The Code in the Library Books

When Marek's grandfather died, what Marek inherited was an old, soft, blue library card.

Other people inherited bigger things. His mother inherited the house. His uncle inherited the small painting of the harbour at Gdańsk. Marek, who was nine and had loved his grandfather more than anyone in the world, inherited the library card and a pencil his grandfather had always kept in his shirt pocket.

His mother said he could keep using the card. The librarian, Mrs Soltan, knew them. The branch library was a tiny one, two streets from the bus stop, in an old brick building that had once been somebody's house.

Marek went on the Saturday after the funeral.

He stood at the small wooden counter and put the blue card down.

"Hello, Marek," said Mrs Soltan. She had grey hair pinned up in a bun and very kind eyes. "I am sorry about Karol."

"Thank you," said Marek. His grandfather's name was Karol. Hearing it said by the librarian made Marek's throat go tight.

He looked round the library. He had been here many times with his grandfather. The same shelves. The same yellow light. The reading table. The biography section, where his grandfather had liked to browse for hours.

"What did he borrow last?" said Marek. "I want to read what he was reading."

Mrs Soltan turned to her record book. (The branch was small. They still kept a paper book.) She read out three titles.

"He took out TheLast Voyage of the Cygnet. He took out Gdańsk: A Hundred Years. He took out Letters from a Cold Coast."

Marek wrote them down.

"I'd like all three, please."

"They're all in," said Mrs Soltan. She fetched them.

That night, Marek opened The Last Voyage of the Cygnet on his bed. The book had a little card pocket inside the front cover. The pocket was empty. The bookplate inside said the book had been loaned out twenty-three times since 1986.

Marek opened the book to the first page.

Tucked between page 1 and page 2, there was a folded slip of paper. The slip was tea-coloured along its folds, the way old paper goes.

It was a note.

The note said, in unfamiliar handwriting: Karol — try chapter 7, the bit about the crossing. Tell me what you think. — A.

Marek sat very still. His heart was knocking like a small drum.

His grandfather had been having a conversation. With somebody. In the library books.