The Library of Shadows (41 page)

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 of
annihilating
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 read
Pinocchio
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.

It occurred to Jon that the images he was creating were really not his own. Luca had most likely passed them on through his readings. If he had been as skilled a Lector as everyone claimed, it stood to reason that he would have given his child the best possible experience. That it would one day save his son's life was not something Luca could possibly have foreseen, but Jon didn't think it was accidental. Why would he end up with this particular book, in the least imaginable place, under the most improbable circumstances, exactly when he had the most use for it? The odds of that happening had to be astronomical.

Jon took another look at the scene. Everything was in its proper place and the story was proceeding as it should. He found it reassuring to know this was Luca's work. The images were as clear and pure as if Luca had read the story to him yesterday. After Jon had learned to read, he had gone through
Pinocchio
many times, but he still preferred to have Luca read it aloud to him. Even when Jon started getting interested in more action-packed stories, it was always
Pinocchio
he wanted to hear at bedtime. He loved to fall asleep to the sound of Luca's voice.

He could almost hear it now.

*

After tossing the book down to Jon, Katherina prepared herself to support him as soon as he started reading. She was ready the second Jon reached for the book, but when he stopped after the first glance, she got nervous.

'What was that book you gave me?'

Mehmet shrugged. 'I have no idea. It was just the first one I could find.'

The man with the red hair had seized hold of Jon.

'We have to go down there,' said Katherina.

Mehmet set off at a run, but Katherina stopped abruptly.

Jon had started to read.

'I'll be right there,' she called, and then focused on Jon's reading. She concentrated all his remaining energy on moving through the text, trying to keep out other impressions and fixing his attention on the story. Slowly he got into the rhythm.

After only a few sentences the red-haired man began to scream. He had a firm grip on the collar of Jon's robe and didn't let go, even though his body was shaking violently. Suddenly there was a loud bang and the red-haired man was hurled away from Jon with great force. He flew backwards until his body slammed into a stone pillar and he sank to the ground.

He didn't get up again.

Katherina slid down with her back against the railing. She closed her eyes and concentrated on receiving. The images emanating from Jon appeared as gentle, calm pictures – pictures she realized she recognized.

The energy in the room began to change. What had felt like a rushing torrent now little by little diminished in intensity and speed until at last it stopped altogether. Instead of moving in one direction, it began steadily pulsating, like gigantic inhalations and exhalations. The energy encircled them in a completely different way, feeling closer and bringing with it a warmth and peace quite unlike the frenzied and insistent mood that had reigned up until now. All the accumulated energy in the library was directed towards a specific pulse, a pulse determined by Jon.

Katherina sensed it was now safe to stand up. Jon was still lying in the same place, calmly reading
Pinocchio
from his position on the floor.

Over by the podium stood five people who were still reading. The expression on Remer's face was strained, the veins clearly visible at his temples, a glistening film of sweat on his brow. Katherina could tell from what she was receiving that they were working hard to maintain their concentration. They must have noticed the shift in energy and were fighting back with their last strength.

Katherina ran out into the corridor and down the stairs. They had to seize the chance to escape while Remer was preoccupied. On the floor below she practically ran into Mehmet, who stood as if paralysed, regarding the scene before him.

'What the hell should we do?' he said. 'This is going to end up bad.'

Katherina cast a glance at Remer. His facial features had changed. His expression was tormented and his body had started to tremble.

'Jon is the only one who can stop this,' replied Katherina. She ran over to where he was lying. He looked quite unaffected as he almost sprawled on the floor with his eyes on the book. She focused on his reading, homed in on the rhythm and gave him the signal to stop. The pulse of the energy made an extra leap, then a few irregular beats before it finally stopped. Jon's expression changed as he turned towards Katherina. He smiled but then seemed to remember where he was. His smile froze as he looked at the podium.

Remer's body was now shaking harder than before. The energy was no longer under control and had lost its focus so it was striking out in all directions. Katherina sensed that Remer was stubbornly fighting to regain control. It was an impossible battle. There were far too many opposing surges of energy and there were no receivers left to help him, but he refused to give up. A couple of sparks enveloped him for a moment; blood began running out of his ears, down his throat and into the collar of his robe, which slowly turned red. He kept reading through clenched teeth. His face was now drained of all colour, an eerie white in contrast to the blood, and contorted with great pain. Streams of blood started pouring from his nose and running down his white robe.

Even from this distance they could hear that a hissing sound had crept into his reading. There was an enormous bang and Katherina was blinded by a flash of light. Silence descended over the library. The sound of sparks igniting had stopped; no was reading any more. The bodies of the five remaining Lectors stood upright for an instant until gravity won out and they toppled to the floor.

Jon ached all over and he felt unbelievably tired. When he tried to move, he groaned from the stabbing pain in his foot. Katherina was sitting beside him, looking into his eyes. She alternated between laughing and crying. Her face was covered with dust and the dirt on her cheeks was streaked with tears.

'Are you okay?' he asked with an effort.

Katherina nodded and kissed him on the forehead. He raised his hand to wipe away a tear from her cheek. Her green eyes filled with more tears and she buried her face in his neck. He put his arm round her and pulled her close.

Only then did Jon notice Mehmet, who was standing a couple of metres away. He was surveying the room; every now and then he would shake his head and mutter something incomprehensible.

'What the hell are you doing here?' asked Jon. 'Are you on holiday?'

Mehmet laughed and came over to join them.

'Something like that. Thought this might be a good place to borrow a book for a trip to the beach.'

Katherina and Jon couldn't help laughing.

Jon cleared his throat. He felt unable to move. It was only with Katherina's help that he was able to sit up.

'I think I've broken my foot,' he said.

'Yup, that's what it looks like, boss,' said Mehmet. 'We're going to have to carry you.'

Katherina nodded, wiping the tears from her face.

'What about Henning?' asked Jon.

Mehmet shook his head. 'He didn't make it.'

Anger gave Jon the necessary strength to stand up, with help from his companions.

'Let's see about getting out of this place,' he said. 'We're done here.'

Mehmet and Katherina each took Jon by an arm, and together they left the Bibliotheca Alexandrina in silence.

It was a strange feeling for Jon to be heading home when he had no recollection of ever leaving. He'd been unconscious on the flight to Egypt, and it was as if his sense of place had stayed behind in Denmark without having a chance to catch up with him.

The events in the library hadn't yet sunk in either, and the more days that passed, the more unreal it all seemed. He remembered everything that had happened, but it was as if it had happened to somebody else. Katherina had told him about the events he hadn't witnessed himself, and they were just as incredible. A deep sense of gratitude washed over him every time he thought about what they had gone through to come to his aid. He couldn't help thinking about all the possible scenarios when things could have gone terribly wrong, and how lucky they had been. That didn't apply to Henning, of course, and Jon realized that he owed the man his life. That made it even more painful to have to leave his body behind in the library, but they kept assuring each other that they'd had no choice.

According to the newspapers, a bolt of lightning had struck the library and caused a small fire, but there was no mention of either the injured or the dead. It was obvious that the Shadow Organization still had members in the city who were able to control what the public was told. Not even Nessim, the desk clerk, who otherwise had plenty of contacts, was able to ferret out anything more.

Katherina, Mehmet and Jon had kept a low profile for a couple of days and then jointly decided that enough blood had been shed. The Shadow Organization had been dealt a death blow. Only the strongest had been able to enter the space of the story, and they were the ones who had lost their lives. The only thing they could hope for now was that the whole event had put the brakes on the organization.

There was nothing to be gained from staying any longer in Alexandria, so Jon and Katherina reserved seats on the next plane home. Mehmet was enjoying being in Egypt and had decided to stay for a couple more weeks. He'd established a solid friendship with Nessim, and since his work merely required a computer with access to the Internet, he could do it anywhere. Besides, he wasn't in a hurry to return to the autumn weather of Nørrebro and his ravaged flat.

Jon had had his foot examined by a doctor Nessim had recommended. It turned out that his ankle was only sprained, but he couldn't put any weight on it and he had to use a crutch. That made it a bit difficult to board the plane, but it meant they were given seats with extra leg-room.

Jon studied the other passengers. Aside from a couple of businessmen with laptops they were eager to switch on, most of the people looked like tourists on their way home from holiday. Jon was fairly sure their holiday memories wouldn't measure up to his own.

Other than discussing the factual events, Jon and Katherina hadn't spent much time talking about the meaning of what had taken place in the library. It was still too fresh in their minds, and Jon was having a hard time putting his experiences into words. The feeling that Luca was protecting him had been so strong that he first needed to digest what had happened. But there was one thing he knew for sure: he would never be able to be a lawyer again.

So it wasn't his job that was making him long for home. It was an urge to hear the bells above the door of Libri di Luca again, a yearning to breathe in the smell of parchment and leather, an almost physical need to touch the books on the shelves. At the same time he had the feeling that he was expected, that he would be received with a nod of acknowledgement from Luca, who would be sitting in the leather chair with a book on his lap; that he would be welcomed with a warm smile from his mother who stood leaning on the balcony with her elbows on the railing; that he would be silently accepted by his grandfather Arman, who stood with his back turned as he shelved books in their proper places. They were all there, the Campelli family, present in the dust on the shelves, in the shadows between the bookcases and in the air that only reluctantly circulated whenever the front door opened.

But more than anything else, he wanted to see Katherina in Libri di Luca again. In fact, he could no longer imagine the bookshop without her – in the place where he had met her for the first time, floating among words and letters she could never comprehend but to whose essence she was so obviously devoted.

Jon cast a sidelong glance at Katherina, who was sitting in the seat next to him with her head resting on his shoulder. She had closed her eyes and most of her face was covered by her red hair, which she had pulled loose from the knot at her neck as soon as they sat down. He reached for the in-flight magazine in the pocket in front of him. Katherina didn't react, and to everyone else it looked as if she were sleeping. But Jon could clearly sense her alertness as soon as he began to read.

It was a nice feeling.

He no longer needed to feel alone.