Contents

The Gutenberg Rubric

Fifteen

“THERE’S NOTHING to be nervous about,” Keith reassured Maddie. He was sweating in anticipation of his own coming ordeal and the bandage on his eye felt wet and clammy. Nonetheless, he was doing his best to project calm to Maddie. Her part of the initiation was well-rehearsed. She knew what was expected and was prepared with the answers to the questions that she would be asked. She had even joked that Frank would have it easy when it came to doing her tattoo. All he had to do was connect the dots.

Keith was unsure about taking on the third degree initiation. Frank had flatly refused to do it when Keith suggested he was the right one. He insisted that he had turned the opportunity down fifty years ago and his decision still stood. He was too old to take it on. Rolf, the only other Second Degree Master simply said he wasn’t able to work with the metals from his wheelchair. It had to be Keith or they lock the manuscript fragment and rubric up and wait for the next generation—if there was one.

Now, Keith and Maddie stood in an antechamber somewhere under the museum, but deeper than they had been earlier in the day. As they made their way down the stairs from Dr. Schneider’s house and through the lab, Keith noticed that his computer program had quit running. There was no chance to check it, however, as they continued down into the catacombs. Once in the antechamber, they were dressed in black robes, over which they wore incongruous leather aprons.

“You know, an apron will not make me a cook,” Maddie laughed. “Is this supposed to be your name or Frank’s on my apron? Teufel des Drucker. What does it mean?”

“Printer’s devil,” Keith answered. “Our tradition doesn’t really have apprentices, even though that’s how we refer to them. The entry-level position in a print shop is printer’s devil. They run errands, check type, haul lead, and pull the handle on the big press.”

“Your name would be Printer, wouldn’t it?” she grinned.

“Obviously it wasn’t Americanized,” Keith laughed. His own apron was adorned with the twin shields that he bore on his shoulder. Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of a hooded figure opening the door in front of them. He beckoned them forward.

“It is time to begin,” the figure said. Keith recognized the voice of their driver Günther from the day before.

“Master of Arms of the Alchemists,” Keith intoned formally. I wish to present this printer’s devil for initiation as a journeyman in the Worshipful Society of Typefounders and Alchemists.”

“Printer’s devil,” said the Master of Arms turning to Maddie, “do you agree to be bound to your master, to bear the mark he chooses for you, and to learn all things that he may teach you, no matter the cost, no matter the hardship?”

“Master of Arms,” Maddie returned, bowing to the hooded figure. “I freely bind myself to my master as his journeyman in all things alchemical and will learn all he may see fit to teach me.”

“Follow me to the chamber of mysteries,” said the Master of Arms. Keith and Maddie followed him into a world that had not changed in 500 years. The descent was steep, narrow, and unlit. Maddie put her hand on the Master of Arms’ shoulder and Keith laid his hand lightly on her shoulder as they descended. At the foot of the stairs, the Master of Arms opened a door into a candlelit room that seemed glaringly bright after the depth of darkness through which they had just passed. Seven robed and hooded figures awaited them in the chamber.

“Teufel des Drucker,” said the man in the center. Keith immediately recognized Frank’s voice and hoped Maddie did as well. “The Worshipful Society of Typefounders and Alchemists has existed uninterrupted for 500 years. We have not taken a new member in nearly twenty,” he continued and then chuckled a little. “Forgive us if we are a little rusty on the formalities.” Keith still had his hand resting lightly on Maddie’s shoulder and could feel her relax as Frank spoke. She may have said that she was not worried about the midnight ritual, but just the passage through the dark was enough to bring on excited tension.

“There was once a celebration held each year called a Wayzgoose,” Frank continued. “It was a feast held in August hosted by the printers for their staff. It marked the beginning of the season of working by candlelight. After the festivities, the separate masters of the town came together for more solemn rites. It was the one time of year when new apprentices were given their oath and the more experienced printer’s devils were elevated to journeyman. Ultimately it was where journeymen were raised to the level of master. In each of these instances, however, there was more than a simple acknowledgement of the level of skill the craftsman had acquired. There was also the initiation into the next level of the mysteries of alchemy—for we have protected those mysteries in the face of religion, science, and society for half a millennium. When you are initiated, you will be given some of those secrets, and we charge you with their protection. Do you, Madeline Beatrice Wadsworth Zayne, swear to preserve and protect the secrets of the Worshipful Society of Typefounders and Alchemists?”

“I so swear,” answered Madeline. Keith led her forward half the distance to his grandfather and they stopped again. This time Rolf asked the question of Maddie.

“Do you, Madeline Beatrice Wadsworth Zayne, swear to learn from your master and his masters all they can teach you, to practice diligently, and in full course to come to the mastery of the art?”

“I so swear,” answered Madeline again. Keith led her forward until she was directly in front of Frank. He whispered to her to kneel. She did and the others in the room closed the circle around her. Keith pulled the hood on his robe up and stepped in front of Maddie. As the third second degree master in the room, he also had a part in this ritual.

“Do you, Madeline Beatrice Wadsworth Zayne, swear to diligently seek others who may learn to be adept in the art, to bring them into this circle as you have been brought, and to teach them so that the secrets of this society do not die; and if none can be found to share in this ritual, do you swear that it will die with you, having been true to your vows until your last breath?”

“I so swear,” Maddie answered. Her voice broke as she answered. As anachronistic as the ritual was, it always elicited this response in those who took the oaths. They seemed suddenly to realize what they were being entrusted with, even if they had not yet learned the secrets. Keith thought of his own initiation and of the fact that in all these years, Maddie was the only one he had brought before the Guild for initiation. Had he been diligent about finding others? If they did not fulfill this part of their oaths, the society might truly die with them. No matter how absurd it may seem, there is something precious about every bit of human knowledge, every story that makes up the human race. They really couldn’t let it die.

“You have agreed to bear the mark the Guild has chosen for you,” Frank said. “The marks of the Guild are the original printer’s marks, sometimes altered or enhanced with characteristics that embody the personality of the initiate. The first to bear it was Peter Schoeffer. Johannes Gutenberg, as the first master of the Guild, never used a printer’s mark on any of his works. After the fifteenth century, the marks became so complex that they could not be effectively branded or tattooed, so a library of basic shapes was created that start the marking. From there, at each successive initiation, the mark is filled in and built upon. They have become less a printer’s mark than a sign of inheritance or heritage that stretches back uninterrupted to the first printers.”

This was lore of the Guild, Keith knew. There was no scholarly evidence of this origin of printer’s marks, but the documents in the Guild archive went back centuries. This was lore that would never see the light of day as far as scholars were concerned.

“Your first task as a journeyman will be to learn and memorize the catalog of printers’ marks and to bear the one the Guild has chose on your own body. Are you prepared to accept the mark your master has chosen?” Frank asked.

“I am,” Maddie said quietly. She knelt and reached to her left shoulder to pull the robe away from the shoulder blade. Frank knelt behind her and swabbed the area with alcohol before dipping the special stylus in ink and carefully drawing the small shape on her shoulder blade. The tattooing process was done with scratches of the sharp stylus packed with ink rather than with needles.

When Frank had finished the simple drawing on her shoulder, the other masters moved around behind her to look at his work. There were murmured words of assent among them. Keith pulled her robe back up over her shoulder and lifted her to a standing position. He gently kissed each of her cheeks and then moved aside as each of the masters and journeymen greeted her in the same way, some saying a welcome in English and others in German. Last of all, Frank stood before her again. After kissing each of her cheeks, he looked deeply into her eyes.

“If you were my own daughter,” he said, “you could not be more a part of my family than you are tonight.”

“I am so honored to be included in your family,” Maddie said, “and to include you in mine.”

After Maddie’s initiation, the atmosphere changed. There was a bit of informal time when everyone gathered for coffee from a thermos and the aptly named butterkeks, German butter cookies. Keith introduced Maddie to each of the men and one woman as they pushed back their cowls. As they were introduced, each told her a little of his or her own story. Rolf and Frank were the oldest, Maddie and Keith were the youngest. Günther, who had acted as the Master of Arms, was about the same age as Keith and had been a good friend when he studied in Germany, though he had never progressed past his Journeyman status.

Keith kissed Maddie lightly on the cheek. “See you when this is over,” he smiled. “Don’t wait up.”

“I love you,” she whispered back.

He moved to a far corner of the room and pulled his cowl over his head. Three of the Guild had busied themselves preparing what looked like a cross between a religious altar and the print shop upstairs. As the acolytes worked to set up the space, they moved kerosene lanterns to eaither side of the worktable. Frank led Maddie and Günther over to the setup to explain what they were seeing.

“We are, in fact, in a catacomb,” Frank began. “It was not an uncommon practice in Europe to empty the old sections of cemeteries as space became more precious and to move the bones into the lowest sections of the tunnels that had been used for extracting stone for building. Günther, you’ve seen this in previous rituals and meetings of the Guild, but it might be new to you, Maddie.”

“I’ve seen similar things in Italy and in Paris,” Maddie said. “It always amazes me to see how beautiful piles of human bones can be.”

“Those who moved the bones did so with reverence,” Frank said. “The people who once lived in Mainz over the centuries became loving bits of artwork in the catacombs.” He pointed to the niche behind the altar/worktable. “In this niche rests a chest that was locked by Johannes Gutenberg. The test of a third degree Master is to unlock the chest. Normally this ceremony would only be seen by second degree Masters,” Frank stated sadly, “but there are only three of us, including Keith, and we have decided that our society is too small to strictly abide by that tradition. Only Rolf and I, among the members of the Guild, have ever observed this ritual, and only Errol Wadsworth—your grandfather, Maddie—among the living has ever completed the task. We will ask you to stand quietly in the shadows during Keith’s initiation and no matter what you see, do not disturb your brothers. And, if you are so inclined, pray that Keith is successful in completing his task.”

When Maddie and Günther had retreated to the shadows the remaining Guild members led Keith to the center of the chamber. Rolf wheeled himself to the front and turned to address Keith.

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