 |
 |
|
|
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] room ahead of them. Arnault did so, easing around the left of the door frame with his back against the wall as Luc thrust his lamp into the room: modest enough in size, its far wall lined with long wooden shutters behind a writing desk and a stool situated to give light from behind the sitter when the shutters were open. As Torquil, too, entered the room, the added illumination brought the room to life around them-and revealed a large, leather-bound book lying open and face down in front of the writing table, with other leaves of parchment scattered around the room like fallen leaves. With a wordless exclamation of dismay, Luc darted over to the book and crouched to set down his lantern, picking up the splayed volume with a little crooning sound of regret. Arnault followed more cautiously, casting his wary glance into the shadows of the room and signaling uneasily for Torquil to close the door as he, too, hunkered down beside the older man, sword across his knees. Something about the room. "Who could have done such a thing!" Luc muttered, as he turned the volume to assess the damage. "This was a rather fine copy of Adamnan's Life of Saint Columba," he added indignantly. He fingered the book's broken spine, where several pages toward the middle had been ripped out. These were lying close by, crumpled and ink-smudged, some of them torn, and Luc gave another murmur of dismay as he gathered them up, cradling them to his breast as though he were handling a wounded bird. Glancing beyond Luc, Arnault saw more leaves of parchment lying scattered at the feet of the stool behind the writing table, with the contents of an inkhorn spilled wide across the pages, still shiny-wet. Finding a candle stub amid the debris, he lit it from Luc's lantern and bent closer to pluck one of the pages from the mess, its delicate calligraphy all but obliterated by a spidery black stain. "Well, this has to have happened when we heard the noise," he said, "though I can't imagine how the culprit got away without us seeing him. This ink is fresh. And this page doesn't look like it's part of that book," he said to Luc, noting the untrimmed edges of the parchment. "Have you any idea what it might have been?" Laying aside the copy of Adamnan and its torn pages, Luc came to take the parchment from Arnault, tsking as he shook his head. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "What a pity," he said. "Unfortunately, I do. This is Brother Colman's work. He's been making a copy of the Adamnan text in his spare time. That isn't a usual pursuit of our houses, as you know-and he's but a lay brother, with little formal education-but he had too much talent not to let him develop it." He cast another glance around the room, shaking his head bleakly. "I gave him this little room for a scriptorium, some years ago. When Jay came, he wanted to take it back-you'll have gathered how he feels about men getting ideas above their station-but by then, Brother Colman's work had gained a modest local following. I managed to persuade Jay that the work should be allowed to continue, as it would only add to the prestige of this house. The trade-out was that Brother Colman must not let his scrivening activities interfere with his domestic duties; and of course, it does produce extra income for the preceptory." "That would make a difference to Jay," Arnault replied. He spotted what looked to be the book's brass-banded carrying case against a wall and went to retrieve it. "That still doesn't answer who might have done this-or why." "I couldn't even hazard a guess," Luc replied, returning to his inspection of the damaged volume and nodding permission for Torquil to join him, showing him what had been done. "It may be possible to repair at least some of the damage, but the book's value has been significantly reduced. Jay is sure to demand an explanation, and I haven't the faintest idea what I'm going to tell him." Arnault sheathed his sword before bending to pick up the wooden case meant to house the book, one corner of which was badly shattered by impact with the wall. As he lifted it, a blast of glacial cold momentarily turned his blood to ice as he recoiled before a sickly charnel stench, simultaneously sweet and rotten, as memorable as it was revolting-and last encountered in a farmhouse in the far Orkney Islands. The implication struck him almost like a physical blow, and he reeled back with a gasp. The box slipped from his grasp with a hollow clatter as he caught at his balance against the wall, trying desperately to reconnect with the impression-but it was gone. "Arnault?" Luc had called softly, at the clattering sound. Both he and Torquil hurried over when Arnault did not immediately respond. A little dazed, Arnault shook his head, cautiously fumbling to pick up the box again; but now it was only a box with a splintered corner. Nonetheless, a multitude of unsavory conjectures were tumbling through his mind, premier among them the unshakable impression that whatever had run amok here in Brother Colman's scriptorium had also been responsible for the death of a little Norwegian princess and the extinction of the royal Canmore line. "I'm all right," he muttered to Luc, not yet ready to voice his growing conviction-and aware that he must be careful what he said in front of Torquil. "I am suddenly minded to consider whether what happened here was more than just a random act of destruction. How many others have a key to this room?" "Myself," Luc said promptly. "Brother Colman, of course-but he would never destroy his own work, much less a book like the Adamnan-" "Anyone else?" Arnault broke in impatiently. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |