XLVII

Belgium

Nick stared at the letters that had appeared on the page. ‘What is that?’

‘Hard point,’ said Emily. ‘You press the words into the parchment with a blunt nib, a pen with no ink. It only shows up if you look at it in the right light, and know where to look. It’s simple but very effective. Did you ever read a mystery story where the detective looks on a pad of paper for the impression of what was written on the sheet above?’

‘I guess.’

‘This is the same thing, only deliberate. Medieval scribes often used hard point to rule their lines. Some of them adapted the technique to write hidden messages.’

‘So what does it say?’

Emily read the words slowly, tracing them out with the light. Jerome watched her with a look somewhere between fury and grudging respect.

‘“Occultum in sermonibus regum Israel.” ’ She looked up. ‘It means, “Which is hidden in the sayings of the kings of Israel.”’

‘And what does that mean?’

‘It’s a continuation of the previous line. He – Master Francis, the illuminator – also made another book of beasts using this new form of writing, which is hidden in the sayings of the kings of Israel.’

Nick’s head throbbed. ‘Great. You know, I’m surprised they bothered to hide it. It makes absolutely no sense. There’s no way Gillian could have found it.’

‘I think she did.’ In her tiredness, Emily spoke so quietly that Nick struggled to hear her. She said it again. ‘I think she found it. The Sayings of the Kings of Israel is a lost book of the Bible.’

She watched their reactions. Nick confused; Brother Jerome with his strange, ill-concealed irritation. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

Jerome played with the hem of his dressing gown and said nothing.

‘I saw it in that book in the Bibliothèque Nationale. Lost Books of the Bible.’ She pointed to the bestiary splayed open on the desk. ‘Gillian got it out the day after she found this. I’d be pretty sure she saw the inscription. But where that gets us… ’

‘What do you mean by a lost book of the Bible?’ said Nick. ‘Do you mean a lost book as in a missing copy, or as in a piece of text like the Gospel according to Mary Magdalen or whatever?’

‘I don’t know.’ Emily slumped back against the wall. ‘I didn’t read that carefully. I suppose it’s more likely to be a book as in text, like the Book of Revelation or the Book of Job. Though how that’s supposed to get us closer to Gillian…’

‘Gillian must have been searching for something when she left Paris,’ said Nick. ‘It wasn’t the card, and it wasn’t this book – she had both of those already. There must have been something else.’

Emily turned back to the book on the table and stared at the illuminations. ‘This book alone is priceless. A bestiary that we can attribute with near certainty to the Master of the Playing Cards – practically signed by him. Just discovering it would have made Gillian’s professional reputation for life. What would make her abandon this to go chasing after something else?’

They wrapped the book in newspaper, made their excuses and left. For all his hostility, Jerome seemed reluctant to see them go. He followed them to the car, standing on the pavement in his bathrobe until they were out of sight. Nick wished they hadn’t spoken so freely in front of him. Only when they’d left him well behind did he voice the obvious question.

‘Where now?’

‘Strasbourg,’ said Emily confidently.

They were still driving through the suburbs: grey, foursquare houses built in four-square grids. The heating was losing its battle against the cold air blowing through the glassless window, but even that was barely keeping Nick awake any more. He felt numb, his eyes like concrete.

‘Because that’s where the bestiary came from?’

‘And therefore where Gillian’s most likely to have gone.’

‘You don’t know that. She was probably way ahead of us. If she figured out what the Sayings of the Kings of Israel meant, she could have gone anywhere.’

‘True. But the only place we know she could have gone is Strasbourg. And before that, I suggest we find alternative transportation. Driving around in a car we’ve stolen from a gang of murderous thugs seems a sure way of guaranteeing a short trip.’

‘We can’t just walk into Avis,’ said Nick sourly. ‘The police know all about me already – and now they’ve got that bloodbath in the warehouse to pin on us as well. Atheldene’s probably told them everything. Pretty soon, we’re going to be the hottest property in Europe. We-’

‘For God’s sake look out!’

Emily grabbed Nick’s arm. His eyes jerked open – he hadn’t even felt them close. Adrenalin ripped through him as he saw he’d drifted halfway across the street – straight into the path of an oncoming Volkswagen. Nick jerked the wheel and tried to hit the brakes. Instead, he slammed his foot on the accelerator. The big car leaped forward and right, just missing the swerving Volkswagen. Nick turned the wheel back. The car straightened abruptly – but kept going round as the tyres lost all grip on the frozen road. Emily screamed. Nick spun the wheel and jammed on the brakes; the car shuddered as the ABS kicked in but didn’t stop.

It was all over in an instant. The car spun across the road, round 180 degrees, and banged into the kerb. They both sat there in stunned silence. From an adjacent garden, a little girl in a woollen hat looked over the fence in astonishment.

‘I think we’ll take the train,’ said Emily.

XLVIII

Strassburg

Andreas Dritzehn wanted me to like him. He had spread his table with venison, capons, jellies and sweetmeats. He flattered my new coat, which was second hand, and laughed if he even suspected a joke. He pressed me with wine, which he served himself, though there were many servants on hand to pour. I was quite willing to oblige him. He wanted to give me a great deal of money.

I made him wait. I refilled my plate and my glass often. I discoursed energetically on the weather, the harvest, progress on the cathedral, Paris. I was a delightful guest. Kaspar, across the table, said little. His spirits burned like a candle: they could be snuffed out in an instant. If my attention was deflected even a degree away from him, he became sullen and withdrawn.

At last the plates were cleared, the servants dismissed, the women dispatched to their chambers. Dritzehn threw another log on the fire and leaned closer.

‘Tell my about your mirrors.’

Like many ideas, it had been born of necessity. In this case, necessity took the guise of two men who one afternoon visited my house in St Argobast. Working in the forge, I did not see them arrive, or notice anything until one announced himself by rapping his cudgel on my shoulder. It was not a friendly tap, but a heavy blow that left my arm numb. I dropped the ladle with a howl. Boiling metal slopped into the fire, setting off a noxious steam that stung my eyes. I almost tipped the entire crucible over my legs. Weeping and choking, I turned around to meet my visitors.

One was the man who had hit me. If ever a man’s face bespoke his character this was it. His right eye, left earlobe and left arm were missing – though to judge by the knock he had given me, enough strength remained in his right arm for two. His nose had been broken so many times it looked like a sack of rocks; his lips, bared in a sneer, looked permanently bruised.

The other man stepped out from his considerable shadow. It was Stoltz, the moneylender.

‘We were supposed to meet yesterday to discuss your debts. You did not come.’

‘I forgot.’

The one-armed man made another movement. Still blinking back tears from the pain and fumes, I did not see it clearly. All I felt was another explosion of agony, this time in my knee. I dropped to the floor.