'Okay,' said Jon, setting the book on the table. 'Let's say I believe your explanation that Lectors exist and that you can manipulate my thoughts and feelings through a book.' He threw out his hands. 'So what do you expect from me?'
'Who says we want anything to do with you?' said a voice from the door.
All three of them turned towards the new arrival. In the doorway stood a thin young man about twenty years old, wearing a tight T-shirt and a pair of baggy, army-green trousers. He had a narrow face with a goatee, but otherwise he was bald and as pale as flour. His burning dark eyes were fixed on Jon.
'Hi, Pau,' said Iversen. 'Come in and say hello to our guest.'
The young man came into the room and took up position behind Katherina's chair with his hands on his hips. 'Guest?'
'It's okay,' said Iversen soothingly. 'This is Jon. Luca's son.'
'I know that. I saw him at the funeral,' replied Pau. 'The guy wants to sell Libri di Luca. You said as much yourself, Svend.'
Iversen cast an embarrassed glance at Jon, who seemed unaffected by the scene.
'I said there was a risk of that. We don't know for sure, Pau,' said Iversen. 'That's why we're here.'
'So what's going to happen?'
'We were just about to explain everything to Jon when you arrived,' replied Iversen.
'How much?'
'Everything.'
Pau stared first at Iversen and then at Jon. His jaw muscles tightened and his eyes narrowed.
'Could I talk to you for a moment, Svend?' asked Pau, motioning with his head towards the door. 'You too, Kat.'
Jon noticed that Katherina briefly rolled her eyes before she cast an enquiring glance at Iversen. The old man nodded.
'As you wish, Pau. Go upstairs, and I'll be there in a minute.'
The young man marched out of the door, and Katherina slowly followed.
'You'll have to bear with him,' said Iversen when the other two had left the room. 'We literally picked Pau up off the street, where he was making a living by using his powers as a Lector. Luca found him on Strшget reading poems to passers-by, and very successfully too. A lot of people stopped to listen, and most of them tossed coins into the cigar box he had at his feet. Luca recognized him for what he was. Experienced transmitters can sense when other transmitters charge a text, and Pau made no effort to hide what he was doing.' Iversen leaned forward in his chair. 'As you may have guessed, Jon, we have plenty of reasons for concealing our abilities. We can't risk having a young fellow like Pau compromising us, just because he doesn't understand what he's dealing with.' He paused. 'Luca took him under his wing, and for the past six months Pau has been part of the bookshop. We've developed quite a fondness for the lad, and vice versa, even though he may not admit it. And, as you can see, he has a real passion for the place.'
'And he thinks that I'm going to take it away from him?' asked Jon.
'A great deal has already been taken away from him,' said Iversen. 'Often enough that I suppose he has come to expect it.'
Jon nodded pensively.
'Well, I'd better…' Iversen pointed towards the door, then got up and left the room. Jon could hear his footsteps move along the hallway and up the creaking stairs. Then everything was quiet.
Left alone, he stood up and studied the books lining the shelves. There weren't many titles he recognized, and besides, the truly old volumes were in Latin or Greek, which he couldn't read. Of course there were also numerous works in Italian, and even though Jon hadn't used his Italian in years, he was able to read some of the words.
In many cases the titles on the spines were artfully executed, in Gothic script or with little illustrations, and at times he struggled to decipher what it said. A few books had no spine at all; rather, they were a collection of yellowed pages held together with cords made of leather or bast. Others had metal fittings on the spine and on the corners of the cover; still others had covers made of veneer on which the title and ornamentation had been burned into the wood.
After a while the letters began flickering before Jon's eyes, and he sat down in one of the soft leather chairs to survey the room. It wasn't hard to imagine that it had taken generations to compile this collection – a task that had started in Italy and had accompanied the Campelli family through Europe to Denmark. For a moment he pictured the scene in his mind: a little family pushing a cart loaded down with books and a great secret. Jon leaned his head back and covered his face with both hands.
He'd been very stressed lately. The Remer case was taking all his waking hours, and the number of files he was lugging back and forth between his flat and the firm was getting greater and greater. His home had become an extension of his office, and he had no time to sit on his roof terrace or prepare proper meals in his brand-new kitchen. Most often he picked up food from one of the nearby fast-food restaurants or else he ate pre-packaged meals that he cooked in the microwave.
Jon moved his hands to the sides of his face, pressing his index and middle fingers against his temples, massaging his skull in circular motions. He inhaled slowly, taking in deep breaths, noticing how his pulse slowed and his body felt heavy.
Luca's death couldn't have happened at a worse time.
He removed his hands from his face and lowered his arms to the armrests of the chair. With his eyes still closed, he continued to breathe calmly. His chest rose and fell in time with his breath, and he could hear the air leaving his lungs and then being drawn in once again.
But there was something else.
When he listened closely, he could hear a faint, rushing sound. A quiet whispering, almost inaudible, seemed to have seeped into the room, and very slowly the sound grew in strength, as if it were coming closer or simply getting louder. Jon concentrated hard but couldn't make out what was being said or whether they were male or female voices, because there was definitely more than one. Like a low murmur from an entire crowd. The sound seemed so faint and weak that he had to hold his breath to pinpoint where it was coming from, but as soon as he sensed that the sound was coming from a particular direction, it would move. His heart began pounding harder and he gasped for air, only to hold his breath once again to listen.
In an attempt to increase his concentration, he clenched his fists and closed his eyes even tighter.
All of a sudden pictures exploded before his eyes, abstract forms and colours mixed with landscapes and scenes of fighting armies of knights, pirates and American Indians. Underwater pictures of sea monsters, divers and submarines were succeeded by desolate moonscapes and deserts, followed in turn by ice-covered plains, rolling ships' decks – all of it flickering past at breakneck speed, like a turbo-charged slide show. Rain-soaked streets paved with cobblestones were replaced by sun-baked arenas with sweating gladiators, followed in turn by buildings from which huge flames stretched up towards a brilliantly yellow full moon. The full moon then became the eye of an enormous dragon, whose trembling eyelid closed and became a school of tiny fish, which was at once swallowed by a killer whale, which was promptly harpooned by a weather-beaten sailor wearing yellow overalls.
All these impressions, along with hundreds of others that moved too fast to take in, bombarded Jon in the space of time it took for him to open his eyes wide. He jumped up, gasping for air. Unsteady on his feet, he tottered forward until he came in contact with the back of a chair. A violent nausea surged up inside him, and he was hyperventilating, his fingers tingling. Overwhelmed by dizziness, he sank to his knees and leaned forward until he was down on all fours with his eyes focused on the carpet.
After a couple of minutes of gasping for breath and even trying not to blink, Jon slowly straightened up. His face was covered with sweat; he wiped it off with the back of his hand before he cautiously got to his feet. His legs trembled slightly beneath him as he took the first steps towards the nearest bookshelf. From there he worked his way over to the door, the whole time keeping a firm grip on the shelves. The hall from the door to the stairs seemed much longer than before, and
it seemed he was walking for an eternity before he reached the bottom step. He practically hauled himself up the spiral staircase, hand over hand along the banister, the steps responding with an ominous creaking under his weight.
When he reached the room above he could hear voices coming from the front of the shop. Unable to make out what they were saying, he headed in that direction, keeping one hand resting on the bookshelves. At the end of the aisle he hesitantly stepped out into the room, no longer having anything solid to hold on to, and as he did, the voices fell silent. Pau was sitting in the armchair behind the counter with his arms crossed. Katherina was sitting on top of the counter dangling her legs and Iversen was standing in front of the cash register with his back turned.
Iversen turned to face Jon and said something to him. His concerned voice followed Jon as he went over to the door and yanked it open with a violent tug.
Outside he greedily breathed in the cold evening air, but he didn't stop until he reached a street light that he could hold on to. The cold metal felt particularly reassuring.
'Jon, can you hear me?'
Iversen's voice finally reached Jon, who nodded slowly, as if in a trance.
'Are you okay?'
'Dizzy,' Jon managed to stammer.
'Come back inside,' Iversen said earnestly. 'You can sit down.'
Jon shook his head violently.
'Thanks,' Jon groaned.
'How about some water?' said Katherina, handing him a cup.
Reluctantly Jon removed one hand from the street light and reached for the cup, emptying it in one gulp.
'Thanks.'
'I'll get some more,' said Katherina, taking the cup from him and disappearing.
Iversen placed his hand on Jon's shoulder. 'What happened in there, Jon?' he asked with concern.
Jon took in a couple of deep breaths. The water and the fresh air had done their job and he was already feeling better.
'Stress,' he replied, looking at the ground. 'It's just stress.'
Iversen studied him. 'As if that makes it any better,' he said, annoyed. 'Come back inside where you can rest.'
'No,' exclaimed Jon. 'I mean, no thanks, Iversen.' He raised his head and looked into the old man's eyes. They were shining with both worry and suspicion. 'The only thing I need right now is to go home and get some sleep.'
Katherina returned with more water, and he drank half of it under the scrutiny of the two others. With a nod of thanks he handed the cup back.
'I think I left my jacket inside,' said Jon, patting his pockets.
'You're not thinking of driving in this condition, are you?' asked Iversen.
'It's okay. I'm already feeling a lot better,' replied Jon, mustering a smile. 'But if one of you wouldn't mind fetching my jacket?'
Katherina left them and a moment later returned with his jacket.
'We still have a lot to talk about,' said Iversen as Jon got into his car.
Jon nodded. 'I'll be back in a couple of days. You've given me something to think about, that's for sure.'
'Take care of yourself, Jon.'
He started the car and waved goodbye as he drove off. The dizziness was gone, but he was overcome with an exhaustion he'd never felt before. He was used to long work-days, but this fatigue seemed to have settled in all the cells of his body.
He had tossed his jacket onto the passenger seat, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed a bulge in one of the pockets. At the first red light, he pulled out what was inside the pocket.
It was a book.Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.
7
Katherina fixed her eyes on the car, watching it disappear. Iversen, who was standing next to her, did the same with a worried expression on his face. She rarely saw him look like that, but lately, on several occasions, his otherwise amiable face had been marred by deep furrows on his brow.
When they could no longer see Jon's Mercedes, they went back inside the bookshop, where Pau was waiting. He hadn't moved from his spot in the armchair, sitting there with his arms ostentatiously crossed.
'What got into that guy?' he asked as soon as Iversen had closed the door behind him.
'After everything we've told him today, it's not so strange that he would feel a little dizzy,' replied Iversen.
'Why couldn't he just stay away from here?'
'You're forgetting, Pau, that we're the ones who are the intruders here,' said Iversen, throwing out his arms. 'This shop we're in, the books all around us, even the chair you're sitting on, they all belong to him.'
'But that's a mistake,' Pau insisted. 'Luca would never betray us like that. There must be some way to get the will annulled, changed or whatever it is they do.'
'I don't think there's much chance of that happening,' said Iversen benignly. 'For one thing, there's no will to invalidate, and besides, I rejected Jon's offer to let him take over the bookshop.'
'You did what?' exclaimed Pau, jumping up from his chair. 'Are you out of your mind?'
Even Katherina gave Iversen an astonished look.
'I think that deep inside, it was what Luca wanted,' Iversen replied, without raising his voice. 'What father doesn't wish to have his life's work carried on within the family? Would Luca want the Campelli collection to fall into the hands of outsiders? I don't think so.' He paused for a moment before he added with a sigh, 'Besides, we need him.'
'If only he doesn't think we've poisoned him,' said Katherina quietly.
The other two looked at her.
Iversen nodded in agreement. 'It would be disastrous to alienate him now.'
'What if he does take over? And what if he decides to sell the whole shitload?' Pau asked.
Iversen smiled uneasily.
'He really has no choice in what will happen. The Council has already approved a reading.'
No one said a word. Pau slowly sat back down in the chair without shifting his glance from Iversen. Katherina stared in disbelief at the elderly man, but Iversen's gaze didn't waver.
A reading was a drastic measure, and she'd never heard of the Council pre-approving one. It was strictly forbidden for anyone to use his Lector powers in any way except to enhance reading experiences. That was the Society's code. Any violation of this rule was a very serious matter and would result in grave consequences for anyone who did so, although Katherina had never heard what those consequences might be. The survival of the Society depended on its members keeping its existence secret, and any misuse of powers would invariably attract attention.
But in very rare circumstances it might be necessary to use their powers for purposes other than enriching a text. This was especially true in situations when the Society, or its powers, were directly threatened with disclosure, and on these occasions the Council would approve a reading for the parties involved, who would then be made to reconsider. The process for authorizing a reading was a lengthy one. Precise plans had to be made for how things would proceed, who would be present, what the result would be and what pretext would be planted. The latter was important, because if the subject did not give a plausible explanation for why he had suddenly changed his mind regarding a particular matter, the whole thing could fail.
After the approval, the Lectors who were to carry out the reading would arrange for an opportunity to read to, or to be in the vicinity of, those individuals who were to be influenced. As a rule, this wasn't a problem. The targets were often public figures such as politicians, government officials or journalists, who all moved about without a large security force.
For the reading, a suitable text was chosen that would touch on areas associated with the sensitive topic. During the reading important passages were charged in such a way that the subject either lost all interest in the topic or rejected it completely. This required skilled and strong Lectors, but it had never failed to produce the desired result, which had secured the anonymity of the Society.
Katherina didn't know how many readings had been approved, but in the ten years she'd had contact with Luca, she
knew of only one. She herself was directly involved in it, 'but only to provide reinforcement', as Luca had assured her.
The target was a local politician in Copenhagen who had seen a chance of recouping funds by cutting back on money for reading classes in the schools. His intention was to investigate thoroughly every reading class in every one of the city's schools.
One of the Society's most important tasks was to promote the reading experience and, in particular, improve reading abilities among children who had difficulties. Many of the Society's members acted as travelling reading teachers, offering scheduled tutoring at various schools for children who were in need of help. In addition to sparking in the children a real joy of reading, they often ran into kids who were spontaneously activated Lectors, and thus the lessons were a means of discovering those few who had the special abilities, and an opportunity to monitor and guide them as discreetly as possible. The fear of losing this access to potential Lectors was enough for the Council to approve a reading for the politician.
The reading was carried out on a scorching summer day at the city hall. Beforehand the Society had circulated a petition to collect signatures objecting to the shutdown of the classes. The parents of those children who took advantage of the reading classes showed up willingly at the politician's office, where the signatures were to be presented and a declaration would be read.
In addition to Katherina and Luca, three other members of the Society were part of the delegation, along with a few parents who were totally unaware of the real purpose of the visit. Luca had squeezed into a suit, which did not appeal to him in the least in that summer heat. Sweat ran down his forehead and his face had taken on a distinct red colour. Katherina was wearing a loose black dress, and she was most likely the one suffering the least among the small delegation. In spite of the heat, a young blonde secretary made them wait forty-five minutes in the reception area. In her white summer dress, she didn't seem to be bothered by the temperature.
The Library of Shadows Page 7