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while.
     
    Half an hour later, he’d flicked through every single one, his head hurt and he was none the wiser.
    ‘What are you looking for?’ asked Tabitha. Newton glanced up from his desk to see her leaning against the doorway to the reading room, arms folded, frowning.
    ‘I don’t know,’ he said.
    She rolled her eyes. ‘You must have some idea. What are these books about?’
    Reluctantly he held up the final tome: Blades of the Dark Age: The Sword of Corin. They’d all started to blur into one. Endless speculation about how the blade was forged, the details of its engravings and the battles it was used in – and none of it was remotely helpful.
    Before he could stop her, Tabitha stepped outside, cupped her hands and shouted down the length of the library, ‘Hey!’
    There was a distant chorus of tutting and shushing, then the slim grey-haired woman came hurrying towards them, one finger against her lips. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘The magicians are studying!’
    Tabitha shrugged, unbothered. ‘We want to know about Corin’s sword, for some reason ,’ she said pointedly. ‘Is this all you have?’ She flung out an arm at the piles of books that had built up on and around Newton’s desk. Ty was sitting on the highest pile, happily gnawing on a sugar lump.
    ‘I’m afraid so,’ said the librarian. She hesitated, as though about to say something.
    ‘Yes?’ said Newton. ‘There are other books?’
    ‘Well … I believe we do have one or two in the children’s section. But I can’t imagine—’
    ‘Bring them out.’
    Tabitha perched on the edge of his desk as the librarian quietly closed the door to the reading room and bustled off. ‘So why do you care about Corin’s sword?’ she asked. ‘It’s just an old relic.’
    ‘Maybe.’
    ‘And it’s safe in ol’ Governor Wyrmwood’s place in Fayt, isn’t it?’
    Newton bit his lip. I should tell her. Shouldn’t I? So many questions and so few answers. Lately he was feeling overburdened, like a ship so full ofzephyrum it could barely keep afloat. It didn’t feel good. And keeping secrets from Tabitha made it feel even worse.
    He opened his mouth, just as the door swung wide again.
    ‘Here,’ said the librarian triumphantly, setting a small, battered book on the desk in front of him. ‘ The Tale of Corin’s Sword . A century old at least, so do please be careful.’ She cast Ty a nervous glance, as the fairy licked sugar-sticky fingers and belched happily. Then she disappeared back into the library.
    Newton leaned forward, lifted the cloth-bound cover and began to flick through the pages. They were thin and yellowed, covered in swirling letters and illustrated with colourful figures acting out the story.
    ‘What’s “the Scouring”?’ asked Tabitha, reading over his shoulder. She pointed to a picture that took up an entire page. It showed winged figures swooping from a black sky, carrying golden weapons – spears, bows and swords. On a green field below, more figures were fleeing the attack – misshapen creatures with long noses, sharp teeth and pointed ears. At the head of the flying army was a man all in white, his surcoat emblazoned with a winged sword. He was galloping on a charger and wielded a shining blade, the hilt studdedwith white star-stones. Above his head three words were written in tiny gold letters: C ORIN THE B OLD.
    ‘It’s an old legend,’ said Newton. ‘Just a story.’
    ‘Well, get on with it then,’ said Tabitha impatiently.
    ‘Some folks say that seraphs will return one day to scour the Old World. That is, to kill the trolls, the goblins, the dwarves … anyone who isn’t human. Like I say, it’s just a story. Something for men full of hatred to cling onto. Folk like the League, with all their talk of demonspawn.’ He laid a finger on the picture. ‘I don’t know what it has to do with Corin, though.’
    Tabitha reached over his shoulder and turned the page. The reverse was blank except for four lines,