The Book of Secrets

by Tom Harper

  ‘All you have to do is get me to the front door.’

  ‘It’s all set up.’ Urthred pointed to the bottom of the tree, where a fat root split in two like a cloven hoof. It forced the earth apart, leaving a triangular hole in the fork. ‘Down you go.’

  The Wanderer jumped. The screen went black as the hole swallowed him. Nick waited for something to happen. The green light on the computer’s network card blinked furiously, but the screen stayed blank. Had Randall screwed up?

  ‘Should something be happening?’ said Emily.

  ‘I got him to set up a secure connection to the FBI servers in Washington. Hopefully it’ll make us untraceable.’ Nick drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at the screen. All he saw was his own reflection. ‘If we get there.’

  A blue screen appeared with a government seal and the words FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION emblazoned across the top. Nick had never thought he’d be so glad to see it. He typed in his password and held his breath.

  Password accepted

  The screen changed again, a plain list of files and folders. Nick clicked one and entered a file name. The lights on the network connection went into overdrive; a green bar began crawling across the screen as the file started to transfer.

  ‘How long do we have to wait?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Maybe half an hour for the upload. After that…’ Nick shrugged. ‘The program’s written to deal with bags of shredded material at a time, so one sheet should be quicker. On the other hand, we don’t know if we have all the pieces, and we don’t know how wet they got in the snow. And there’s the question of what was actually on the original sheet of paper. The more detail, particularly words, the easier it is for the algorithm to figure it out.’

  ‘Nick – you there?’ Randall’s disembodied voice jumped out of the computer speakers. Nick leaned towards the microphone he’d plugged in.

  ‘Worked perfectly.’

  ‘That’s what I’m telling you: it didn’t. Somebody’s sniffing all over that connection. You must have triggered some kind of alarm when you logged in.’

  ‘Is it coming from the Washington end?’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it. How much longer do you need?’

  Nick looked at the status bar.

  FILE TRANSFER: 12% COMPLETE

  ‘It’s going to be a while.’

  ‘That was a wasted errand,’ Kaspar complained. But I saw his eyes dart towards me as soon as he’d said it, always probing.

  I played along. ‘I found it useful.’

  A brief silence followed, while he pretended he did not want to know and I pretended I did not want to tell him.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Every letter has a different shape. But each is composed of a much smaller number of basic shapes. A stroke, a dot, a curve. I would guess that with a set of six punches, maybe ten, you could strike almost any letter.’

  Drach snorted. ‘So reductive. You reduce the page to words and the words to letters; now the letters to lines. Next you will want to form each line from individual grains of metal. And you still don’t know how to make any of it work.’

  ‘Götz does.’

  ‘Then why don’t you hire him?’

  ‘Maybe I will.’ I was fed up with Dunne. I suspected he had stopped believing in the enterprise long ago, and now saw me only as a tap of easy money to be left dripping as long as possible. ‘But first I must know what I want Götz to do.’

  I sighed. Trying to comprehend the project on every level, from the finished plate to the tiniest stroke of each letter, turned my mind inside out. Every level depended on the others, and the least change to one caused changes to all. It was like trying to imagine the design of a cathedral while simultaneously knowing every stone within it. Sometimes I glimpsed the harmony of the whole, or felt its resonance. More often, it made my head hurt.

  ‘We should start back.’

  Kaspar looked back at the clock tower. ‘It will be dark before we’re halfway there.’

  ‘We’ll find an inn.’

  We ducked out of the town gate and joined the road back to Strassburg. High clouds had covered the sky. Without the sun the leaves no longer seemed so vibrant, merely old. They put me in a melancholy mood. I looked at their withered faces, the waxy green of youth dulled to dry brown, and saw my own face mirrored back to me. The purse of gold weighed like lead in my pocket.

  We had not gone far when a new noise intruded on the rustle of leaves and flowing water. The staccato clop of hooves, soon swelled by a murmuring chatter of voices. Kaspar and I glanced at each other, then scurried off the road and crouched behind a pair of thick oaks. I clutched the purse tied under my shirt and tried to see who was coming.

  LVII

  Karlsruhe

  TRANSFER COMPLETE

  ‘Now for the hard part.’

  Nick took a deep breath and hammered out a few commands on the keyboard. The file icons disappeared; the screen turned a hazy purple. One by one, white blots appeared like raindrops on a window. Some faded back to nothing; others beaded together in clusters and spread across the screen. The effect was hypnotic.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Emily. ‘Is that what the program’s doing?’

  Nick hit a key. The screen blinked out of existence.

  ‘That’s just the visualiser. The people who write the cheques like to see it. It keeps the grants coming in, but it slows everything down.’

  Emily looked anxiously at her watch. ‘Then do we have to wait here? Can’t you leave the program running and pick up the results somewhere else?’

  ‘It’s not designed for that. The Feds get antsy if confidential information is left unattended. Even on a machine. If you log out, it pulls the plug.’

  ‘So we just sit here?’

  Nick pushed back the chair and punched the tab on a can of Coke. ‘You can explore the wide world of Gothic Lair if you like.’

  He pressed another key. Suddenly, they were back in the forest. By the edge of the clearing, Urthred was scratching himself with jerky, repetitive motions that meant Randall had gone somewhere else.

  Emily looked at the shimmering forest. ‘Do all video games provide back doors to the FBI?’

  ‘Randall’s a seventy-first-level mage.’ Nick saw that didn’t explain much to Emily. ‘He’s also done some work for the guys who publish Gothic Lair. He has a lot of access.’

  ‘And a whole lot of pain.’

  The Wanderer turned around. Urthred had come up behind him, apparently repossessed by Randall.

  ‘It’s a shitstorm. Someone was tooled up and ready for you to go back to that account. They’re trying to take it down. Massive botnet DoS.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ said Emily.

  Nick covered his mouthpiece. ‘It means they’ve got a network of zombie computers – machines they’ve infected with a virus – that they can get to all try to make connections to the FBI server at the same time.’ He thought for a second. ‘Imagine you’ve got a water fountain where people go and get a drink. As long as everyone takes his turn, no problem. Now imagine that a hysterical mob converges on it, all fighting to get a few drops of water at once. Eventually there are so many that they actually block up the pipe and no water can even get out. The pipe backs up, or breaks open, and the whole thing’s wrecked. That’s what they’re trying to do here.’

  ‘Will it work?’

  ‘It’s already pissed off the Feds,’ Randall’s voice said from the speakers. ‘Now they’re on to us as well.’

  ‘Do you think they can shut down the program?’

  ‘I doubt it. They need you to stay logged in.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘So they can find out where you are.’

  Two horses came around the bend in the road. Both riders wore chain-mail hauberks and carried lances. I could not see any insignia, though that would have meant little. Plenty of knights had lost their standards to the Armagnaken. I crouched lower in the undergrowth.

  But the riders
were only the vanguard. Behind them came a group on foot – men and women, walking together, laughing and talking. About two dozen of them. Many carried stout walking staffs and wore short capes, with pointed hoods raised against the autumn chill. It was a company of pilgrims, probably bound for the shrine of St Theobald near Strassburg.

  With a breath of relief, I stepped out into the road. One of the riders saw us and spurred forward. I stood my ground and made the sign of the cross. He reined in just in front of me.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Travellers on our way to Strassburg. Can we join your company?’

  A fat priest with an officious face stepped out from among the pilgrims. ‘Can you pay?’

  I paused, taken aback.

  ‘The road is dangerous.’ He pointed to the two riders. ‘We have hired these guards from our own pocket. If you wish to share their protection, you should contribute.’

  Fear outweighed my sense of injustice. ‘I can contribute.’

  He held out his hand. ‘Now.’

  I reached inside my shirt and fumbled in the purse, trying by touch to find copper rather than gold. The pilgrim grabbed the coin that emerged, sniffed it, then pointed to Kaspar. ‘And one for him.’

  ‘When we arrive safely.’

  The door banged open. Nick, who had been dozing, almost fell off his chair in surprise. Sabine stepped into the room with two more cans of Coke. On screen, Urthred and the Wanderer meandered in eccentric circles around the clearing, bathed in the silver light of an improbably bright moon.

  ‘Getting far?’

  Nick rubbed his eyes. ‘I don’t know. What time is it?’

  ‘Four a.m.’

  ‘Damn.’ He snapped open the can, trying to remember something. Something he’d been thinking before he fell asleep. He was sure it had seemed urgent.

  ‘Once we’re done on the server, we’re going to have to get out of here pretty fast. You too. There are bad guys after us and you don’t want to be around when they show up.’

  Sabine nodded. ‘I have a car here.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Nick?’ Randall’s voice barked out of the computer. ‘We’ve got a problem. They’ve figured out our weak link.’

  Nick snatched up the headset and snagged it over his ear. ‘What do you mean, weak link?’

  ‘Gothic Lair. The way I set it up, this is the cut-out. They can’t penetrate the connection between DC and the game, or between the game and where you are. But there’s nothing to stop them coming inside.’

  A rumble of hooves welled up through the speakers. In the clearing, the Wanderer looked around. Something was moving in the forest.

  ‘Oh, cute.’

  A mounted knight galloped out of the forest on a monstrous horse. Moonlight glinted on the wicked spikes that bristled from his black armour, each bedecked with a ragged ribbon that fluttered in the rushing wind. Nick, who had seen that sort of thing before, suspected they were shreds of the flesh of vanquished enemies. A small armoury of morningstars, swords and axes hung from his belt, while his right arm held an obscenely long lance.

  The Wanderer drew his sword. ‘The Death Knight’s not a novice character. They must have been here before.’

  ‘They probably bought it off some Korean kid on eBay.’ Urthred the Necromancer clenched his fist. A cloudy haze came out of his staff and spread into a dome of light that wrapped itself around him.

  ‘They won’t have a clue how to use it.’

  The knight circled his horse round. Suddenly, it kicked up on its hind legs. A gout of fire erupted from its mouth and hosed the clearing with flame. The ground turned black; a shrub burst alight.

  ‘Maybe they bought the kid as well,’ said Nick.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Emily slid into the chair next to him. ‘What happens if you die in the game?’

  ‘You drop out; you can’t get back in for forty-eight hours.’

  ‘Is that so bad?’

  ‘Our connection to the FBI mainframe’s being routed through the game. If we die in Gothic Lair, we’ll be logged off and the program will shut down.’

  ‘It’s worse than that.’ Randall was backing towards the tree, crab-walking slowly so that the magic shield came with him. ‘I didn’t have time to secure the connection at this end. If they get into it, they can trace you right back to where you are.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ asked Emily.

  ‘Don’t die. And don’t let them get in the hole by the tree.’

  The knight lowered his lance and charged.

  We halted at a crossroads in the forest. Night was coming: for the past hour the pilgrims had fallen silent, anxiously peering around every corner for any hope of lodging. The riders at the head of the column conferred with the fat priest. I heard fragments of an ill-tempered discussion. One remembered an inn another mile towards Strassburg; the other did not, but was certain that the side road led to a village where we could find shelter. The pilgrims grew restive. The sun dipped below the trees.

  Eventually they decided we would make for the village. We turned down a rough track that led through the forest towards the river. Soon the warm smell of woodsmoke reached us, promising hearths and fires and roasting meat. We hastened on, desperate to outpace the darkness and the monsters it might bring.

  ‘Listen,’ said Kaspar.

  ‘What?’ I strained my ears. All I could hear was the babble of the river, and the wind shivering the trees. ‘I hear nothing.’

  ‘It’s sunset. Why are the cocks not crowing? Where are the barking dogs and the screaming children? The church bells?’

  Shouts suddenly shattered the silence. The riders spurred their horses forward; the pilgrims rushed after them, desperate not to be left behind. Kaspar and I, bringing up the rear, followed. We rounded a corner and there was the village.

  It was not large: a dozen houses and barns, set around a small church in a clearing. Beyond the church, on the riverbank, a stone mill stood over the water on pilings. The village was deserted. The creak of the wheel turning in the current was the only sound.

  As my eyes adjusted to the hazy dusk I saw why. The village had been devastated. Splintered doors dangled on broken hinges. The ground outside the mill was white as snow where a sack of flour had been cut open and spilled. In several places it was stained with blood. The smoke we had smelled was not a kitchen fire or a baker’s oven; it was the ashes of houses.

  The guards rode around the village, swords out, peering through smashed windows and open doors. Most of the pilgrims knotted together in the open ground outside the church, though a few dared to explore. One, a woman in a white dress, made for the church. Perhaps she wanted to pray; perhaps she thought we could shelter there, for – alone among the buildings – its roof was still intact.

  ‘Where are the villagers?’ Kaspar wondered.

  ‘Perhaps they’d already fled.’

  Kaspar pointed to the dark stains on the carpet of flour. ‘Someone hadn’t.’

  One of the riders trotted over. Twilight hid his face under the brim of his helmet, but his voice was grim. ‘We must leave.’

  ‘Leave?’ Even in that awful place, the fat priest sounded outraged. ‘It is almost dark. Who knows where the men who did this are? If we take to the road now, we may blunder into them in the dark and all will be lost.’

  ‘The ashes are still warm. They cannot have gone far – and they may come back. We found three mules tethered behind a stable.’

  ‘I would rather-’

  A shriek shrilled through the village. The priest cried out and fell to his knees; the pilgrims clutched each other and stared around wildly. But it was a lament, not a war cry. It came from the church. The woman who had gone to investigate it stood in the doorway. The skirts of her dress were spattered with blood, her face a mask of anguish.

  ‘Do not come here,’ she cried. ‘Do not look on this.’

  Ignoring her warning, several pilgrims rushed towards the church. Kaspar tugged my arm. ‘How much mon
ey is in your purse?’

  ‘Enough to make me worth killing.’

  ‘Perhaps we can bribe the guards to take us to Strassburg. If they carried one of us each…’

  The knot of pilgrims had begun to drift apart: some to gaze at the horror in the church; some to the empty houses; some sidling towards the barn, perhaps thinking they might commandeer the mules for themselves. Above all this confusion, the two riders sat on their horses and talked urgently.

  They broke off their conversation as they saw us approach.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To help,’ said Drach.

  ‘Do you have a sword?’

  ‘A plan. This rabble cannot defend itself with pilgrim staffs and clasp knives. Our only hope is to ride for help.’

  The guards exchanged impenetrable looks.

  ‘Happily, my friend here has a purse full of gold. If you brought us to the nearest town, we could hire a company of men-at-arms and bring them back. But we would have to hurry, before the Armagnaken get wind that we are here.’

  ‘A sound plan,’ said one of the riders. ‘Shall we explain it to the priest?’

  ‘There’s no time.’

  ‘Then let’s go. We- Christ in Hell!’

  Without warning, his horse reared up with a terrible scream. Blood streamed down its breast, black in the twilight. A crossbow bolt jutted out below the neck. Kaspar and I leaped back, just avoiding the flailing hooves as it crashed to the ground. Its screams mingled with its rider’s as it crushed him.

  From out of the forest, we heard the screech of devils as the Armagnaken burst into the village.

  The horse spat another burst of fire down over them. The shield dome dimmed and flickered – but held. As soon as the flames stopped, Nick charged. Smoke from the charred landscape obscured his approach. He saw the giant hooves in front of him and jumped. The horse reared up to protect itself; hooves flailed, but it hadn’t yet recharged its fire-breathing ability.

  Nick hung in the air. He raised the broadsword over his head, then brought it down in a hammer blow on the black knight’s helm. The force of the impact threw Nick back up, giving him time for another hacking swing at the knight’s neck before he dropped to the ground. The knight reeled.