The summer sun felt good on his face; by its angle, he realized that it was going to be evening in just a few hours. That raised the question of what he was going to do. If Natalie was right, his best option was to stay at the villa until further notice, but there was a part of Steven that wasn’t comfortable allowing an ephemeral threat drive him underground. His life for years had been spent in a sort of hiding, always looking over his shoulder, and he’d only recently become comfortable that he had nothing more to worry about. Then this slammed into him. It wasn’t fair.
Steven was jolted out of his daydream by the deep boom of a nearby gunshot. He swung around and found himself facing an old man, seventy yards off, holding a turn-of-the-century shotgun. He was shooting at the crows, trying to drive them off his property. Steven waved at him. He waved back. There were few things like the Italian countryside, where just a few minutes outside of a major town you could find farmers discharging guns with nobody batting an eyelid.
What a weird country. He continued strolling, amid a reverie of his old place in Greve, haunted by Antonia’s restive ghost and his own disturbed dreams, and realized there was a part of him that still missed living in rural tranquility. Just as quickly as that image flitted through his consciousness, the familiar sequence of recollections began their bittersweet parade — those last moments, kissing and holding Antonia, watching her race off in the Audi, thinking it was just another routine day when, in reality, the final minutes of her life were ticking away. If it hadn’t been for the ancient book peddler, he would have also been crushed by the huge–
The book collector. His box.
Steven stumbled, then turned and ran like a madman back to the villa. He burst through the front door to find Natalie standing in the kitchen, her nap over, making herself a cup of tea.
“I know where I’ve seen the Voynich crest before,” he announced, only mildly winded from the sprint back.
“That’s amazing!” She peered at him. “What Voynich crest?”
Steven realized that he hadn’t shared with her any of his postprandial speculations. He beckoned to her, and she joined him at the table where the Scroll was laid out.
“You see this small drawing on the last page? The one that looks like a highly-stylized circular labyrinth in a shield-shaped exterior?” he asked excitedly, tapping the parchment delicately with his index finger.
“Yes. I see it, although to me it looks a lot like the rest of the drawings. What’s the big deal about it?” Natalie asked.
“I’ve seen it before.”
“You already said that. But why is that such exciting news?”
“Because of where I’ve seen it,” he responded.
“Where have you seen it?”
“On another parchment, also written in a cypher, but one that’s been decrypted,” he announced.
“And…” Natalie gestured with her hand: like, whenever you’re ready to tell me the meat of it, proceed.
“Decrypted by me.” Steven could see she still didn’t get it. “I have the parchment.”
CHAPTER 12
“You’re saying that this little emblem, or whatever it is, is similar to some parchment you worked on?” Natalie summarized, surprised at the direction events had suddenly moved in.
“No, I’m saying that it is the exact same crest as on a medieval parchment that I own — I bought it along with four others from an antique book dealer several years ago. One of the oldest families in the business in Italy, and perhaps all of Europe. They’ve been at it for hundreds of years, and many of the older pieces in circulation have moved through their hands at one time or another if a sale was involved. This parchment was part of the family’s private collection, which comprised mainly obscure and historically insignificant documents. The only reason it’s now noteworthy is because of the drawing. Otherwise it would just be a run-of-the-mill fifteenth century coded letter that was drafted using a fairly complex substitution cypher. The pisser is that I actually consigned it to a rare book company six months ago, with some of my others,” Steven explained, then shifted his attention to the Scroll. “If you look at the crest, you’ll see that it’s an eleven-circuit labyrinth. Not sure if that has any significance…”
“What does that mean?”
“See the path? If you count the rings, you’ll see that there are eleven levels. Older labyrinths tend to be simpler. This is similar to the one in Chartres Cathedral in France,” Steven explained.
“So it’s a maze…some sort of a puzzle?”
“No. Labyrinths have well defined paths. Mazes don’t — they’re intended to challenge the intellect with numerous dead-ends. With labyrinths, the symbolism is deeper. The only decision with a labyrinth is whether or not to enter it. Everything else is about the trip through. In a way, this could be a veiled reference to beginning a tortuous journey…”
“Do you remember what the parchment said?” Natalie asked.
“Not really. It…it simply wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy. At least not then. I just put it onto the curiosities pile and went about my business. At the time, I had a lot going on…I’d just lost my wife in a car crash, so I wasn’t really that involved in much of anything for a while…”
“I’m sorry, Steven.” Natalie said quietly.
“It was two and a half years ago… Anyway, the point is, I’ve seen the parchment and I’ll need to get hold of it as soon as possible, because it may hold the key to deciphering the Scroll, or at least could put us on the right path.” Steven looked at his watch. “Shit. I’ll need to make a call. If he’s in town, I should be able to get the dealer to scan the document and send it to my e-mail. Let me give it a try.”
Steven consulted his phone’s address book, and after a few moments, conducted a hurried call in Italian. When he hung up, he was smiling.
“Mission accomplished. Framboso, the dealer, hasn’t sold it yet. He promised to get a high resolution scan to me by the end of the day,” Steven said.
“You’re sure it’s the same crest?” Natalie asked.
“Positive. But I have another problem, and I think we need to deal with it sooner than later. My passport and cash are in one of several large safety deposit boxes at a bank in downtown Florence, where I keep my parchment collection. It’s completely secure and climate-controlled.” He stared at the crest closely, nodded, then turned to Natalie. “The bank’s open until five o’clock. I’ll need it anywhere I go in Italy, or if I have to cross a border. Come to think of it, it might not be a terrible idea to put the Scroll in one of the boxes at the same time. If you’ve got scans, there doesn’t seem to be anything on the originals that wouldn’t be on an image. Your call, but you’re welcome to use one of my boxes to store it,” Steven offered.
Natalie hesitated. Steven could tell she was torn. His invitation made sense, but she wasn’t completely willing to give up possession of the Scroll. Too high a price had already been paid for it.
Steven let the moment pass. When push came to shove, it wasn’t his problem — the Scroll wasn’t his property. Then again, it wasn’t really hers, either. She hadn’t paid millions for it.
“I’ll bring it with me and make a decision once I see the security. Not all banks are created equal,” she observed, dodging the moment of truth.
“If we’re going to make it with any time to spare, we better hit the road. Oh, and I think it would be a good idea to stop by my flat so I can get a shaving kit and clothes. Especially if I’m going to be on vacation for a while,” Steven said.
“That’s a terrible idea, Steven. They might be watching your place.”