by David Wood
Inside, the building was breathtaking. Two stories high outside, it was one massively tall room inside, regular columns supporting the roof with three deep levels of bookshelves. The ground floor held numerous reading desks and the next two levels of books could be accessed via mezzanine walkways skirting the wide open space, brightly lit by countless windows. Crowley paused and breathed in the calm magic that always accompanied libraries, especially ones as old and huge as this. Passage to other rooms led off the main space and he walked alongside Rose, marveling at every detail, as they made their way to the library’s most famous acquisition, The Devil’s Bible.
The huge book was contained in a sealed glass cabinet in a side room and Crowley’s mouth dropped open at the sight of it. He thought he had known what to expect, but the manuscript in all its glory was mesmerizing.
Rose spoke again, voice low and respectful. “The Devil’s Bible or Codex Gigas. It’s also been known as the Codex Giganteus, meaning the giant book, and the Gigas Librorum, which means the ‘book giant’. Also called Old Nick’s Bible, and The Black Book. Whatever you call it, it’s pretty impressive.”
The massive manuscript on the stand behind the glass was nearly a meter long and half a meter wide. It had thick board covers with scrolled metalwork corners, and heavy, uneven pages.
“It’s the largest medieval manuscript still in existence,” Rose said, reciting from memory. Crowley had quietly watched her studying up on the book while on the plane into Stockholm, glad she had found a focus to distract from her predicament. Anything was good, any movement forward to feel like they were tackling the problem. He desperately hoped they would learn something here that might put them ahead of whoever was after Rose, give them some clue to what they were being hunted for.
“It’s made from over one hundred and sixty animal skins,” Rose went on. “Takes two people to lift it. Written in Latin around 1210 AD, it’s reported to have brought disaster and pain to any and all who have possessed it. And to many others around them, apparently. Plague, mental illness, fire and destruction.” She glanced at Crowley and grinned. “However much of a skeptic a person might be, there’s history attached to this thing that’s pretty chilling. Its story is packed with mystery, misfortune and evil. It supposedly originally had three hundred and twenty pages, but seven have been removed, lost. No one has any idea why or where they are. Some people think they contained highly secretive magic or rituals. More likely they contained the monastic rules of the Benedictine monks, which needed to be kept private.”
“Maybe that’s what Declan meant by the real one. Those missing pages?” Crowley leaned forward, looking closely at the beautifully neat script, the even lines of handwritten Latin in pictures mounted around the display case. The book itself was open to the full page drawing of the Devil that gave the book its name. “Must have taken a long time to write this. I wonder how many people worked on it.”
Rose chuckled. “Right there we have some of its darkest history. Legend has it that it was completed in one single night, by just one monk.”
Crowley gave Rose a look of disdain. “Really?”
“That’s what I read. The monk was condemned to inclusion for his sins. That means he was to be bricked up alive and left to starve. He tried to avoid his fate by selling his soul to the Devil who helped guide his hand to perform the impossible task of making this. Anyway, the book contains both New and Old Testaments, as well as a number of historical works and medical writings, and that portrait of the Devil. People say that’s evidence of the pact made.”
Crowley looked closely at the famous portrait. It was quite horrible, depicting the Devil as an ugly, squatting creature with clawed hands and feet, fire snorting from nostrils in his blue, grinning face. “But we don’t actually believe all that ‘written in a night’ stuff, do we?”
“Most likely it was produced in a Bohemian monastery in the early thirteenth century, transcribed by a single scribe whose identity remains a mystery. And it probably took a long time.”
“Your memory for this stuff is impressive!”
“Museum brain! And it’s all speculation, really. But we shouldn’t discount any possibility until we know a thing for certain. I’m not an especially superstitious person, but I know for sure that I don’t know everything, so I try to remain open-minded.”
Crowley nodded, accepting the wisdom of that. “Sure, but who was it who said, ‘Don’t be so open-minded that your brain falls out’?”
A curator wandered toward them, smiling politely. “Wonderful, isn’t it?” she said in English.
“Are we that obviously tourists?” Crowley asked.
“I overheard your conversation. You’ve done a lot of homework, eh?”
“We’re fascinated by it,” Rose said. “We’d love to know more of the truth.”
The curator nodded. “Its true origin is unknown, but a note in the manuscript says it was created in the year twelve ninety-five in the Benedictine monastery of Podlažice in Bohemia, known as the Czech Republic today. Shortly after that the manuscript went to another monastery, in Brevnov near Prague.”
“How did it end up in Sweden?” Crowley asked.
“That’s not the most honorable of stories. In 1594, Rudolf II, the Holy Roman Emperor, King of Bohemia, and King of Hungary, Croatia and Slavonia, took it to his castle.”
“Quite a string of titles.”
“Isn’t it! Anyway, the bible was kept at Rudolf’s castle until it was stolen by the Swedish army during the Thirty Years War and became a part of Queen Christina of Sweden’s personal collection. Now we keep it here.”
“Stolen goods!”
The curator inclined her head, but changed the subject. “You were talking about the Devil’s portrait. You know it also contains a magic formula on how to overcome evil, misfortune and disease.”
“Isn’t it supposed to have caused those things?” Rose said.
The curator laughed. “Indeed. Inside is also a calendar containing a list of saints and local Bohemians, used to keep track of the feast days of the Church. All the indications are that it was the life’s work of one person, as you said, but of course, we doubt the one night legend. Historians estimate the scribe may have conceivably spent as many as twenty years on such a monumental work.”
Crowley walked slowly around the display, still in awe of the scale of the book. “How is the deal with the Devil supposed to have helped the monk atone for his sins anyway?”
“The story goes that the monk had committed terrible sins, though it’s unclear exactly what. In an attempt to avoid being walled up alive for those sins, he promised to write, in one night, the biggest holy book ever conceived, to make the monastery famous. He quickly realized the task was well beyond him and, in desperation, turned to the Devil for assistance. The Devil demanded his soul as payment and the monk included the full page portrait of the Devil as thanks. It’s said that his achievement did indeed spare him from inclusion, but he lost all peace of mind and his life became a living hell. The church, rather than condemning the evil book, has actually studied it in great depth.”
“That’s a sad and awful story,” Rose said quietly.
“I’d love to have a closer look,” Crowley said. “What are the chances of us getting a proper look, seeing the other pages?”
The curator smiled politely but shook her head. “No chance at all, I’m afraid.”
“What if we offered...”
She silenced him with a finger. “You can’t offer anything. But I’m more than happy to chat with you all about it. It’s my specialty here.”
Crowley had to respect her professionalism but was a little disappointed she had shut him down so quickly. His charm usually worked a bit better than that, especially with women. He chose to pick her brains anyway. “There’s a story that some pages are missing?”
“Yes, seven pages at best guess. Removed by persons unknown and now lost. Whether they’ve been destroyed or are kept in secret somewhere we may never
know.”
“May never know? You think there’s a possibility they could be found?”
“Well, the only way to read them would be to find the original bible.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile.
Crowley and Rose exchanged a look. “So this is maybe what Declan meant,” Rose said.
Crowley nodded, turned his attention back to the curator. He gestured at the glass cabinet beside them. “This isn’t the original?”
“This one’s a fake. It’s not modern, it’s an ancient manuscript, but it’s not the original, and it’s said the text has been changed. And those pages you mentioned may not be missing in the original, of course.”
“Why would someone fake it and change things?” Rose asked.
The curator shrugged. “Those who believe in the power of the text may have any number of reasons to alter, replace, or simply remove certain sections. The history of this thing is drenched in death and many would have it destroyed entirely if they had the chance. We’re lucky this copy is as complete as it is, really.”
“But it’s still a copy?” Crowley pressed.
“Yes. We don’t make that especially public knowledge, of course. But you two are clearly serious scholars in this regard. Maybe not just tourists after all?”
Crowley shrugged. “Maybe not. Where might we find the real one?”
“You must understand, people who know the real history have been searching for hundreds of years. I’d love to have the time and money to search myself one day. If I did have the time and money, I’d start in the Czech Republic, where I could retrace the history of the bible from its original creation. Others have done so, of course, but all it takes is the right seeker. Someone smart and determined enough.”
“Looks like we have a lot more research to do,” Crowley said. “I might have some contacts I can pull in for some favors.”
The curator raised her eyebrows. “Please, if you learn anything, will you let me know?” She handed him a business card. “Use the email address on there? I’d love any information you get.”
Crowley took the card and shook her hand. “Absolutely, and thanks for your help.”
He was a little surprised when she smiled briefly before turning back to Rose and handing over another card. “You too. Please contact me with anything you think I might like to know.”
They strolled back through the library’s main room, heading for the warm day outside.
“I must be losing my touch,” Crowley said wistfully. “That curator showed no interest in me at all. I was hoping to charm a little more information out of her than that.”
Rose laughed loudly, causing a few heads to turn in the still building. She controlled herself and leaned close to whisper. “You really are a man.”
He looked at her in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t think any man has enough charm for her. Didn't you notice? She was looking at me the whole time. Why do you think I got her card, too?”
Chapter 17
Stockholm
Their hotel room in the center of Stockholm was a little like something from a fairy tale. White walls and a high, crenellated roof over a dozen stories of tall windows, each with a bright orange awning over a small balcony. The room inside featured opulent twins beds, high-windowed views over the city, but all the modern features anyone could hope for.
“This is a beautiful place,” Rose said wistfully, leaning into the bay window to stare out. “I wish I could be here under less stressful circumstances.”
Crowley watched her for a moment, enjoying the curves of her hips and butt while stifling his feelings of concern. He knew he could walk away from this situation any time if he wanted to, but Rose couldn’t. That must feel pretty terrible. Then again, how deeply embroiled was he now? He had been seen with her by the attackers on at least a couple of occasions. Maybe he was fooling himself and he was as entangled as she was. Probably best to assume that was the case and use the motivation to work harder to get it all figured out.
“Maybe we should come back when this is all over,” he said with a smile. “Have a little holiday to celebrate.”
She glanced back over one shoulder and he was pleased to see she was smiling. “Planning our future?”
He shrugged, raised his hands theatrically. “Just, you know, speculating.”
She said nothing more, turned back to stare out into the night. Lights sparkled across Stockholm, glittered off a river right outside. Stars above seemed to be a strange reflection of the urban landscape below, the sky cloudless.
Crowley sighed. “I’ll see if my old army intel buddy is available.”
“I sent a message to Charles Phelps,” Rose said, without turning back from the window.
“Your boss at the museum, right?”
“Yeah. I asked him for some help, but was deliberately oblique about it.”
“Cool. Best to stay as far under the radar as possible,” Crowley agreed. “But it’ll be good if he does provide a connection. And I can trust Cameron, so let me see what he can do.” He dialed and it rang several times. He was expecting voicemail any second when a groggy voice answered.
“Y’ello?”
Crowley smiled. “Did I catch you napping?”
“Who’s this?”
“You don’t recognize my dulcet tones? It’s Jake Crowley.”
Cameron laughed at the other end. “Crowley pronounced like holy, sir! How are you, man?”
Crowley laughed with him, remembering the drill sergeant yelling in his face about how the man didn’t care for pronunciation and Crowley could drop and give him fifty pushups and think about what was more important than a name. “Old Sergeant Hopkins! Such a ball-breaker.”
“Saved both our lives in Afghanistan, though,” Cameron said. “More than once.”
“He did that. I hope he’s enjoying his retirement.”
Cameron yawned expansively. “I was napping for what it’s worth. I’m working night shift now.”
“Ah, sorry to disturb you then. What are you doing?”
“Security stuff. We’re not all smart enough to get teaching jobs.”
Crowley laughed again. “Bulldust, my friend! I don’t believe a word of it. You’re still hooked up, right.”
The smile was evident in Cameron’s voice. “Of course I am. What do you need?”
Crowley explained what they had learned of the Devil’s Bible, its supposed history and the facts about the possibility of an original somewhere out in the world. “I’m guessing the general public aren’t privy to the kind of history files you might have through military intel,” he said. “Any chance you might be able to find me a lead?”
“Sounds like quite the history lesson you’re planning,” Cameron said, becoming serious. “You okay?”
“I’m in an interesting situation.”
“That why you’re calling from an unregistered phone?”
Crowley smiled crookedly. “Yeah, that’s part of it.”
“And you’re safe there in Stockholm?”
Crowley had to laugh. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. I didn’t tell you I was in Stockholm.”
“No, but you did tell me you’d been to that library. Besides, my trace has got close enough that I know what hotel you’re calling from. Haven’t narrowed it down to which room yet. Or how many hookers you’ve hired.”
“Don’t bother. You’ve got this number now and you can call me back on it. We’ll be leaving here in the morning, so keep it all to yourself, okay?”
“Sure. I’ll see what I can learn.”
“Thanks, mate. I owe you.”
“No, you really don’t,” Cameron said. “I’ve a debt to you I’ll never repay.”
“I was just doing my job, same as Sergeant Hopkins.”
“You came back for me. That’s going above and beyond. I’ll get you whatever I can. And be careful, okay? It sounds like you’re in something deep.”
Crowley nodded, even though Camer
on couldn’t see. “Yeah, it’s pretty messy. But we’ll be okay.”
“We?” Cameron said. “I knew you had hookers in there!”
“I’ll talk to you soon, Cam. Thanks again.”
“You got it.”
Crowley hung up and turned to see Rose sitting on the edge of the opposite bed, watching him with serious eyes. “You sure you can trust him?”
Crowley nodded. “There are few people in this world who I trust more. We have a long history, Cameron and I.”
“It’s nice to know there are people you can really lean on in a bind.”
“It is. Really good friends are few and far between, but they matter. Regardless of how much time or distance falls between, they’ll always be there.”
“You’re doing a good job of acting like that for me right now. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“You don’t need to keep thanking me. I’m here for you.”
“And I can lean on you?” Her eyes twinkled, something cheeky in her half-smile. Or was that just wishful thinking?”
“Absolutely. You can lie on me if you like.” Crowley’s cheeks flooded and burned the moment the words were out of his mouth. He’d had no idea he was going to say anything like it and cursed his motormouth. He knew he was a little off-center with how to talk to Rose knowing she liked girls. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I... What I mean to say is...”
Rose laughed, a vibrant, rich sound. “You know, Jake, I do enjoy lying on a good man if the mood is right.”
Crowley opened his mouth once or twice to reply and quickly felt as though he was gasping like a landed fish. “That’s good to know,” he managed at last and his cheeks burned even hotter. For a guy who prided himself on being a fairly accomplished ladies’ man, Rose certainly had him flipped inside out. And she seemed to know that and be enjoying the hell out of it.
“I’m going to get changed and go to bed,” she said. “It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted.”
Crowley nodded and decided against saying anything else in case he sounded like even more of a fool. She slipped into the bathroom and Crowley sighed, more confused than ever.