[Undómë]

Jack laughed, a rich sound as the throaty clinking of brass bells in a long gone garden. ‘My business? Why “treats”, of course. Though not those sweets I can see that just the mention of has set your mouth watering.’

Reaching into the pocket of his greatcoat, he pulled out a small paper sack, crumpled from much opening and reclosing. ‘Here, have one.’ He offered the little bag to Gilli. ‘Mind you, though, they’re boiled sweets and quite sticky. You’ll need to lick those fingers of yours clean before you pick up your bow or fiddle.’ He took one for himself. ‘The old sorts are the best, don’t you agree?’ he added with a wink, sucking on the sweet.

‘Hey, why don’t you just come along? It’s quite warm where I’m bound. All closed in and cozy like.’ He grinned at her questioning look. ‘The New Ford Library, m’dear.’

From some other pocket in the interior of his coat he pulled out a slender volume bound in a dark blue cover. ‘Just listen here,’ he instructed softly, the slender fingers of his right hand turning pages.

I am the Fairy Mab: to me 'tis given
The wonders of the human world to keep;
The secrets of the immeasurable past,
In the unfailing consciences of men,
Those stern, unflattering chroniclers . . .

He closed the book, putting it carefully back and pulling out another. A paperback, this time, and from the dog-eared pages, much thumbed.

Setting: A street.

He began, one hand motioning round the alleyway they stood in.

Romeo:
I dream’d a dream to-night.

Mercutio:
And so did I

Romeo:
Well, what was yours?

Mercutio:
That dreamers often lie.

Romeo:
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

Mercutio:

O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep . . .

‘Who could guess the words of Will and PB would still be found captured in these books?’ He grinned. 'Old El’s house library could have used some of this bookbinding knowledge, I think. They’re quite durable. Nothing like those old vellums and parchments gone all stiff and cracked and torn.’

Jack closed up the book, giving it a satisfied pat. ‘And all praise, too, to Mr. Dewey, and his lovely system. I’m just dipping into the 821’s and ‘22’s these past few years.’ He ran one finger over the letters and numbers on the spine of the book. ‘Unlike, again, the library of El’s where one had to spend a great deal of time poking about in this hole and that for an interesting scroll to read.’ He put the small book back in the pocket with the other and buttoned up his coat.

‘So . . . come along, eh? No one will be there. You can play in the stacks.’ He raised his brow at Gilli. ‘Lovely high ceilings. I’ll bet there are some great acoustics in the reading rooms.’