For anyone who is interested: sketches of dress designs for the wedding have now been uploaded onto my brand new instagram account. You may wish to wait until the final bridal dress design descriptions have come up, a few weeks from now, along with whatever design I come up with for Cassandra's bridesmaid's dress (the sketch of the rejected one is included in the pictures - it was my original idea and got nixed on later consideration). If you don't, however: the details are on my profile.

Also, for anyone interested in the items coming up in this week's episode, you can find the Most Haunted team's stay at the castle in question on You Tube. If you are of a susceptible or easily scared nature and you watch it alone on a dark and stormy night, I take no responsibility for your lack of sleep! If you don't guess which castle we're going to in this chapter, don't worry: it will be revealed in the next.

Episode 6: For the Ghost, Chapter 1

Somewhere, high above, the wind whispered through the trees. It told tales of knights and lords, of fair ladies and scullery maids, of myths and magic, of ghosts, ghouls and things that go bump in the night.

Somewhere, far below, the waves soughed a lament across the pebbles as another soul leaked from this world to the next. They were joined in a duet with the sound of pipes, drifting on the night wind.

And up on the cliff top, the lady turned and vanished into the mist. And the castle stood alone.

XXXX

"Hey! I thought we said it was my turn today!" Jacob Stone's voice floated up to the mezzanine, where Ezekiel and Cassandra looked down and giggled.

"Nobody knows this library better than I do," argued Flynn's voice. "How will you know what was here in Leonardo's day and what wasn't?"

"I'll know what I helped find!" Stone rejoined. "And I'm sure he'll know what he found."

"Helped! I know a whole ten years worth of artefacts and monsters found by me, myself and I!" Flynn's voice took on a new level of pomposity.

"So there'll be plenty left over for tomorrow!" Stone, ever the voice of reason, mostly, pointed out.

"Haven't you got a bachelor party to plan?" Flynn reminded his opponent.

"Haven't you got a wedding to plan?" Stone retorted.

"The ladies are doing most of that," Flynn verbally shrugged.

"Not the guest list or the tables or the invites..." Stone began listing.

"Or the groom's vows," added Eve, walking past on her way to the stairs.

"If you don't let me take my turn, I'll let Ezekiel help plan the stag party," grinned Stone, making the shift from complaining to cajoling to common threats.

"You wouldn't dare!" Flynn gasped.

"Bet?" Stone raised an eyebrow and held Flynn's gaze.

There was silence.

"Fine!" Flynn sighed, like a teenager who had just been sent to his room. "You take him today. I'll take him tomorrow."

The sound of stomping feet left the office below, followed by the smugly placed footsteps of the winner. Eve, Cassandra and Ezekiel burst out laughing.

"I do not see how two grown men arguing over who gets to show an ex-employee around the building he used to work in to see how it has changed in the time since, is funny," commented Jenkins from his chair a few feet away.

The trio looked at him, then burst into another peal of laughter. They were interrupted by Cassandra's purse apparently attempting to attack itself.

"What the..." Baird began.

"Clippings book," Cassandra explained, retrieving the madly flapping article in question.

Like a tame bird, the book calmed in her hands and fell open to its newly added page. The clipping this time was from what looked like a small local or tabloid newspaper. The heading read "There's Been a Murder! Grisly Death on Ayrshire Beach".

"Murder mystery?" Cassandra frowned. She handed the book to Ezekiel. "Isn't that your field?"

"We thought the last case was Stone's field because of the auction," the thief replied. "It wasn't 'til we got there we realised it was a kidnapping."

"A while after you got there," Baird reminded him.

"We should have trusted the Library," agreed Ezekiel. "It knew who was needed."

"I sometimes think she knows a lot more than she lets on," Cassandra called up to the ceiling, suspiciously, mindful of the number of bets and predictions the Library had taken part in. 'She' hadn't lost one!

"We're calling it a 'she' now?" Jenkins enquired, looking up over the edge of his book. "Since when does a building have a gender identity?"

"You call your car Matilda," Baird cut in. "Don't think we haven't noticed."

Cassandra placed the clippings book down on the little reading desk Ezekiel, Eve and she were seated around. "Okay, Library: I know you can move books. If you think of yourself as a 'she', move it towards me; as a 'he', move it towards Ezekiel; or, if you'd rather be referred to as 'it', move the book towards Jenkins."

The little book flipped shut and rose slightly from the desk. It hovered indecisively, edging first nearer to Cassandra, then Ezekiel, then back again. It stood up on its end, facing the gap between the two and rocking back and forth. Eventually it tumbled head over heels towards Cassandra, landing with the cover facing her. It flipped back to the new page. Cassandra looked up at Jenkins and smirked. The old man grumbled something about giving a building ideas and went back to his book.

"Maybe we should all go," suggested Baird. "If there's a crime to solve, Ezekiel's knowledge would be useful. If there's a murderer on the loose, I'd rather I was with you. I dare say we'll find out why it turned up in your book when we get there."

There was a general noise of agreement around the table. The only sound of dissent came from the chair a few feet away.

"Maybe if we know there's a murderer on the loose," suggested Jenkins patiently, "we should look before we leap this time. Where is this beach? Whose is the body? Is there any history or pattern?"

"It's the only clipping on the page," said Cassandra.

"It's a small page," Jenkins reminded her. "Try turning it over."

Cassandra turned back a page, then forward a page. "Nothing," she called over. "Next suggestion?"

"You're researchers now, aren't you?" Jenkins stated rhetorically. "Go research!"

"Most sensible first step in any research is always to ask the guy who already knows," said Ezekiel, leaning back on the hind legs of his chair.

"Hmm," Jenkins glared pointedly at the chair legs. Slowly Ezekiel leant forward and let all four feet rest on the ground. Jenkins looked up again, this time with a slight smile. "Well this guy does not know anything about this case. If you'll excuse me, therefore, I believe I shall endeavour to find out how much of my Library Leonardo has already reorganised. If it should be possible to prise either of his two new best friends away from him, would any of you like their company on this new adventure?"

"Let Jacob enjoy meeting his hero," replied Cassandra, her nose wrinkling in fond remembrance. "He's kinda cute when he gets all geeky."

"You think he's 'kinda cute' when he does anything!" Ezekiel quipped. "And I can't say I know many full grown men who actually like being referred to as 'kinda cute' anyway! 'Specially not ones that like bar fights!"

"Tell Flynn to let Stone enjoy meeting his hero," said Baird with a short laugh. "He can get back here and help out with the research. It's about time he helped out with something: we still haven't set a date and it's only thanks to Ezekiel helping out that we've even got a short list of venues!"

"And which aisle of shelves shall I send him to?" Jenkins asked, his nose in the air.

"Just send him to here," said Eve, waving a hand in the general direction of the desk. "We'll use it for books just now."

"As you wish," nodded the Caretaker. Turning on his heel, he headed for the stairs and disappeared down them.

Cassandra watched his head bobbing as Jenkins descended each step, her head on one side. "I wonder what he's hiding?"

"We'll never know the half of it," said Ezekiel, shaking his head. "If we're lucky we might just get to see how much of the iceberg is under those waters."

"And if we're not?" Baird asked, keeping her voice low and soft.

"Remember a boat called the Titanic?" replied the thief.

Baird nodded, rolling her eyes at his scare mongering over-dramatics.

Cassandra watched the white hair disappear. "It was a ship," she murmured thoughtfully.

XXXX

Flynn was sitting on one of the display tables in the Library when Jenkins found him. Carefully positioned on various plinths around him were pipes, pens, pocket-watches, papyri and a plethora of poetical pieces. On his head was a wide-brimmed black felt hat.

"Why are you wearing Robert Burns' writing hat?" Jenkins sighed.

"Guid-mornin to your Majesty!
May heaven augment your blisses,
On ev'ry new birthday ye see,
A humble Poet wishes!"

"Neither of which you are, Mr Carsen," groaned Jenkins. "Please take that off. I do not understand why a man such as yourself, a Librarian nonetheless, would deliberately allow one of the Library's artefacts to affect him."

"The cares o Love are sweeter far
That onie other pleasure;
And if sae dear its sorrows are,
Enjoyment, what a treasure!"

"I take it back," sighed Jenkins, reaching over and grabbing the hat. "You haven't written your vows yet, have you?"

"When ilka..." Flynn stopped and blinked. "Ah, Jenkins, there you are. I was just thinking about you. Can't think why."

"That may have something to do with me standing here trying to talk to you for the past few minutes," nodded Jenkins. "Having trouble coming up with the right words for our vows, were we?"

"I... Yes, why?" Flynn looked about him suspiciously. "What was I doing?"

"Spouting Burns," Jenkins waved the offending article in the air and replaced it on its hat stand on the table. "One might suggest, as inspiration for marital vows presumably including fidelity, a poet who was not a famous philanderer with at least five illegitimate children, all to different mothers, born during the two years or so it took him to get his marriage to his official wife recognised, and that's not including the twins she bore him during that time."

"I was thinking of him more as the most successful romantic of the poets," shrugged Flynn. "A Casanova of poets, if you will."

"Casanova didn't make promises he couldn't keep," retorted Jenkins. "At least not about love. Money was another matter entirely."

"Then who do I turn to for advice here, Jenkins?" Flynn hopped down from the table and turned to it. The first item he pointed to was a quill pen clamped very securely with its nib pointing upwards. "I daren't try Shakespeare. Herodotus is a bore when it comes to romance. Aristophanes takes nothing seriously. Homer would have me banished on a ten year quest to track down my love through mysterious and life-threatening adventures - been there, done that! Byron will give you the hangover from Hades and the depression to go with it. Wordsworth is a cold fish. Virgil can spout omnia vincit amor all he likes but it all just comes out in Latin. Tennyson would be good, but we have no artefacts for him and only two books, both of which are apparently being borrowed right now by 'someone'..."

"One would suggest a certain Elizabeth Barrett Browning," said Jenkins, taking Flynn by the shoulder and steering him towards the office. "Or, if you prefer a male author's words in this instance, try Friedrich Halm. We should have books on both. Of course you could just have asked your Best Man for advice, or any of the other gentlemen currently residing within these walls."

Flynn turned and looked at Jenkins. He seemed to be weighing these options. "You're right," he said, finally. "I should have asked Stone."

Jenkins narrowed his eyes and pointed in the direction of the office. "Case. Go. Now. Upper reading area. Shoo."