Purplegrrl | Italy, two months ago "Well? Do you think you can do it?" Marcus asked anxiously. Engrossed by the strange, handwritten book he held, Paulo shushed him with a distracted wave of his hand. Frustrated with the delay, Marcus shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and looked around his friend's living room. He knew there was some sort of organization to this chaos, but he had no idea what form it took. In stereotypical hacker fashion a couple of abandoned coffee cups. The remains of two or three meals and a half dozen projects littered Paulo's worktable. The table also held three computer monitors, a high-res flatbed scanner, several high-powered modems, a CD burner, and other equipment that Marcus couldn't readily identify. Stashed around the room were a number of computer hard drives in various stages of dissection or repair. A shelving unit held more unidentifiable equipment. Cardboard boxes spilled over with printed circuit boards, cabling, and a multitude of disks and CDs. Against one wall a stack of gaming software leaned like the tower of Pisa. In one corner squatted a broken-down vintage recliner covered in black-and-white plaid herculon fabric that obviously doubled as a laundry hamper. Dirty socks dribbled over the worn arms of the chair, at least a week's worth of shirts were crumpled in the seat, and a grimy pair of blue jeans had been flung over the back. The stereo system pumped out mesmerizing techno-pop. Marcus thought he recognized the Chemical Brothers. Or was it Moby? He turned as he heard Paulo stir in his chair. "You said you had five or six of these books?" asked Paulo. "Yeah." "And you want them scanned and put on CD?" "Yes, one to a disk. But no one can know that you have seen these books. You can't save a copy or e-mail them to one of your hacker buddies or upload them to the Web," cautioned Marcus. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." "I'm serious, Paulo. There are members of my family who seek to destroy these books. They would harm anyone who has knowledge of them." "Harm?" squeaked Paulo. "Kill them. They are willing to kill anyone who knows of these books," emphasized Marcus. "Okay, okay," agreed Paulo. "No saving, no e-mailing, no uploading. I promise." "Good. How long do you think it will take?" "To scan them all, check the images, clean up, and any re-scanning? At least three or four days." Marcus chafed at the time frame, but he knew Paulo would work as fast as he could. "Just so long as every page is legible when you're done." He sat the satchel containing the other books on Paulo's worktable. "Marcus, you wound me!" exclaimed Paulo clutching his chest as if he'd been shot. Marcus smiled at his friend. "I'll be back at the end of the week. And remember, tell no one." Paulo threw him a mock salute as Marcus left the apartment. "Ciao!" Once outside, Marcus' worries and sense of foreboding returned. He knew he was putting Paulo at risk, but it couldn't be helped. It was even riskier to continue to have those books in his possession. He could sense something dark looming on the edges of his perception. No matter where Marcus went, the presence followed him. Curious and distrustful eyes followed Marcus as he walked the narrow, brick-lined streets back to the public quay. An island in a city of water, Murano was home to a highly secretive society of Italian glassmakers. Century after century they had guarded their closely held glassmaking secrets from intruders and spies. Paulo, a friend from university, was the son of one these protective families. He may not wield the secrets of their society, but they would protect him as if he did. Marcus figured his father's diaries were safe enough for the time being. However, once the copies were made he would have to find a way to permanently safeguard the originals. At the dock, Marcus hailed a water taxi to take him back to Venice. One problem at a time - now is the time for some misdirection. He needed to put some distance between himself and the diaries. Venice is out of the question, the rest of Italy only marginally better. Perhaps it's time to do some traveling. Staying on the move, he would do some research at the university library in Frankfurt, view the art at the Louvre in Paris. Maybe he would stop off in Prague and tour the house where Kafka had lived. And I'll be back in Venice by the end of the week. Ten days later The scanning of the diaries had taken a little longer than Paulo had estimated. But when Marcus had seen the clarity of resolution, he hadn't minded the extra time or Paulo's million-lira asking price. A little nervous, Marcus stood outside the village church near what had been his mother's villa in central Italy. The backpack on his shoulder held the bundle of original diaries and a much smaller box of CDs that contained the scanned copies. The priest who kept this church, Father Silvestri, had befriended him as a lonely young boy and Marcus felt he could trust the old man. He pulled open one of the pair of heavy wooden doors that marked the entrance of the stone church and stepped inside. The cool, dim interior was quiet. Prayer candles flickered on either side of the altar. "Father Silvestri?" Marcus called, breaking the silence. A door closed somewhere unseen and footsteps hurried towards the sanctuary. The priest appeared in the doorway to the right of the altar. He peered into the gloom. "Marcus? Is that you, boy?" Marcus smiled. "Yes, Father Silvestri," he replied as he walked up the aisle. The two men, one young and one old, greeted each other with a smile and a hearty handshake. "How did you know it was me, Father?" "Only you have never learned not to yell in the church." Marcus smiled ruefully. His expression became serious. "Father, I must ask a great favor of you." "Anything I can do, my son." Marcus glanced around the empty church. "Can we go to your study?" "Of course. Come with me." The priest turned and led the young man to his office and living quarters. Reaching his study, he gestured for Marcus to take a chair. "Sit, sit," said Father Silvestri as he took the opposite seat. "Now, tell me what is on your mind." Marcus took a deep breath, smelling the dusty books, the faint odor of leather, and the anise candies Father Silvestri kept in a jar on his desk. This room held so many good memories for him. He would never forgive himself if he were needlessly endangering the old priest. But he saw no other way to safeguard the books. "I must ask you to hide something for me. A package." "Can you tell me what is in this package?" "It is safer for you if I don't." The priest nodded. "I understand. May I see it?" Marcus withdrew a fairly large leather-wrapped package containing his father's diaries from his backpack. The leather was tooled with the traditional symbols for protection, safekeeping, and invisibility from prying eyes. The edges were completely sealed with thick red sealing wax stamped with arcane symbols representing the magickal seals used by alchemists. Blue and white threads were tied around the package to complete its magickal protection. He handed the package to Father Silvestri. The priest's eyes widened slightly at the protected package. He understood about magick and recognized some of the symbols. With a multitude of questions on his face, he looked at Marcus. "The package contains nothing inherently evil. But it could do great harm if it falls into the wrong hands. I have protected it to the best of my ability," said Marcus, indicating the magickal wrappings and bindings. "Now I ask you to protect it to the best of yours." "What would you have me do?" "Wrap it in a twice-blessed linen shroud that has been washed in holy water and dried in the sun, and sew the edges closed with red thread. Bind a silver crucifix to the package with a silken cord. Then place it in an iron box," Marcus told him. Father Silvestri looked at the young man in amazement. "But Marcus, those protections are given only to the Church's most holy relics." "I know, Father, but it is necessary. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, the fate of the world could depend on what's in this package and it mustn't fall into the wrong hands." The priest thought for a moment. "And you promise me that this is not evil?" Marcus shook his head. "Only knowledge that could be used for evil." He fervently hoped he was telling the old priest the truth. His father's diaries were written in some sort of coded language that he had been unable to decipher. But Charles Siefer was not the sort of man who trafficked in the darker knowledge of the universe. "Then I will do as you ask, my son," conceded the priest. "Thank you, Father. You don't know how much this means to me. And one more thing... please bury the iron box beneath the altar of the church." "You ask a great deal, my son," the priest sighed, and then smiled at Marcus. "But I'll do it." "Thank you," Marcus said again. "I hope some day I can repay you." "That is not necessary. It is my duty to protect God's children against the forces of darkness." Marcus reluctantly rose to leave. "I have to go." "Go with God, my son." Father Silvestri watched the young man turn and leave, his footsteps echoing in the empty church. Once outside again in the warm Mediterranean sunshine, Marcus checked his watch. If he hurried he could make his flight to New York. Getting into his rental car, he started the engine and headed back towards Rome. The feelings of darkness and menace were getting stronger. |
~ continue to next chapter ~ | |