Jonathan Rabb - The Book of Q

“It all happened very quickly, sweetie,” Petra said. “He didn’t even say good-bye to me. I think he needed to help his friends right away.”

“Why?”

Petra looked over at Pearse. “I don’t know. Sometimes Salko has to help his friends, and sometimes he has to leave without telling us.”

“But he didn’t leave.” He lifted a hand to stem the first tears. “We did.”

“I know, sweet pea. I know.” She cupped his head to hers. “But we’ll see him soon.”

“I didn’t say good-bye.” His words were now muffled in his mother’s neck. “I didn’t say good-bye.”

She began to rock him.

Ten minutes of silence passed before Pearse spoke.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said.

Petra waited before answering. “Is he asleep?” she whispered.

Pearse glanced over at the little boy. The morning had obviously taken its toll. Pearse kept his voice low, as well. “Close enough.”

“Don’t ever use my son as a threat again,” she said.

The quiet severity of her tone stunned him. It took him a moment to respond. “What?”

“You said if I wanted to see him, I had to get in the car. Don’t ever do that again.”

Another few seconds to understand what she was saying. “No. I didn’t mean-”

“Yes, you did.” She let the words sink in before asking, “Now what’s going on? Why did we leave Salko back there?”

“It’s … complicated.”

“Try me.”

He waited. He had no idea how to make sense of the last twenty minutes; and as much as he wanted to trust Ivo, he had to make sure. “‘ Sic tibi manus meae intendeo, ’” he said.

“What?”

“‘Omnes fingi in gyro lucis.’”

“What are you saying? I told you, I’m no good with Latin. Stop it,” she demanded, her anger mounting.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“No, and now you’re frightening me. Why did we leave Salko back there?”

He kept his eyes on the road. He was having trouble admitting it to himself. “Because he’s involved with this.”

“So are you,” her tone no less pointed then before.

“That’s not what I meant. He’s after the parchment. That’s why he showed up in Kukes.”

“A part of it?” The confusion momentarily softened her tone. “You’re telling me he’s a …” She couldn’t find the word.

“Manichaean,” Pearse said. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Neither does Ivo being able to recite a seventeen-hundred-year-old prayer that very few people have ever even heard of. But he did.”

“Ivo?” Confusion turned to shock.

“‘So do I stretch out my two hands toward You, all to be formed in the orbit of light.’ In the Latin, ‘ Sic tibi manus …’ He told me Salko taught it to him. It’s one of their secrets. He’s obviously very good at keeping them.”

Pearse knew exactly what she was feeling at that moment-disbelief, betrayal, an utter sense of helplessness. He knew because he was still feeling them himself.

“I can’t …” She continued to stare. “Ivo doesn’t … He barely knows any of the prayers at church.”

Pearse pointed to his pack by her feet. “Open it.”

“What?”

“Just open it.”

She hesitated, then reached across the sleeping child and picked up the pack.

“The little book with the rope tie,” he said. “It’s about fifteen pages in.”

She did as she was told. She flipped past Ribadeneyra’s brief history until she found the entries.

“There,” he said, quickly glancing over. “Try the fifth line, then the eleventh.”

She read. “I can’t believe Ivo knows this.”

“Then ask him. Wake him up.” Emerging from a series of back roads, they arrived at a deserted intersection, the first promise of paved surface. A sign for the main highway peeked out from behind a tuft of trees. Pearse headed west.

Petra stared at the page, then back at Pearse.

“Ask him,” he repeated.

She continued to stare. When she realized he wasn’t going to relent, she very gently placed a hand on Ivo’s cheek, bending close into his ear.

“Ivi, sweetie,” she whispered. “If you sleep now, you won’t sleep tonight.”

The boy breathed in heavily, a slight turning of his neck.

“Come on, sweetie. You have to get up.”

Another long breath as two tired eyes blinked in Pearse’s direction, a tiny hand to rub them as the boy straightened up.

“Are we going home?” The nap had done little to improve his mood.

Petra looked at Pearse. “I don’t know, sweetie.”

Pearse didn’t have an answer, either.

Holding the book at her side, she did her best with the Latin: “‘ Sic tibi manus meae intendeo …’”

Ivo immediately sat up in her lap, quickly turning to his mother. His look of surprise was almost comical. Just as quickly, he turned to Pearse. “You told her,” he said, disappointment now verging on anger.

“No, she’s reading it.”

Ivo flipped around, only now seeing the book in her hand. “Let me see.”

“Be careful, sweetie. It’s very old.”

“I know, I know. Salko told me.” Ivo waited for his mother to bring the book closer. He then looked back at Pearse. “That’s not the book.”

“Let him see the words,” said Pearse.

Ivo turned. Petra pointed to the lines in the text.

“What are all the other words?” he asked.

“They’re … other songs,” Pearse answered. “They-” Cutting himself short, he quickly glanced over at Ivo. “What book did Salko tell you was old?” he asked.

“The book with the songs,” Ivo answered.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to write them down.”

“That’s only ‘Perfect Light.’ I have a whole book of the other ones.”

A child’s first prayer. Part of a prayer book. Of course . Eyes on the road again, he asked, “Does Salko have that book?”

Ivo shook his head. “No. He gave it to me. When I turned six. Everyone gets one when they turn six. You know that.”

“Right.” A Manichaean primer for initiates. What else could be more obvious? “And you still have the book?” Pearse asked.

Ivo nodded.

“What are you talking about?” asked Petra.

“Where’s the book now?” Pearse said, ignoring her.

“At home,” Ivo answered.

Pearse started nodding to himself.

“What?” asked Petra.

“It’s how he made sure,” he said to himself.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ribadeneyra picked that prayer to make sure that the person who figured out his puzzle was one of them. A Manichaean. Who else would know the child’s prayer? Who else would-” He suddenly slammed on the breaks. All three lurched forward.

“What are you doing?” she screamed, one hand around Ivo, the other strong-arming the dashboard.

“There are lots of prayers in that book, aren’t there, Ivo?”

The little boy didn’t seemed bothered in the least by the sudden stop. “Prayers and pictures and puzzles.” He turned to Petra. “Salko says when I learn enough of them, I can start doing the puzzles.”

Now it was her turn simply to nod.

“It’s something in that book,” Pearse said. “Otherwise, why use the prayer? Something only a Manichaean would know to look for. Something to explain the other Ribadeneyra entries.”

Forgetting Salko for the moment-and everything else that had happened in that last half hour-Pearse jammed the car into gear.

They’d be expecting them in Visegrad. Not Rogatica.

He checked his watch. With any luck, they’d be there by midafternoon.

Peretti heard the explosion, then felt the tremor. His hand immediately went to the wall, one or two picture frames tipping over on themselves from atop his bureau, a painting on the wall losing its nail. A second explosion. Then a third.