‘You know the British writer Virginia Woolf?’ Jorge interrupted, with a smile, seemingly used to hearing this explanation and trying to speed Orlando up a little.
The name rang a bell with Tilly, but she couldn’t place it, and shook her head; she had a rule never to pretend she’d read a book that she hadn’t, however tempting it sometimes was.
‘She lived a while ago,’ Orlando went on. ‘And part of the reason I love her is because I was named after one of her characters. But another one of her books was about women and writing, and in it she imagined what life might have been like for a made-up version of Shakespeare’s sister. It’s about what would have happened to a woman who wanted to be a writer in Elizabethan times and the stories she might have written if she’d had the same education and opportunities as good old Will Shakespeare. So that’s what I named the shop for – all the stories that didn’t make it out into the world, for one reason or another.’
‘I like it.’ Oskar nodded approvingly. ‘But it’s kind of complicated. You had to do a lot of explaining.’
‘Well, we like to think it sounds good even if you’re just walking past the store,’ Orlando said. ‘But sometimes it’s worth getting the whole story, don’t you think?’ He gazed up at the shop. ‘You know, bookstores are monuments to writers, in a way,’ he said. ‘Lincoln and Washington have their statues, and Shakespeare has this. It’s a little less grand, but I think he’d like it anyway.’
‘You sound just like Tilly’s grandad,’ Oskar said. ‘He loves a speech about the importance of bookshops.’
Once they were inside, it was obvious the building had previously been a theatre. Although various walls had been removed, there was a huge wooden stage at the far end to where they stood, with heavy scarlet curtains framing it. But instead of actors or lights or props on the stage there were shelves and shelves of books. One wide staircase wound upwards towards a balcony, and another down to another floor. The bookshop was all artfully curated faded glamour, with a kitsch chandelier still hanging from its high ceiling and some old velvet theatre chairs arranged in pockets among the shelves for people to sit and read.
‘Welcome to Shakespeare’s Sisters!’ Orlando said proudly. ‘Let’s store your stuff somewhere safe and then you can come see our Shakespeare balcony quickly before we head up to the library.’
Orlando looked so proud of his bookshop that Tilly didn’t have the heart to insist that they go straight to the library to start the hunt for the Archivists.
They were already here, so what was an extra ten minutes to see the shop properly? Good bookshops are hard to resist after all.
hey left all their luggage in Orlando’s locked office, but Tilly made sure that she kept the small backpack with the clues in with her.
Then they followed Orlando and Jorge up the stairs, passing an archway that revealed a small room hung with more colours and patterns of wrapping paper than Tilly could count, as well as reams and reams of ribbons and tissue paper and other accoutrements. A petite woman with warm amber-coloured skin was standing at a desk piled high with books. She had at least five different brightly coloured ribbons woven through her black hair, and was focused intently on wrapping a large hardback book in brown paper.
‘Ah, that’s Deepti, and our wrapping room,’ Orlando said. ‘If customers need a book wrapped for a special occasion, then we bring them here where they can choose how they want it.’
The woman looked up and grinned widely at them. ‘Friends of yours?’ she said.
‘The best of friends,’ Orlando said. ‘This is Matilda – the daughter of one my closest friends at university. And this is Matilda’s best friend, Oskar.’
‘Are you guys over on vacation?’ Deepti asked, and Tilly said no at the same time as Jorge said yes and Deepti raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, either way, if you buy a book while you’re here, be sure to come get it wrapped. I’m certain it will be on the house. By the way, Orlando, have you caught up with Candy? She was looking for you – a couple more books have gone missing over the last few days, and she thinks maybe it’s a shoplifter? Although they’re choosing strange books, if that’s the case – anyway, you should go find her when you can so she can tell you about it.’
‘Thanks, Deepti, I will,’ Orlando said.
‘Is Deepti a bookwanderer too?’ Tilly asked as they continued up the stairs to the balcony.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said.
‘Haven’t you asked?’ Oskar said, surprised. ‘I thought there was some kind of record of bookwanderers at the Underlibrary.’
‘I’m sure there is, but I wouldn’t go check up on my booksellers,’ Orlando said. ‘If she is, I’m sure we’ll work it out at some point. I think the Pages family might have given you a false impression of how common bookwandering is! But there’s probably at least one more here – booksellers are, of course, particularly likely to be bookwanderers.’
By this time, they had reached the balcony that stretched all the way round the bookshop. The shelves were full of plays by Shakespeare, in every sort of edition from cheap paperbacks to beautiful, ornate hardbacks, as well as books about Shakespeare, about the time he lived in, and lots and lots of Shakespeare merchandise.
Tilly wondered if she had time to buy a calendar full of Shakespeare’s best insults as a peace offering for Grandad before she forced herself to focus. As tired as she was, and as much as she wanted to spend hours exploring the bookshop, they had to keep going.
‘It’s a beautiful shop, Orlando,’ she said, ‘but we—’
‘Thank you!’ said Orlando, cutting her off. ‘We’re pretty proud of it. We have the best customers in the world as well. What do you think of this Shakespeare balcony, eh? Balcony, get it?’
‘Huh?’ Tilly said, thrown.
‘Balcony!’ Orlando said, delighted by his own joke. ‘“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo …”?’
‘Ohhhh,’ Tilly said, the penny dropping. ‘Yeah, I get it. Cool, but the thing is we really need to …’
‘Have you seen this?’ asked Orlando, pulling a particularly lovely edition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream off a shelf. ‘Have you ever read it?’ He opened it and put it in Tilly’s hands, and she could see a beautiful illustration of the forest where the play was set.
‘We read bits of it at school,’ Tilly said. ‘But I’ve not seen it on stage before. I think our teacher said it was on at the Globe, though, so I might get to see it soon. But anyway how far away did you say …’
‘It’s one of my favourite places to bookwander,’ said Orlando dreamily. ‘“I know a bank where the wild thyme …”’ He looked embarrassed. ‘I always forget if it’s “blows” or “grows” – what is it?’
‘I know a bank where the wild thyme blows …’ Tilly read out loud, stopping as she felt something move against her arm. She brushed it away, thinking to herself that she hoped Washington didn’t have any particularly horrible types of spiders – but, instead of a spider, her hand met a thin rope of vine.