Prospero continued:
'"October 15: Found an interesting-looking book in the library today. I asked the abbot if he would let me have it for my own collection in my laboratory, and he said yes. It appears to be in a strange language, and it may deal with magic."'
'"November 28: I must find time to study that new book; I fear my lack of training in languages will hinder me.'"
'"January 21: I have been trying to unlock the cipher of this strange book. Having exhausted my supply of cryptographic manuals, I am sending to London for more. The writing looks as though it could be translated. That is, it is suggestive of some meaning.'"
'"February 3: The new books are no help. I am going to give up trying to interpret this piece of nonsense. It has taken up far too much of my time. After all, it may be in a language I do not know. But then, why does it seem so meaningful?'"
'"February 17: will give this damnable book one last try. To the devil with all manuals! I should be able to solve it with my native wits."'
'"February 18: I stayed up all night, and toward morning, when the letters were twisting and squirming before my eyes, I found that the first two lines made sense. Laudate Dominum! All that is required, it seems, is concentration. It seems to be the beginning of an incantation of some sort. This has been a bitter winter. Wolves were howling last night in a grove of trees a few hundred yards from the abbey. I could see their eyes as I stood in my window.'"
'"February 20: I have asked the abbot to excuse me from prayers for a few days, so that I might finish something that will, I am sure, be for the greater glory of God. He consented, but reluctantly, and made a needlessly unpleasant remark about my haggard appearance. He has not wrestled with Powers and Principalities.'"
'"March 13: It has taken incredible concentration, but I have finished the first incantation. I assume it to be complete, since the next line is indented and begins with an ornamental capital. Tonight, I will try the spell and see what it brings.'"
'"March 14: At first, I was horribly disappointed. I chanted the words, but nothing happened. However, I soon came to see that one has to want something specific to happen. I decided that the best thing would be to close my eyes and see what image formed. I saw many things, but one picture kept recurring, the snowy field outside my window, and in the middle of it, one gray wolf. (No doubt this was the result of what I mentioned in my note of February 18.) I chanted the words again and went to my window. It was ten o'clock at night, a three-quarters-full moon was in the sky, and in the snow, I saw a wolf staring up at me. In that instant, I realized that I had made him, and that I could keep him there only by intense concentration The moment my brain began to grow tired, the wolf began to shimmer and fade into the snow. When I ran outside, I saw that the creature had left tracks. I have done what Tiresias, Simon Magus, Arbaces, and all the sibyls could not do."'
Prospero dropped the papers into his lap. The two men stared at each other for a long time.
"Well," said Prospero at last, "I thought we were changing the subject when we started to read this thing."
"So did I," said Roger. "Fool that I am I didn't notice the connection till you read it just now. This gives added significance to some things that happened later. Read on and you will see what I mean."
Prospero picked up the papers again.
'"March 15 : The wolf will not obey my commands, though I can hold him here for upwards of an hour, I must read more. The abbot will not allow me to have my meals brought here. I spoke to him sharply, and he accused me of experimenting with black magic. I said that he spoke without knowledge, and quoted Job to him. He stared at me in wonder, and, I think, in fear. I expected him to ask me to kneel and beg forgiveness, but he hurried away.'"
'"March 17: More success with the control of the wolf. I have translated three whole paragraphs now. The intense study is affecting my nerves, I constantly think that someone is plucking at my sleeve. When I turn around, there is no one there, And, last night I dreamed that something dead lay alongside me in my bed. I woke up in terror and thought I heard something strike the floor. When I went to the window, I saw the wolf. He had come unbidden; I do not know why.'"
'"March 20: Quarreled with the abbot again today. It seems very strange that he is opposed to what I am doing. Now that we speak of witchcraft, I wonder who his master is?"'
'"March 28: I cannot get beyond the third paragraph. Could it be that the rest of the book is untranslatable? I lack will power. Told the abbot that I would not obey his evil command.'"
'"April 7: It seems that the next paragraph is not an incantation at all, but a set of directives. Prerequisites for further action. I cannot believe that such demands need to be met, so I will simply continue to the next spell.'"
'"April 23: The words have fought me fiercely, but I am ready now. I think the "instructions" were interpolated by a madman."'
Here Roger interrupted. 'The next entry-the last one, as you see-has no date. The original page from the diary was torn out, crumpled, and thrown into the fire. Someone rescued it and stuck it back into the book, but the date was burned away."
Prospero read:
'"I have smashed my bottles and retorts, and I have given the book to an old fisherman-a foreigner, but a good man-who promised me that he would drop it into the deepest part of the sea. How can I tell what has happened? I spoke the words I had learned, and suddenly the whole room began to waver and drift like smoke. I felt as if I could put my hand through the table and the walls. I saw everything as through murky water. The floor pitched like a deck, but with difficulty I got to the window. The wolf was out there on the grass, closer than ever before, but beside him was a man in a monk's robe. The cowl was thrown back, but I could not see his features through the shimmering air. Then, his face grew impossibly large and came near, and I saw that it was mine-my face as it might be after a year in the grave. A voice, a dry insect voice, harsh and cracked, whispered, "Give me the book." I clutched the book to my chest and fell down to the floor, which was now like smoking, bubbling water. I could see through to the ground and there was no roof above me, and I was sinking with that awful rotted face hovering over me. I fainted, and when I awoke, the solid stone floor of my study was under me again. The book was there in my arms undamaged. What I did with it I have written above, and I swear to Cod that what I have written is true. The abbot has forgiven me, and I am to make a pilgrimage soon, quia peccavi nimis. I will take up my studies again when I feel able to.'"
Prospero sighed and folded up the notes, "Only one thing remains for me to ask, and I'm almost afraid to ask it," he said.
" I know what you mean," said Roger with a tense smile. "Yes, I did bring a sample of the book's script with me." He reached into his pocket and brought out a small wrinkled card. "This is in the monk's own handwriting. Is it the writing on your window?"
Prospero stared at the card, crumpled it slowly, and pressed his fist his eyes. Then, standing up suddenly, he threw the wad across the room. It dropped neatly into the trumpet mouth of a potbellied brass spittoon.
"Come on," said Prospero, as he pulled Roger to his feet. "Lets go out and sit in the back yard for a while."
Prospero and Roger went out the back door into a cool night filled with lightning bugs that flashed their tiny pulsing lamps in every comer of the garden. A great willow hung in ghostly silver near the faintly trickling fountain, and Prospero's favorite apple tree stretched one long awkward branch up to touch the eaves of the house. The sharp smell of black dirt mingled with the green smell of wet leaves, and a light milky mist lay on the grass. The two weary, but still talkative wizards, sat in a pair of fan-backed wicker chairs and pitched pebbles at the drunken satyr in the fountain. They talked about wars, enchantments, and obscure facts until the sky above the forest began to be fringed with pale blue. Eventually, they collected enough strength to get up and go inside. Prospero took Roger to one of the many spare bedrooms, where the two of them shook out a set of slightly musty sheets and made up the canopied oak bed. On the way back to his room, guttering candle in hand, Prospero noticed that the great ruby-paned iron lamp that hung at the head of the stairs was flickering and laboring as if it had been thrust into a musty cave or a long unopened room. He cast a sharp look down the dark stairs and stood dead still, listening. Crickets and frogs, and far off a restless dog. The light began to burn more brightly, so he blew out his candle and went to bed.