Bundles of paper were piled on the top shelf of a thin bookcase carved into an alcove next to the window. She pulled one of them down. It was a stack of thick, brittle pages-vellum-bound with string, or more likely, dried gut, with two wooden panels for covers. There were hundreds of them.
Freya and Vivienne rested their legs and slipped their throbbing feet out of their walking boots, pressing hot soles on the soothingly cool stone floor.
“So what’s the plan now, Aunt Vivienne?” Freya asked. They were both looking at the shelves full of books and papers. “Start at the top and work our way down?”
“Not exactly. . I’ve got an idea, but let’s first make a quick inventory of what is here. I’m not sure what of use there is to find. We want to find anything that might put a perspective on Ealdstan and what the extent of his underground operations are. If there are maps of sleeping knights, or lists perhaps. .”
“Or information on Gad and Kelm?”
Vivienne nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
And so soon they were sitting amid piles and stacks of papers and books. The situation struck Freya as surreal. Here they were, perhaps half a mile underground, in a tower surrounded by attackers, deciphering ancient books and papers. She was not badly prepared for this task-she had been obsessing over old manuscripts ever since she’d left this place. The book presently before Freya seemed to be a sort of inventory log. The writing started right in on page one. She puzzled out the unfamiliar script, wrangling the obscure sentences into some sort of sense, and then marked down a contents description of the book next to a physical one.
Vivienne seemed consumed by the books. With a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, she fell into a deep fixation with them, marvelling and gasping over them in a way that she did not in their exploration of the tower-so much so that Freya wondered if the books were not her real reason for coming here. Freya was as much a supporter of the academic process as anyone, but what was in these ancient accounts that could have any bearing on their situation?
The hours accumulated. Freya’s eyes became bleary, and it was hard for her to focus on the faded scripts before her. “Should we come back to this?” she asked Vivienne.
There was no reply from the woman who was now studying and comparing two separate books. She had a hand in each, her fingers tracing lines on the pages, her head wagging back and forth between them.
“Vivienne? Vivienne? Hello-Vivienne?”
The older woman’s head finally rose to look into hers, blinking a question.
“Shouldn’t we be exploring the rest of the tower? We can come back here, but there are more floors-more doors above us that we haven’t looked into yet.”
“It’s quiet; why don’t we let sleeping dogs lie? Here, I want to try something with you. .” Vivienne bent down and rooted around in her backpack. She pulled out an object wrapped in bits of sacking that, when removed, showed a sort of metal base with a polished silver tray area on top. Vivienne unwrapped a second object, an onion-like metal sphere that had closely spaced vertical slots and ornate carvings. It had a stud on one end and was attached to a frame by a thin silk thread. A triangular metal stand rested on the tray so that the round object, which Freya thought must be some sort of top, just touched the slightly curved surface.
“What is it?” Freya asked as she watched Vivienne set up the strange object, wondering why it was important enough to carry all the way down here. The top looked to be extremely heavy-possibly solid brass.
“This is what some have described as a ‘pansensorum,’ also a ‘synatheauraliser.’ Those are long, complicated names made up by people without the slightest idea of what this object is. It was discovered in the mid-1700s in a small village in Midlothian. It was believed to have been created before 1500, but although it is referred to in certain texts, it is not named. It is a sort of. . meditation device, although I dislike that term-it sounds too New Agey, and this is definitely Old Agey, if anything.
“There is a theory that the universe is made up, on one level, of vibrating strings. I don’t know if that is true, but if it is, then it partly explains how this device works, which is through sound. It’s hard to explain-far easier to show you its use. When in operation, you will hear a certain tone, a pitch. The sound will move inside you, or if you like to think of the vibration explanation, the noise will penetrate your perceptions and what you read and hear will come to life with a new vibrancy and intensity.” She peered at Freya over her glasses, perched on the end of her nose. “Would you like to try it?”
“Me try it? What do you mean? What do I do?”
“Very little. I will operate the device; you simply have to continue reading. But after a time it will not even feel as though you are reading-the visions will come shortly after that.”
“Visions?”
“Very vivid visions. Try it once. If it’s not your thing, then. . well, we’ll figure out something else.”
“Um, okay,” Freya said.
“Wonderful. Here, since you’re so fluent at reading this ancient script, you should have no trouble at all.” Vivienne pushed a codex across the table to Freya.
“When I start this in motion, just flip it open and start reading.”
Vivienne pulled a couple earplugs out of her jacket and inserted them into her ears, which Freya found disconcerting. Then Vivienne wrapped a thin leather strap around the upper part of the top and pulled it, setting the brass orb spinning.
The holes on the side uttered a harmonious buzzing sound, which, to Freya, seemed to make the entire room vibrate. The walls started to sway before her eyes, bulging and billowing like they were melting.
Alarmed, Freya looked to Vivienne, who pointed urgently to the book she had given to Freya.
Freya looked down, read the first three words written on the page, and then the dim room exploded into daylight.
CHAPTER FOUR
I
Winchester
April, 891 AD
His fingers running along the page of script and his lips moving in a quiet murmur,?lfred read until he came to the end of the page. Frowning, he sat for a moment in thought, his eyes halfclosed and fingers pulling at his lips.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked frankly at the nervous bishop standing in front of him.
“Your craft in scribing is very accomplished, Werfer?” he said seriously. “I think I have told you this before.”
“Yes, my king,” the bishop replied, bowing.
“But the art with which you form your letters is small when compared to the art in which you form your words and phrases. You have captured the sense of dear Saint Gregory perfectly. Well done, my friend. You have pleased your king and, I truly believe, our God by your labours.”
“Oh, thank you, my king,” Werfer? said, beaming, wringing his hands in obvious relief and delight. “I’m so glad you like it. Translating this work has been such a joy of edification. I read a few of the dialogues out to a parish church back in the diocese, back in Dudley, the parishioners of which have never heard of the divine Gregory, and let me tell you. .”
?lfred indulged the bishop a short while. He liked to see the otherwise harried and anxious churchman in a more relaxed and happy mood.
“But now.”?lfred rose from his wooden throne and waved away a servant who approached to help. “Turning now from Dialogues to Pastoral Care, I wonder if you might care to look over my translation and answer a few questions I have about chapter four. My Latin, I believe, is still not as good as yours.”