Her smile turned hard. “He didn’t say that! He gave me the name of a book and said to look into it if he died.”
Sam persisted. “Which you never bothered to get around to doing?”
“Did I mention the book was released in 1136?”
“What? You haven’t heard of Amazon and Kindle?” Sam asked. “All the better about the age, it means the book’s well and truly out of publication, and is probably free on Kindle!”
“It is,” she said, “I checked.”
“Then why didn’t you read it?”
“It wouldn’t help,” her voice was soft, but the words emphatic.
“Why?”
“Because the cipher Patrick left me was designed to be used against the original edition of the book, not an e-book, or a modern-day appropriation or print.”
“That might make it a little harder. Are you sure it’s the right book?”
“Yeah… I mean, how many books can there be that reference King Arthur and were written that long ago.”
Sam thought about that for a moment, and said, “So let’s go find the book.”
“That sounds great, but do you know where we’re going to find a book written in 1136?”
Sam grinned. “As a matter of fact, I know a bookstore in Portland that might just have a copy.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was raining by the time Sam Reilly drove the yellow T-Bird into the Pearl District of Portland, Oregon. It was an area formerly occupied by warehouses, light industry and railroad classification yards but since the 1980s had transitioned into a trendy area noted for its art galleries, upscale businesses, and residences.
He pulled onto Union Avenue, once the location of the old viaduct. The traffic light changed and he accelerated past the Portland Streetcar and along 11th Avenue, finding a parking spot right at the front of Powell’s.
The bookstore was reputed to be one of the largest privately-owned brick and mortar stores in the world. It encompassed a full city block between NW 10th and 11th Avenues and between W. Burnside and NW Couch Streets and contained over 68,000 square feet of retail space, spanning five levels and nine color-coded rooms displaying 3,500 sections of books. More importantly, it was said to have one of the largest stocks of rare, collectible, and antique first edition books — and according to its website, it currently was in possession of one of the few remaining original copies of Welsh bishop Geoffrey of Monmouth, Historia Regum Britanniae.
Sam left Caliburn in the car. “You’d better wait here old boy. We’ll find some food to bring back afterward, okay?”
The retriever watched him and Guinevere leave, licking his lips.
Sam and Guinevere entered via 11th and Couch.
They descended a few steps into the Orange Room and were greeted by thousands upon thousands of journals and stationery.
Guinevere glanced around the massive room as they followed it through to the Rose Room. She turned to Sam. “Do you have any idea where to start?”
Sam frowned. “There’s meant to be a Rare Book Room somewhere here, but I have no idea where to find it.”
A young woman with brown hair, dark eyes, and a small nose ring stopped to help. “You look lost.”
Sam said, “We are… a little. We’re looking for a very old book on the Kings of Britain. Any idea where we might find that?”
She smiled. “How old?”
“Twelfth century.”
“I don’t know. That’s going back some. If the store has such a book, it would be in the Rare Book Room.”
Sam asked, “Where’s that?”
“Top floor. At the end of the Pearl Room.” There was something about her that was incredibly cute and trendy, making her fit in perfectly at the store. “I’m heading that way myself, I’ll take you there.”
“Thank you,” Sam and Guinevere replied in unison.
They took the first set of stairs up into the Red Room, before looping back with another set of stairs going up into the Pearl Room. They passed the Basil Hallward Gallery and entered the Rare Book Room.
Sam ran his eyes across the room. It was filled floor to ceiling with dark wood shelving, ambient lighting, antique furniture, and carefully selected works of art. Most importantly though, the Rare Book Room was home to several thousand of Powell’s most valuable books, including an extensive library of reference works about antiquarian books.
He glanced at the woman’s nametag. It read, Carly Nelson. Sam said, “Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied. “I’ll leave you with Lindsay here, who will help you find what you’re after.”
“Thanks.”
Lindsay looked up. She had blonde hair, and striking blue eyes, but aside from those differences, Sam figured the two women might have been sisters. “What are you looking for?”
Guinevere said, “We’re looking for an original copy of Historia Regum Britanniae.”
Lindsay’s eyes lit up with pleasure as she proudly said, “That’s one of our oldest books.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Guinevere sat down at an antique mahogany desk.
At the nearby sales counter, a salesperson took a copy of Sam’s driver’s license and an imprint of his credit card for security in case any of the books being examined were damaged in the process. Sam Reilly had donated various antique research books to Powell’s over the years, giving him a little more credit than most people.
A few minutes later, Lindsay brought out the original edition of the 1136, Historia Regum Britanniae. The book was made of discolored paper, bound by leather hide.
“Is there anything you particularly want to know about the book?” Lindsay inquired.
“My brother left me with this,” Guinevere said, showing a sheet of plastic the exact size of one of the book pages, with dozens of single letter-sized cutouts. “It’s a cipher key designed to match an original edition of Historia Regum Britanniae. He died unexpectedly a few years ago, and left me with this, with a note saying that this will give me the answers to what happened to him.”
“That’s weird,” Lindsay said, a wry smile forming in her parted lips. “Your brother really didn’t want to make it easy for you, did he?”
Guinevere nodded. “No. Apparently he had never heard of leaving me a letter. Instead, he’s making me jump through some pretty difficult hoops to work out what he was involved in and what happened to him.”
“All right, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be right over there if you need anything. This looks like it might be kind of personal.”
“Thanks,” Guinevere said, and she watched Lindsay leave.
She placed the plastic cipher delicately on the first page of the book and made a note of each of the legible letters that were still visible. Guinevere finished the page and stared at the letters on the notepad.
They were all gibberish.
She turned the cipher around and tried doing it the opposite way.
Again, it all came out as gibberish.
Sam put away his wallet and took a seat next to her. “Any luck?”
Guinevere frowned. “Not yet.”
“What are you getting?”
“Nothing. Random letters. Nothing more.”
Sam pursed his lips. “Are you sure you have the right page?”
“Patrick never gave me a page. Just that I was to read Historia Regum Britanniae using the cipher.”
“All right, keep going. Try the next page.”
She tried the next three, but none of them revealed anything meaningful or even legible for that matter.