The Dark Volume

Carper was entirely obliging—it gave him an excuse not to search— and allowed the Doctor to press one foot off his cradled hands, and then another off his shoulder. Svenson clawed his way up the rock, gritting his teeth and refusing to look beneath him—even this minor height made his palms sweat. Why must he always find himself in these situations?

“What do you see?” called Carper, holding up his lantern.

Svenson reached the crevice and pulled himself to the side of the sticky blood, exhaling with effort. The crevice was tiny, but extended farther than he'd thought, the depths too narrow for the boy to use. Svenson squinted… a pale object in the very distant dark… he flattened his body and extended one arm… his fingers touched cloth… he pulled on it, gently, and it came free—a grain sack… with something particularly heavy inside it.

He slid to the ground. Before Mr. Carper could ask what Svenson had found, the Doctor leaned close. “We must find Mr. Bolte, alone.”

The rest of the men were assisting Mr. Potts, nosing about like dogs in the shadows. Svenson crossed quickly, took Bolte's arm, and walked him out of the rocks altogether, Carper trailing behind with the lantern.

“The Doctor has something to show you,” whispered Carper, a bit too dramatically.

“Found in the crevice,” said Svenson, “where the boy was attacked. I believe it was what he was protecting—why he was killed.”

“I do not understand. Is it food?”

“It is not.”

“Why would a wolf care about anything it could not eat?”

“Mr. Bolte… and Mr. Carper, you too must know.”

The two men exchanged a glance and drew closer.

“There is no wolf,” said Svenson. “At least no wolf in Karthe. Be fore you say a word—believe me, my proof for all I say is longer than we have time to tell—you saw the ‘marbles’ Mr. Potts found on the road, and you saw the dead boy's legs—the gashes of blue?”

“But you said that you did not know—”

“I had hoped it was not necessary. It has become so.”

He opened the sack and carefully held it open, rolling down the sides so the two men could see, but keeping his fingers in contact only with the canvas. All three flinched as Carper's lantern was reflected back into their eyes, a bewitching, luminous indigo.

“It… appears to be… a sort of book…”

“Made of… glass,” whispered Carper. “The same glass!”

“But of what use is a glass book?” asked Bolte. “It cannot hold printing.”

Svenson stood, gathering the top of the sack into a knot. Mr. Potts was approaching from the stand of black stones.

“You must trust me and say nothing,” the Doctor whispered quickly. “What this holds is unnatural—to even touch it is to put your very life at risk.”

MR. POTTS informed them with a satisfied smile that someone had been using the rocks as a campsite, and that this person possessed a horse. The searchers had also discovered another spray of blue pebbles leading away from the rocks, into the hills. He looked at the sack in Svenson's hand but did not ask about it.

“Is the person with the horse related to the blue stones?” asked Svenson.

“I cannot say,” replied Potts, his eyes carefully moving across their faces.

Mr. Bolte nodded sharply and announced that the search must continue, pursuing the trail of stones. Potts shouted over his shoulder to the other men, but paused, staring narrowly at the Doctor, before stalking off to lead them.

Svenson turned to Mr. Carper. “How many fellows exactly are with us?”

Carper frowned. “I believe it is six, and Mr. Bolte and myself. And yourself.”

“Six counting Mr. Potts?”

“Yes, six with Potts. Nine with everyone, including you. Why do you ask?”

“Mere idleness. And apart from those staves, do any possess… weapons?”

“The staves are quite stout,” answered Carper. “Do you mean fire arms?”

“I suppose I do.”

“I would doubt there are five guns in all of Karthe. I believe Mr. Potts possesses a pistol.”

“He does?”

“Well, he is a hunter.”

“I did not know hunters often used pistols.”

“No,” said Carper, smiling, “that is what is so convenient for us! I should much prefer to shoot a wolf than kill it with our staves.”

“Indeed.”

“And yet… as you say… it may be no wolf at all.”

Svenson did not reply at once, then dropped his voice even lower.

“It may—I hesitate to say—but our quarry may in fact be… a woman.”

“A woman?”

“It is possible… perhaps I am wrong—”

“You must be, sir! For a woman to do such violence—and to a child!”

Svenson exhaled, not entirely sure where to begin, but Carper had reached his own conclusion, the fat man's breath rasping in clouds before his face.

“If you are correct—with so many of us, she must surrender. We will not be called on to shoot a woman.”

There were calls from the darkness ahead of them.

“I believe Mr. Potts has found something,” said the Doctor.

AT THE turning were signs of another struggle: flattened grass, a dark woolen wrap, and more glass—but this in smooth, broken wedges, not the rounded drips they had followed. Mr. Potts knelt over the glass, Mr. Bolte standing above him. It was clear by Potts' dark glare as the Doctor approached that the Ministry man had been told about the book. Svenson called out sharply as he saw Potts extend his hand.

“Do not touch it!”

Potts jerked his hand away, and stood with a triumphant sneer, making room for Svenson.

“It is just like what you discovered in the rocks,” whispered Mr. Bolte.

“Exactly,” said Svenson, to cut him off.

The pieces of glass were impossibly thin, snapped from an inner page of a book, and starred along their length, as if they had been shattered.

“I should be grateful to know your thoughts,” said Potts.

“You would be even more grateful not to, I assure you,” the Doctor told him.

“I do insist. I will have no more secrets.”

“Then tell us where your fellow hunters are now? Your party.”

“What is that to do with our search?” asked Mr. Bolte. “Surely we are enough—”

“It is to do with what they hunt, as Mr. Potts well knows.”

“My companions are reputable men.”

“Soldiers of the Queen?”

“They are not well-known criminals,” spat Potts, “like your Cardinal Chang.”

“Cardinal Chang has been accounted for,” interrupted Svenson. “Your party has not. Your own arrogance shows exactly how little you do understand your prey—dangerous prey, as that poor child has proven with his life.”

“What prey, Doctor?” snarled Potts. “Tell us all!”

“The Doctor mentioned a woman,” said Mr. Carper.

Svenson wheeled to find Carper directly behind him, holding up the woolen wrap.

“Do you know it?” Mr. Bolte asked Svenson.

“Not at all,” replied the Doctor.

Mr. Bolte turned to Potts. “Do you? Do you know any woman here?”