The Wise Friend, page 19
I’d embarrassed the librarian, who said “Let me fetch your book.”
“Hold on.” When he turned without bothering to display enthusiasm I said “Were you here all the time they were?”
“I was, yes.”
“How long would you say that was?”
“About an hour,” he said, having mimed deliberation.
“And after they left she came back.”
“Did they?” Apparently this needed pondering as well, and so did adding “No.”
I felt more disquieted than I understood. “What do you mean, no?”
“They, that’s to say your son’s friend, they didn’t come back. Not while I was in here, at any rate.”
“Ah,” I said with the hope of relief. “How long was that?”
“The rest of the afternoon. At least a couple of hours, and I never went out the door.” Lister gave me a decidedly doubtful blink before saying “Anyway, your book.”
My appearance might well have been a source of concern, given that I’d barely slept since visiting the abandoned hotel. I’d managed few coherent thoughts, none of them reassuring. Presumably the jars of earth had been left unguarded because anyone who touched them would be given good cause to regret it. At least Bella was keeping the items away from Roy, but no doubt she was with him at this moment, and exerting what influence? What did she actually want from him? I was desperate to confront her, though perhaps not until I could find her on her own, and surely learning what she’d discovered in the archive might help. I did my best to focus on the moment as Lister returned with the book.
I’d expected an imposing tome, but this wouldn’t have covered much more than the palm of my hand. The exterior was utterly black, not just the binding but the edges of the pages. I saw the library had bound the book, but if the title and classification number on the spine had been gilded or otherwise emphasised, they were all but engulfed by blackness now. The volume looked as monolithically solid as a lump of coal, but when Lister passed it to me I felt it shift in my hand, betraying that it was less stable than it looked. I could have fancied that I’d wakened it somehow, especially when Lister said “If you could rest it on a pillow.”
There were cushions on the tables, so that readers could prop up books they were consulting. When I dumped the item on the nearest unused cushion the journal sprawled open, revealing that the front board was loose, while the pages were losing their hold on the spine. Someone hadn’t shown the book much respect, and I couldn’t help suspecting it had been the previous reader, though why would Bella treat such a rarity that way? The endpapers were as black as the binding, which gave me the unsettling notion that their darkness was designed to contain more of the same. I had to glance about for mundane reassurance – the sockets embedded in the tables for powering laptops, the cables lurking in recesses by the sockets, the high windows displaying office workers at their lunch on benches in the street – before I opened the first page.
Lumen Scientiae, His Life and Explorations. Although these were the solitary words on the page, the elaborate script was minute. It seemed introverted, addressed only to its author, as if the intricacies of the penmanship were designed to obscure any secrets it contained. I felt inexplicably reassured to see it didn’t look much like Bella’s writing, and I needn’t think hers suggested an attempt at imitation. How could it when her writing dated from before she’d seen the book? I tried to leave my confusion behind as I turned the page.
The true mage is conceived by the cosmos, and is its fleshly incarnation. He belongs not to the human, for the instant of his conception epitomises the ancient will to reach beyond the stars and to exhume the secrets of the earth. In the womb he is privy to arcane lore, and bears occult truths into the world upon his birth. Such an one am I, and who else shall say it? Did the Christ raise the dead to stand guard at his manger? Did Mahomet split the moon in twain while he yet crawled on all fours, or was the Buddha seen to tramp the sky while still an infant? Once grown they were compelled to strut their powers to confound their followers, but I have no disciples or apprentices, nor any need of such. Nonetheless, I summoned presences whom men would name angels to watch over my crib, and my dissatisfaction with my clumsy infantile limbs sent me to emulate the flight of birds while my body played at teeter-totter to amuse my parents. My first words were in no language they had the wit to recognise, and my first steps enacted a forgotten ritual dance which those doting dullards applauded ape-like. Turned five years old, I grew alert to the whispers graves conceal, and at less than twice the age I was adept at locating those from which I could profitably learn…
Deciphering all this had cost me the best part of ten minutes – disentangling the cramped words from the inky efflorescences that surrounded and frequently obscured them. I could have thought the extravagant curlicues contained a separate message meant for initiates. No wonder Roy had given up trying to read the journal, but had Bella carried on out of perseverance or from some affinity with the material? I closed my eyes to rest them for a few moments, only to hear a surreptitious noise like a wakeful head shifting on a pillow. The pages had sagged shut, confronting me with the front endpaper as though the book had tired of my attention or found it intrusive. I had to hold it open with my fingertips on the margin of the scrawny verso and the recto that felt fat with secrets.
He who draws his powers from the stars or from beyond that luminous multitude may, upon relinquishing his flesh, be raised into the empyrean, while he who depends upon the earth and its aspects hidden from the herd of men, may rest beneath the land from which he gained his powers. Yet the mind of the mage is not restful, nor shall it sleep. He may be heard to insist upon his name like an infant hot to establish its identity, and be observed making shift to piece together his lost form out of the environs of his grave. His thoughts and his discoveries remain available to the initiated, for the earth itself shall grow eloquent when questioned. The merest handful contains the essence of its occupant, and shall yield all its knowledge to the searcher…
I lifted my eyes from the page, not just to give them a respite but in a bid to put my thoughts in order. Had my aunt gained any esoteric knowledge from the samples she’d taken from the sites – the burial sites? Or had that been the purpose of the man who’d ingratiated himself with her? Was Bella attempting it, and far more importantly, was Roy? I was distracted by a face mouthing so fiercely at me that it seemed to be opening too much of a mouth. I could have thought the book had summoned it until I realised it was beyond the window, which muted the shouts of a man calling to a friend across the road. I returned to the book, only to be daunted by the task, and started leafing through it in the hope that anything I ought to learn would catch my eye. I was somewhere near the middle when a word or phrase snagged my attention, and I used my blackened fingertips to pin the pages down.
…such rites and expeditions as require a helper or companion. No true mage imperils his secrets by educating an apprentice; nor should he hire the ignorant to aid in ritual, no matter how imperfectly it may be comprehended, for this is to invite a thief into his life. Let him rather conjure forth a servant which must conform to his desires and remain bounded by them. It shall be his wisest friend, for its nature is founded on the most ancient secrets; yet he must guard against permitting it to develop beyond his needs. It is his creation; it is but a parasite on him; yet all life contains the seeds of aspiration. If not adequately trammelled, the parasite may acquire powers in the very act of aiding its master in such rites as call for its participation. Perhaps the servant seeks to counterfeit humanity or even yearns to attain that state. However pitifully incomplete it grows in the absence of its master, this may spur it to importune others of his kind. Its flawed nature may compel it to pursue the companionship of those within whom it detects any hint of arcane vision or of sympathy therewith. Its victims will be blinded to their plight while it battens upon them in its hunger to regain power. How perfect are the
“Patrick.”
The whisper was so close that my ear felt invaded. I managed to confine my immediate reaction to a gasp as I twisted to face Bella. But the newcomer was Julia, meeting me with a look of weary disbelief. “What do you think you’re doing now?” she said.
“I might ask you the same question.”
“You’d sound foolish if you did. I work here, if you remember.”
“Not today you don’t.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Julia said and stared at the book, which had shut its pages on the finger that was marking my place. “Because you thought I wouldn’t see?”
“I’ll ask you one of those too,” I said, raising not just my eyes to Lister but my voice. “Did your colleague tell you I was coming?”
“Patrick—”
“Is that why he made such a noise about my name, to let you know I’d arrived?”
“You’re the only one who’s making a noise, and please make less.” Without lowering her own voice Julia said “Believe it or not, your behaviour isn’t as important to so many other people as you seem to think.”
“Is that why you were spying on it?”
“Nobody was spying. I really think you need to take a long hard look at the way your mind’s working these days, and if you can’t or won’t, find somebody who will. I don’t believe it’s been right since Bella came into Roy’s life. Do you resent her having such an interest in your aunt that you can’t share it with him any more? Is that why you’re jealous?”
“I’ve already told you I’m nothing of the kind. I’m glad you brought her up, because—”
“And for the record, I’m here today because I swapped days off so Hannah could go to a wedding.”
“Good luck to the happy couple.” At once I wished I hadn’t said that, at least not so cynically. “Look, we oughtn’t to be arguing,” I said and opened the book on the cushion, which shifted like a bag of worms. “We should be talking about this.”
Julia kept her displeased gaze on me. “You always wanted to control our disagreements, didn’t you? Calling a halt as soon as you’d had enough, especially if it was going against you.”
“I’m just suggesting you might be more concerned if you saw what Roy’s been reading.”
“I’m perfectly familiar with the contents of our archive.” As I opened my mouth to doubt she’d read every book Julia said “And if anyone’s responsible for Roy getting involved in that sort of thing I’m very much afraid it’s you, Patrick.”
“I didn’t bring him here to see this. Bella did.”
Julia looked sad, though hardly sympathetic. “Is that what it’s all about? Finding somebody to blame for what you wish you hadn’t done?”
“I didn’t even know the book existed.” When Julia gave this a stare that scarcely bothered to express weariness, I said “Just read some of this and perhaps you won’t be so—Just read.”
She leaned over my shoulder, taking care we didn’t touch. Far sooner than I would have hoped, she straightened up. “I’m not wasting any more time on that. If there’s something in it you want me to see, show me.”
“Nothing specific that I’ve found yet, but if you read just one page—”
“I’ve told you I haven’t the time. And I’m surprised you’re so anxious now for me to read it when you obviously didn’t want me to know you’d been here.”
“I would have told you if I’d found anything we ought to be worried about. That’s to say I’ve been trying to tell you now.”
“Only because I caught you out, and I really don’t think I need to know.” Julia stepped back while her discontented gaze remained on me. “Carry on, then,” she said. “Read to the end if it makes you happy. Just don’t go harassing Roy and Bella about it, or anything else for that matter.”
If I’d sent a retort after her it would have involved speaking up, which might even have provided an excuse to eject me from the room. As I peered at the book I heard Julia murmuring to Lister at the desk. I needn’t imagine they were discussing me, let alone act on the notion. By the time I managed to locate in the midst of the inky labyrinth the point where my reading had been interrupted, I was virtually unaware of them.
How perfect are the curbs which I have set about my servant? In my absence it is powerless; yet perhaps I should reinforce its dependence upon myself and no other. Though it be an avatar of the demonic, its essence is my creation and my triumph. It lives but to serve me, and should give thanks to me for its existence. Ought it to be permitted to retain the name it brought out of the dark, or might renaming it confirm my mastery? For the nonce it responds when called Bal or yet Bel…
I had no idea what sound I made, or how loudly. The sight of the variations on a name paralysed not just my body but my mind until I heard a noise like the tolling of a glassy bell. It was the door, and Julia had left the archive room. I lurched to my feet with my finger in the book, and was making to chase her when Lister said “Excuse me, can you leave that here?”
“I need to show Julia.”
“You mustn’t take it out of the search room.”
“All right, then will you stop my wife?”
He glanced after her as I dumped the book on the cushion, which uttered a sound like a muffled breath. “Your wife.”
“She used to be,” I said and stalked fast to the door. “Forget it. I’ll catch her myself.”
I felt brittle with the information I had to impart, as though it had reduced me to a sketch of my nerves. The shrill note of the door could have been expressing my state. “Julia,” I called, and louder “Julia.”
At least a dozen people seated at computer terminals in the expansive outer room turned to stare at me. They were more responsive than Julia, and I was on the edge of shouting when she halted with her back to me. She didn’t speak until I’d overtaken her. “What is it now, Patrick?”
“I’ve found something in the book you need to see.”
“No, I need to be upstairs. I’m already behind on some work.”
“It won’t take a moment,” I urged, only to regret neglecting to mark the place in the book. How long might it take me to find it again? “It’s more than important,” I said, trying to restrain my voice. “You’ll see.”
Very little like an invitation Julia said “Just tell me, Patrick.”
“You have to see for yourself. You won’t believe otherwise.”
Julia gave a shrug that appeared to pump out an equally fierce sigh of resignation. “For heaven’s sake show me, then.”
She marched back to the search room and held the door open barely long enough for me to follow her in, and then she swung to confront me. “Where is it?”
“I told you, in the book,” I said and dodged around her, only to falter. On the table in front of the chair I’d shoved away at an angle, the cushion lay indented as though it had supported a sleeper’s head, but now it held nothing at all. “Where’s the book?” I demanded.
“That’s what I asked you, Patrick.”
“I left it there, right there. Mr Lister knows I did. He made me. He saw me do it.”
Lister stared at the table and rose halfway to his feet to confirm what he was seeing. “I’m afraid that’s not the case.”
“How can it not be? What are you trying to suggest?”
“I’m saying you asked me to go after your wife and so I wasn’t looking.”
In a dangerously neutral tone Julia said “Did you really call me that, Patrick?”
“I was in a hurry to catch you, and if you recall, Mr Lister, I immediately said she only used to be.” I felt reduced to nerves again. “I’d think you would be more concerned about finding the book,” I said.
Julia gazed at me as Lister did. “We are,” she said.
“If that look’s supposed to mean you think I’ve got it somewhere, come and search.” Not far from hysteria I said “After all, this is the search room.”
“I won’t be going near you, but perhaps Derek should.”
“Examine me by all means, Derek. Really, pat me to your heart’s content. Feel wherever you like.”
Too late I realised this might sound like a clutch of homophobic comments. Perhaps that was why Lister rendered his face blank before approaching me. I emptied my pockets – phone, wallet stuffed with plastic cards, comb, handkerchief as crumpled as a schoolboy’s – onto the cushion, and Lister responded to my invitation by patting me pretty well from head to foot with a fastidiousness that might have conveyed disdain or distaste. The process worked on my nerves so much that I had to restrain more than one twitch. At last the librarian said “Mr Semple appears not to have the book.”
“Just appears? Is there somewhere you haven’t poked around you’d like to? Up my—” This wouldn’t help the situation, and rather than say it I said “So someone else took it. Did they go out?”
“Nobody has left this room since you did.”
“Then they’ve got it somewhere in here.”
“Nobody else has been to your table.”
“How can you know that if you didn’t even see me leave the book?”
“Because it’s my job to be aware what people do in this room.”
“It’s in here somewhere,” I insisted and began to search, peering at every book and less directly at their readers, not to mention under all the tables and at the librarian’s desk. Before I’d finished I heard Julia and Lister murmuring together. “I’m afraid we’ve called security, Mr Semple,” Lister said.
“A joint effort, was it? You can tell them not to stir themselves. I’m gone.”
Just the same, I stared around the room. Nobody was looking at me, and I could have imagined everyone was determined to render me unseen and unheard. I had an absurd impulse to slam the door on my way out, but it wasn’t playing. As it gave its faint chime behind me I heard Julia say “I’m sorry about all that. We were together years ago.” She was apologising to everybody in the room, but that wasn’t why I stared hard through the glass. I half expected the book to have reappeared on the cushion, but there was no sign. As I tramped through a maze of computer terminals and emerged into St Peter’s Square, across which a segmented tram was worming with a metallic moan, I was close to storming back into the search room. I had a nagging sense that the book was hidden in plain sight, having been made invisible – that magic had invaded the sunlit room.
