Chapter 3 (A Bookshop Moves to Tadfield)
Aziraphale greets the pleasant academic man who has just entered his shop.
Professor Warren?
Yes. Thank you so much for being willing to make an appointment with me. I understand you are retired, and open hours are limited.
That is true. I have an excellent dry sherry in my back room. Would you care to join me there for a glass?
That's very kind of you. Thank you.
This way, if you please.
("My word. Sherry? He doesn't look even close to being that old," his visitor thinks. "His parents must have been extremely old fashioned. Or might it have been grandparents who raised him?")
They are comfortably seated, each with his glass of wine. His visitor asks:
I hope you will not think me too personal or impertinent for asking this, but one of my side interests – a little hobby – is historic costume. Sometimes I actually consult with the BBC. And your jacket is of a distinctive 1830s cut and material. Do you perhaps have a tailor who specializes in such design revivals with authentic fabrics?
Actually, it is an antique from around that decade. Just well cared for. (Miraculously well cared for, in fact.) I . . . um . . . inherited it.
Aziraphale takes a sip of sherry.
Now, you say you have found some sort of letter?
Yes. One of our librarians was replacing historic volumes onto shelves in our new climate-controlled wing, and the letter fell out of a 17th century Bible. Collectors call it the "Buggre Alle This Bible." I'm sure you've heard of it.
Of course. I actually own a copy. (In fact, I was there when it was printed. My bookshop was two doors down from the publisher.)
My word! That is extraordinary. There are so few copies remaining. Ours has an ownership signature on the inside cover of one Agnes Nutter, a woman who was executed as a witch . . .
. . . in 1656. She wrote a book, The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter.
His visitor notices that Aziraphale has drained his little glass of sherry in one gulp. Aziraphale also notices what he's done, and attempts to restore his composure.
The book is legendary in collector circles. You don't happen to have a copy of it in your library?
If we did, I imagine we could sell it for an amount that would pay for the new wing. To be honest, I'm not sure the book isn't a myth, that it ever really existed. (Aziraphale would like to differ, but a Challenger Tank could not drag such information from him.)
I'm sure in my entire career as a bookseller, I've never seen a copy for sale. (Left in the back of a Bentley is something else again.)
But we do have this bible signed by Agnes Nutter, and it is from this book that the letter fell. This tale gets even more astonishing.
More sherry?
Yes, please. Thank you. It is quite nice!
As you will see, the letter is addressed to a "Master A. Ziraphail in his shoppe of other mennes books in ye village of Taddesfield." Imagine our surprise when we did an internet search for booksellers in Tadfield and your name A. Z. Fell appeared. Perhaps A. Ziraphail was an ancestor?
Possibly. I have never pursued my genealogy. (And anyway it's been the same me for over 6,000 years on Earth.)
The similarity between your shop's name and A. ZiraphaiI is so unlikely to be coincidental. The letter can only be addressed to you, and not an earlier relative, as we were informed your shop was moved here from London only last year. The most baffling thing about the letter is a line on the envelope that says "To be delivered in ye evente ye Apocalypse is averted. Marke ye well that thee do deliver it without delaye."
Aziraphale gives a nervous laugh:
Hehheh. Well, do you recollect any apocalypse that has been averted recently? (Such as just last year, perhaps?)
His visitor chuckles.
Yes, if it was a recent event that had not been averted, likely you and I would not be having this conversation, now would we. So let us assume that whatever Agnes Nutter was referring to has already occurred. Perhaps it was one of the numerous disasters in the 20th century, almost any one of which would more than qualify as an "apocalypse." For instance, a 17th century prophet might well view the scale of World War II as an "apocalypse," compared to warfare in her contemporary times, don't you think?
Aziraphale vividly remembered the 30 Years War in the first half of the 17th century and would have disagreed with his visitor, considering it merely a matter of scale, not savagery, but thought it best not to derail the conversation.
Indeed.
At any rate, we didn't see any reason to delay in delivering the letter, now that it had appeared. We did have our conservator look at the document, and she confirmed that its paper, ink, and condition are all entirely consistent with a mid-17th century origin. She's quite good, and I have no reason to doubt her assessment.
Have you brought the letter with you?
We debated just bringing a copy to you, but then thought it best that you see the original. I trust you have the usual conservator's paraphernalia handy? Gloves, magnifier, etc.? If not, I've brought some.
Oh yes.
Aziraphale goes over to a drawer and pulls out two pairs of white cotton gloves, then goes to his table with the good lamp and relatively uncluttered surface. Tears off the top sheet from a pad of archival paper and tosses it aside. His visitor removes the document from its carrying case, and places it on the fresh surface of the pad.
It seemed necessary at the time to unfold and open the letter to read it. I hope you will not think of us as presumptuous. We took utmost care. As you can see, it appears to be a rather cryptic prophecy about some feudal monarchy. Not many of those left these days. Monaco, perhaps?
The 365 year old letter read:
"Watch closely, foolish principalitee, for one descends and another arises to crush thee. But an thee keep thy darke eyed serpente lover close, thine enemies will perishe in flame."
. . .
Mr. Fell? Are you all right?
