Glenn Cooper - Book of Souls

John roughly laid him on his back and straddled him, knees on shoulders, hips on waist so the boy was powerless to move. All he could do was spit, which so enraged his older brother that he boxed him on the side of his head with a closed fist, his signet ring scraping flesh and opening a scalp vein. A gush of blood brought the proceedings to an abrupt halt. John released him with an oath and as the boy ran off, he shouted at him that he had caused the incident by his own insolence.

Minutes later, John was moodily drinking back in the library; Will had his nose buried in a book. Edgar Cantwell appeared in their midst, painfully shuffling on his bad foot, an unseasonably heavy cloak lying over his shoulders. He had a fearsome visage, a mixture of rage and disgust, and his rasping shout curdled his son’s blood, “You have hurt the boy!”

John pouted drunkenly, “He hurt himself. It was an accident. Shakespeare will tell you.”

“I saw it not, sir,” Will said truthfully, trying to avoid the old man’s stare.

“Well, young sirs, what I can see are drunken idiots good for nothing but their inclination to idleness and sinful pursuit. You, Shakespeare, are your father’s concern, but this wretch is mine!”

“He is to marry, Father,” John snorted impudently. “He will be Anne Hathaway’s concern soon!”

“Marriage and procreation are nobler than any of your aspirations! Drinking and whoring are your sole desires.”

“Well, Father,” John sneered, “at least we share one common bond. Would you like more wine?”

The old man exploded, his face sanguineous. “I am not only your father, I am a lawyer, you fool! One of the best in England. Do not rest your haunches on primogeniture. There is precedent for ultimogeniture, and I have the influence at the Court of Assize to declare you an invalid heir and elevate your brother! You carry on without reform, and we shall see what happens!”

Shaking with anger, Edgar withdrew, leaving the two young men speechless. Finally, John broke the silence, and dryly croaked with a forced cheerfulness to his voice, “What say I have a servant fetch us a bottle of mead from the cellar?”

It was late at night, and the household had gone to bed. The two friends had whiled away the hours in the library getting drunk, napping, becoming sober, then drunk again. They had slept through the family supper, and the servants had brought them a tray later on.

The waxing and waning inebriation had turned John dark and surly. While Will flitted from one book to another, John stared into space and brooded.

By the glow of candlelight, he suddenly asked a question he had been ruminating on all day, “Why should I aspire to more than wine and women? What’s the point of reading and studying and working myself silly? All this is mine anyway. I’ll be a baron soon, with land and money enough.”

“And what if your father makes good on his other plan of succession? Would your bleeding brother keep your jug and purse full, I wonder?”

“Father was spouting words, nothing more.”

“I would not be so sure.”

John sighed. “You, young Willie, have not the burden of nobility.”

Will mocked him. “A burden, you say!”

“I have no inclination to better myself as I have always trusted time to do the job. To your credit, you have had to set lofty goals.”

“My goals are not so lofty.”

“No?” John laughed. “To be among the great actors? To be a writer of plays? To have London worshipping at your feet?”

Will waved his hand as an actor might. “Mere trifles.”

John uncorked yet another bottle of mead. “You know, I have an aspiration long held and never shared, and it plays with a certain advantage I hold over my dear little prig of a brother.”

“Other than your size?”

“The book,” John hissed. “I know the secret of the book. He does not and will not until he is older.”

“Even I know it!”

“Only because you are my friend, and you have sworn an oath.”

“Yes, yes, my oath,” Will said wearily.

“Do not take it lightly.”

“All right. I am utmost serious.”

John retrieved the book of Vectis from the shelf and sat down with it near Will. He dropped his voice to a low, conspiratorial tone. “I know you are not as staunch a believer as I, but I have a notion.”

Will raised his eyebrows with interest.

“You have seen the letter. You know what this old monk, Felix, wrote. Perhaps the Library was not destroyed after all. Perhaps it exists still? What if I could find it and take possession of these books? What would I care if I had meager Wroxall then? If I had the keys to the future, I would be as rich as any lord, more famous than father’s friend, old Nostradamus who, as we know, lacked full powers.”

Will watched him rant, fascinated by his crazy eyes. “What would you do, go there?”

“Yes! Come with me.”

“You’re mad. I am to marry, not partake in adventure. I will travel to London soon, to be sure, but no farther. Besides, I take this Abbot’s letter to be a work of fancy. He spins a good story, I’ll give him his due, but monks with ginger hair and green eyes! It is too much.”

“Then I will go alone. I believe in the book with all my heart,” John said truculently.

“I wish you good speed.”

“Listen, Will, I refuse to let my brother learn the secret. I wish to hide the papers, all of them. Without the letters from Felix and Calvin and Nostradamus, the book is useless. Even if my father were to tell my brother its origins, there would be no basis for belief.”

“Where would you hide them?”

John shrugged. “I do not know. In a hole in the ground. Behind a wall. It is a large house.”

Will’s eyes began to sparkle, and he sat upright. “Why not turn this into a game?”

“What sort of a game?”

“So, let us hide your precious letters, but let us make them clues in a hunt for hidden treasure! I will compose a puzzle poem with all the clues, then we will hide the poem too!”

John laughed heartily and poured both of them more mead. “I can always count on you to thoroughly amuse me, Shakespeare! Let us proceed with your game.”

The two of them scampered around the house, giggling like children, looking for hiding places, shushing themselves so not to wake the servants. When they had a rudimentary plan, Will asked for sheets of parchment and writing implements.

John knew where his father kept the Vectis papers, inside a wooden box secreted behind other books on the top shelf. He used the library ladder to reach it, and when he hauled it down, he reread Felix’s letter while Will bent over the writing table. After dipping the quill, he would quickly write a line or two, then tickle his cheek with the feathered end for inspiration.

When he was done, he waved the sheet above his head to dry and presented it to John for inspection. “I am best pleased with my effort and so should you be,” he said. “I have chosen the sonnet form, which adds further amusement to the enterprise.”

John began to read it, and as he did, he squirmed in his chair with impish pleasure. “Can’t be well! Clever, very clever.”

“I thank you,” Will said proudly. “It is pleasing enough that I have signed it, though I doubt my vanity will ever be discovered!”

John slapped his thighs. “The clues are challenging but not insurmountable. The tone, playful but not frivolous. It serves its purpose most ably. I am indeed pleased! Now, let us bury our treasure like a pair of filthy pirates marooned on an island!”

They returned to the Great Hall and lit a few more candles to ease their task. Their first clue went inside one of the great candlesticks that adorned the banqueting table. John had wrenched one open and satisfied himself it would hold several rolled sheets. Will had argued that Felix’s letter should be divided into a first clue and a last, since the end of the letter held the greatest revelation. John placed the pages and forced the candlestick back together, banging the base on the carpeted floor to make sure it would hold firm.