Mikkel Birkegaard - The Library of Shadows

Pau came in with a wild look in his eyes. 'What the hell happened here?' he burst out.

It took some persuading before he calmed down enough for Jon and Katherina to tell him. As they talked Pau paced back and forth on the exposed floorboards, as if he wanted to make up for the years of wear and tear that the floor had escaped by being underneath the carpet. His face grew more and more red with fury as their report progressed, but he didn't interrupt them, and he probably wouldn't have been able to speak anyway because his teeth were pressed together so hard.

'Those shitheads,' he exclaimed, his voice shaking, when they finished. His eyes full of hate, he shifted his gaze to Katherina and then to Jon.

'Who?' asked Jon at once.

The question seemed to take Pau by surprise. His eyes wavered, and he looked back at Katherina.

'Yes, who exactly do you mean?' asked Katherina.

'Er, well, that's obvious,' he said, in annoyance. 'You of all people should know.'

Silence descended on the shop. Katherina kept her eyes stubbornly fixed on Pau's face. She knew very well what he was referring to, but she also knew that he was mistaken. In any case, this was not the proper time or place to start a quarrel. Considering the state he was in, it would do no good to argue with him.

'Don't you think it's about time you gave me an explanation?'

Katherina and Pau broke off their staring contest and shifted their attention to Jon. He was leaning on the counter, pressing the palms of his hands into the surface.

'Frankly, I think I've been extremely patient. I've had Molotov cocktails thrown at me, people have lied to me and mysterious things have been going on in this shop, to say the least – this shop that actually belongs to me. So don't you think it's reasonable that I should know what's going on?'

Pau was the one who broke the silence. 'Will you, or should I?' he asked, turning to Katherina.

'Kortmann,' she replied tersely. 'Iversen said we should take him to see Kortmann.'

'We? Do you think he'll let you in?'

Katherina shrugged. 'We'll see.'

'I believe I met this man at the funeral.' said Jon.

'An older man in a wheelchair?' asked Katherina.

Jon nodded.

'Kortmann is the head of the Bibliophile Society,' she went on. 'He has all the answers, and he'll decide what should be done.'

Katherina had a hard time hiding the sarcasm in her last remark, but Pau didn't seem to notice and clapped his hands in satisfaction.

'When are we going to see him?'

'Now,' replied Katherina.

Jon had driven past Kortmann's house in Hellerup many times without knowing whose it was. The house stood out from the rest because it was enormous and had a big rusty tower reaching up along one wall to the very top of the building. The tower looked like a factory smokestack that had fallen into disrepair. Its presence on a well-maintained four-storey redbrick house in the suburb of Hellerup was so extraordinary that Jon immediately recognized the place.

A wall three metres high surrounded the property, and solid wrought-iron gates prevented unauthorized visitors from entering.

Katherina sat in the passenger seat of Jon's car; Pau sat in the back. Neither of them had said a word except when it was necessary to give directions. Jon stopped the car a few metres from the gate. There was an intercom on the driver's side. Jon rolled down his window, stretched out his arm and pressed the button marked with a bell.

'What should I say?' he asked as they waited for a response.

'Just say who we are,' replied Katherina. 'He'll know it's important.'

Jon glanced at his watch. It was one a.m., but there were still lights on in some of the windows on the fourth floor.

'Yes?' said a dry-sounding voice from the intercom.

Jon leaned towards the speaker.

'It's Jon, Jon Campelli.' He paused for a moment, but there was no reaction. 'I'm sorry for coming here so late, but it's important, and we're here to speak to Kortmann.'

There was still no reaction from the intercom except for a faint rushing sound, and Jon gave Katherina a questioning look. She shrugged. Jon turned back to the speaker. 'Iversen is in hospital,' he ventured. 'Libri di Luca was-'

'Come in,' said the voice. 'You need to go up through the tower.'

The gate in front of them began to open, slowly and soundlessly, as if access to the house were being deliberately delayed. Jon drove the car in as soon as there was enough space to pass through and continued along a short asphalt drive up to the house. There was room for four or five cars in front of the building, but at the moment the space was deserted.

A row of columns dominated the facade of the house, and a wide, illuminated stone stairway led up to a dark wooden door with black hinges and a grille over a little window near the top.

All three of them got out.

'It must be over there,' said Pau, pointing along a flagstone path leading to the side of the house. He started walking that way, with Jon and Katherina following him.

'Have you been here before?' Jon asked.

'No,' replied Katherina.

'Me neither,' said Pau, hastening to add, 'But I don't think many of the others have either.'

The path ended at the huge rusty tower which turned out to contain a wide door lit by a single lamp above the frame. The tower and building were connected at the ground floor and the top storey by enclosed catwalks with the same rusty appearance.

'The receiver has to stay there,' they suddenly heard.

Pau pointed to where the sound was coming from, a speaker in the door frame. They looked at each other. Jon frowned, uncomprehending, and was about to object, but Katherina put her hand on his shoulder and nodded.

'It's okay,' she said. 'I was expecting that. I'll just stay in the car.'

'Are you sure?' asked Jon.

'Positive,' she replied. 'The two of you should go on up.'

Pau had already opened the door. 'Are you coming?'

Katherina turned round and headed back to the car as Jon joined Pau in the tower. Inside they found themselves in a lift with just enough space for the two of them. On their left a door led to the house, and Jon was just about to grab the handle when the lift started to move. They rose upwards, slowly and almost imperceptibly, as if they were being carried on a rising tide. The lift was not hoisted up on wires but by means of giant gears that raised the platform up at an even tempo. The whirring mechanism made Jon feel as if he were locked inside a huge grandfather clock.

Pau impatiently tapped his foot against the metal floor and peered up at the ceiling eight metres above them.

After what seemed to Jon an eternity, they reached the top, and Pau pushed open the door to the catwalk leading into the house. At the end of the passage a door opened to reveal Kortmann in his wheelchair. It almost seemed as if he'd been expecting them because he was fully dressed in a dark suit, a pair of shiny black shoes visible below the hems of his perfectly pressed trousers. The wheelchair was specially built out of brass and significantly higher than normal, which made it easier to have eye contact with the occupant. Yet at the same time it made him look like a boy in a high chair.

With a restrained nod, Kortmann bid them welcome.

'Come closer,' he added in a neutral tone that could be taken as both invitation and command. He moved his chair back a bit so they could get past and then directed them down a corridor with subdued lighting and paintings in gold frames on the walls. At the end of the hall they entered a large room with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. In the middle of the room stood a low, round table surrounded by six armchairs, and above it hung a large prism chandelier.

'Have a seat,' he said, gesturing towards the armchairs.