Tom Harper - The Book of Secrets

I stared up at the thin, bloodless face looming over me. A wink of light behind him caught my eye: a pilgrim’s mirror that Aeneas had given me by the Rhine. I gazed at it, praying for salvation.

Stoltz swept a glass jar off the table. It shattered on the floor, jolting me back to him. ‘Pay attention.’

He glared down. Karl tapped the club against the side of his leg and licked his puffy lips. And that was when it flashed into my mind.

‘The mirrors,’ I croaked.

‘What?’

I pointed. He stepped back, fearing a trick, and eyed the mirror on the wall. A ring of light played over his face where the mirror reflected it onto him.

‘That will not save you.

‘Not in the way you think. But perhaps…’ I stood. Karl lifted the club to knock me down again, but Stoltz raised a hand to still him. I pulled the mirror off its nail and examined it. My mind raced.

‘This has been cast from an alloy of lead and tin. I have worked with this alloy: it shrinks as it cools and tightens around the mould.’ I ran my finger around the interlocking circles. ‘For a design so intricate, the only way to free it is to shatter the mould. Every mirror requires a new mould to be carved. It is slow and expensive.’

I did not know absolutely that this was true, but just as some physicians can diagnose a man’s sickness by looking at his face, I could read it in the shape and flow of the metal.

I pointed to the figures sculpted on the medallions inside the rings. ‘You see how flat and featureless these faces are? You cannot achieve the quality of detail from casting in this way. I can make them better than that – and cheaper.’

‘How?’

‘A new alloy. One that does not shrink as it cools. I can use the moulds again and again, and each time produce a truer copy than this.’

I pressed the mirror into his hand. He took it, scraping a fingernail over the rough carvings.

‘How many would you make?’

‘A thousand. At twelve shillings each, that would be five hundred gulden. I could repay your loan with double the interest.’

‘Lending money at interest is a venal sin,’ Stoltz admonished me. Karl glanced at him to see if this merited another blow. Thankfully, it did not. ‘You pay me for the use of the money.’

‘Then I would pay you double. For it would be twice as useful.’ I did not know where this extravagance sprang from, or how I would ever honour it; I did not care. My mind glowed hot with the sudden promise of this new idea. All I wanted was to begin it.

Andreas Dritzehn laid the mirror I had given him on the table. ‘And these are to be sold to pilgrims in Aachen?’

‘Do you know the Aachen relics?’

‘I have heard of them.’

‘They are the holiest relics in the empire. The blue dress of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The bands that swaddled Christ in the manger, and the cloth that covered his modesty on the cross. Also a piece of fabric which is said to have wrapped the head of John the Baptist after Herod cut it off.’

‘A complete wardrobe,’ said Kaspar.

‘Once every seven years, they are taken out of their chests and displayed. So great is the number of pilgrims that the whole city can barely contain them. The priests mount a scaffold between the cathedral towers: every street, every square, every rooftop and window becomes an observatory.’

Andreas frowned. ‘It must be hard to see anything.’

‘Exactly.’ I leaned forward, brimming with excitement. ‘The pilgrims carry mirrors – like this – to capture the light of heaven which radiates from the relics.’

‘Is it visible?’

‘Only to God,’ said Kaspar piously.

‘But the holy mirrors capture it. The pilgrims wrap the mirrors in cloths and take them home. Then, when they are in need, they can unveil the mirrors and let the holy light cure their afflictions.’

‘How many do you intend to make?’

The idea had settled since I blurted out the first number that entered my head to Stoltz. I had done some research, ascertained the facts and established a more realistic basis for my estimate.

‘Thirty-two thousand.’

Dritzehn almost dropped the mirror on the floor.

‘There must be over a hundred thousand pilgrims in Aachen when the relics are shown. All of them need mirrors, or the pilgrimage is in vain. Ours will be better quality than our rivals’, and cheaper. As I said, this happens only every seven years. The next pilgrimage will take place in some twenty months. Time enough for our work.’

‘But what of the Aachen goldsmiths? Surely their guild will not allow you to flood their market with your wares, at their expense?’

‘The Aachen goldsmiths forfeited their rights long ago. They cannot make enough of the mirrors to meet the demand. Some years ago there were riots: pilgrims who could not obtain mirrors fought in the streets with those who had. Several died. Since then, the privileges of the Aachen guilds have been suspended for six months each year that the relics are shown.’

Dritzehn clasped the mirror to his chest and murmured something indistinct. I waited for him to repeat it.

‘How can I be part of this enterprise?’

‘The housing and the mirrors will be manufactured separately. We need someone to polish the mirrors.’

‘I can do that.’ He furrowed his face. ‘But not as a servant. If I am to be part of this, it must be for a share of the profits.’

‘The profits will be very great,’ I agreed, almost as if it were cause for concern. ‘For that reason, this endeavour must be a close secret. If knowledge of our art spreads, there will be no advantage.’

‘I can keep the secret.’

I glanced at Drach, who played his part and looked doubtful.

‘I am sure of it,’ I said. ‘But we must keep the circle small – no more than half a dozen men. Half the profits will accrue to me and Kaspar, as the inventors of this art. It follows that any man who invests must buy at least a quarter share of the remainder.’

‘How much is that?’

‘Eighty gulden.’

Dritzehn was a merchant: he could do his sums. ‘Thirty-two thousand mirrors – you will sell for how much?’

‘Half a gulden.’

‘Sixteen thousand gulden. Half to you, eight thousand. A quarter of the remainder to me: two thousand.’

He whispered the number like a man who has beheld God. I knew how he felt. Even now, the magnitude of the project awed me.

‘Can this be true?

‘We have the art and – you behold – the ambition. All we want is capital.’

‘Nothing can go wrong,’ Drach assured him.

‘Is this what you have been concocting in my basement all these months?’

‘A part of it.’ I changed the subject. ‘But you must decide quickly. There are many others who would happily take your place.’

Dritzehn wiped his brow and stared into the fire. Kaspar looked as though he was about to say something, but I tapped him under the table to stay quiet.

‘I will take the share you offer.’

‘It cannot be yours until we have the money,’ Kaspar warned.

‘You can have fifty gulden tonight. The rest I will fetch tomorrow.’ He thought for a moment. ‘You will sign a contract that this is to be used only for the good of the enterprise?’

‘Of course. But I must have absolute control.’

Dritzehn went to a chest by the wall. He fetched paper, a writing box and a heavy bag that clinked when he set it on the table. I tried not to stare.

He uncorked the bottle of ink and dipped in the pen. In the firelight, the ink dripped off the nib like drops of gold.

The fire had burned low and the servants were asleep. Dritzehn ushered us downstairs to the door himself.

‘Be careful on your way home,’ he warned me. ‘It is not safe carrying bags of gold through the streets.’