Hecate understood her mother’s terseness was brought on by anxiety over Charlie’s health. She knew that however much she tried to hide it Beatrice was filled with fear, knowing how quickly her son could deteriorate, the memories of previous perilous journeys from just such simple illnesses as this one still vivid and frightening for the whole family. Even so, she was hurt by her mother’s words, stung by what she considered an unreasonable attack. Seeing there was nothing to be gained by arguing further, Hecate backed from the room, giving her brother a small wave and what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
22
In the library the mood was workmanlike. Reverend Thomas was deeply involved in finishing the entries in a ledger for the meeting of Chapter that afternoon. As master of the library it fell to him to report on the state of the finances regarding the care and repair of the collection, as well as putting forward request for monies needed for future projects and acquisitions. Hecate, having completed the repairs on the small map, had been given a pile of books to clean and mend. They were none of them particularly valuable or noteworthy, but as pieces of the library they had their small part to play and as such were deserving of the same care as their more illustrious shelf-fellows. She sat at her desk, her woolen crossover tightly tied, aware of the restlessness of the inhabitants of the Mappa Mundi beside her. The unbroken sunshine of the day fell through the rose-shaped window directly onto the small prayer book in front of her. The leather binding was in good condition, but some of the stitching had worn through. Such an item would not be sent away for expensive rebinding, so Hecate must do the best she could to reinforce what stitching remained so that the pages did not become loose. She worked beneath the watchful eye of the griffin. There was something kittenish in the way its gaze followed the movement of the thread as she stitched, as if he might pounce at any moment. She could not resist toying with him, jiggling a spare length of cotton beneath his beak. Sure enough, he found it irresistible and jumped forward to snatch at it with his ghostly claws. Frustrated by his inability to actually catch the thing, the griffin fluffed up his feathers with a growl and hopped up to sit on her shoulder instead. Hecate laughed, earning a brief but stern glance from Reverend Thomas.
At once she felt guilty. Not for the momentary lapse of concentration on her work task, but for enjoying such silliness while Charlie lay at home unwell, and while the Resurgent Spirits still progressed unchecked. By the time the moment came for the master of the library to leave, Hecate was nearly bursting with the effort of remaining patient. When at last she heard the door to the north aisle closing behind him, she immediately took the bundle of keys from her pocket. She laid it on her desk and unwrapped it. She was unable to resist picking up the glowing brass keys to the cabinet. It was so tempting just to try … but no. She would stick to her plan. She took the chain key with her and moved quickly along the rows of shelves until she came to the ones she wanted. Brother Michael came to stand at her side.
“You have a key! This is wonderful. How did you persuade the good reverend to trust you with it?”
“I’m afraid I did not,” she told him, running her finger along the shelf of books. “Instead, I took matters into my own hands. Ah-ha! This is what I am very eager to take a look at.”
She pulled a slim volume from the middle shelf, turning it to check the title: Prayers for Protection.
“A prayer book?” Brother Michael was a little surprised.
“Of a particular kind,” she told him, slipping the chain through until it was free and then taking the book to study on her desk. “I read about this in one of my father’s historical studies. It was often used by nervous archeologists when they were about to enter a tomb. Many believe curses were placed on the thresholds of such places. Whether this was a rumor to scare away grave robbers or a fact is still open to debate. In either case, those risking their lives and their souls to unearth the resting place of kings thought it couldn’t hurt to protect themselves. This book is mentioned several times as containing powerful words.”
“Are they Christian prayers?” the monk asked.
“Some are,” she said, carefully turning the fragile pages, “and some … are not.” She felt Brother Michael peering over her shoulder to read. “I have no wish to offend your sensibilities,” she said gently. “You may find some of the contents … not in keeping with your own beliefs.”
“Oh, have no concern on that account. The library is a repository of the collective knowledge and beliefs of man through centuries. How limiting would it be to confine the contents to one way of thinking only?”
“It is not a particularly old work, so, fortunately for me, it is written in Modern English. Oh, this is precisely the sort of thing I had hoped to find! Look … ‘When Confronted with Bad Spirits.’ That would seem to fit the bill. A short prayer … ‘I shall not falter, shall not yield to one not of this realm. My feet stand on firm ground, my heart is whole and strengthened with love. My mind is a fortress, built against wicked words.…’ This is excellent. I shall write it down.” She took out her notebook and quickly copied the lines onto a new page. “Now, which one next? Ah, this one specifically mentions dangerous spirits sent to cause mischief! Interesting.”
The griffin would not let her work in peace but stamped about her desk.
“Little one, I need to be quick. You shall have my attention when I am done.…”
Brother Michael drifted over to the map.
“My dear child, I am aware you are about important work, but I fear your attention is needed elsewhere.”
She turned to see that the Mappa Mundi was indeed alive with activity.
“Good heavens! Look at that! Every single being is moving.”
She left her desk and went to stand in front of the map, the griffin circling her as she did so. She had never before witnessed so much restlessness among the figures and drawings. The image of the cathedral continued to glow and pulsate. The river upon which it stood undulated as if truly flowing. The Essedenes glared as they devoured their victims. Several of the mysterious people in the right-hand margins were disturbed, testing the confines of their given spaces. The good souls being led up to heaven crowded against each other in their haste to move forward. Even the angels looked anxious and fearful, their wings fluttering.
The griffin gave a squawk and swooped, all but attacking a small dragon on the map.
“Hush now,” Hecate sought to calm him. “We are all agitated. It will not do to fight among ourselves.” She reached out a hand and he perched on it, hopping up her arm to settle on her shoulder, but he could not be persuaded to purr.
Brother Michael shook his head. “I cannot believe this bodes well,” he said.
“It is understandable they are alarmed. The very order of things is being turned upside down. There is so much wisdom here, Brother Michael. So much ancient knowledge and experience … I know the answers are here, but there is so much taking place. It is as if all that the map has recorded is distressed by the activity of the Essedenes. Some seem to be trying to get at them, see here?” She pointed to some armed men situated a little higher on the map than the terrible necromancers. “Ordinarily they are completely taken up with fighting off our little friend here,” she explained, indicating the image of the griffin in front of them. “Now, however, they are looking south, their swords drawn as if prepared for an attack below.”
“Which is where the Essedenes sit and feast.”
“Yes. And then there are others who appear to be attempting to communicate with me. They have turned their gaze outward, and one or two of them are signaling in various ways. Look, these for example.”
Brother Michael leaned forward to bring the images she was pointing at into focus.
“Ah, the knight raises his hand not to the instructor behind him, but to the fore. Toward you, in fact, my dear.”
Hecate shook her head. “They are all trying so hard.… Why can I not see it? See here, too, even the bear has turned to stand on his hind legs and move his paws as if he were scrabbling to get out of the map and reach something. His gaze is in exactly the same direction as…” She drew her finger down the map to another image. “Saint Augustine, here. He’s usually lying down, looking up toward Christ, his hands clasped in prayer.”
“But now he lifts his hands to point outward. Again, toward you.”
As the monk spoke, Hecate began to pace back and fore in front of the map, watching it all the while. As she did so, something occurred to her.
“Wait!” she said. She checked once more the direction of the gaze of both the bear and the saint. She took two paces to the left, then half a pace back. “Now it is as if they look directly at me,” she said.
“To hold you in their prayers and thoughts, perhaps?” Brother Michael suggested.
“But see, if I move just half a pace to the left, or right, they do not alter the angle of their vision. See?”
The monk nodded. “That is curious, when they are making such an effort to look at you.”
“But what if they are not looking at me? What if they are looking at something behind me?” She spun around, striding across the room, causing the griffin to take to the air, circle, and settle on the top of the map frame. She made sure to take the exact line of the saint’s gaze. It reached an end at the first row of bookshelves. She searched the volumes there.
“Is there something of significance?” the monk asked.
“Quite the opposite. These are the parish records of expenditures for two churches in the city over a period of fifty years, and are quite recent. They could not be more mundane.” She strode back to the map and turned again, checking the line. “Perhaps I have the geometry wrong. We need string,” she decided, hurrying to a drawer beneath her desk and finding a ball of twine. She brought it back to the map, holding it up to the depiction of St. Augustine. She hesitated.
Brother Michael was horrified. “You cannot mean to deface the map with a pin?!”
“Fear not, I will not cause any damage. But I must have this end secured in the exact place.” She cast about for a method of doing just that without marking the map. She dared not use a pin, and glue would cause lasting harm. “If only I had someone who could hold it in position.”
