The Lost Book of Wonders

by Chad Brecher

  Alex handed the phone back to Jonas in a daze. What was going on?

  “We need to leave Paris now. Get your croissants to go.”

  55

  The Hawker 850 jet rocked back and forth as it pierced the gray clouds. Alex slid the manuscript onto the table and inched his body forward so that his backside was nearly perched on the edge of the plush chair. Ellie sat across the table and watched as Alex delicately opened the text and tilted it slightly.

  “Well, I hope you are not going to keep us in suspense for much longer.” Clay gripped the headrest of Alex’s chair and fought to steady himself as the plane vibrated. He brought a crystal glass of scotch to his lips and struggled to take a sip without spilling the contents.

  The plane began to settle out as Jonas emerged from the cockpit and slumped down in a chair towards the rear of the plane.

  “We’ve issued a flight-plan under a dummy company. It should be a short trip to England. Any progress on the manuscript?”

  All eyes drifted to Alex.

  “It all goes back to the riddle we found with Ellie’s wooden box from Mosul:

  Adam’s Staff

  Eastward Go

  Illuminated Path

  Where King Interred

  “We’ve already discussed the significance of ‘Adam’s Staff’ and its relationship to the mythology surrounding the Tree of Life and immortality. ‘Eastward Go’ seems to substantiate this premise in that, as Ellie noted, the Bible places the Garden of Eden eastward and Marco Polo’s travels were to the East. What hasn’t been clear is the meaning of ‘Illuminated Path.’ What do you think about when you hear the word illuminated?”

  “I think of brightening something with light,” Clay answered.

  “Yes,” Alex responded.

  “When I think of ‘illuminated’ I tend to see it more as making something clearer. Enlightening someone either intellectually or spiritually,” Ellie added.

  “These are both true and I don’t think these two definitions were lost on Polo. After all, he has wanted us to ‘see the light’ all along. But there is another way of thinking about the word ‘illuminated’ that is at the root of Polo’s gift to the Western world: his book.”

  Clay gripped his glass tightly. “I’m afraid you lost me.”

  “When Marco Polo and Rustichello wrote The Description of the World, they did so in a world that had yet to be affected by Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press. Books were hand-written. These texts were then copied by hand and re-copied and on and on. The life of a scribe may have been tedious but it was far from mechanical. There was a fair amount of art to being a scribe.”

  “An illuminated manuscript!” Ellie exclaimed.

  Alex smiled broadly. “Yes.”

  Clay interjected, “When I think of illuminated manuscripts (and believe me when I say I have purchased quite a few in my day), I imagine texts with elaborate drawings. I think of medieval monks hunched over in tiny cubicles crafting manuscripts with fancy, gilded letters on each page.”

  “That’s true but all ‘illuminated’ means is to make a manuscript ‘brilliant.’ It often involves decorating it with gold.”

  “The flecks of gold!” Ellie nearly stood up. “I saw it but I thought it was a contaminant in the ink. I didn’t think much of it.”

  As if on cue, the plane rolled slightly to the left and dazzling sunlight filled the interior of the plane’s cabin, bathing the pages of the manuscript in luminous yellow light. Several of the letters on the page gave forth a golden sparkle.

  “Amazing,” Clay exhaled.

  “What does it mean?” Jonas asked.

  “Ellie do you have some paper and a pen?”

  Ellie retrieved a magazine from a holder beside her chair, searched for a page with little print, and ripped it out. She withdrew a pen from her pocket and straightened out the paper on the table before her.

  “Let’s see.” Alex placed his finger beneath the first golden letter. “…L…” He found the next golden letter, “…I…” and continued:

  “…B…R…E…Q…U…A…T…T…U…O…R.”

  “Libre Quattuor! It’s ‘Book Four’ in Latin! We’ve had in our hands the fourth book of The Description of the World all along. The fourth book is hidden within the text! What better place to hide it! It was what Foucault realized and why he was determined to steal the manuscript!” Alex exclaimed.

  “You did it, my boy! You did it again!” Clay patted Alex roughly on the back. “Do you realize what you have done? Drinks for everyone! Jonas, get us that special Champagne I’ve kept in the refrigerator just for such a moment.”

  “This is incredible!” Ellie concurred. “It’s as if we are about to hear the lost voice of Marco Polo — something that hasn’t been heard in centuries.”

  “But searched for, mind you, at great cost,” Clay soberly added.

  “Other than Polo and Rustichello, we may be the only people who have laid our eyes knowingly on it,” Alex added.

  “Enough with the gloating…we have a lot of work to still do.” Clay smiled widely. “Well, maybe just a little sip of Champagne first.”

  56

  Ellie’s fingers searched through the yellowed pages of the manuscript. The tip of her index fingers finally settled on the next golden letter.

  “A,” she announced and paused to allow Alex the opportunity to jot down the letter upon a piece of paper set before him. He read through the last several letters and drew an oblique line after the ‘A.’

  “This is not easy,” Alex concluded, running his hands through his hair. “I never appreciated punctuation in my life until now. It’s hard to tell where a word ends and another begins. Marco certainly hasn’t made this easy for us.”

  “Well, if it was easy then it probably wouldn’t be worth it,” Ellie answered.

  Alex glanced at Ellie sideways and formed a mischievous grin. “Eleanor Cleopatra Griffin, are you becoming a believer?”

  “I’ll believe it when I’m standing in the Garden of Eden itself. This could be the biggest hoax in history.” Ellie flipped the page over. “There’s only one more page.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  They were exhausted. It seemed like ages ago since the jet had touched down upon the remote private runway somewhere in the English countryside. The plane was quickly directed into a hangar at the edge of the runway. A chauffeured Rolls Royce arrived and spirited them off to an isolated cottage. Clay assured them that no one knew he owned the cottage, that the property had been surreptitiously purchased through one of Clay’s numerous shell companies. They would have all the time and quiet necessary to decipher the contents of Polo’s fourth book.

  The cottage was constructed out of dark gray stone and was dotted with small windows that only provided a modicum of light. It was nestled in the woods near a quaint brook. The surrounding forest was at once menacing and strangely serene, a dark and lush wilderness overgrown with fuzzy moss and shaded by towering oak trees that created a canopy of green that blocked the sunlight. The rays of light that were able to penetrate the thick canopy streamed down with a heavenly glow upon the ground. Ellie could imagine Robin Hood and his troupe of Merry Men gallivanting through the woods as they fought to right social and economic inequalities. She pushed the drapes aside and peered out at the woods. Ellie could see Clay and Jonas strolling through the forest in the dying minutes of dusk. They suddenly stopped and faced each other and appeared to be engaged in a serious discussion. Clay shook his head and walked off into the woods leaving Jonas behind.

  “…the next one.”

  Ellie slowly broke the trance and let the drape flop back. “What? I’m sorry. Just day-dreaming.”

  “What’s the next one?”

  Ellie sat up straight on the leather chair and looked down at the text resting upon her crossed legs.

  “What was the last letter?”

  “A.”

  Ellie searched the page for the golden letter. Her index finger stopped
at the ‘A’ momentarily and then continued to run across each line until she came across the next golden letter. “E.”

  Alex nodded and transcribed the letter onto the paper. He studied the page before him.

  Ellie rubbed her eyes and looked around the study. The room was elegant and refined. A stone fireplace was at the far end of the room. The wood, exceptionally dry, popped and crackled wildly, sending small embers alight which floated serenely in the air, only to burn a brilliant red when they contacted the metallic wire mesh strung across the hearth. The walls of the study were filled with leather-bound books. There was even an oak ladder that was perched against the bookcase that could be moved across an unseen metallic railing. Alex was hunched over a wooden desk while Ellie sunk further into the leather chair.

  “Next letter.”

  Ellie searched for an additional golden letter. After finding none on the rest of the page, she turned it over to find a blank sheet and the leather cover beside it. She withdrew her finger from the manuscript and silently closed the volume.

  “That’s it.”

  Alex brought the tip of his pen against the surface of the paper and inked in an exceptionally large black period beside the last letter for good measure. He looked out tiredly across the top of the desk, finding papers haphazardly lying across the surface. He reached out and gathered the numbered papers, created a pile, and proceeded to tap them against the desk until they were tidy.

  “Now the real work starts,” Alex muttered. He studied the papers before him. Alex had painstakingly written in rows of black block print the golden letters that Ellie had read from the manuscript. Pencil was used to position slashes between letters that appeared to delineate the end of one word and the beginning of another. Perched above each of these words was the likely English translation from Latin. There were many words that were crossed out and rewritten. Others merely had frustrated question marks perched atop the letters. Alex sighed. It is certainly a work in progress.

  Ellie yawned and stretched.

  Alex looked at her with bloodshot eyes.

  “You look exhausted,” he said.

  “Thanks. You don’t look so hot yourself. Maybe we should tackle it tomorrow morning.”

  “You might as well turn in for the night,” Alex mumbled, his eyes fixed on the papers.

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep until I figure this out.” He rubbed his chin as he turned over each paper. “I’ve skipped over a lot of words that I couldn’t immediately translate. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure that I’ve separated all the words appropriately. There are a lot of permutations. Meanings change if you’re off by one letter. Some of these words have multiple meanings. All I can say is thank God I took Latin. My parents thought it was such a waste of time — Alex, take Spanish, there’s a useful language. Half of America will be speaking it when you are older. I took Latin, go figure. Some ‘Dead Language,’ huh?”

  Ellie smiled and yawned again.

  “If it’s OK, I think I’ll keep you company. All that medieval armor in my room gives me the creeps. I feel like the knights’ eyes keep following me.”

  “If you pull the arm, a secret passage opens.”

  “The way things have been going lately, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Alex laughed and returned to the pages of transcription before him.

  “I guess the best thing to do is start from the beginning.” Alex positioned a blank sheet of paper to his right and began to neatly write. “Libre Quattuor…Book Four…Is eram dum ego…It was while I…”

  Alex stopped and looked across the desk at Ellie. She had drifted off to sleep, clutching the manuscript tightly to her chest. Alex could see the text rise and fall with each breath. He smiled, rose from his chair, and teased the text from her grasp. She stirred with each tug, resisting, but he was finally able to free it from her hands. He set the volume down on a side table and drew a wool blanket across her sleeping form. He learned over and kissed her forehead. Ellie mumbled something incomprehensible in her sleep.

  Alex searched the bookcase in the orange glow of the fireplace and withdrew a Latin dictionary from a shelf. He returned to the desk and spread out the papers before him.

  Marco, it’s time to give up your secrets.

  57

  Alex pushed the door open and peered into the kitchen. Jonas noisily rummaged through a cabinet in search of jam while Clay held aloft a porcelain saucer and cup as he watered a hanging plant.

  “It’s done,” Alex croaked. Clay and Jonas froze and looked back at him with curiosity.

  Alex’s mouth was parched and his eyes burned in the light. He felt vaguely nauseated and hungry at the same time. The muscles in his legs were heavy and seemed to pulsate a dull ache that reached the small of his back. He caught his reflection in the stainless steel toaster oven and grimaced. He could see the imprint of a pen on his right cheek where it came to rest when he had finally fallen asleep, face down on the desktop.

  “Done?” Clay grinned excitedly. “Already?”

  Before he could answer, the opposite door opened and Ellie bounced energetically into the kitchen cradling a hot cup of tea and a scone. She handed them to Alex.

  “Here, take this. It will make you feel much better.”

  Alex looked down at the cup. His nose crinkled at the sight of its cloudy contents. “There’s milk in this tea.”

  “Is there another way of drinking tea? Surely, not. I’ll turn you into a proper Englishman, yet.”

  Alex slid the papers onto the kitchen table and plopped down roughly on the wooden chair. The saucer shook in his hands and Ellie helped to direct it onto the tabletop. He took a bite of the cranberry scone and a sip of tea. He could feel the hot liquid coat his stomach, warming him from the inside out. The sugary and tart scone helped revive him. “Thanks.”

  Clay grabbed the chair opposite Alex and pulled it closely to him. “Well, let’s get on with it. What does it say? Is it fantastic? Is it all we have dreamed?”

  Alex lifted the cup to his lips, took another sip, and swallowed. All eyes were trained on him as he set the cup back down.

  “It’s the most fantastic thing I have ever read.”

  58

  Alex arranged the pages before him and cleared his throat. So this is how John the Baptist felt when delivering the Sermon on the Mount. Clay pinched his top lip between his thumb and index finger and waited for Alex to speak.

  Book Four

  It was while I was under the tutelage of the most magnificent and all-powerful Khan of the Tartars, Kublai Khan, that many wonders were revealed to me. Writing from this prison in the year of our Lord 1298, and with the cannon fire and death from the battle from which I was captured still repeating in my sleep, I find myself a Westerner coated with the dust of the East. There are days that I have lost and not spoken of. There are lands that I have seen and remain undisturbed. These are dangerous and wonderful places. I dare not speak of them for the cost is too great, as the reader will come to understand. But I cannot forget them because like the cannon fire, they are in my dreams, haunting me with every breath. And to my very human fault, I cannot simply bury them. I beseech the reader to bear my burden carefully for what I speak of are secret journeys. But this world is foreign to the reader and as such preparation is necessary.

  For my fellow traveler, I, Messer Marco Polo, leave this fact: the life of the supreme and most revered King of the Tartars, Genghis Khan, has passed into legend. It is said that men like Genghis Khan do not die. He rose as a boy from poverty to unite the Tartars and create an Empire through blood and power. His lands were vast and his authority unquestioned. He conquered the Idol-worshippers to the East until the water stopped him (some said that he could rule the fish in the sea if he chose to). He stretched into the dark lands of the North where the feral people lived and into the lands of those who worship Mohammed. Those who resisted were destroyed. He commanded reverence. And so it is sa
id that men such as Genghis Khan do not die.

  A tale is told that when Genghis Khan was old and gray, he embarked on his greatest campaign of all. He sought to conquer death itself. To do so, he summoned the Idol-worshipper, Ch’ang-ch’un, a wise man from the captured land of Cathay who was rumored to know the secret for everlasting life. Ch’ang-ch’un traveled for four years and experienced much hardship to finally meet with Genghis Khan. To the Great Khan’s dismay, the wise man denied the existence of such an elixir of immortality. He advised Genghis Khan if he wanted to achieve a long life he would have to abstain from habits of debauchery such as hunting, fornication, and intoxication. The all-powerful ruler replied that this was not the Tartar way and sent Ch’ang-ch’un away.

  The Great Khan was much dismayed that everlasting life remained elusive. In all the lands that he conquered he questioned the wise men from various faiths. A priest and follower of Nestorius told Genghis Khan of a garden created by the Lord in the East where there was a Tree of Life whose oil would grant immortality. The garden was in Eden and was protected by cherubim with flaming swords who guarded the entrance to paradise. When asked how one could find such a garden the priest said that it was not for man to know and was reserved for the righteous.

  For the conqueror of much of the known world, Genghis Khan found this to be a challenge and omen. One cold night on the steppes, he called four of his most accomplished soldiers into his yurt. By torch light, he told these soldiers of this wonderful paradise and a tree that offered immortality. He commanded them to embark on a mission to find this garden so that their master could live forever. The soldiers traveled in four directions and scoured the world for this paradise. Time passed and none of the soldiers returned from this quest and the Great Khan grew weary with age. He gathered his closest and most trusted council together and ordered that if such a place were found after he had died, that his body should be brought to this place and buried beneath this magical tree. His soul would become one with the tree, the land, and the heavens. Before he died, he decreed that this place be kept a secret and protected for eternity.