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he turned to go back for more, the room suddenly exploded in a ball of fire. Half of the door flew across the room and splintered on the wall next to his head. The other half crashed on to a desk and an ancient, handwritten bible bound in leather and gold erupted into flames.
    Thomas knew he had to get out. The heat was unbearable and the smoke was closing in around him. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. The bestiary, lying open on a desk on the far side of the room. It was the treasure of the monastery. The work of years – generations, even. A dragon’s tail curled across the open page, and a huge eye glared out at him from behind rows of curved teeth.
    He took a deep breath at the window and forced himself back into the room. His face stung with the heat, and he could barely see as he stumbled towards the flames. Reaching out, he grabbed the chain holding the book. It was almost too hot to touch, and as he raised his hammer and struck at it, he could see the fire spreading up the leg of the desk.
    His first blow missed entirely, while his second only dented the metal chain. He could feel himself getting weaker with each passing second. The flames and the heat were relentless. His head swam as he aimed another strike, and another.
    As he swung the hammer down for a final attempt, the chain snapped, and at the same moment, the dragon on the page burst into flames. Desperately, Thomas heaved at the chain, flinging the burning book towards the window. It arced through the air and out into the garden, still burning.
    Thomas’ lungs were bursting as he hauled himself to the window, on to the sill and out into the darkness. He landed hard on his hands and knees and gulped mouthfuls of air, coughing and choking and rubbing the smoke out of his eyes.
    Slowly, he shook the dizziness from his head and scrambled to his feet. Beside him, the bestiarywas lying in the mud, burned almost to nothing. Its binding was charred. Its pages, thousands of hours of work, were nothing more than blackened scraps of ash. Thomas picked it up, but the binding disintegrated in his hands. There was nothing left to save. Instead, he turned to the other volumes piled beside the window – at least they were safe for now. He grabbed the three loose volumes, and ran with them back to the woods, throwing them into the cart.
    The crowd of looters was beginning to thin out now, and the sky was starting to brighten. The king’s hired thugs had managed to scare most of them off, and were wandering about in small groups, looking for anything left worth taking. Thomas knew he had to get going. He didn’t have time to break the chains of all the books, and he would never be able to get the cabinet across to the woods unnoticed.
    There was only one thing to be done. Creeping back to where the bookcase was lying in the grass, he wrapped his shirt around the chisel to deaden the sound and tapped as quietly as he could at the corners of the shelves, dislodging them from the cabinet one by one. Once they were all free, he grabbed the shelves two at a time and ran, dragging the booksbehind him across the garden and into the woods. Twice he saw groups of the king’s men rounding the corner of the burning building, and twice he dropped to the ground, lying unnoticed until they had passed. Eventually, he made it to the woods with all the books and loaded them into the cart.
    The journey back to the tomb was quicker and easier. The horse was beginning to learn its way and trust him, and the sun was starting to rise. By the time it was fully light, Thomas had safely stowed all the books in the tomb.
    He must have climbed into the back of the cart and fallen asleep in the hay, because the next thing he felt was his father’s hand on his shoulder.
    He sat up and rubbed his eyes, still stinging from the smoke. His father’s face was black, his clothes filthy and torn. He had a defeated look in his eyes.
    â€˜It’s lost,’ he