Mikkel Birkegaard - The Library of Shadows

'He's okay,' said Mehmet with a grin. He put his hands on her shoulders and gave them a squeeze. 'He's okay,' he repeated.

Down below Jon had turned towards the shadows behind him and a figure had stepped into the light. Katherina recognized the man with the red hair. They couldn't hear the exchange of words that followed, but Jon was clearly upset, though evidently unable to stand up. The man with the red hair squatted down next to him, but Jon pulled away and began looking about.

'A book,' Katherina decided. 'He needs a book.'

'What sort of book?' asked Mehmet.

'It doesn't matter,' she replied. 'Just find a book and I'll try to get his attention.'

Mehmet disappeared.

'Jon!' shouted Katherina as loudly as she could. 'Up here!'

Jon looked about in confusion. The man with the red hair stood up and let his gaze sweep over the terrace.

'Up here!' she called, waving her arms over her head.

Jon raised his eyes and finally caught sight of her. Even though he was some distance away and the light was bad, she could see that he recognized her. A big smile spread across his face. The man with the red hair straightened up and put his hands on his hips. Jon used this momentary distraction to seize the man by the ankles and yank on them so his body fell backwards. Jon then scuttled away on his hands and knees. Katherina couldn't understand why he didn't stand up.

Mehmet was back with a book.

'Here,' he said. 'It was the first one I could find.'

Katherina took it from him and again called Jon's name.

He turned around in time to see her waving the book. He nodded eagerly and she tossed it down to him. It landed a few metres away and he struggled to reach it. In the meantime the man with the red hair had hauled himself to his feet.

It was the anger that kept Jon conscious. His body was drained of energy. It required the greatest effort for him to make the slightest movement. The pain in his foot didn't make things any easier, but at least it helped to keep him alert.

At the sight of Patrick Vedel, Luca's murderer, Jon had to restrain himself from assaulting him on the spot. But his position, lying on the floor and presumably with a broken ankle, didn't give Jon the best advantage, so he made himself stay calm.

'What's going on?' asked Vedel again, squatting down next to Jon.

'Your boss has lost his mind,' replied Jon. He looked around. There was nothing within reach he could use as a weapon.

Vedel's eyes flickered. 'Remer knows what he's doing,' he said. 'He's doing what's best for the Order.'

'He's in the process ofannihilating the Order,' snarled Jon. 'Can't you see that? He's gone too far.'

Vedel shook his head. 'No, the Order is his life, our life.' He stared with admiration at his boss. 'He'll do anything to preserve it.'

'Yes, he'll even kill for it,' said Jon.

Patrick Vedel gave him a searching look.

'What's the life of an old bookseller worth compared to this?' said Jon bitterly, as he maintained eye contact with Vedel. Jon could see that the man was trying to work out whether he knew the truth or not.

Vedel lowered his eyes. 'It was necessary,' he said.

'You went too far,' said Jon. 'Just like now. Who do you believe that Remer is thinking of right now, himself or the Order? I've been where he is. I know the answer.'

Vedel clenched his teeth. 'He would never-'

'Jon!'

Jon recognized Katherina's voice and looked around. Vedel stood up and did the same.

She called his name again. This time it sounded as if her voice were coming from overhead, and Jon caught sight of her on the terrace above. A huge feeling of relief washed over his body.

'That bitch!' yelled Vedel in annoyance.

Jon's anger flared up again, giving him renewed strength. He reached out for Vedel and grabbed him round the ankles. With a violent yank, he pulled the Lector's legs out from under him, making him fall heavily on his back.

Jon pushed and dragged himself away from Vedel as fast as he could. He hadn't gone more than five or six metres when he heard Katherina calling him again. She was waving a book. Out of the corner of his eye Jon saw that Vedel had stood up and was coming towards him.

The book landed a couple of metres away from Jon and he struggled to reach it as Vedel came closer. It was a small, slim, leather-bound book. Jon opened it with shaking hands. He might still be able to get out of this situation.

Vedel stopped when he saw the book Jon was holding.

'Now, just take it easy,' he said, holding up the palms of his hands. 'There's no reason to…'

Jon's courage sank as he read the first words.

The book was in Italian. It wasn't possible. Not here, not now.

The expression on Vedel's face changed from nervousness to relief. 'Not a book to your liking?' he asked and laughed.

Jon turned his attention back to the book. He did know Italian, after all. It had been a long time since he'd read the language, and he doubted he knew it well enough to protect himself, but he had to try.

He felt Vedel grab hold of the collar of his robe and start dragging him across the floor.

Jon kept his focus on the book, stammering his way through the first words. He was sweating. His hands shook. The first sentence meant nothing to him. He was having a hard time concentrating, but he forced himself to continue.

Vedel laughed again and kept dragging him towards the railing.

Word by word Jon stuttered his way into the next sentence, and then he realized that he knew this text. He recognized the sentence he had just read, and he knew what would come next.

He had read this book before.

Jon couldn't recall how many times Luca had readPinocchio to him.

His mother once told him that it started even before he was born. Luca had read aloud to her and their unborn child almost every evening. They liked to compare her growing belly to the whale in the story, and then they would laugh so hard that Luca couldn't go on reading. During Jon's first years, it was the story he wanted to hear most often. He never grew tired of it, and every evening he pestered his parents with his requests for just one more chapter. Usually they gave in. Especially his mother. She too enjoyed the story, and she performed all the roles with such feeling and using so many different voices that Jon never forgot them.

It was a magical book written in a magical language that only he and his parents spoke. That was how it seemed to Jon, at any rate. He had loved the sound of the words and quickly memorized entire passages. Luca would often test him by starting a sentence and then Jon would finish it, regardless of whether they were sitting on a bus, standing in a queue at the butcher's shop or seated at the dinner table. His mother would shake her head at them, but it didn't matter. It was the game he shared with Luca, and Jon loved it.

Even better than the words were the images they created. Jon knew every stone and every blade of grass in the story. He had walked through that landscape countless times and knew precisely what the houses looked like, how the tree branches curved, and what the facial features and gestures were of all the characters. There was no doubt in his mind about how the waves moved, the size of the boat or the colours of the whale.

Jon had pictured these images so many times they practically sprang forth as he began to read. The reading room in Alexandria instantly vanished, to be replaced by the story's gently shaded colours and the soft undulations of the landscape. He hardly had to make any effort at all. This was completely different from the other seances when he'd really had to work to make the images flow. This time they emerged all on their own, leaving him energy to enjoy the experience. Gone was the pain in his foot, and Remer was no longer a concern. He was overcome by a serenity he hadn't felt in years, and the sense that everything was going to work out fine.