Chapter 30
I’ve had dreams like this . . .
Despite the tension, Sharyn gaped at the breadth of the chateau’s library.
It filled two floors, each towering fifteen feet in height.
The second story, accessible by a spiral wooden stair, was broken into alcoves filled with more shelves.
Higher still, centuries-old frescoes adorned the arched roof.
From the upper level, a massive antique grandfather clock loomed down at them, its mother-of-pearl face shining from a polished walnut case. Below, a small hearth crackled with flames, flanked by two deeply cushioned captain chairs, whose leather looked warmed by age to soft butter.
Sharyn inhaled deeply, trying to draw the space inside her.
The air had a musty smokiness to it, tinged with notes of vanilla, the familiar balm of old books.
She wanted nothing more than to wander these stacks, select a volume, sink into one of the chairs, and be transported away by the magic of ink on paper.
But that was not why they had come here.
“Be welcome,” an older woman greeted them, waving them all deeper inside, to where a walnut library table, stout-legged and circular, stood at the room’s center.
She placed down a platter of cheese next to a basket of baguettes, then wiped her hands on a blue toile apron tied over a simple white blouse and khaki slacks.
Her dark hair, streaked with gray, was partially hidden under a headscarf of the same toile fabric.
She struck Sharyn as a no-nonsense woman, someone who likely raised and killed her own chickens to make coq au vin.
Laurent crossed to her and kissed both cheeks. “Merci, Anna.”
“?a fait trop longtemps, Laurent,” she scolded, then switched to English. “You should visit us more. Charlotte and Amélie miss you.”
“Where are your girls?”
“Women now, Laurent. That is how long you’ve been gone.” Anna waved toward the roof. “They are already in the towers, watching the hill with binoculars. None will approach without fair warning. As you instructed.”
“Merci. We will hopefully not overstay our welcome.”
Sharyn frowned at this statement but kept silent.
“I made your other arrangements, too.” Anna nodded to the spread on the table, which included tea and a mix of strawberries and grapes and a carafe of white wine. “You did not ask for this, but I will not tarnish the chateau’s reputation with a lack of cordialness.”
“You are too kind.” Laurent turned to them and urged Sharyn and the others closer. “We should take advantage while we can.”
Anna pointed to the wheels of crusted cheese, sliced open to reveal a tender softness. “Brie de Meaux. Produced locally. Also, that small pot holds a mushroom spread that’s a longstanding family recipe. But be warned, it does contain cognac.”
Archie shifted that pot closer to him and sat down. “I’ll take my chances.”
Sharyn and the others joined him. As she sampled what was offered, she grew to recognize how hungry she was. The same must have been true for the others. They fully partook of the chateau’s cordialness.
Finally, though, Laurent drew them back to the task at hand. “We should get to work.”
Upon this signal, Gabriel and Anna cleared the table, leaving only the tea service, then left, closing the door behind them. They must have been told to give them privacy for what comes next.
“You truly know how to open the book?” Tag asked.
“I will show you. It is a closely kept secret within the Gardiens, but if we wish to make headway, I have no choice.”
Sharyn still didn’t understand why this was necessary, but she had no intention of discouraging this revelation.
Regardless of the terror and bloodshed that had brought them all here, she could not dismiss the raw curiosity that ached through her.
Aboard the van, they perused a detailed biography on Saint-Germain that Laurent had printed out, which filled in much more of the alchemist’s history—or at least, what was known.
She had spent the long drive lost in the man’s story, which only whetted her desire to know more.
Laurent leaned down, retrieved his case from the floor, and placed it on the table. “Ms. Karr, if you could pass me Saint-Germain’s diary.”
“Of course.”
She stood and shifted her crossbody bag around.
She yanked the waterproof zipper and slipped out the book, still wrapped in the original cloth from when Professor Wright had thrust this responsibility upon her.
As she set it on the table, the others gathered close.
She drew back the folds of cloth to reveal the book’s scarred leather binding, the bands of copper, and the locking box embedded with the crystal orb.
As she did, Laurent dialed in a code on his hardshell case, then snapped it open. He lifted the lid to reveal a built-in computer, with keyboard and screen. Smaller leather boxes were aligned to one side, one of which Laurent took out and placed on the table.
The Frenchman then dropped both palms to either side of the book.
“It took five decades of study to learn how to safely open this, especially after Saint-Germain’s warning about its incendiary nature.”
Duncan frowned. “You said the alchemist soaked the pages in some flammable oils. Was this ever confirmed?”
“Indeed.”
“What sort of compound was it?” Tag asked, clearly intrigued from his biochemistry background.
“We don’t truly know,” Laurent admitted.
“It’s a bit of alchemy that still defies us.
After opening the book, an archivist took a small sample of a page, no larger than a pea.
It was run through spectroscopy, electrophoresis, chromatography, and other methods of study.
All that could be determined was that the chemical was somehow inseparably bonded to the very fibers of the page, which made elemental analysis so challenging. ”
Naomi squinted down at the mystery sitting on the table. “Did you perform any other tests?”
“Oui. A few. But we had to be very cautious. The group once tried to x-ray the book, to better understand how it was constructed. When we did, the volume started to heat up. We believe the radiation excited something within its structure, as if this attempt to peer inside without permission risked setting it afire.”
Sharyn inwardly cringed, picturing all the jostling and abuse the book had taken to bring it here. They could’ve inadvertently destroyed it.
Laurent continued. “This brief attempt did offer some insight into the diary’s structure.
We learned how its binding is run through with fine metallic filaments, a copper amalgam.
Again, a strange fusion we don’t quite understand, one involving mercury.
We’ve been unable to replicate it in our labs.
Still, we’re fairly certain the filaments are involved in igniting and destroying the volume.
In fact, microscopic fibrils of the same metal run through many of the book’s pages. ”
“Inside the paper?” Duncan asked.
“At the molecular level.”
Archie frowned. “How could they have done this in the past, with the level of tech at the time?”
Sharyn pictured the astrological symbols—formed of gold and silver—embedded within the crystal orb. She suspected those metals were similarly unique.
Though, I’m fairly certain of one detail concerning them . . .
Laurent continued, addressing Archie’s question.
“Do not dismiss the technological capabilities of our forefathers. Even today, we continue to debate how the Egyptian pyramids were built. Or how the Mayans developed such a sophisticated calendar. My master’s thesis when I pursued my degree in archaeology was on early scientific innovations of ancient peoples.
Many examples of which show how knowledge can be discovered, only to be lost again. ”
“Like with Damascus steel,” Naomi noted.
Laurent pointed at her. “Exactly.”
Sharyn turned to her friend, who had clearly studied along similar lines in pursuing her own degree.
“Damascus is an exceptionally hard steel,” Naomi explained. “It had been produced for more than eleven centuries. Then in one generation, the method of its manufacture was lost.”
“And there are many other examples.” Laurent ticked them off.
“The recipe to make Greek Fire, an incendiary weapon used in ancient times, remains a mystery. We still don’t know how to produce the resilient Roman concrete used to build the Colosseum and Pantheon.
There is an iron pillar in Delhi that refuses to rust, but we don’t know why and attempts to replicate its properties have all failed. ”
“The Lycurgus Cup,” Naomi blurted out, adding to the list herself. “A fourth-century Roman glass vessel made of dichroic glass. You can see it at the British Museum. It changes color depending on how light strikes it. This feat is caused by silver and gold nanoparticles trapped within the glass.”
Duncan looked both bewildered and awed. “Like a form of ancient nanotechnology?”
Naomi nodded. “Even today, the method to manufacture such glass remains unknown.”
Laurent hovered a palm over the book. “So while some of this may seem miraculous, it’s likely just another example of technology that was lost.”
“But it’s not magic.” Naomi cast her gaze over their group. “Remember the program we’re all enrolled in. Women were burned as witches for using herbal healing techniques that defied the science of their time. Magic is just knowledge that remains inexplicable to us today.”
Sharyn pictured the placard engraved with the names of four women, forever condemned to be the Devon Witches.
Archie finally relented, waving at the book. “Enough flogging of this horse, let’s get on with opening the bloody book.”
Laurent nodded and shifted a hand to the small leather box in his hardshell case. Still, he hesitated, as if suddenly wary, maybe second-guessing himself about what he was about to reveal, a secret protected by the Gardiens for centuries.
Sharyn saved him the trouble. “You have magnets inside that box, don’t you?”
Laurent turned to her, his eyes wide, as if suddenly fearful she might indeed be a witch.
Not a witch. She unflinchingly met his gaze. Just a librarian with knowledge.