to laugh. I looked Elizabeth in the eye. “It’s just that… I can’t quite see you as a nun.”
“You doubt my passion for my faith?”
“No, no. You’re very passionate. That, I think, might be the problem.”
She began to say something, then cut herself short and narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re such an ass, Victor,” she said. And with that, she stalked off.
I watched her disappear inside the house and, with a sigh, took one last look at the sooty remains of the Dark Library. Amidst the gray debris something bright red suddenly flashed in the sun. I squinted. It was just a bit of glass, surely. But when I stepped closer, I saw that it was the spine of a red book-completely unburned.
With great determination I forced myself to turn back to the house. But halfway there my step faltered.
No paper could have withstood the searing heat of those flames. How could a book not burn?
I swallowed against the heavy thump of my heart. Some birds trilled as they flew overhead. The courtyard was still empty, but it wouldn’t be long before the servants came to start removing the debris.
I seized a shovel, stepped into the ash, and carefully slipped the blade under the red object. I lifted it out and deposited it on the cobblestone. Kneeling, I saw its cover, wonderfully decorated with scrollwork but bearing no title or name. A book that would not burn.
Walk away.
But I couldn’t restrain myself. I reached out, and the moment I touched the cover, pain seared my fingertips. I recoiled with a gasp. What kind of devilish thing was this? Then, feeling ridiculous, I realized that this book was made of metal and was still hot from the blaze.
Sucking my fingertips, I bent my head lower. The illusion was exceedingly clever. Lines had been carefully scored into the metal sides to look like actual page ends. And, squinting, I could now see that there was a single straight seam that ran all the way around the book, with two tiny hinges embedded ingeniously within the spine. It was in fact a slim metal container, meant to look, and open, exactly like a book.
Just another strange book from a room of strange books.
I stood, prodded it dismissively with the toe of my shoe. Why would someone bother constructing a book of metal-unless its contents were so important that they needed to withstand an inferno?
Do not do this.
Quickly I took a nearby bucket of water and sluiced some over the metal book. It hissed briefly. Then I took out my handkerchief, wrapped the slim book up, and slipped it inside my pocket.
In the privacy of my bedchamber I opened the metal book. It contained shallow compartments on both the left and right sides.
On the right were packed several bundles of cloth. Hurriedly I unwrapped the first and beheld what looked like some kind of pendant-a narrow loop of slim but sturdy metal with a star-shaped ornament at one end.
In the other bundles were several smaller metal pieces, obviously specially forged, for they were complicated. One was a kind of ball-in-socket pivot, the other like the bits of a miniature horse’s harness. They were stiff with rust, but as I moved them, they became suppler. Oil was all they needed-to do what, I had no idea.
In the left compartment was a thin sheaf of pages that had clearly been torn from the binding of an ancient book. The first sheet was printed with forceful Gothic type. At the top of the first page was written:
Instructions for the Spirit Board
What in the world was a spirit board? I flipped through the pages and saw careful blueprints for the construction of some kind of apparatus that required the oddly shaped pieces I’d seen. At the machine’s center was a pendulum, and its bob was the star-shaped ornament. Impatiently I flipped ahead until I found more writing under the heading “Conversing with the Dead.”
A lump formed in my throat. How many times had I wished it were possible, if only for a few moments? And suddenly, hungrily, I was reading. But I made it through only a few lines before looking away, self-disgust welling within me.
Why had I even taken this book from the bonfire? It was just more medieval nonsense, and unlike the alchemical lore I’d put such faith in, this didn’t even pretend to have a veneer of fact or science.
With great determination I folded the crinkled sheaf of pages and stuck them back into their compartment. Then I hurriedly began wrapping up the metal pieces. The star-shaped pendulum was last, and in my angry haste I stabbed myself on one of its sharp points. A drop of blood welled from my finger onto the ornament, and in that instant the thing was as something alive in my hand. It gave only the slightest tremor, but I dropped it in alarm.
It lay in its metal box, an inert object once more.
But an object that contained some strange, compressed power within it.
“Now do that bit up here,” I said to my nine-year-old brother, Ernest, and watched him carefully as he tapped the hammer against the nail. “That’s it. Good!”
I’d had all the materials brought up to the west sitting room and, after Sunday lunch, had set about building a wooden pendulum, in accordance with the instructions in my metal book. Of course, no one needed to know where these instructions had come from, or their true purpose. It was just a fun and educational activity, and one my mother watched over approvingly as she wrote her letters.
“It’s good to see you so engaged in something, Victor,” she said, coming over now to place an affectionate hand on my head. Her eyes, I noticed, were moist.
Since Konrad’s death, I hated everything. I could not concentrate to read. I could not sit still long enough to listen to music. Neither horseback riding nor sailing offered me any pleasure. The world was going on elsewhere, and I had no part in it. I was locked deep inside myself.
But now… after opening that metal book, there was something I wanted.
Down the corridor I could hear the tramp of the servants whom Father had instructed to seal up the Dark Library forever. They would fill in the well at the bottom of the shaft to make sure no rats would get inside and bring plague. And then the masons would brick up the entrance to the Dark Library and, after the spiral stairs were destroyed, plaster over the secret entrance from our own library. Even after everything that had happened, I did not like to think of it-something being lost forever, like the lid closing over Konrad’s sarcophagus.
The pendulum tripod was all but finished. It stood some three feet off the ground on its wooden legs. I was quite pleased with myself, for the measurements had had to be precise, and as I looked at it now from every angle, it seemed perfectly level. From the tripod’s apex was fixed the strange metal pivot that allowed the pendulum to move in any direction. I still had to attach the final piece of the pivot, a kind of second joint, but I could tell Ernest was getting impatient.
“Let’s make it go,” he said eagerly, and with a pang I noticed that this was one of the first times since the funeral when I’d seen him look happy. Konrad had always been his favorite. Ashamed, I realized how in my own grief I’d neglected everyone else’s. I would have to be a better brother to Ernest.
“All right,” I said. “But remember it’s not quite done yet. Right now it’s just a normal pendulum.”
Quickly I tied a measure of string to the main pivot and at the end attached the star-shaped pendant from the metal book. The star had one point that was longer than all the others, pointing straight down at the floor.
“That’s an unusual weight,” Elizabeth said. She’d been reading in an armchair, and now walked over for a closer look at our work. “Where did you find it?”
“Just something I found lying around,” I replied carelessly.
She frowned. “I think I’ve seen it somewhere before.”
“Care to lend a hand?” I asked, hoping to distract her.
“No, thank you,” she replied. “I’m enjoying my book.”
“Ah, quiet contemplation,” I said. “Can never have enough of that. Nice and solitary.”
Her eyebrows lifted satirically, and she then returned to her chair.
“Can we make it go now?” Ernest asked impatiently.
I pulled back the weight and let it swing in a long arc, back and forth.
“It’s not too interesting,” said Ernest after a few moments. “It just keeps going in the same direction.”
“Yes,” I said.
“But that will change in time,” said Father, and I turned to see him watching over us. I hadn’t heard him come in. He smiled down at Ernest. “If we leave it long enough, you’ll see it change course because of the earth’s
