“If we’re going to make this work, we have to find some kind of system,” she said, walking slowly down the left hall, her free hand outstretched. She’d already bumped into a suit of armor and made the sword clang onto the floor, and stubbed her toes against an iron chair, and nearly fell over something that skittered across a carpet and into the shadows.

  For my part, I was hopelessly divided between being excited and spooked. I’d never been out and about, and starting off in the middle of the night was less than ideal. Only minutes had passed and we’d tried a few different strategies, but none so far had worked.

  First I gave her instructions out loud, but immediately she hushed me, “You have to be more quiet. People know me here, and they won’t be suspicious if I’m more-or-less normal. But if they figure out I’ve gone blind, and that I’m being guided by a talking book, you can bet they’ll start asking questions.”

  Then I tried whispering, but she couldn’t hear me properly, and that’s how she bumped into the armor. She also said my whispering irritated her, and that she wasn’t fond of whisperers in general. “Whispering is for ghosts and snakes,” she said. So, we crossed it off the list.

  Next we tried speaking with our thoughts, as we had before. But since I’d been opened it was strangely difficult to return to my mind space again, and conveying clear ideas with our thoughts proved a greater challenge than I’d expected. Quickly we had a misunderstanding. She’d taken one of her own thoughts as mine, and that’s how her toes crunched against the iron chair. She’d hissed between her teeth, and I started in earnest to think of a plan.

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ve got an idea.”

  The girl was surprised, and looked down blindly in my direction, “Oh really, book? Let’s hear it then.”

  “Well, I’ve been playing around with my movement, and I’m starting to realize that I might have more control than I thought. You see, I can wiggle my covers. Just a little of course, don't worry, I won't open them all the way,” I said, wiggling my covers in her hand.

  “Yes, I know,” she intoned, “you've been doing that since that cat shot by. But tell me, book, what does that have to do with getting us out of here?”

  “Let me show you. Here, do you feel me pushing with my cover to the right? And now to the left? Well, I think that by pressing with more or less strength, and for more or less time, I could guide you without even needing to speak.”

  She considered my proposal, and drummed her fingers lightly on my cover as she thought, but then realized what she was doing and cleared her throat. “Oh, sorry about that. Old habit.”

  “That’s fine, I didn’t mind. In fact it felt pretty nice,” I said, but this she ignored, and continued our discussion.

  “If you guide me left and right like that, what about up and down? What about stairs, or warning me about something else I should… see?” And when she said ‘see’, her tone was harsh and resentful, and I knew she was hiding her anger and sadness at losing her sight.

  “I thought of that too, and I’ve got an idea, but it’ll take some work. I can lean forwards and back, and also tilt and turn, using my edges and spine. If we practice different patterns of these movements, and we’re attentive enough to each other, I really think it could work.”

  The girl nodded, “I guess it’s worth a shot… for starters, try leading me straight down this hallway, then turn right at the end.”

  I focused ahead, and, clasped upright in her hand, nudged slightly right, then left, adjusting with each slow step she took.

  As we adjusted our technique, the hallway’s silence fell back into place. We’d made quite a bit of noise since leaving the hidden room, and as I guided her I started to take my bearings in earnest.

  As far as I could tell, this castle was indeed massive. Even though it was night, windows here-and-there let through some moonlight, just enough for me to see that this hallway stretched on for quite a while. And all along on either side were doors, which didn’t make sense to me, since there were also windows on both sides, and through all the windows came the light of the moon.

  “What is this place?” I asked, unable to hold myself back. It just didn’t make any sense.

  The girl looked down at me strangely, then realized she couldn’t see anymore and frowned in irritation.

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  “You really don’t know very much for a book, do you?”

  I stiffened, and was surprised to feel insulted. It was a strange feeling, making me want to shut my covers.

  “No, I don’t. Remember, I didn’t even know I was a book until you found me. I don’t even know what’s written inside me.” I suddenly realized that she’d read me, and I couldn’t stop myself from asking, even though it was likely a sensitive subject, “When you opened me, I saw you looking at my pages, reading me. What did you see? What am I about?”

  The girl looked sternly onwards, and pursed her lips, “I… I don’t know. It happened so fast, and I couldn’t actually see, couldn’t understand. The pages, they were turning so fast, and there were so many of them… and I couldn’t look away. I just - I’m sorry, I don’t want to think about it right now. And we better be quiet.”

  We kept in silence as I guided her forwards. I found it surprisingly easy, nudging this way or that, and she’d gotten used to it quickly as well, her feet following a nearly perfect line down the hall’s center. We passed over segments of carpet and bare floor, sometimes wood and sometimes stone. The windows on either side of the hall were never in front of each other, and were in a staggered arrangement, interspersed with doors of different styles, and glass display cabinets, and tea tables, dressers, and wardrobes.

  Again, I couldn’t help myself, and was about to ask about the strangeness of this place, when one of the doors opened near us. A breeze of salt water blew into the hall, and a tall man with an abnormally sized feather in his cap stepped through, and clicked the door closed. He straightened at the sight of the girl, and held his hat against his chest as he bowed.

  “Aah, Miss Twenty, good evening. I hadn’t expected to see anyone about at this hour. Is anything amiss?”

  At the mention of her name I felt a pang of guilt. I hadn’t even asked her name! Though, admittedly, I’d had no reason to think of names since I’d come into being. I instantly resolved not to make the same mistake again, and to always ask people’s names.

  Miss Twenty had stiffened, and answered coldly, “Nothing’s wrong, I simply have an ongoing task for Master. Have a good evening, Mister Feathercap,” then she continued to walk forward.

  But, as she passed, Mister Feathercap eyed me in her hand, and raised an eyebrow, “That’s some very light reading, isn’t it? What's it about?”

  In that moment I grew suspicious of Mister Feathercap, for there was in his tone the sharp pressure of one who feels superior. I restrained myself from letting him know my mind.

  To her credit, Miss Twenty didn’t even slow, and kept walking forward. I could only hope Mister Feathercap didn’t notice the light nudges I was giving to keep her on track.

  “It’s only a notebook, thank you, with very little to be read. Good evening and goodbye.”

  Mister Feathercap kept his gaze on me as we passed, and Miss Twenty tightened her grip on me, making it hard to direct her properly. She bumped into a narrow table, and a vase fell to the floor, shattering. But Miss Twenty righted herself and only quickened her step, speaking with practiced confidence over her shoulder to Mister Feathercap, “Please forgive me, I’ll clean this up a little later. I’m in a hurry at the moment.”

  Behind Miss Twenty’s elbow I glimpsed Mister Feathercap looking from us to the vase quizzically. Then, slipping his hat back over his head, he turned down the hall from where we’d come.

  “Oh no,” whispered Miss Twenty, “we don’t have a lot of time now. Mister Feathercap always finds something when he starts digging. Any moment, he’ll be back onto us, and he’ll alert someone. After that, it’s only a matter of time before the Master finds out.”

  “Please, ease your grip,” I wheezed, and at once her hand loosened its hold.

  “Sorry,” she said, “Mister Feathercap has always unsettled me. He has a way of showing up at the worst moments. Now, the corner must be coming up, right? Can you see it?”

  “Yes, it’s just ahead.”

  I pressed firmly to the right and she pivoted, barely skimming an eerie iron sculpture of a mass of tentacles swallowing a sailing ship. As soon as we were around the bend and out of sight of the other hall, Miss Twenty sped up to a clumsy jog, her leather slippers tapping the floor lightly, her breathing anxious.

  I knew I shouldn’t speak, but I had to try speaking her name, and felt that maybe it would help to calm her.

  “Your name is Miss Twenty?” I asked, cautiously.

  She grimaced and shook her head, “No, don’t call me that.”

  Taken aback, I nearly forgot to guide her, and pressed back against her, “Stairs! Just ahead!”

  Her steps faltered and she slowed. “Already? Ok, guide me up, then left at the top, then the next right. This is going better than I’d hoped.”

  I had little to do as she followed the stairwell’s curve, and gave in to the intrigue. “Then, what should I call you?”

  She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, breathing in quick, short gasps. “Yeah, ok, call me… call me Fen.”

  “Fen,” I said, feeling the sound on my pages. It was nice.

  She nodded, then asked me in return, “And you, book, do you have a name?”

  I hadn’t thought of it before, and answered on a whim. Perhaps because it was the way Fen had been calling me so far, or because I had nothing better to answer, but what came to me was the most obvious name I could have chosen, and it felt just right.

  “You can call me Book.”