The Cracked Spine Page 2

  The cars weren’t the only things that were close together. The buildings were also side by side with little or no space in between them. Some had small alleyways in between, but mostly the passing landscape was one tall, interesting, beautiful old building after another. It was difficult to digest many specifics, but the architecture ranged from medieval to ultramodern. As I angled myself against some more g-forces from the cab’s quick swerve, I briefly glimpsed a neon sign attached to an older building, noting to myself that the neon modern and the old stone walls somehow didn’t seem out of place. Nothing seemed out of place. There was a lot to take in, but it all seemed to be right where it belonged.

  Edinburgh certainly wasn’t Wichita: four words that simplified the sense of curious displacement I felt, but still a pretty accurate description. Though the displacement was somewhat uncomfortable, it wasn’t unexpected.

  “We’re at Grassmarket,” Elias said as he cranked the steering wheel quickly to the left and pulled to the side of a narrow road, the left side. More g-forces, but I could handle them.

  It was a square. Well, more a rectangle shape, but done with the idea of a town square, with small businesses on the bottom level of the older buildings around the perimeter, and a paved central gathering area surrounded by cobblestoned roads. The center made an ideal spot for benches and the farmers’ market tents that were currently taking up much of the long space.

  “Just up two doors on oor left is yer bookshop, and down along the row, at that far corner, is yer hotel. On the other side of the hotel, there’s a hill that will take ye up tae the Royal Mile. That road will take ye tae the castle. It’s called Castle Wynd, technically, and it’s a steep walk tae get there, but not a long one.”

  The Cracked Spine sat in the middle of a short side of the rectangle. It was the second of three shops that were distinctly old but very cute. The shop’s front windows couldn’t possibly allow any light inside, though. Books were stacked against the window, high enough to leave only a few inches of clear space at the top, and messy enough to make me want to march inside and straighten the rows and stacks, to save the ones with the unquestionably broken bindings. I would take on the job eventually, but I didn’t think anyone would appreciate me marching in with that singular task in mind. One step at a time.

  There was a furniture store on one side of the bookshop and a French bakery on the other side. The bakery and furniture store looked small, and so did the main part of The Cracked Spine, though I wondered if the bookshop also spilled over to the space next door to it, in between it and the pastry shop. There was a storefront there without a name and with blacked-out windows. I wasn’t sure why I was inclined to think it was part of the bookshop, but it’s what I sensed. The bakery window was topped with a sign that simply said, “Patisserie,” and through its window that’s what I saw: colorful pastries and shelves full of fruits, cakes, and cream-filled danishes. My sweet tooth made my mouth water. I’d probably visit the bakery even before the castle.

  There were two old chairs sitting up on a ledge behind the furniture shop’s window, and a sign above it that said: “Fraser’s Gently Used Furniture and Reupholstering Services.” The storefronts weren’t wide, so the sign’s words required two lines.

  Atop the bookshop’s front window was a red aluminum overhang with yellow letters that said, “The Cracked Spine,” on one line and “Book Purveyors” underneath. I liked the phrasing of book purveyor.

  The road was narrow and so was the sidewalk. We were close enough that if anyone happened to walk out of the bookshop and glance over, they’d see me, the nervous redhead from Kansas, in the back of the cab. I swallowed and told my rapidly beating heart to slow down.

  And then I glanced at the long part of the street on the other side, and a warm sense of destiny washed over me, calming my nerves to something tolerable. A window that wasn’t even quite as wide as the others was trimmed in green-painted, ornately carved wood. Written in black letters surrounded by more green, the sign on the window read: “Delaney’s Wee Pub, the Smallest Pub in Scotland.”

  My name was Delaney, and no matter the fact that I wasn’t sure I’d ever visit the adorable pub, just seeing my name there made me think I’d made the right choice in answering the ad, that I’d found another good omen.

  With a quick scan around the market, I noticed more pubs, a restaurant or two, small groceries, and a couple of shops with names followed by “Take Away.”

  “Does take away mean you get food and take it out of there?” I asked Elias.

  “Aye. That one up on the other corner, the place called Castle Rock, has some of my favorite fish and chips, tho’ it’s hard tae find bad fish and chips in Edinburra.”

  “Good to know. And what about buildings on top of the businesses? Are they flats?” Stretching high above the businesses, the building’s tops were their oldest parts, made up of timeworn stone, skinny paned windows, and uneven rooftops that were peppered with spires and points and television antennae.

  “Aye, most of them it looks like. Expensive, I’m sure.”

  I nodded. It would be wonderful to live this close to work, but though I was going to be paid well I didn’t know the economy well enough yet to know what “expensive” meant.

  I looked up toward the top of the high volcanic crag.

  “I get to work next to the castle.”

  “Aye, lass,” Elias said with a smile in the rearview mirror.

  “And my hotel is just up there?” I nodded to our right.

  “Aye, I can get ye right there.” Elias put the stick shift into first.

  “Actually, I have a favor, Elias. Would you mind dropping my bags off there for me? I don’t think I can wait one more minute. I don’t even want to take the time to check in. I want to see the bookshop.” I opened my purse and found a twenty-pound and a ten-pound note. The meter said nineteen pounds, but the extra would be for the luggage drop.

  “I’d be happy tae,” Elias said. He took the money, wrinkled his nose at it, and gave me back the ten-pound note.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Listen, ye ring me up, wee lass,” Elias said. He scribbled a phone number onto his business card. “Ye shouldnae use my work number. Ring the number I wrote there. That’s my mobile. I’ll get yer bags delivered, but I’ll also come get ye and tak ye wherever ye need tae go. I ken the missus would love tae have ye o’er for supper this evening. I can pick ye up whenever ye call.”

  I took the card and looked at the scribbled number. I didn’t quite know how to respond. Fortunately, he jumped in.

  “If ye call me for supper, I’ll bring the missus with me so ye can see that I’m not a fleysome sort of bloke.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’ll be doing today or tonight.…”

  “Aye. Just call me if ye need a ride. Supper can be whenever.” He paused. “I dinnae want tae alarm ye, we’re a wonderful city, but dinnae ye roam aboot at night alone. Go with someone or be sure ye call a cab, even if ’tisna mine. Be canny now.”

  “Thank you, Elias.”

  “Aye, ye’re welcome.” He tipped his cap.

  It took much more courage than I thought it would to open the cab door and step out onto the narrow sidewalk. As Elias pulled away from the curb and drove up a short hill away from me, he honked the horn once and waved out his window. Immediately, I missed those eyes.

  Then, I laughed at myself.

  “Come on, Del, you can do this,” I said as I rearranged my purse strap on my shoulder and made my way toward my bold new adventure.

  TWO

  A bell above the front door jingled as I pushed through. I stepped inside and then stopped so I could inspect my new place of work. The shop was empty of customers and booksellers, which gave me a welcome and solitary moment to soak in the atmosphere. If the name of the smallest pub in Scotland had given me a sense of comfort, the interior of the bookshop sealed the fates for sure. I was right where I was supposed to be. It wasn’t a museum in the
strictest sense of the word, but it was like a museum. For books. Sort of. And in a good if messy way.

  The space wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t necessarily cramped either, unless you took into account that each and every shelf that held books was crowded with them, stacked neatly in some places, haphazardly in other places. I gritted my teeth and told myself not to look closely at the books for a moment so I could ignore their pleas for assistance, their bookish voices, long enough to see the rest of the shop.

  A desk that served as the checkout counter sat to my left. It held a short, modern cash register, a couple of newspapers, and a few wobbly stacks of books; I ignored them too, curbing the urge to at least straighten them. I didn’t see a computer anywhere.

  The entire shop was probably about twelve feet wide and extended back about thirty feet. There was a stained-glass window on the back wall that illustrated a set of scales piled with coins, tipping the scales to the right. Light also came in from a space to the left of the window. I thought I was seeing light from a glass door or a tall window on the back side wall but it was difficult to tell from where I stood. The high ceiling was topped off with deep and curved moldings that were painted bright yellow, and worked well with the dark wood shelves and the two large dark wood book tables placed in the middle of the shop. The floor was swirled off-white and gold linoleum, or maybe that was marble? I squelched the desire to crouch and feel it.

  A ladder on wheels was attached to the shelves on the long left wall, but there wasn’t a ladder attached to the right wall. I wondered about that enough to take a step to see why the right wall didn’t seem to extend back all the way, but my forward movement was halted.

  “Can I help you?” a lightly accented voice said from somewhere, it seemed from above.

  I looked around, even behind and out the front door.

  “Hello? Can I help you?” the voice said again. Not only was his accent much less pronounced than Elias’s it must have been attached to someone much younger.

  “I don’t know where you are,” I said.

  “Oh, of course. I’m up a wee bit, tae your right. You can’t see me because the light fixture is in your way. Just another step or two and you’ll spot me.”

  I stepped forward and peered around the old brass light fixture hanging from the yellow ceiling to find a young man on a balcony. Surprisingly, he was dressed in Shakespearean clothing and stood over the wooden railing as he held open a large book and smiled down at me. He couldn’t have even been twenty, and his clothing and his longish brown hair made me think I might have interrupted a performance.

  “Hello,” he said. “Can I help you?” he repeated again.

  “Hi. I’m Delaney Nichols. I’m a new employee.”

  “You’re Delaney? We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow. I’m sorry. Half a moment. I’ll be right down.”

  He closed the book and sat it on something behind him before descending the short flight of stairs to join me on the main level. I spied more packed bookshelves along the wall behind the small balcony.

  “I’m Hamlet,” he said as he extended a hand. “I work here too, well, part-time.”

  Kansas girls are typically brought up a little better than to hesitate when being offered a hand to shake, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Your name’s Hamlet?” I said before finally returning the friendly gesture.

  He laughed. “Aye, ’tis. ’Tis what my parents named me.”

  “It suits you,” I said as I smiled and glanced at the large ruffled collar adorning his jacket.

  Hamlet laughed again. “I know. Oddly, I’m also an actor who will be performing in a Shakespearean play in the park this afternoon, thus the costume.”

  “I see. And let me guess. You’ll be playing Hamlet?”

  “No. Today it’s Macduff. Today I get tae kill the other king. It’s bad luck tae say his name but I expect you know who I mean.”

  “I do, and, darnit, you just told me the ending.”

  Hamlet didn’t miss a beat, but waved away my false concern and said, “It’s all rather confusing anyway. Mr. Shakespeare never did like tae be all that clear.”

  “So true.”

  I could see now that Hamlet most likely was still a teenager, though an older one. He was cute in the way that attracted angst-riddled teenage girls, thin with longish dark hair and intelligent brown eyes that surprisingly held only a small glimmer of artistic torture.

  “Ms. Nichols, welcome tae Edinburgh. I am at yer service,” Hamlet said with a respectful nod.

  “Thank you. It’s wonderful to be here. I’m sorry I’m early. I couldn’t wait to see the place.”

  “Ye’re welcome anytime.”

  The pause was brief and not all that uncomfortable.

  “So, do you have any idea what I’ll be doing?” I said.

  Hamlet blinked. “I’ve no idea. Edwin will probably be here soon. We’ll ring him in a minute if we need tae. Can I get you a cuppa—tea or coffee? Americans like coffee, Scots do too. We have some, though it’s instant. I could run next door and get something better.”

  “No, I like both, but I would love a cup of tea. If you just want to point me in the direction of the kettle, I can get it myself. I don’t mean to disturb your work.”

  “Come along. We’ll make tea together. You should get a proper tour anyway. We’ll have us a little blether until Edwin arrives.”

  Hamlet turned toward the stairs he’d come from. I hesitated long enough that he turned back again.

  “This way,” he said with a friendly smile. “This was a bank at one time. We’ve got some secret hidey-holes.”

  “I love hidey-holes,” I said. I hoped I liked blethers too, whatever they were.

  From the spot at the bottom of the stairs, I saw that the shop’s right wall didn’t, in fact, extend in a straight line. Beyond the stairway and balcony was another space, set back and squared-off. It was also filled with packed bookshelves, as well as two worn leather reading chairs and a rectangular table with four wooden chairs tucked underneath it. The table was covered with books and messy stacks of paper.

  I followed Hamlet up the stairs where we turned left and walked into a short hallway past the small balcony. I wondered if at one time when the bank had been in business this had been some sort of crow’s nest for a security guard to watch goings-on from a higher perch.

  We walked down the hallway and Hamlet opened another door. He turned to me before leading me through and said, “This is actually part of the building next door. Edwin uses this space for offices up here on this level.” He pointed down toward the bottom level. “Our kitchen, the toilet, and his warehouse are down there.”

  “A book warehouse?” I said.

  “Oh, well, not only for books. Edwin didn’t tell you about his collections?” Hamlet said.

  “No, he didn’t. Frankly, we didn’t talk all that much about him or the shop. We talked mostly about me,” I said.

  “I see. Well, you’ll find it quite fascinating, I’m sure,” Hamlet said.

  I heard doubt in his voice, like either he couldn’t believe that Edwin hadn’t told me about the warehouse or that I hadn’t asked more questions, or maybe that I’d actually find its contents fascinating. He sent me a hesitant smile as he flipped up a light switch that was attached to an exposed bulb on the high, dingy ceiling.

  This side of the wall was much less welcoming than the other side. We’d come out to another balcony and set of stairs, but he ignored the office hallway and took us down to the front part of the building with the blacked-out windows. The floors here were stained, and I silently hoped they weren’t made of something as nice as marble. We’d left the scents of old books and ink back on the other side. This side also held hints of those pleasant smells, but it also carried a musty aroma tinged with what I guessed were some sugary scents that had sneaked in from the bakery. The scents weren’t completely unpleasant, but surprising, and along with the shadowy space they made me think of an abandoned car
nival that had served its last cotton candy years earlier.

  Another hallway extended down the middle of the space and to the back wall. There was a window at the back, but it wasn’t stained glass. It was tall and dirty and let in some light that was only able to stretch a short few feet into the hallway.

  “This first door on our right is the toilet, and the next room is our wee kitchen. The door on our left is the warehouse. It’s locked but I’m sure Edwin will give you your own key.”

  I looked at the warehouse door. It stood out much more than everything else. It was an imposing bright red, ornate, with carved designs and curlicues, and slightly larger than any ordinary door.

  “I can’t wait to see in there,” I said quietly.

  Hamlet didn’t respond but led us into the kitchen. There was nothing fancy about it. A round table and two chairs filled up one corner, and the far wall was filled with a couple of shelves, a small refrigerator, tea and coffee supplies, two electric kettles, and a sink under a caged-off window.

  “Wait, I thought the blacked-out window space was next to the pastry shop. How is there a window to the outside on that wall?”

  “Aye, yes, there’s a close in between us,” Hamlet said as he reached for a kettle and held it under the faucet.

  I moved next to him and looked out. “An alley?”

  “Aye, a close is an alley. But we named them closes because all the buildings were so close together. There’s not much space there. There are lots of tales tae go along with them. They have names, usually after someone who lived on them a long time ago or some sort of business that was located on them. This is Wardens Close. I suspect that a prison warden once lived here, but I’m not certain. Edwin will probably know.” Hamlet paused and looked at me. “You do know that Old Town Edinburgh on the Royal Mile is a city built upon another city?”