leave your bag here for the time being, I will need to do an inventory of its contents, standard ship procedure, I assure you.’

George hesitated for a brief moment. He was obviously very nervous about letting the contents of the satchel from out of his sight, but again the pointlessness of resisting the Captain’s wishes persuaded him it was a risk he would have to take. He pulled it over his head and laid it down onto the table, before excusing himself from the room and going back above decks to go and introduce himself, properly this time, to the crew.

*

The next few days went agonisingly slowly. Every time he was in Captain John’s presence he acted indifferently to George. Most nights he had laid awake on his bunk, staring at the ceiling above, wondering if he should steal his book back and leave the ship, but to his credit he stuck with it.

The crew, on the other hand, had turned out to be fantastic with him and had become very friendly. They taught him all about life on board and the tasks and duties that went with keeping everything ‘ship shape’.

George was now confident when it came to climbing up the rigging to untie ropes and unfurl sails. He had even taken a couple turns up in the crows nest, although after a while this got a bit boring when George sat there for hours with nothing to look at except miles upon miles of rolling ocean.

In return George taught them about the importance of things like hygiene and washing their hands, especially after trips to the toilet and before preparing food. He explained how important it was to keep the drinking water separate and safe from contamination. At first the crew had scoffed at his suggestions, but when he pointed out that these simple steps would prevent them from getting diseases like dysentery, or as they called it ‘the bloody flux’, they were only too eager to adapt his principles.

There were three pirates that George worked with in close proximity on a daily basis, and had become his closest allies on the ship. There was ‘short sighted’ Sid, the scrawny, thick spectacled one who had fetched the Captain when George first appeared on the ship, ‘Clueless’ Colin, the short, scruffy, pirate who had looked for the gold coin in George’s coat and ‘no nickname’ Pete.

Pete was a podgy, but tall, man who owned a pet parrot that often sat on his shoulder while he polished and cleaned his pistols during his free time. Occasionally Pete would offer to do the cooking for the crew, but they often denied him because the last time he did it he accidentally poisoned them all. Pete also had a tendency, when in the face of serious danger, to panic uncontrollably. Despite all of these characteristics, Pete still didn’t have a nickname because the others ‘couldn’t quite think of anything that had a ring to it yet.’

It didn’t come as a shock to George when he found out that the crew had been through a spell of bad luck recently and hadn’t plundered any treasure in over a year. George took it upon himself to work with them, for only about an hour every day, to develop their close combat fighting skills, boarding tactics and pistol shooting.

Despite the massively positive effect he was having with the men, the Captain still continued to look on and say nothing. George decided it was time he had to do something about the situation with the Captain. They had to talk, but not in front of the crew. He would wait until everyone was asleep in their bunks that night and sneak into the Captain’s room to confront him. After all, it should have been his duty to have helped George in the first place, for the sake of the family.

*

Every footstep George gingerly placed in front of the other on the rough wooden timbers appeared to creak even louder than the preceding one. Despite the friendship he’d forged with the crew he knew they still remained steadfastly loyal to the captain, although puzzling to him as it was, and if he was caught sneaking into the Captain’s quarters in the middle of the night they may develop the wrong impression about his intentions.

George was beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea, but he was nearly at the Captain’s door. It was now easier to go on than risk turning back and getting caught as he tried to get back into his bunk. As he approached, he noticed the door was slightly ajar and a flicker of candlelight was emanating through the gap. He cautiously peeped into the room, holding his breath, and saw Captain John sat in his chair, facing away from the entrance, staring down at the floor.

‘Come in George, I knew you would come, eventually’ he said.

This startled George but nevertheless he pushed aside the door and slowly crept into the room.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said ‘but I really need to talk with you.’

‘Yes, it’s alright George, I know you do,’ Captain John said, resignedly. ‘I’ve been watching you for several days. The effect you’ve had on the crew is quite exceptional lad, and as for how far you’ve come yourself, well, you would make a very valuable addition to this ship. I suppose I’ve been afraid to talk to you myself because of what it may mean.’

‘Oh…..,’ George mumbled. He was surprised by this. He had thought the Captain was ignoring him because he simply didn’t care about helping him and was only using him for his own ends. He now realised that the Captain actually appreciated what he was doing on board the ship.

George took another step towards the desk, noticing the biography lying in the middle of it.

‘So you’ve looked through the book then I see?’ George hissed. ‘I’m not sure that was the wisest thing to have done, looking into your own future, sir.’

Captain John quickly spun round in the chair, but George could see he wasn’t angry with his comments. On the contrary, he had a sad look in his eyes.

‘I know, you’re right George,’ he said. ‘I realise that now, but looking at the book has helped me to understand some of the many mistakes I’ve made in my life.’

He picked up the book and offered it to George who politely took it from his grasp.

‘Look inside the book George,’ he said, ‘look at the pages from the middle onwards…they’re all blank.’

George flicked through the pages and indeed there was not even the tiniest spot of ink upon them.

‘Of course,’ he proclaimed. ‘From where we are now and onwards none of it has happened yet. The book can’t tell us about events that haven’t occurred because some things may yet change by me being here.’

‘That’s right George. So you see, the book offers me no clues anyway, except to show me how wrong I’ve been in my past.’

They looked straight at each other and for the first time George noticed the anguish and pain etched within the creases of Captain John’s face. He could see the longing for home. The Captain hadn’t chosen to be a pirate; it had been forced upon him, many years previously.

‘Go now, go back to your bed George and get a good nights rest,’ the Captain ordered. ‘In the morning you can tell me all about how we can help you, then we shall hit port and re-supply for the adventure ahead.’

Title: George and the Magic Library – The search for the Phoenix Quill

Genre: Fantasy, Historical Adventure.

Age Range: 11+

Word Count: Excerpt – 2,500, Main Book - 60,000+

Author Name: S J Andrews

Why this is a good fit: Although the book is an adventure story, the research has been meticulous, meaning there will be factual elements, but only on a subtle level so that it does not get in the way of the story. I believe the story will appeal to boys and girls alike as, though the central character is a boy, there are several strong female characters within the story. The story has many twists and turns, with cliff-hangers dotted within the story to keep young readers engaged and wanting to see what happens next. There is also a twist at the end which leads to the possibility and promise of more adventures to come.

The Hook: Characters can magically travel into books and have adventures within them.

Synopsis: George’s parents have been missing for several weeks and now his Grandma has died in mysterious circumstances. Sent to live with his uncle in the country George discovers a family secret at his new home – a magic library which allows the readers to enter into the stories within the books. He must use this magic to put together a series of clues and try to find an ancient artefact known as the Phoenix Quill, which ultimately has the power save his parents.

Target Audience: Boys and Girls between the ages of 11 and 16, particularly fans of fantasy, history and other similar genres, such as Narnia and Harry Potter.

Bio: I am 41 years old and live in Lancaster, England. I am educated to a good standard and run my own digital content and marketing business. I lead a wide ranging and healthy social life and am always attempting to gain new life experiences. I enjoy history and have a keen interest in myths and legends, especially the psychology of how many of the tales come about – I like to then take these two elements and combine them into my storytelling, which is written in a way that children can identify with and understand (I have 4 Children of various ages), but without appearing condescending or insulting to their growing intelligence. I am a firm believer that reading is an important aspect of a child’s education, so the stories they are presented with must be kept exciting and engaging as well as giving them access to new words and information.

‘We need you to get some Leprechaun gold George,’ Molly stated, as a matter of fact.

George sat there open mouthed.

‘Some what?’ he replied.

‘Leprechaun gold – that’s why you have the Myths and Legends survival guide,’ said Molly.

‘But why? Do you think we’ll need some kind of ransom for my parents?’

George was now finding it hard to take all this in.

‘No,’ said Molly, shaking her head. ‘Let me explain. When you go back to see the Captain and Lady Jane they won’t know who you are, right’

‘Yes, you explained that, but where does the Leprechaun gold come into it?’

‘I was coming to that,’ Molly protested.

‘Oh, sorry,’ said George.

‘Well, the first owner of Arrington hall, the man who had the house built and hid the scroll, realised the potential of the library, in being able to come back in time and visit past ancestors, like him for instance.’

‘Okay.’ George wasn’t convinced.

Molly rolled her eyes into the back of her head.

‘He also realised the importance of the three scrolls and that one day it was bound to happen, but he couldn’t risk just anybody hearing about it and then turning up and claiming to be a long lost relative or a future one for that matter. He figured he would have to come up with a secret code or something so they could be sure who it was.’

‘So when I go back into their history,’ he said, hurriedly, ‘they will know who I am and help me if I give them some of the Leprechaun gold.’

‘Yes, by George, he’s got it, if you’ll pardon the expression.’ She exclaimed. ‘A simple piece of normal gold was not enough. He had to make it something rare and very hard to get hold of.’

‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ George said, nervously.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Molly, ‘the survival guide you have there was compiled by the same man, after extensive research. It’s the only one to have ever been published. Your parents must have taken it from the library to hide it in your trunk.’

‘But wouldn’t you have noticed them doing this?’ George asked.

‘Look, just because I’m a member of the undead, it doesn’t mean I don’t like to have a rest or a snooze now and again,’ She protested. ‘ It can get boring in here sometimes, especially when no-one visits for years on end, and as for that lot, well, they never stop sleeping – and snoring, loudly,’ she added, with consternation, glancing at the old paintings on the wall, with the ink figures fidgeting restlessly within their frames..

‘It all sounds a bit long winded,’ George moaned, ‘Couldn’t he have just invented a secret handshake or something?’

‘No, that would have been too easily tortured out of someone. This way was safer.’

George gulped.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ he said. ‘If it’s so hard to do, why isn’t Uncle Felix doing it, instead of me?’

Molly could see the point George was making, but she also understood what his Uncle’s reasoning might have been.

‘Maybe your Uncle thought it was time for you to know about the family’s legacy,’ she suggested, ‘or that you had come of age, what with everything that’s happened recently in your life.’

Molly hesitated for a moment, and then decided that George needed to know the full story.

‘Also,’ she said, ‘your uncle hasn’t been in the library since before you were born.’

George was taken aback. His Uncle had been only too eager to point him in the direction of the library that morning. What could have possibly happened to make him not want to go back in? George shrugged his shoulders. Maybe instead of explaining everything to him, and have George believe he was a mad old fool, his Uncle had reckoned it would be better for him to discover the library for himself.

‘So why won’t he come back in here then?’ George said.

‘Well,’ Molly hesitated, ’it’s because of something that happened in a book he was visiting.

She sat, or rather hovered, into the chair opposite George and bowed her head.

‘He fell in love,’ she murmured.

‘Really,’ George shouted, smiling. ‘Good for him – but I don’t understand, why is that such a bad thing?’

‘Because it could never last, it was doomed from the start,’ Molly cried. 'The story cannot continue beyond a certain point and characters cannot be taken out of the books, only the odd prop that is not central to the main storyline, like some of the things you see in this house, or the silver keys for example.’

‘Oh,’ George said, simply.

It was obvious from the forlorn look on everyone’s faces, and of Molly’s especially, that this had been a very upsetting time when it had happened, all those years ago. His Uncle had obviously been much loved and was now severely missed.

‘So….what happened,’ he stammered, ‘I mean what book did it happen in?’

Molly looked up, her ghostly eyes red around the edges.

‘Have you heard of a book called 1001 Arabian nights,’ she said.

‘Er….vaguely.’

’Well, basically, the story is based around the tale of a princess who is due to be executed the following day by her husband the King, but each night she tells him a story, leaving it at a crucial moment to be continued the following evening.

‘Eager to know how the story continues he gives her a stay of execution, so that he can find out what happened next. Well she managed to continue this for 1001 nights.’

George listened intently, while Molly continued.

‘Well, your Uncle Felix went into the book and fell in love with the princess. Believing that her time was running out and that she really would be executed he came up with a daring plan to rescue her. But, it all went wrong I’m afraid…he headed back to the portal hand in hand with the princess, chased by axe wielding guards. Except the only problem was’, Molly sobbed, ‘is that upon reaching this side he was on his own, she couldn’t come through. It was only a fictional book so it also meant he couldn’t go back into it either.’

‘Blimey, he must’ve been devastated,’ George said.

‘Yes he was. You see even though she was only a made up character George,’ Molly added, ’to him it was all very real. He swore never to come back into the library, and since that day, he never has.’

*

George stood, staring at the closed up doorway, in anticipation. The patterned paper on the wall started to come together and swirl around into a whirlpool of colours, like a dancing rainbow. It was as if the library knew what George’s intentions were. The colours then began to stretch out into the distance and it was almost as if he could see what was on the other side, but rippled, like looking into a pool of water, gently wafted by the wind. He felt every nerve ending in his body jangling within him, and on the tips of his fingers, as he gripped the Myths and Legends book tightly in his right hand. He had never felt so nervous in all of his life. He had also never felt so alive.

‘So you know what to do,’ Molly repeated.

‘Yes, Molly,’ he shouted back, ‘you’ve told me enough times and I’ve got the book as well if I need to check anything.’

He took several deep breaths and counted to three in his head before declaring;

‘Okay, here goes,’ he yelled.

He ran as hard and fast as he could across the room and, with a loud whumph, disappeared into the portal.

The hero stood before the summit of the worn and haggard old steps and let out a long, hard, resigned sigh. It was now time. She had thought about this moment for days now and the time had finally arrived.

She knew that the task she was about to endeavour upon would be hard and she wasn’t sure she would have the strength left inside her to complete it, but it had to be done – and she was running out of time, before they came back. With doubt in her mind and weariness in her legs, she took one last breath of fresh air before transcending the first of the steps.

Her clothes by now were dirty and loose and, in a couple of places, had been torn by the exploits and obstacles she had been forced to overcome since she started this journey just a short time ago, though it felt that several days had passed instead.

Once into a steady rhythm the hero found it easier to mount the steps, which were laden with many traps and pitfalls along the way. As she made her way upwards she noticed, from the corner of her eye, the walls were decorated with many strange and dusty old pictures that appeared to vibrate with the colour that was within them.

Finally she reached the top of the steps and, with a sharp turn to the right, was faced with a long dark passageway. Ahead of her, about ten yards away, she saw a chink of light. It was the entrance to the room she needed. The one she had struggled all day to overcome her fears about.

She stood there staring, wondering if she was doing the right thing, wishing now that she had not volunteered for this perilous task. Maybe if she stayed there long enough it would all fade away and not be real; but, alas, she knew it was and also what ultimately needed to be done.

With a huge combined effort from all her emotional senses she moved forward until she was at the door. She checked all her weapons – one in each hand and one tucked away in her belt ‘just in case’, and made sure they were ready and working.

With one final step she moved up and, with the outside of her right hand, brushed away the dust on the old sign fixed to the wall. Wiping the streaky dirt away she revealed the mottled gold writing:

…..

‘John and Katie’s play room’