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He was probably right, but there was another reason why Meggie took her books whenever they went away They were her hoe – familiar voices, friends that never quarrelled with her, clever, powerful friends, daring and knowledgeable, tried and tested adventurers who had travelled far and wide Her books cheered her up when she was sad, and kept her froht size, and re-stitched old pages that over countless years had grown fragile froh theie Others were left at ho, or to make rooie stroked their curved spines Which books should she take this time? Which stories would help to drive away the fear that had crept into the house last night? I know, thought Meggie, why not a story about telling lies? Mo told her lies He told terrible lies, even though he knew that every tiht Meggie No, too sinister And too sad But she wanted sohts out of her head, even the darkest The Witches, yes She’d take the bald-headed witches who turn children into mice – and The Odyssey, with the Cyclops and the enchantress who transfors Her journey could hardly be erous than his, could it?

On the left-hand side of the box there were two picture books that Meggie had used when she was teaching herself to read – five years old, she’d been, and you could still see where her tiny forefinger had ht at the bottoie had ether and cutting up the paper, she had painted picture after picture, and Mo had to write what they were underneath thei for Mo She had written her nah back then she always left the ‘e’ off the end Meggie looked at the clu and put the little book back in the box Mo had helped her with the binding, of course He had bound all her hoiven her a stamp for the others so that she could print her nae, so how she felt But Mo had never read aloud to her froie up in the air, he had carried her round the house on his shoulders, he had taught her how to make a bookmark of blackbird’s feathers But he had never read aloud to her Never once, not a single word, however often she put books on his lap Meggie just had to teach herself how to decipher the black htened up There was still a little room in the box Perhaps Mo had a new book she could take, a specially big, fat, wonderful book …

The door to his workshop was closed

‘Mo?’ Meggie pressed the handle down The long table where he worked had been swept clean, with not a sta Had he been lying after all?

Meggie went into the workshop and looked around The door to the Treasury was open The Treasury was really just a luiven the little cubby-hole that name because it here her father stored his most precious materials: the finest leather, the most beautiful fabrics, old on soft leather … Meggie put her head round the open door and saw Mo covering a book with brown paper It was not a particularly large book, and not especially fat The green linen binding looked worn, but that was all Meggie could see, because Mo quickly hid the book behind his back as soon as he noticed her

‘What are you doing here?’ he snapped

‘I--’ For a ie was speechless with shock, Mo’s face was so dark ‘I only wanted to ask if you had a new book for me I’ve read all the ones in my room, and …’

Mo passed his hand over his face ‘Yes, of course I’,’ he said, but his eyes were still saying: go away, go away, Meggie And the brown paper crackled behind his back ‘I’ll be with you in a s to pack OK?’

A little later he brought her three books, but the one he had been covering with brown paper wasn’t one of the out into the yard Meggie shivered when she stepped out of doors It was a chillyin the sky like a pale coin lost by so in the old farie liked the view of the surrounding hills, the ss’ nests under the roof, the dried-up well that yawned darkly as if it went straight down to the Earth’s core The house itself had always been too big and draughty for her liking, with all those empty rooh space for his books and his workshop There was a hen-house outside, and the barn, which now housed only their old camper van, would have been perfect for a couple of cows or a horse ‘Cows have to bea couple ‘Very, very early in theEvery day’

‘Well, what about a horse?’ she had asked ‘Even Pippi Longstocking has a horse, and she doesn’t have a stable’

She’d have been happy with a few chickens or a goat, but they too had to be fed every day, and she and Mo went away too often for that So Meggie had only the ginger cat who so when it couldn’t be bothered to coruhbour Soie put her hands over her ears It enty e, where she went to school and where two of her friends lived, but Mo usually took her in the van because it was a lonely ride along a narrow road that wound past nothing but fields and dark trees

‘What on earth have you packed in here? Bricks?’ asked Mo as he carried Meggie’s book-box out of the house

‘You’re the one who says books have to be heavy because the whole world’s inside theh for the first ti in the abandoned barn like a solid, ie than any of the houses where she and Mo had lived She never slept more deeply and soundly than in the bed he had made in it for her There was a table too, of course, a kitchen tucked into a corner and a bench to sit on When you lifted the seat of the bench there were travel guides, road ie was fond of the van, but this et in When Mo finally went back to the house to lock the door, she suddenly felt that they would never co to be different from any other, that they would drive further and further away, in flight fro that had no name Or at least none that Mo was about to tell her

‘Very well, off we go south,’ was all he said as he got behind the steering wheel And so they set off, without saying goodbye to anyone, on athat still seeer aiting for theate