The Last Library

The two adults helping his mother were Mr Vogel, a quiet old neighbour Karim had known his whole life, and a woman called Iris, who Karim did not know but who his mother introduced as *an old friend who has been with me since the start*. They arrived, in a small unmarked van, at half past eleven at night. Karim had not slept. He had been lying on his bed in his clothes, listening for the van. His mother woke him with a gentle knock. She was wearing dark trousers and a dark coat. She handed him gloves. "Wear these. Don't talk on the street. Do everything I tell you. If you panic, walk away — go home, lock the door. The two of us can finish without you. Do not put yourself at risk." "Okay." The four of them went down into the basement. Karim had not been in the basement for six months. His mother had — he saw now — built a real library down there. Shelves on three walls, made of cheap pine. Maybe four hundred books. They were not just children's books. There were novels, history books, science books, poetry collections, atlases. There was a small handwritten card index in a wooden box, with — Karim could see — a slightly comical labelling system: *Adventure* and *Real World* and *Hard Books* and *Fun Books* and *Books Mum Likes Us To Lend Out*. He did not have time to react. "Karim," his mother said, "you are going to load. Iris and I will pack. Mr Vogel will carry. The