The Library of Shadows

by Mikkel Birkegaard

  During the reading Holt had stopped three times. He removed the tape from Jon's mouth and gave him some water to drink. Each time he asked with concern about how Jon was feeling. Whether he had a headache, pains at the back of his head, or whether he was seeing spots before his eyes. The last time Jon had refused the offer of water. He would rather have the reading continue so he could learn more about the amazing development of the Order. After that it was no longer necessary to put tape over his mouth. And when Poul Holt decided it was time to stop, the leather straps were removed and Jon was allowed to move freely about the room.

  Remer had come in a short time later, and from what Jon could remember, he hadn't left until Jon fell asleep. He felt at peace here. More at peace than he'd felt in a long time, maybe even since that time when… Jon pushed the thought aside with a grimace of annoyance. He'd been deceived by those he had loved and trusted, that much was clear to him now. He had to put all that behind him and focus on his future.

  At that moment someone knocked on the door and Jon turned round.

  'Come on in,' he called cheerfully.

  Poul Holt came in carrying a tray on which a breakfast of toast and tea had been arranged. There was also a book bound in black leather.

  'Bon appйtit,' said Holt with a smile as he put down the tray.

  Jon sat down on the bed, set the tray on his lap and started eating.

  'What are we going to read today?' he asked with his mouth full of toast, nodding at the book.

  'Today you're going to do the reading,' replied Holt, giving him a look filled with anticipation.

  Jon stopped chewing and studied his guide's face. 'Are you sure?' he asked as he swallowed the last piece of toast. 'Last time…'

  Remer had told him that Kortmann's chauffeur had died during the reading at the school. The chauffeur was one of the Order's true heroes. He'd kept Kortmann under observation for eight years, and in that way he had prevented their secret from getting out. With the permissive way Kortmann and Clara ran the Society, it was only a question of time before their powers became publicly known. They were weak. Even worse, they took pride in using their real powers widely, which resulted in diminished effectiveness and was of no use to anyone. The Order took controlled aim at a few selected individuals, using the full force of their powers and with full effect.

  'This time don't try to force things,' said Holt calmly. 'And besides, one of our receivers will be ready to intervene.'

  Jon nodded as he drank his tea. During the experiment in the school basement, the cell room had been insulated against the energy discharges so they hadn't had the chance to bring in a receiver to stop him, even if they'd been able to react in time.

  'The objective is to find the proper level,' Holt explained. 'It has to be strong enough so that the physical discharges start to manifest themselves but not violent enough to do any harm. We're going to put electrodes on you so we can follow your progress.'

  As if on cue, the woman in the white lab coat came in, rolling a trolley in front of her. On it was a helmet like the one in the school, with cords leading from the helmet to a PC.

  Jon finished eating and settled himself comfortably. He smiled at the woman as she placed the helmet on his head and made sure it was firmly secured. Determined to do his best, Jon closed his eyes and concentrated. He mustn't disappoint them again. Now was the time to prove he belonged in the Order.

  'Start whenever you feel ready,' said Holt, who had sat down in front of the computer screen.

  Jon opened his eyes and picked up the book. It vibrated almost imperceptibly in his hands. He opened the book and began to read. Eager to demonstrate his powers, he started accentuating the images after only a few sentences.

  Just like during the reading at the school, he felt his surroundings slowly change until they matched the scene he was reading. The white walls expanded into the snowy landscape he was describing, and the bed he was lying on became a sleigh pulled by horses. Trees towered up on both sides of the track they were moving along, and snowflakes whirled around the sleigh, getting thicker and thicker. Time seemed to slow to a lingering panning shot, and he sensed that for each sentence he read, he could create images as detailed as he liked. Every single snowflake was under his control.

  Jon turned the sleigh ride into a dark and dreary journey, with the cold pressing over the landscape like a lead weight. Disquieting shadows could be glimpsed in the dense forest, but the speed of the sleigh made it impossible to judge whether they were animals or people or mere phantoms.

  The whole time he was aware of the receiver's presence, not trying to disturb or control, but merely offering support, as if a hand were resting on his shoulder.

  After a journey that seemed endless, the main character in the book came to a small inn. A shabby wooden door opened onto a pub, and the scene shifted abruptly from greyish-white nuances to golden tones in the glow coming from the fire in the hearth and the oil lamps on the wooden tables. The guests in the pub regarded the new arrival with tremendous suspicion. Their faces were either in shadow or reddish-yellow from the light, radiating an inhospitable arrogance. Jon enhanced the mood into a claustrophobic nightmarish vision in which the characters' faces pressed closer, their yellow teeth bared, their scars and wrinkles delineated by shadows.

  The hand on his shoulder seemed to give him a squeeze and a brief flash of light lit up the computer screen. The images lurched, like a film that stutters.

  Jon stopped reading and lowered the book.

  'Excellent,' said Poul Holt, nodding to him. His eyes were filled with affirmation and admiration. 'We had to stop you at the end. It was starting to get too strong.'

  Jon nodded. He could feel the effect of his exertions, but his joy at having done a good job outweighed the depletion of his energy. His whole body was filled with a pleasant buzzing sensation, not unlike what he had felt from the book, and he noticed that he had goosebumps on his arms. He laid the book aside and rubbed his arms.

  'Who stopped me?' he asked, since they were the only two in the room.

  'A receiver in the room next door,' replied Holt. 'You need to learn to recognize the signals from the receiver so you'll know whether you can increase the force or have to stop. This time you interpreted the signal perfectly.'

  He stood up and helped Jon take off the helmet.

  'How did the measuring go?' asked Jon, nodding at the computer.

  'Excellent,' replied Holt with satisfaction. 'You held it just below twenty.'

  'Is that good?'

  Holt laughed. 'You might say that. I measure just under eight, and I'm one of the strongest in the Order.' He carefully placed the helmet on the table. 'It's impossible to know how high you could go. Maybe double that, maybe even more. In that case, we'd need to get different equipment.'

  'Does that mean we're done?' asked Jon, slightly disappointed.

  'Not at all,' replied Holt. 'But it's important we don't go too fast. You need to rest after each test.'

  'I feel okay,' said Jon.

  'That's good, but there are other preparations you need to make.'

  At that moment Remer came in with a book under his arm. To his great joy, Jon recognized the book of chronicles he'd listened to the previous evening.

  'Campelli,' declared Remer heartily. 'I hear the first test went well, is that right?'

  'Apparently,' replied Jon, trying to tone down his pride.

  'And you're feeling all right? Are we taking good care of you?'

  'I feel great,' replied Jon. 'I could keep going right now, no problem. The sooner I get trained, the faster I can be of service to the Order.'

  Remer smiled. 'It's important for you to rest after every session. You'll have opportunities to work with us soon enough.' He held up the book. 'In the meantime, there's more about our background you should know.'

  Jon reached eagerly for the book, but Remer laughed.

  'When I say rest, I mean total rest. Lie down and close your eyes, then Poul will contin
ue from where you left off yesterday.'

  Jon did as Remer requested, and he smiled with pleasure when, a few minutes later, he heard Holt's calm voice reading aloud.

  The next twenty-four hours were filled with training, sleeping and listening to stories. Never before in his life had Jon experienced a more satisfying feeling. He received approval for his powers, he got better and better with every session, and he kept on discovering new sides to the Order that showed he had found his proper place. For a long time his ambitions had been allowed to hibernate; not since law school had he felt so filled with purpose. Now he knew that with the Order behind him, there were no limits to how far he could go. They could and would support him to achieve whatever goal he set for himself. His success was the Order's success.

  Jon hadn't yet sorted out what he might want to do, but Remer had suggested he could establish and run a law firm with offices all over the world. The firm would chiefly have the other companies in the organization as its clients. Most of the employees would be Lectors and, according to Remer, with Jon's powers and background they wouldn't lose a single case. But Remer had pointed out that this was merely a suggestion. Jon could decide his future for himself.

  'Time for a day off,' declared Remer when he turned up again. 'We're going sightseeing.'

  Jon would have preferred to stay in, but it occurred to him that he hadn't yet been out of the house, even though he was in a foreign country.

  The woman in the white coat came in, bringing a suit for him, and he put it on at once. It fitted perfectly. Remer escorted him out to the driveway, where Poul Holt was waiting along with a red-haired man of about thirty. He was introduced as Patrick Vedel, the receiver who had participated in the training sessions. Jon thought it was strange that he sat in another room during the sessions, but Holt had explained that it was at Vedel's own request.

  The red-haired man now shook hands with Jon as he stared at him with an oddly expectant expression. He seemed to be waiting for Jon to recognize him. Jon dismissed the idea, and they all got into the Land Rover that Remer had hired and drove into Alexandria.

  They drove along the beach promenade, Al-Corniche, which ran the entire length of Alexandria, twenty kilometres in all. Within that area of the east harbour hundreds of stalls stood along the coastal boulevard. Crowds of tourists and local residents were strolling along the wide pavement by the sea. A low stone wall functioned as both a bench and a bulwark facing the water. On the other side of the wall were giant boulders, acting as a defence against the waves of the Mediterranean.

  The first stop was the Qaitbey Fortress on the western arm that surrounded the harbour basin. The fort looked a lot like a model made with Lego of various sizes and colours, but it stood on the site where one of the seven wonders of the world once stood, the Pharos lighthouse of Alexandria. It was said that the big reddish blocks of granite came from the ancient lighthouse, which was estimated by some to have been over 150 metres tall. It had made Alexandria into a centre of light, quite literally, just as the library had done the same from a scholarly perspective.

  The next stop was a huge square where stalls had been set up to form a marketplace. Some of the stalls were simply cars that the owners had draped with their goods for sale, such as clothing. Other stalls consisted of carpets spread out on the ground and covered with a selection of jewellery, shoes and electronics. The more professional merchants had set up proper stalls made of wooden boards covered with fabric on which their wares were displayed.

  In addition to clothes, electronics and antiques, great quantities of foodstuffs were also on sale. All sorts of spices were sold right out of the sacks, and fruit was piled up on tables that looked as if they might collapse under the weight. Meat and fish were on display in the sunshine, and when purchased were wrapped up in newspaper and tossed into a plastic bag. The smells from all the different foods became more and more intense. With each step new aromas joined the mix, forming a stew that became more and more exotic.

  Jon walked on ahead, studying everything. He kept having to say no and make dismissive gestures when the stallholders tried to engage him in a transaction. He had moved a good distance away from the others and was beginning to enjoy this excursion. It had been a good idea to take a break from the training sessions.

  Suddenly he froze.

  Katherina was standing not more than five metres ahead of him. She was busy looking at antiques and hadn't yet noticed him, but just as Jon was about to move, she raised her head and looked him straight in the eye.

  Apparently she was just as surprised as Jon, because her eyes widened and she opened her mouth, but not a sound came out. Then she broke into a big, warm smile and stretched out her arms towards him, as if she expected a hug.

  Jon took a step back. The smile vanished from Katherina's face and he could see that she was puzzled. She took a tentative step closer, now with an expression that was both dejected and enquiring. Slowly Jon backed away without taking his eyes off her. He had seen through her. The Order had opened his eyes to her deceit.

  'Are you okay?' he heard Remer's voice behind him.

  Jon raised his hand and pointed at the woman.

  'She's here,' he said. 'Katherina.'

  35

  Katherina couldn't understand it.

  For three days she'd been searching for Jon in this Egyptian port city, and suddenly there he stood, less than five metres away from her. But instead of running to meet her, as she'd pictured him doing so many times, he'd pointed her out to his kidnappers.

  Shocked, she stood there staring at him, unable to move. His eyes were filled with hatred. Hatred directed at her. Only after Jon was jostled aside and their eye contact was broken did she come to her senses and realize that two men were making their way towards her. Their faces looked anything but friendly. She spun round and pushed her way through the crowd, away from them, away from Jon.

  People turned to stare at Katherina as she forced her way past, moving as quickly as she could. The number of shoppers seemed to swell, and they seemed less and less willing to move aside for her. She cast a look back and confirmed that the two men were still after her. A tall, red-haired man and a short, bald guy wearing steel-rimmed spectacles. Her heart was pounding in her chest. What was the matter with Jon?

  In one of the narrow market streets there were so many people that no one could move either backwards or forwards. She desperately tried to push through, but it was impossible to make any headway. The stall she was standing next to was selling fish, and the owner of the makeshift shop was yelling at the shoppers as he tried to keep his table from being toppled by the throng.

  The face of the red-haired man loomed high above all the others, and when he saw Katherina get stuck in one place, an alarming smile spread across his face. Feverishly she looked around for a way out. The fishmonger was now shouting at her, making a series of sweeping gestures to force her to back up.

  Taking a last look at her pursuers, Katherina ducked down and crawled under the table displaying the fish. On the other side the fishmonger greeted her by swatting at her with newspapers and shouting oaths in Arabic. She stood up, only to feel the fishmonger grab hold of her and start shaking her vigorously. The table gave an ominous lurch, distracting his attention for a second. Katherina used the opportunity to give him a hard shove so she could pull free. Quickly she ducked under the next table and crawled into the next market street. There she was able to stand up and begin to jog, zigzagging between tourists and shoppers, the distant crash of the fishmonger's table barely heard behind her.

  At the edge of the marketplace, Katherina paused to look back. The two men were nowhere in sight.

  She wished the others were with her.

  But Henning was back at the hotel in bed with stomach trouble, while Mehmet was wandering around town on his own just as she was doing. After they'd filled him in on the Society's secrets, Mehmet had offered to come along. At the moment he couldn't go back to his flat anyway, and he felt he had a sc
ore to settle. Katherina had gratefully accepted his offer. She thought that Mehmet was the one person she could count on. So far he had never disappointed her.

  It had also turned out that he had no intention of hanging around idly, just as Katherina couldn't make herself sit still at the hotel. She'd come into town to search for Jon at all hours of the day. Only when she needed to get some sleep or if they'd agreed to meet back at the hotel did she return to the Acropole, where they were staying.

  A shout further down the street drew her attention. A shorthaired man wearing a light suit was pointing in her direction. It was Remer, and right behind him stood Jon. He wasn't doing anything, just staring at her, as if none of this had anything to do with him. Remer waved one hand towards the marketplace while he continued to point his other hand at her. Katherina followed his gaze and caught sight of the red-haired man in the crowd. At the same instant he saw her.

  She took off at a run, turning down the first side street she came to. An old Lada almost ran her over in the narrow lane, and she had to jump aside and press her body up against the wall to avoid the car. Little shops were tucked into niches on either side, mostly electronics shops stacked from floor to ceiling with watches and cameras, phones and computers. A constant flow of motorbikes rushed past at breakneck speed, and Katherina alternated between running along the street and racing along the pavement in order to keep going. At the next corner she stopped and looked back. Just as she thought that she'd manage to escape, she heard a shout.

  'She headed to the right,' someone yelled in unmistakable Danish.

  Katherina forced herself to keep running as she looked for an exit. This street was slightly wider and considerably longer than the one she'd come from, so they'd be able to see her as soon as they turned the corner.

  After ten metres she couldn't manage to run any further, and she dashed inside a shop. It was a bridal boutique. There were almost as many bridal boutiques as electronics stores in Alexandria. One whole wall was covered with bridal gowns, hanging in two rows. Katherina grabbed the first dress she saw.