The Dark Flight Down by Marcus Sedgwick

believe what Bedrich was saying.
    “Yes, I know about the book. I thought it had been dealt with, long ago.”
    “How?” cried Boy. “How can you know about it?”
    “I know it!” Bedrich said, firmly. “I know the book. I once looked into it myself. . . .”
    He stopped, took a deep breath.
    “It did me no good. It has done others much worse.”
    That was true. Boy thought of Valerian. The book hadn’t saved him after all, though it might have done at the cost of Boy’s life.
    “But how?” asked Boy. “When?”
    Bedrich looked at Boy, held his eyes for a long time.
    “What does a poor wretch like you know about it?” he asked. “A street child like you.”
    Boy shook his head.
    “I don’t live on the streets, not anymore. I live with . . . lived with a man. A great man, called Valerian.”
    “The magician?” asked Bedrich, raising an eyebrow.
    “You knew him?” Boy asked.
    “No. Only by reputation. Fifteen, maybe twenty years ago. He was a scholar at the Academy, but was disgraced.”
    Boy ignored this.
    “Valerian wanted the book,” he said. “We searched for it. In nasty places.”
    “The book is power. That much I know. But why exactly did he want it?”
    “He was in trouble. He . . .”
    Boy stopped. It seemed impossible to explain everything that had happened in the last few weeks.
    “You speak of him as if he has gone,” Bedrich said. “He is dead?”
    Boy nodded.
    “So he didn’t get the book, to save him from this trouble?”
    Boy shook his head.
    “No, he did get it. He did, but . . .”
    “But? What happened?”
    “To save himself . . . to save himself would have meant killing me. . . .”
    “And he refused? What a noble gesture!”
    Boy shrugged. It wasn’t quite like that, but in the end Valerian
had
died instead of him. Bedrich sensed Boy’s hesitation.
    “But he must have been a great man, to die instead of you. Why else would he have done it?”
    “He was my father,” Boy said.
    The words sounded strange on his lips. He knew he might be lying, that he didn’t really know the truth. But it was easier to tell Bedrich that, than to have to explain it all to him.
    “What a strange boy you are!” Bedrich declared.
    Boy said nothing.
    “So you know about the book, about its power. And its danger.”
    “Willow always said it was dangerous, right from the start, but I don’t see why. It’s full of knowledge, and knowledge is good. Valerian always said so, and he was never wrong.”
    “But the book is different. Maybe if it revealed the whole truth of a matter, it would be a good thing. But it does not. It is treacherous, and malevolent. It reveals only some of the truth. It shows something different to each person. Sometimes it shows nothing at all, but when it does reveal something, you have to be very careful to understand that what it is telling you is only part of the picture.”
    “But Willow looked into it. She looked over Valerian’s shoulder, and saw he was about to try to . . .”
    He stopped. He didn’t want to tell Bedrich that Valerian had tried to kill him.
    “What?” asked Bedrich. “What is it? Are you beginning to understand? The doubtful nature of what the book reveals, the dangers?”
    Boy nodded. He was happy to change the subject. “That song you were singing. How do you know it? And how do you know about the book? I thought it was a secret.”
    “It was. It should have been,” said Bedrich. “But things change, obviously. I know about the book, for it was once here. In the palace.”
    “Here?” Boy cried.
    “Shhh!” Bedrich hushed him. “Not so loud. Yes, the book was here. It’s all so long ago now, such a long time. It’s hard to remember it all.”
    “Try,” Boy urged. “Please, try.”
    Bedrich put his head in his hands briefly, then looked up at Boy, blinking.
    “The book. It came here. It was brought here, to please the emperor. You won’t have seen the emperor. . . .”
    Boy shook his head. “No. I have. Briefly,” he