Contents

The Gutenberg Rubric

Six

MADDIE AND FRANK decided to complete the ink analysis of the Carthusian manuscript while he instructed her in Guild lore as his new apprentice. Frank said he wanted to check the manuscript for any later transfers of the Wyrich Gospels that might have been mentioned in the records. Keith was so exhausted, however, that he left the workshop and collapsed in bed for a nap.

He awoke with Maddie snuggled close beside him. He took a quick inventory of his wounds and realized that most of the small cuts that peppered his body and face didn’t hurt, but with the healing process were itching fiercely. The dozen stitches in his left hand ached and his left eye was covered and puffy. Beside him, Maddie was comparably perfect. He hesitated to wake her, not knowing if it was day or night. Keith could hardly wait to check his search results to see if he could locate the other missing document. He was not excited enough about the search, however, to pull himself out of bed and leave Maddie sleeping. When he kissed her shoulder she stirred and snuggled closer to him. He settled back beneath the covers and she welcomed him into her careful embrace.

“Cyanide,” Maddie whispered to him.

“How romantic,” he answered. “Are we making a suicide pact?”

“No,” she answered. “It’s what killed the Carthusian monks.”

“They were poisoned?”

“By the ink,” Maddie confirmed. “The final two pages of the manuscript show an increase in the level of cyanide in the ink.”

“The monks copying manuscripts would ingest small amounts of ink each day as they touched their pens to their tongues when they wrote,” Keith said, reconstructing the scenario in his mind. He shuddered. “That sounds like a long slow death.”

“The catalog also records the receipt of supplies for the scriptorium,” Maddie added. “The last delivery of ink came with a manuscript and request for two hand-written copies. The entries with cyanide in the ink cover about four years, right up until the last entry.”

“Talk about a poison pen,” Keith said. “What was the manuscript?”

“Something called ‘The Wisdom of Ptolemy,’ according to the record. There was a short description saying it was a treatise on Egyptian history and Ptolemy’s power over demons.”

“That doesn’t ring a bell,” Keith said. “I wonder what they were using that introduced cyanide into the ink. It’s certainly not common in inks of the 19th century. The records we have say the monastery’s fatal epidemic occurred in 1852. The property was burned because the people in the nearby village believed it was infected with a plague.”

“Which means that the level of cyanide in the blood built to a fatal level over those four years before everyone started dropping dead,” Maddie said. “Spooky. But here’s something more spooky. The last entry in the catalog was the return of the manuscript and its copies to the original owner along with what was recorded only as ‘and many other important works.’”

“Sounds like they emptied the scriptorium to protect the books from the inevitable burning that would come when all the monks died.”

“Yes,” Maddie affirmed. “But I’m afraid it also means that unless the monks considered the Wyrich gospels to be an important work, it was probably still in the monastery when it was burned, and whatever Gutenberg’s secret was probably went up in flames.”

In the afternoon, Keith resumed his search. He was refreshed after the nap and feeling better after taking painkillers, but it was still difficult to read the thousands of results with just one good eye. Normally, he would scan results before starting to pare them down to see if anything jumped out. With his difficulty reading, he decided to run comparisons on the search results electronically, winnowing out obviously false returns with his friend’s search algorithms. While the reports were being generated, he checked to see if there was anything new regarding the bombing of the library.

“Say, Maddie,” he called to her from the study. “We made the news, sort of.”

Both Maddie and Frank came from the living room where they had been discussing the finer points of document dating and authentication.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Take a look at this. I haven’t read it all yet,” Keith answered. “You can fill in the details for me.”

“It’s an analysis of the bombing of the Kane Memorial Library and says it appears to be ‘part of a new wave of global biblio-terrorism’ sweeping the world. It reports half a dozen attacks on libraries in the past year and lumps in book burnings from Hitler forward. At one point, the analyst even goes so far as to cite instances of people defacing books by crossing out words and writing in the margins. Is this for real?”

“Who wrote a thing like that?” Frank asked.

“There’s no by-line,” Maddie answered, “It just says that according to authorities, ‘the attack on the Kane Memorial Library should not be considered an isolated event. Any library could be a target.’ Whoa!”

“I won’t believe that until I see it in print,” Frank said.

“It almost sounds like a challenge,” Maddie said.

“Or a warning,” Keith added.

“Warning to whom?” Maddie asked.

“Us? Or maybe to the world? Stay away from libraries.” Keith swung around in his chair so his one good eye could take in Maddie standing over him. He almost lost his train of thought just looking at her. She nudged him and he went on. “Maybe I’m seeing things where nothing exists, but it’s got too much in common with the note the agent showed us,” Keith went on. “Read this last paragraph.” They all looked at the screen to read the last statement.

Since the Garden of Eden, there have been governments and religions intent on keeping humanity away from the tree of knowledge. But key to the story is the fact that you can’t know what you are missing until after you’ve eaten the fruit.

“I’m not sure if it’s directed to us or not,” Maddie said at last. “But ‘tree of knowledge’ and ‘key’ in an article about ‘biblio-terrorism’ gives me the willies. I’m a little concerned about walking back into work Monday morning like nothing happened.”

“The damage was pretty superficial,” Keith said. “They didn’t really get explosives into where they would do damage to the books. The façade and atrium were badly damaged, but as far as we know, no books were harmed. It was like they tried to do it in a hurry and didn’t get their explosives to the right places.”

“Or like they wanted to harm the library, but not the books?” Maddie asked.

Frank had been quiet during this exchange and Keith noticed that he looked as if his thoughts were far away. His eyes fell on the Psalter in its glass case.

“Are you okay, Granddad?” Keith asked.

“Yes,” the old man hesitated. “Yes, yes,” he repeated. “I was just thinking what a shame you kids missed your vacation to Jamaica.” The non sequitur startled both Keith and Maddie. Maddie smiled and went to touch Frank’s arm.

“I’m thinking that we’re going to have lots of opportunities to take a vacation together,” she said gently.

“Well I certainly hope so,” Frank said. “None of this summer romance stuff. You’re both too old. I was just wondering if you could take another week off work, Madeline.”

“You think we should go to Jamaica now? I guess the sun might help these cuts heal,” Keith said.

“I wasn’t exactly thinking Jamaica,” Frank said. “How about Mainz?”

Keith was silent. He had told Maddie they might take the book to Mainz, but hadn’t been so sure that they needed to after they got to Frank’s laboratory. “Well, I’d like to see the Gutenberg Museum,” Maddie said. “I understand it has a wonderful collection of rare books.”

“If you include both the museum library and the Guild, the collection of unique manuscripts and incunabula is probably more extensive than any other in the world, including the British Library,” Frank said. “I know Keith is aching to give you the tour.”

“As much as I’ve been aching from everything else,” Keith said. The hasty exit from the hospital and cross-country flight had taken its toll. Every time he took a pain pill he could hardly keep his eyes open.

“All the documents aren’t in the library or museum?” Maddie asked, genuinely shocked at Frank’s statement.

“Many are considered Guild secrets,” Frank interjected. “They have been in the same hands for nearly six hundred years.”

“Still, it seems that the world should know,” Maddie said.

“Perhaps so,” Keith responded, “but once they were given to the world, as you say, who would have access to them?”

“Scholars and archivists,” Maddie answered quickly.

“Exactly the people who have access to them now,” Keith responded. “We make sure that appropriate knowledge is disseminated to the world, and there is a debate in every generation about making the entire collection public. Some of the documents have to do with the secrets and rituals of the Guild, and as such to release them would effectively destroy the Guild.”

“For all our care, however,” Frank said, “there are documents that have gone missing over the years. We have delved into this matter, searching the world for them, but once they are out of our care, they are very hard to locate again, or to re-acquire.”

“I get that you think the letter fragment Keith found is a missing document of the Guild,” Maddie said. “But how did it end up in a collection we just happened to acquire at the Whit?”

“We didn’t even know the document was missing,” Frank acknowledged. He sighed.

“See, that is what I’m talking about,” Maddie argued. “In a real library or museum, documents like that wouldn’t just disappear.”

“Even within the Guild,” Keith said, “not all documents are available to all members. Certain items are seen only by those who have reached the highest level of mastery.”

“So, we can check with a master at that level in Germany and confirm its origin?” Maddie suggested. “If it isn’t part of the Guild’s rightful collection, then it belongs in my library or a museum.”

“We have no masters at that level at this time,” Keith said. Maddie opened her mouth to protest, but Frank jumped in.

“Just because we don’t currently have a master of that level, doesn’t mean we won’t have,” he said. “Unlike many secret organizations, the Guild doesn’t require elevation to be granted by people who are already at that level. We have very specific tests that determine if an individual is worthy to be raised to the next level.”

“Oh,” said Maddie in sudden enlightenment. “Like your Psalter.”

“Yes, like that,” Frank said, “but the Psalter was a competition to determine who would get to try to attain the next level. It wasn’t the test itself. The actual test was last taken by your grandfather, Madeline.” Both Maddie and Keith were speechless at this comment. They glanced at each other but did not find words to respond to Frank’s revelation. He went on. “I assume that Errol Wadsworth was your grandfather. Please correct me if I am wrong.” Maddie nodded, confirming Frank’s assumption.

“You knew my grandfather?” Madeline asked quietly.

“Errol Wadsworth worked side-by-side with me for three years as we competed for the Psalter prize,” Frank said. “We were competitors, but also good friends. “Errol was never quite the same after his initiation to the third degree mastery. He was a true master and when he vanished from the Guild it was a loss from which we never really recovered. The only contact we had was when he submitted your name as a subscriber to The Printer’s Devil.”

“Do you mean that the reproduction pages of the Psalter that I’ve seen are my own grandfather’s work?” Maddie asked.

“What happened to Errol?” Frank asked. “Is he still alive?”

“If you can call it that.” Maddie dropped her head. “He has Alzheimer’s. No one can believe he is still alive. He’s been deteriorating steadily for thirty years. Now he’s in a locked ward so he can’t wander away and hurt himself. When we were kids, he would tell us stories, but we always thought they were just stories that old men tell. He was always telling us about great manuscripts and hidden treasures.”

“I’m sorry to hear that he’s not well,” Frank said. “I’d like to visit him sometime before the end.”

“Since we’re going to Germany next,” Keith said, “it would be a great opportunity for Maddie to be formally presented to the Guild.” No one seemed to notice how easily they had all jumped to the assumption that they were, indeed, going to Mainz.

“Actually,” Frank said, “I think Maddie could be initiated as a journeyman. I haven’t been to Mainz in a few years myself.”

“Don’t I need more training?” Maddie asked.

“Between The Printer’s Devil and your grandfather’s stories, I’m pretty sure you’re ready,” Keith said. “I’m just sad you weren’t found years ago. For lots of reasons,” he added.

“As it happens,” Maddie said, kissing Keith lightly on his forehead, “I can get at least the next week off and possibly the one after. They are running the library on skeleton staff with no official access to rare books until the damage is assessed and repairs are underway. I could take an extra week. Or two,” she added, looking at Keith. “Just to advance my studies, mind you. Are you feeling up to the trip?”

“I promise, I’ll advance your studies,” Keith said smiling at Maddie. “And if I’ve got a good supply of pills, I think I can make the trip all right. Do you think we can arrange things, Granddad?” he said turning to the old man.

“There’s only a few of us left, Keith,” Frank said. “It shouldn’t be that hard to get us together for this. I’ll make some calls.”

“The Wisdom of Ptolemy,” Frank explained as they ate dinner in El Centro, “is the name of the last book that the monks received just before the ink changed in the catalog to a formula laced with cyanide.”

“And the only book named in the last entry,” Maddie added.

“The evidence suggests that the monk who brought the book intended it to be the last project the monastery completed,” Frank said.

“All these things we’ve seen and surmised make a fascinating story,” Keith said, “but are they really all connected? We’ve got a page from a letter by Peter Schoeffer, a gospel that might have belonged to Gutenberg’s grandparents, and a manuscript called ‘The Wisdom of Ptolemy’ that might have been accompanied by cyanide laced ink. I’m having trouble connecting the dots.”

“Maybe they are not connected,” Frank said. “But I think we need more trusted brainpower gathered together to do the analysis, and perhaps a third degree Master. That is why I think we need to go to Mainz.”

“You’d really undertake the trial after all these years, granddad?” Keith answered.

“If it was necessary,” Frank answered. “Of course if all goes well, it might not be necessary.”

“Maybe not, but we’d all like to read a book called The Wisdom of Ptolemy,” Keith said. “I can’t think of another mention of such a work in anything I’ve ever read. Do you suppose it actually refers to a book written by one of the eight Ptolemys? Or is it a bit of esoterica that a cult of the middle ages wrote?”

“My guess is that it refers to a writing of Ptolemy Soter, the first of that name,” Frank said. “Of course, anyone could write something and credit it to him, but the entry has a couple of clues that make it more interesting than others of that time or the next two pages.”

“For instance?” Maddie asked around a mouthful of beans and rice.

“Well, here’s what it says,” Frank said, pulling a notecard from his pocket. “I copied it out in case you wanted to hear it at dinner. ‘The Wisdom of Ptolemy, received from Brother Alexander of Anatoly. Request one copy and one for the scriptorium. This book contains the Key of Pharaoh, said to unlock the gates of Eden and the power of Armageddon.’ Pretty heady stuff,” Frank concluded.

“Everything mentions the Tree of Knowledge and the Master’s Key in one way or another,” Keith said.

“In this case Pharaoh’s Key and Eden, where the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil is supposed to be,” Maddie supplied. “Why the reference to Armageddon, though?”

“Perhaps as a warning that the power to open the gates of Eden is also sufficient to end the world?” Frank suggested.

“Frank, could that be the great manuscript and treasure that my grandfather tried to convince us was real?” Maddie asked. “That’s what my father was searching for when he was killed. I’m not sure I want to inherit a treasure-hunting gene. There’s been enough of that in my family and I’ll stick to libraries if you don’t mind.”

“What happened?” Keith asked.

“My father believed the stories,” Maddie said. “Based on Errol’s stories, he hunted for the treasure in Egypt. That’s where I was born, during the 7-day war with Israel. My mother died in it.”

“I’m sorry, Maddie,” Keith said. “It must have been hard not to have a mother.”

“Oh, not as bad as you might expect,” Maddie said wistfully. “I never knew her. All I have is the picture I carry of the two in this sealed locket. My Aunt Virginia took care of me for the first five years. Then Dad came back from one of his trips to the Middle East with Lily. For a while we all settled down in South Carolina like a family and my brother was born. But it wasn’t long before Dad was off again. He had moved his ‘research’ from Egypt to Iran where he and Lily had met. Then, he was killed during the revolution in ’79. For all I know that’s what my brother, Yousef, spends his time doing in the Middle East. I don’t want to be one of the treasure-hunters.”

“I don’t think it will be a problem,” Keith said. “The librarian who wrote the catalog entry has taken something of Egyptian origin and superimposed Hebrew and Christian mythology over it. There is no reason for that. He’s putting his own editorial spin on it or else the work is a medieval mystery text and not the work of Ptolemy Soter.”

“You’re probably right,” Maddie said, “but I don’t like having so many references to something that we have already associated with bombing a library and nearly killing you. We have the letter fragment, the note Agent Fry showed us, the news article, and now this. It just makes me uncomfortable, like I’m being caught up in something I can’t control.”

“We’ll get help in Mainz,” Frank said. “In fact, I think we should go in the morning.”

Maddie excused herself to use the restroom and Keith used the opportunity to hand Frank the glass shard he’d recovered from his computer case. He always knew he could depend on his grandfather, but when the old man heard what Keith wanted, he seemed reluctant.

“Are you sure about this?” Frank asked.

“No. But when I am sure, I don’t want to be delayed.”

“Well, that makes sense. Better to be prepared. I’ll take care of it.”

They shopped for warmer clothes before returning to Frank’s home. Frank insisted on buying Maddie a gray wool coat because Germany would be much colder than the desert in April. When they returned to the house, Keith immediately checked on his search results. Frank sat at the dining table, describing the journeyman initiation to Maddie. They were deep in the meaning of printer’s marks when Keith came out of the study looking dazed.

“Keith! What is it, darling?” Maddie exclaimed, rushing to him. Frank stood staring at his grandson.

“I think I’ve found the other Gutenberg,” Keith said hoarsely. “Granddad, we need to make a stop before we go to Germany.”

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