In a matter of moments, Sam was whisked away to the amazing bookshop and its unusual proprietor that he had heard so much about. Jameson had managed to find an alley among some empty warehouses in New London where he could park the shop.
Rose, Mrs. Steers, and Sam stood outside in the
falling snow. Mrs. Steers knocked and
waited. It was just as Sam had imagined,
like something he had seen in illustrated Dickens’ novels. The windows were aglow with candles. The name was painted in black with gold trim. Rupert Jameson, Dealer of Rare and Unusual
Books and an Assortment of Other Strange and Mysterious Finds. And the falling snow just made it ever more
magical.
A shadow moved about, the door creaked open, a bell
tinkled, and there stood Jameson, also looking like he had stepped out of a
Dickens’ novel. Sam marveled at the
sight of him.
“Well, this is a great day for me. And this must be Master Henry.” Jameson stretched out his hand, welcoming
them to come in. Mrs. Steers motioned
for Sam and Rose to enter first.
Master Henry!
Another one, thought Sam.
Thrilled to finally see the fabled shop, Sam had never
seen so many old books in one place. He
didn’t know where to begin. The
pot-belly stove warming the whole room. The row of glistening crystal balls. The
stuffed peacock, peregrine, and parrot on their stands. Stacks of old photographs. The aisles in the back of the store seemed like
endless hallways leading to some far off unseen end.
Jameson, Mrs. Steers, and Rose started talking about
the recent attack, while Sam made his way to the cabinet labeled “books bound
in human skin.” He passed a gilt-framed painting of a woman wearing a purple
turban and sat under a portico. Slowing
to study the piece of art, the light from a nearby kerosene lamp reflected on
her eyes. With a kind face, she seemed to fix her gaze down at Sam.
Behind her, Sam could see a seaport. A tall ship sat docked at a pier. As he looked closer, he thought for a moment
that the ship’s sails rustled in the wind.
The white fluffy clouds in the sky began to blow away by an unfelt wind;
soon darker clouds pushed their way in.
Sam moved back watching the whole scene, unaware that the woman in the
portrait was actually looking at him. He
moved right and her head turned to look at him.
Lighting cracked in the background. Sam pulled back. A rainstorm moved in soaking the small
port. The ship swayed gently as waves
brushed against its sides. The sails
fluttered harder. Sam watched the
downpour blow away. The clouds broke up
and a few rays of sunshine brightened up the whole painting.
“Don’t worry, Sam,” said a voice from behind him. It was Jameson. “It’s an illusion created by a very rare
incantation that no one has mastered since the artist rendered this painting
back in the 1740s." Jameson brushed
away a cobweb from the corner of the frame.
"She was the wife of a town merchant and traveled the world. Eventually they lived in St. Augustine in
Florida. On the Atlantic Coast.”
“Really? Who
painted her?”
Jameson scratched his head. “I’m not exactly sure. The Club acquired the painting several years
ago and I’ve been researching past members for an artist, but so far no one has
surfaced. I do know about the
incantation that created the illusion. There are three other paintings like
this that we know of, as well as the ones that are said to be lost. Possibly destroyed by the Nazis during World
War Two.”
Fascinated, Sam couldn’t help but look back at the
woman. He waved at her, but she didn’t
respond.
“Come over here and look at this, Sam,” said Mrs.
Steers. Sam saw she held a copy of a
small book bound in dark leather. “I
suspect that you’ve been wanting to see this.
Jameson has kept it safe here at least for now.”
Sam’s eyes widened.
“Is that the book?” Sam reached
for it. Mrs. Steers treated it like a fragile
bird, handing it to him very gently. The
leather binding was in perfect condition.
“This was Albert’s copy,” said Mrs. Steers. “It’s one of the seven copies we know
about. Dr. Herkeimer has one copy in
very bad condition. Thank goodness for
that. We have four copies that have
taken us many generations of Club members to track down.”
Sam opened the book and read the title page. Gently, he thumbed through the pages, too
excited to focus on words. The brownish
pages felt old, yet supple. Sam finally
stopped to read a page. The incantation
had something about making salt water drinkable. The words were like the incantations he had
already learned.
Sam saw an incantation about making gold from stone. He quickly read the words which were easy to
remember. “Fac in hoc lapide auri.”
After repeating that incantation several times, he had
managed to memorize it. Then the title
of one incantation caught his attention.
An incantation for visiting the dead.
Just as he started to read the first of three pages of instructions, someone
banged on the door.
“Who could that be?” said Jameson. “I told only you where I would be.”
Mrs. Steers grabbed the book from Sam’s hands and held
it close to her chest. She stared at the
door then reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of notepaper and
pencil. She scribbled a quick note and
said a few words. Poof! The note was gone.
Rose pulled Sam next to her. Jameson looked out the window, but since it
was early evening in the winter, it was getting dark and he could see only a shadow.
Whoever it was banged on the door again only this time
it was louder and harder. Jameson stood near the door, not looking through the
porthole. “Who is it?”
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