Lanterns lit the study, old brass lanterns that burned with Charter Magi place of oil. Smokeless, silent aernal, they provided as good a light as the electric bulbs of Aierre.
Books lihe walls, following the curves of the tower around, save for where the stair rose from below, and the ladder climbed to the observatory above.
A redwood table sat in the middle of the room, its legs scaled and beady-eyed, oral flames lig from the mouths of the dragonheads that gripped each er of the tabletop.
An inkwell, pens, papers and a pair of bronze map dividers lay upoable. Chairs of the same red wood surrou, their upholstery black with a variation on the silver key motif.
The table was one of the few things Sabriel remembered from her childhood visits. 「Dragon desk」 her father had called it, and she』d ed herself around one of those dragon legs, her head not even reag the underside of the table.
Sabriel ran her hand over the smooth, cool wood, feeling both her memory of it and the curreion, then she sighed, pulled up a chair and put dowhree books she』d tucked under her arm. Two, she put together close to her, the other she pushed to the ter of the table. This third book came from the single glassed-in et among the bookshelves and now lay like some quiest predator, possibly asleep, possibly waiting t. Its binding was of pale greeher and Charter marks burned in the silver clasps that held it closed. The Book of the Dead.
The other two books were normal enough by parison. Both were Charter Magic spell books, listing mark after mark, and how they could be used. Sabriel didn』t even reize most of the marks after chapter four in the first book.
There were twenty chapters in eae.
Doubtless there were many other books that would be useful, Sabriel thought, but she still felt too tired and shaky to get more down. She plao talk to Mogget, then study for an hour or two, befoing back to bed. Even four or five waking hours seemed too much after her ordeal, and the loss of sciousness involved in sleep suddenly seemed very appealing.
Mogget, as if he had heard Sabriel thinking of him, appeared at the top of the steps and sauntered over to sprawl on a well-upholstered footstand.
「I see you have found that book,」 he said, tail flig backwards and forwards as he spoke.
「Take care you do not read too much.」
「I』ve already read it all, anyway,」 replied Sabriel, shortly.
「Perhaps,」 remarked the cat. 「But it isn』t always the same book. Like me, it is several things, not one.」
Sabriel shrugged, as if to show that she knew all about the book. But that was just bravado— the inner Sabriel was afraid of The Book of the Dead. She had worked her way through every chapter, under her father』s dire, but her normally excellent memory held only selected pages of this tome. If it ged its tents as well—she suppressed a shiver, and told herself that she knew all that was necessary.
「My first step must be to find my father』s body,」 she said. 「Which is where I need your help, Mogget.」
「I have no knowledge of where he met his end,」 Mogget stated, with finality. He yawned, and started lig his paws.
Sabriel frowned, and found herself pulling in her lips, a characteristic she had deplored in the unpopular history teacher at school, who ofte 「thin-lipped」 in anger or exasperation.
「Just tell me when you last saw him, and what his plans were.」
「Why don』t you read his diary,」 sugg