“That’s not the most honorable of stories. In 1594, Rudolf II, the Holy Roman Emperor, King of Bohemia, and King of Hungary, Croatia and Slavonia, took it to his castle.”
“Quite a string of titles.”
“Isn’t it! Anyway, the bible was kept at Rudolf’s castle until it was stolen by the Swedish army during the Thirty Years War and became a part of Queen Christina of Sweden’s personal collection. Now we keep it here.”
“Stolen goods!”
The curator inclined her head, but changed the subject. “You were talking about the Devil’s portrait. You know it also contains a magic formula on how to overcome evil, misfortune and disease.”
“Isn’t it supposed to have caused those things?” Rose said.
The curator laughed. “Indeed. Inside is also a calendar containing a list of saints and local Bohemians, used to keep track of the feast days of the Church. All the indications are that it was the life’s work of one person, as you said, but of course, we doubt the one night legend. Historians estimate the scribe may have conceivably spent as many as twenty years on such a monumental work.”
Crowley walked slowly around the display, still in awe of the scale of the book. “How is the deal with the Devil supposed to have helped the monk atone for his sins anyway?”
“The story goes that the monk had committed terrible sins, though it’s unclear exactly what. In an attempt to avoid being walled up alive for those sins, he promised to write, in one night, the biggest holy book ever conceived, to make the monastery famous. He quickly realized the task was well beyond him and, in desperation, turned to the Devil for assistance. The Devil demanded his soul as payment and the monk included the full page portrait of the Devil as thanks. It’s said that his achievement did indeed spare him from inclusion, but he lost all peace of mind and his life became a living hell. The church, rather than condemning the evil book, has actually studied it in great depth.”
“That’s a sad and awful story,” Rose said quietly.
“I’d love to have a closer look,” Crowley said. “What are the chances of us getting a proper look, seeing the other pages?”
The curator smiled politely but shook her head. “No chance at all, I’m afraid.”
“What if we offered…”
She silenced him with a finger. “You can’t offer anything. But I’m more than happy to chat with you all about it. It’s my specialty here.”
Crowley had to respect her professionalism but was a little disappointed she had shut him down so quickly. His charm usually worked a bit better than that, especially with women. He chose to pick her brains anyway. “There’s a story that some pages are missing?”
“Yes, seven pages at best guess. Removed by persons unknown and now lost. Whether they’ve been destroyed or are kept in secret somewhere we may never know.”
“May never know? You think there’s a possibility they could be found?”
“Well, the only way to read them would be to find the original bible.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile.
Crowley and Rose exchanged a look. “So this is maybe what Declan meant,” Rose said.
Crowley nodded, turned his attention back to the curator. He gestured at the glass cabinet beside them. “This isn’t the original?”
“This one’s a fake. It’s not modern, it’s an ancient manuscript, but it’s not the original, and it’s said the text has been changed. And those pages you mentioned may not be missing in the original, of course.”
“Why would someone fake it and change things?” Rose asked.
The curator shrugged. “Those who believe in the power of the text may have any number of reasons to alter, replace, or simply remove certain sections. The history of this thing is drenched in death and many would have it destroyed entirely if they had the chance. We’re lucky this copy is as complete as it is, really.”
“But it’s still a copy?” Crowley pressed.
“Yes. We don’t make that especially public knowledge, of course. But you two are clearly serious scholars in this regard. Maybe not just tourists after all?”
Crowley shrugged. “Maybe not. Where might we find the real one?”
“You must understand, people who know the real history have been searching for hundreds of years. I’d love to have the time and money to search myself one day. If I did have the time and money, I’d start in the Czech Republic, where I could retrace the history of the bible from its original creation. Others have done so, of course, but all it takes is the right seeker. Someone smart and determined enough.”
“Looks like we have a lot more research to do,” Crowley said. “I might have some contacts I can pull in for some favors.”
The curator raised her eyebrows. “Please, if you learn anything, will you let me know?” She handed him a business card. “Use the email address on there? I’d love any information you get.”
Crowley took the card and shook her hand. “Absolutely, and thanks for your help.”
He was a little surprised when she smiled briefly before turning back to Rose and handing over another card. “You too. Please contact me with anything you think I might like to know.”
They strolled back through the library’s main room, heading for the warm day outside.
“I must be losing my touch,” Crowley said wistfully. “That curator showed no interest in me at all. I was hoping to charm a little more information out of her than that.”
Rose laughed loudly, causing a few heads to turn in the still building. She controlled herself and leaned close to whisper. “You really are a man.”
He looked at her in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t think any man has enough charm for her. Didn't you notice? She was looking at me the whole time. Why do you think I got her card, too?”
Chapter 17
Their hotel room in the center of Stockholm was a little like something from a fairy tale. White walls and a high, crenellated roof over a dozen stories of tall windows, each with a bright orange awning over a small balcony. The room inside featured opulent twins beds, high-windowed views over the city, but all the modern features anyone could hope for.
“This is a beautiful place,” Rose said wistfully, leaning into the bay window to stare out. “I wish I could be here under less stressful circumstances.”
Crowley watched her for a moment, enjoying the curves of her hips and butt while stifling his feelings of concern. He knew he could walk away from this situation any time if he wanted to, but Rose couldn’t. That must feel pretty terrible. Then again, how deeply embroiled was he now? He had been seen with her by the attackers on at least a couple of occasions. Maybe he was fooling himself and he was as entangled as she was. Probably best to assume that was the case and use the motivation to work harder to get it all figured out.
“Maybe we should come back when this is all over,” he said with a smile. “Have a little holiday to celebrate.”
She glanced back over one shoulder and he was pleased to see she was smiling. “Planning our future?”
He shrugged, raised his hands theatrically. “Just, you know, speculating.”
She said nothing more, turned back to stare out into the night. Lights sparkled across Stockholm, glittered off a river right outside. Stars above seemed to be a strange reflection of the urban landscape below, the sky cloudless.
Crowley sighed. “I’ll see if my old army intel buddy is available.”
“I sent a message to Charles Phelps,” Rose said, without turning back from the window.
“Your boss at the museum, right?”
“Yeah. I asked him for some help, but was deliberately oblique about it.”