The Map World Trilogy

Part One

‘Wizards? Old folks that prance around with a pointy hat on exclaiming alacazam at any given moment? Stories Hattie. Myths, fables whatever you want to call them.’

‘Not all of them ‘pranced’ around Uncle, your books tell of great wizards with tremendous power. Not a wand in sight,’ Hattie remarked back sarcastically.

‘I pay you to organise the books, not bloody read them. We could do with one of those beardy fellows here to tidy up this stinking mess!  Now, enough...we open in a minute, get this place sorted will you?’

Hattie Umblebridge rolled her eyes as Horace shuffled away muttering in a less than jovial mood. ‘Someone’s happy this morning’ Hattie thought to herself. She looked around the library; it was a mess, Horace was right, but she would never tell him that, nor admit that she rarely – if ever- did what he deemed as work!

No. Hattie had no interest in stacking books or sorting shelves or ensuring the History of World War Two was every so neatly positioned in the correct place next to the History of World War One – alphabetically of course, by the writers surname. The non-fiction section to her was like reading through a washing machine instruction manual – frankly rather dull, littered with pointless information and one that is read once then buried under mounds of dust, to be forever forgotten alongside the pamphlet for half price double glazing. It bored her. Being a librarian bored her.

Hattie looked at the clock. Five minutes. She hurriedly grabbed the book trolley and whizzed around the humble library, plonking books as and where she saw fit, wherever a space allowed. She heard Horace unbolt the front door and listened to the ding-a-ling-a-ling of the bell as the punters arrived for their early morning returns.

‘Hello Mrs Bolton, what can I help you with today?’ Hattie said half-heartedly.

‘Harriet, well look at you. You’ve grown since I last saw you, must be all the food your Uncle is feeding you hey? Big man your Uncle, lovely, but big’, Mrs Bolton beamed.

‘Since I last saw you....that was yesterday’ Hattie thought to herself, trying hard not to say it out loud. ‘Yes it must be Mrs Bolton, Uncle does like to cook’ she replied instead, remembering her manners at all times and a smile despite her mood.

‘I would like to return these please my dear’ Mrs Bolton said rummaging through her bag, pulling out two worn out books and handing them over. ‘Where can I find romantic novels Harriet?’

‘Down the second aisle on the left, a third of the way down.’

‘You are good Harriet’, Mrs Bolton replied as she made her way off to find what she was looking for.

The hours went by slowly. This was normal. Hello, return, goodbye, smile, be polite, you can find them over there, hello, how you, check, sign, goodbye, thank you: was the extent of Hattie’s day. Uncle Horace rarely graced the shop floor. He was an older gentleman, short and rather plump. His beard was laden with a yellowy tinge that came from smoking a pipe almost constantly. Hattie had finished her education and deemed it right to help her Uncle out in his library – this was to be a part time venture, to tide her over, but as a couple of years rolled on by she found it hard to leave her Uncle and he subsequently faded into the background of the library leaving her to do the majority of the ‘work’.

Hattie lived here with him and they had never fully seen eye to eye. Predominantly, because Hattie spent most of her time reading and less of her time running the place. Horace was not one for tall tales and fairy tale creatures; if he read, he would read the Daily Telegraph or some such similar publication – if it was not black or white and true, then he had no interest. Hattie was the opposite, and couldn’t quite fathom why it was Uncle Horace owned a library if he didn’t enjoy reading all that much!