The Book of Air and Shadows

by Michael Gruber

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because his goons are after me. He thinks I have something he wants. I think.” I provided a brief explanation of the Bulstrode/Shakespeare affair as background, omitting to identify Miranda by name. “Do you know him?”

  “We’ve met.”

  “A client?”

  “In a way. He entertains a lot. Some of my girls have been at some of his parties.”

  “Could you get us together? I mean socially.”

  “I don’t think you want to do that, Jake.”

  “Because he’s such a bad guy.”

  “He’s pretty evil. I mean evil guys think he’s evil.”

  “Bad as Dad?”

  “The same type of person, the two main differences being Dad never played rough and Shvanov is not our dad. Why do you want to meet him?”

  “A frank exchange of views. Anyway, will you?”

  “I’ll suggest it to him. Will he want to see you?”

  “I believe so. We share an interest in old manuscripts. I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about. You should come too. It’ll be a fun evening. We can plan our trip to Israel to see old Dad.”

  She stood up. “I’ll call you,” she said and walked out, leaving me alone except for the strange being tapping away at the keyboard. I stood behind Niko and looked at his screen. It was colored a flat, pale gray, across which field incomprehensible blue letters appeared and vanished like windshield rain. Niko was programming. I should say that for a working lawyer I am computer literate. Most lawyers believe their skin will rot away if they touch a keyboard, but not me. I suppose I am about where Niko was when he was four. I lifted one of his earphones and asked, “What are you doing?”

  I had to repeat myself several times. “Search engines,” he said.

  “Oh, search engines,” I said knowingly. “What are you searching for?”

  “Anything. Let me go.” He shook his head and tried to tug his earphones down, but I lifted them off and spun his swivel chair around so that he faced me.

  “I have to talk to you about something important,” I said. His body was starting to stiffen up and his gaze was directed at an upper corner of the room.

  “Focus on this, Niko! Gangsters are after me and I think they may want to hurt you and Imogen and Mommy. I need you to help me out.”

  This seemed to get through. He asked, bored, “This is pretend, right?”

  “No, not pretend. For real.”

  “Why are they after you?”

  “Because I have some papers they want. A client of mine gave them to me and they killed him. They tortured him, and before he died he gave them my name.”

  Yes, pretty strong stuff for a kid, but Niko is hard to reach. It’s not like he was sensitive. I imagine that if someone were torturing me he would watch with fascinated interest.

  “Why do they want the papers?”

  “I’m not sure. I think they think they could lead to a treasure.” He considered this for a moment, and I imagined the peculiar wheels in his head whirring like a fine clock.

  “For real?”

  “They think so,” I said.

  “We should find the treasure,” he said. “Then they would probably leave us alone.”

  I believe this is one of the few times Niko has used the pronoun we to include myself with him. I said, “That’s a very good idea. Now, there are two things I want you to do. The first is I want you to keep careful watch on the street and call me immediately if you see anything suspicious. These guys are Russians and they go around in black SUVs, so call me if you spot them, okay? The next thing is I want you to search for a man named Richard Bracegirdle. He died in 1642 in England.” I wrote this down on a sheet of paper from his printer.

  “Who is he?”

  “The man who buried the treasure. Find out about him and his descendants, and if there are any of them still alive. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, I can,” said Niko. I’m not sure why I engaged him in this way, although Niko is about as expert a data searcher as any I know, he’s won prizes for it, and university professors correspond with him without knowing he is eleven years old. Clearly I could have hired a commercial firm to do the search, or we have people at my office who are good at it. Perhaps I was feeling lonely and here was something Dad and son could do together, like a hike in the piney woods. Thinking on my feet, like philanderers learn to do. Of course, that was the easy part. Now I had to go down and tell his mother all about it.

  THE BRACEGIRDLE LETTER (9)

  This fellowe says he is named James Piggott and is servant to my lord Dunbarton a man high in counsel to the Kinges majestie & askes me if I am of the pure religion & this man had the whey-faced, cold-eyed look I recollect from daies of my youth as markes youre canting Puritan & so I sayd oh yes sir, truely I am and fall to my meate a capon pastie & ale. Whilst I ate he quizzed mee upon all matters bearing upon religion as: depravity of Man, predestination, inefficacy of workes, revelation soley through Scripture, salvation through faith alone &c. & seemed well-pleazed with my answeres & then sayde Mr Hastynges gives a good reporte of thee & I answer hym Mr Hastynges a goode man and of the true religion I have found & after speaking somewhat of Mr H. he of a sudden says, I heare that your mother was a papiste and brat of a papistical traitor. What say you to that? At this I was much surprized and wroth but I stanche my ire and say that she wase upon a tyme mayhap but repented her error and was a faithfull adherent of the Reformed church her whole lyfe after. He asked of mee was she an Arden of Warwickshire & mee replying she was he saieth that hath saved thee from the gallowes my lad for my lord Dunbarton hath need of someone such as thee, of pure religion but papiste connectiones and those of your motheres family most particular. Now he asketh, hast evere heard a playe?

  I sayde I had not for were they not verey wicked thynges? Aye, quoth he, and more than you know. For struttynge actors stand in full light o’ day & hatch treason. How you say? By three means. First, playes doe corrupt the mindes and soules of men who heare them by shewing lewd actiouns as: murther thefte, rapine, bawdrey, fornicatiouns, soe that those heareres may imitate them thereafter and soe disorder the state and lose theyre owne sowles to Hell. Next, these playes o’erthrow Gods lawe for they shew boys dressed as women which is itselfe sinne but far worse they doe unbridyle the filthie lustes of Sodom, which I do not doubt me these playeres doe sinke themselves in soe they are a stenche to heaven. Thirdlie and worste: theye are all but a maske for papistick treasones & he saith again: a maske, but a maske.

  And he goeth on: for well you know the Harlot of Rome uzed to delight in rich shewes and silken costumes and men dressed as women to bedazzle the people and turne them away from the true worship of Christ. What is theyre gibbering mass but a playe? Now we have stoppte theyre masses will they not trye another waye to turn folke from true faith? What, quoth I, think you these players are secret papistes? Nay, says he, they are more subtle, more than serpentes. Now what sayest thou if I tell thee there is a man now abroad the chief of these playeres who, item: doth devise secret libels on the true religion: item, doth hold up papiste priestes in such playes to admiratioun: item, whose father wast a papiste fined many tymes for shunning the protestant church and whose mother wase spawn of a family longe reviled for adamant recusancie, doutlesse a papiste herself: item, who conspyred traitorously to ralleye the attainted earle of Essex his forces when he rebelled gainst our late sovereign Quene by meanes of shewing to his followers on the morn of the rebellion the playe of Richard Second as an inspiring exemple of treason & regicide & should have been taken up at that time but was not, for some of worship did protect him, dmn their eyies. What saye you of such a one? Quoth I (which I knew well was the onlie mete answer nowe), to the Tower with him hee should not walk abroade one houre.

  Hee then smyled a colde smyle saying marry, you spake the truth boy, yet in the kingdomes now disordered state this wee cannot do, or not yet. For look you, the King surroundes himselfe not with the Godly but with
lascivious & corrupt favourites, viz. my Lord of Rochester and otheres lyke, of these manie as near to papistes as your shirt your bodie & these delighteth in such vaine shewes as playes upon the stage: even the King hath a bande of playeres of whom he doth bespeake playes to suit his fancies & the one of whom I tolde thee the chiefest amongst these knaves.

  Now, he sayeth further, wee have us a prince Henry as good a protestant as ever ate bread, sober, wyse beyond his yeares: yet his father the King can thinke of nothing but to wed him to a popish princesse & this we cannot suffer to befall this lande for it will be the ruine of Gods church in England, the same as the King hath already begun with his depraved and ungodlie rule of bischopes. Soe my Lord D. and other worthie nobles of the true faith, thinking upon this lamentable past, hath brought forth a plan and have looked long for some one to bring it to particular action. And wee have found hym.

  Who, quoth I? You, quoth hee. At hearinge this I wase much afrayde & sayde, for why? Thus he expressed it: you know the Kinges mother wase a vain wicked papiste traitor Mary Queen of Scotlande justlie executed by oure late Quene & this hath long rankled the King that all good Englishmen should despise his mother and mayhap thinke them: lyke mother lyke childe. Soe happlie he would looke with favour upon a playe presentinge Queen Mary as a goode woman wronged, & mayhap he should command this knave of whom I lately spake to write it oute. What then boy?

  Then I thought mee be clever as you can Dick for thou art fulle in the power of this one and I sayd ’twould be a scandal to all goode protestants in the kingdom they would not stand it. He says Aye and tis why it is far from the Kinges mind. But suppose one feigning to be in service of some great Lord, a privy councillour even, should go to this maker of playes saying I bear direction from the Kinges majestie: write such a playe and thou wilt be rewarded & gaine favour in the Kinges sight. And suppose such a playe came to be and suppose it were plaied before the King and his courte, what think thee would befall? For know you that no playe can be shewn without a licence from the maistre of the revels: yet in truth no such license would ever issue for such a playe, ’twould be worth the heade of any such officer. Yet suppose further that we have the seal thereof and provide our knave with a false license and then he all unknowing goeth on & giveth the playe. What think you befalls?

  Says I he would be ruined I think. You think rightlie boy & gives hym a laugh but with little joy in’t, he would be ruined & all this cursed plaieing with hym and not just that: the scandal as thou sayest would race through the kingdom, that the King hath put forth his mother as a goodlie dame unjustlie put down by Elizabeth the Quene, who shall further appear in this playe as a vile scheming bastard. Soe alarums hither & yon: the King denieth all as he must, this knave I spake of is ta’en up and racked, oh yes I shall see to that myself: and racked he giveth forth the names of all who hath complotted this outrage, viz. first Rochester and all otheres who seek a papiste match for oure prince. They are disgraced, deny it how they may & soe do wee put down for ever this papiste match. What think you of this?

  Quoth I, sir, a mightie plan methinkes but agen I ask why chuse Dick Bracegirdle? He says, because thou art an Arden by thy dam as is hym we aim at, you are cozens or may seem to be and you can feign at need the same demi-papistrie he professeth if truth be knowne. Soe if my Lord Rochester wisht to sende a privy messenger to this one who shall he chuse better than one such as you. Recall this is all to be done close, or so you shall give out, for my Lord desireth to surprize the King at his birthday with a new playe. But say now, are you oure man?

  To this there was but one answer an I ever wished to see free aire again soe I said yes and he sware me a greate oathe on a Bible and warned it should at my grave perill should I ever betray’t. After-ward I asked pray what is the name of this fellowe and he says William Shaxspure: this the first tyme I ever heard the name.

  Soe I wase freed next night and in darknesse passed wee by boat from Tower stayres up-river to a greate house in the Strand belonging to my Lord Dunbarton and was presented to my Lord, a verey grave fat man much burdened by affayres, but uzed me kindley enow & sayde I would doe greate worke for England if wee could but brynge oure devizes to fruite. But wee did not in the end, God willed other wise in His greate wisdom & in later yeares I oft thought mee had wee won all wee had forecaste & hoped mayhap the present broiles that bid fayre to ravage oure sad countrie had therebye been checked. Yet I wase but a smalle peece upon the board & verilie is it sayde His thoughts are greater than oure thoughts Amen.

  I stopped some weekes at Dunbarton House, well-tabeled, dressed in cloathes finer than aught I had before but verey sober. Of daies Mr Piggott taught me how to write & reade cypher’d messauges & he wase amazed how well I did in this & I tolde hym my minde had been trayned up in the Mathematick artes long since & your cyphers be somethyng lyke. Soe he was pleazed there-bye. I reade deepe in the Tracktee de Chiffres a French booke late Englished & Sigr. Porta’s De Furtivas verie subtle werkes & too the grilles of Mstr. Cardano & this arte lyked mee so welle that I did labour longe at it in the night-tyme, for there was no lack of candels at Dunbarton House and shewed Mr Piggott my werkynges: and after some wekes wase hee not full amaz’d for I had mayde a new cypher the lyke hee had not seen before & hee sayde e’en the Pope could not mayke it oute.

  Afterward he had mee increase my skill at recollection of wordes hym saying many score of them and set mee to recall them in the self-same order & set down in writing. Besides, he shewed me lykenesses of men & women & viewes of townes & countrie-sydes all verey prettilie made with paintes & mee made to describe them after onlie a little scant looke. The same: hee & another feigned a discourse of poperie and treasoun, mee conceeled behind a screen & later I am made to tell him all the plot. Here again he admitteth I doe well. Soe now I aske hym be this all the intelligencers art and he answereth nay, this be but the smaller parte, which answer puzzel’d me much.

  Yet later I understood hym, for next cometh a man Henry Wales a leering coxcombe he seemed, in modern pretty cloathes fit for one of higher state, but Mr Piggott spake civillie to him & gave him a purse and spake me Dick, here be your true friend Henry Wales that you have knowne since youth in Warwickshire, now met in London amid greate joie. He is an actor of the Kinges Companie & knoweth Mr Wm. Shaxespur right well. Then Mr Piggott caste on me such a looke as I knew his meaning afresh: that I too wase to be actor but in lyfe not upon stage & this is what it is to be an intelligencer not mere cyphers, listening & recollection & I thought mee then of my first yeare in the foundry when I acted the boorish prentice rough in word and harsh in dede whilst keepyng my true selfe within & thought yea this can I doe & lett the papistes & traitoures feare.

  All that befell thereafter you will finde writ in the letteres that I passed to Lord D. viz: my approache to this Shaxspure, what passed between us, the playe he wrought of that wicked queene of Scots, and what became of it, and at laste how wee fayled and so I shalnot repeate here for I feare me I have not more than a few houres & it straineth me to write more. You know well Nan my lyfe thereafter & I am saddened that I can not relate it to hym as I have those yeares before. Say to hym your sire was a gonner in the German warres in the goode Protestant cause: was at White Mountain and vanquished by the papistes & at Breitenfeilde and Luttzen holped vanquishe them: but tyring of warre & sore hurt in the foote by a bullet then returned, my father having since died & your fishmonger dying also (the which I had prayed for & pray you and God forgyve mee for it!) and were married 3rd Aprill 1632 St. Margaret Pattens & yeare after had a son, praise God & maye hee live long and thee.

  Some more thinges of import for my time groweth short I can scarce make out the page though it be clare day & I am griped by my mortal agonie you know well my leathern boxe that I keep in my privy closet, in it you shall finde the letteres cypher’d in the fasioun I devized. Doe you keepe them safe and show them to no one. They tell all the tale nearlie of my Lord D. his plot & oure spyeing upon the secret papist Shaxpure. Or so wee thoug
ht him although now I am lesse certayne. In that manner & bent of lyfe he wase a Nothinge. But certayne it is hee wrought the playe of Scotch M. I commanded of him in the Kinges name. I find it passing strange that all though I am dead and him also yet the playe lives still, writ in his own hande & lying where onlie I know & there maye it reste for ever.

  As to the letteres: if the King should prevail in this present affarye, which God forbid, and his ministers come at you with ill intent, these leaves may holpe to secure your fortune, yours and that of oure son. You know how to worke the cypher and I recollect you the Keye be the Willowe where my mother lieth and if thou’rt able I wish that my bones may lye besyde hers hereafter.

  Fare thee well my girl & with Gods grace I hope I shall see you agen in the incorrupt bodie promised us by oure Lord & Saviour Christ Jesus in whose name I sign this yr. husbande

  RICHARD BRACEGIRDLE

  10

  Crosetti sat in his father’s car, a black 1968 Plymouth Fury, and watched 161 Tower Road, feeling stupid. The house was a two-story frame model in need of a coat of paint, set in a weedy lawn behind a low chain-link fence. A row of brownish junipers bordering the house seemed the limits of H. Olerud’s horticulture. This name was displayed on a battered black maibox nailed to a crooked post. In the driveway sat a rust-flecked green Chevy sedan with the hood up and a scatter of tools on a tarp next to it. In the open shedlike garage that adjoined the house, he could see a red tractor and a tangle of shapes that could have been agricultural implements. The place had a tired look, as if it and the people who lived there had been knocked down and were waiting for breath to return. It was a Saturday. Crosetti had left the city at dawn and driven across the state of Pennsylvania, nearly three hundred miles on I-80 and 79, and reached Braddock a little past three. Braddock was built around a single intersection with two gas stations, a McDonald’s, a pizza joint, a VFW hall, two bars, a 7-Eleven, a coin laundry, and a collection of older brick-built commercial buildings, most of the shops in them Wal-Marted into oblivion and now occupied by junk dealers or storefront services for the distressed. Behind this strip were dozens of large homes that must have been built for the commercial and industrial aristos when the steel mills and mines had been working. Crosetti couldn’t imagine who lived in them now.