The Black Book of Secrets (13 page)

After I finished reading the coffin maker’s secret we both
looked at each other guiltily.

‘Poor beggar,’ said Polly quietly. ‘It wasn’t even his
fault.’

‘There’s a little bit more,’ I said. ‘Right at the bottom
of the page.’

‘What does it say?’

‘Quae nocent docent.’

Polly looked blank.

‘I think it must be Latin.’

‘Latin?’

‘It’s another language. Joe uses it sometimes. He says
you can say more with fewer words. He likes that.’

‘Well, you’d better not ask him what it means,’ said
Polly quickly, ‘or he’ll know you’ve been snooping.’

I said nothing. I couldn’t help feeling Joe would know
anyway. I closed the book and put it away.

‘I don’t want to hear any more,’ said Polly and I was
glad.

So we sat and waited for the storm to ease. Just the two
of us, in front of the fire drinking soup and wrapped in
blankets to keep warm. I think we both knew we were
wrong to read the book, but Polly tried to shrug it off with
a laugh.

‘He’ll never know,’ she said, trying to convince herself.
‘Don’t fret so much.’

By early evening the wind had died down and the snow
had eased. Polly stood up and stretched. ‘I’ll be off,’ she said.
‘Mr Ratchet’ll be looking for his supper.’ Before she went she
looked at me nervously.

‘You won’t tell him, will you, Ludlow?’

I shook my head. ‘If he finds out, I’ll say it was just
me.’

She grinned. ‘He’ll forgive you. Just stare at him with
your big green eyes.’

Somehow I didn’t think that trick would work on Joe.

Four days later, although the worst of the storm was over,
it was still dark and wintry and very cold. I kept the shop
locked up. The hours passed slowly. I fed Saluki and swept
the floor and dusted the display. I had plenty of time to
think about what Polly and I had done and by the fourth
day I had managed to convince myself that I need not have
worried. After all, no one had come to any harm. We
didn’t do it out of malice, just curiosity. At the back of my
mind was the nagging doubt that Joe had set a trap for me
and, although it hurt me to think that he didn’t trust me,
it was worse to know that he was right. But did that make
it fair? Was there any person out there strong enough to
resist looking?

The night before his return I was nearly asleep by the
fire when I thought I heard a noise outside. By the time I
opened the door on to the street there was no one there,
only footprints under the window, large footprints. I knew
who made them, not from their size but from the smell that
lingered in the air. A Jeremiah Ratchet smell.

On the fourth morning Saluki set up a tremendous
croaking and a few seconds later someone began rattling at
the door. ‘Ludlow,’ called a voice, ‘let me in.’

It was Joe. I was very pleased to have him back and I only
hoped that I could hide my guilty feelings. He came in,
looked the place over and clapped me on the back.

‘Good to see you kept the shop in order in my absence,’
he said. I had made sure that everything was in its place.

‘There was a terrible storm,’ I said before I could stop
myself. ‘Polly came by and sat with me for a while.’ I
hadn’t meant to tell him that but when Joe looked at me
in a certain way I just had to say what was on my mind. I
stared at the floor. I didn’t want to reveal any more of my
thoughts.

‘I know,’ he replied.

‘You know?’ Had he read my mind?

‘I’ve just seen her in the street, going to the butcher’s.
She told me all about it.’

My heart shuddered. I hoped that was all Polly had said.

‘Anyone come knocking?’ Joe asked.

I shook my head. ‘I think Ratchet was sniffing around
though.’

‘Shouldn’t surprise me. He’s an inquisitive fellow. He’s
certainly not the first to spy at the window.’

Joe didn’t just mean me. I remembered when Dr Mouldered
came up, Joe told me afterwards he was certain
someone had been outside. But right now I was interested
in Ratchet. ‘Why don’t you do something about him’ I
urged. ‘Is it really so unreasonable of the villagers to ask?’

Joe sighed. ‘You must be patient, Ludlow.’

‘Why? What are we waiting for? Do you know what’s
ahead?’

This seemed to amuse him. ‘Have you seen my crystal
ball,’ he asked. ‘If you have, I should very much like to know
where it is.’ He was half laughing, but then he became serious
again.

‘I am no seer, Ludlow, believe me. If I was, do you think
I would be doing this?’ He gestured around the room.

I wasn’t going to let him off the hook this time. ‘What
exactly are you doing, Joe? Who are you? Why did you
come here?’

He leaned back on the counter and stretched his long
legs out in front of him. ‘I am just an old man, Ludlow,
trying to help those in need.’

‘But the book, the money. You give all the time. What
do you get back?’

‘It doesn’t have to be about taking. Don’t you think it’s
enough to give? Why should I expect anything in return?’

I was beginning to understand, but it was not easy. I suppose
I was still a thief at heart. My whole life in the City
had been about taking for myself and taking care of myself.

‘You’ve seen their faces,’ Joe continued. ‘You know how
they feel when they come at midnight and how they feel
when they leave. Why should I want more than that?’

‘But they want more,’ I said.

‘And that, Ludlow, is precisely my problem.’ He turned
on his heel and went into the back room. I followed him.
He pulled the Black Book out from under the mattress and
stood by his bed looking around.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, ‘perhaps we should put the
book somewhere else.’

I couldn’t imagine where. The room was hardly big
enough for a choice of hiding places.

‘Aha,’ he exclaimed after a few moments. ‘I have just
the place. You can look after it.’ He swooped down and slid
it under my cushion.

I was quite taken aback and struggled not to show it.
‘Do you think it will be safe?’

‘In your hands?’ said Joe with a wink. ‘I’m sure of it.
And now, speaking of books, there is a volume I wish to
have. Come with me.’

And so we went to see Perigoe Leafbinder.

Perigoe Leafbinder had been in the book business for over
thirty years, as she liked to remind anyone who came into
her shop, and if a book had been printed, she knew about
it. Perigoe made a reasonable living but not necessarily
from the locals (despite there being little else to do in the
dark evenings but read, few had acquired the skill). She
operated a very efficient delivery service, by means of a
horse and trap, to the north side of the City, where lived
the rich and idle who bought books purely to demonstrate
their style and intellectual superiority. Perigoe had learned
early that it was not difficult to make money out of other
people’s vanity.

She was a small woman, almost a dwarf, with a pinched
face and a rather crooked smile. In recent months her left
eye had developed an irritating twitch, which increased
when she was nervous, a state she was in most of the time,
with the result that she was constantly winking. Her flared
nostrils supported a pair of round spectacles, almost as if
they had been designed for the purpose. They made the
arms of her spectacles redundant for they never fell off even
when she bent over. Since her husband’s death some three
years previously Perigoe had taken to wearing black almost
exclusively and, given her size and apparel, was often
difficult to see in the dim light. She took great pleasure in
emerging from dark corners and tapping browsers on the
back, making them jump.

Joe entered the shop, leaving Ludlow outside, and stood
for some minutes in the silence surveying his surroundings.
He had to stoop somewhat and when he took off his hat his
wild hair brushed the oak beams that traversed the ceiling.
The walls were shelved and freestanding bookcases stood
close together in parallel lines across the floor. Joe walked
between them, running his long fingers across the dark
spines of the books. There seemed no particular order to
the place: novels sat beside scientific works, art beside
mathematics, antiquarian volumes beside new.

Perigoe appeared as if from nowhere and poked him
with a wizened forefinger.

‘Mr Zabbidou, I believe.’ Her voice was almost inaudible.
Perigoe always spoke as if she thought someone was
eavesdropping.

‘Indeed I am,’ replied Joe. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Mrs
Leafbinder.’ He took her bloodless hand in his and kissed it
with great ceremony.

Perigoe allowed her hand to linger, remembering for an
instant a time when she might have blushed at such a gesture.

‘How may I help you?’ she asked and winked three
times.

‘I seek a book,’ said Joe, ‘about animals, amphibians in
particular, by S. E. Salter. I was hoping that you might possess
such a volume.’

‘Well, I believe I do,’ said Perigoe and glided across the
floor, almost as if she was not in possession of feet, to find
it. She returned quickly and handed a book to Joe, a slim
volume with a hard cover and colour plates. He held it
firmly between thumb and forefinger and looked her deep
in the eyes. Perigoe found it difficult to avert her gaze.

‘I thought you might wish to share a drink with me,’ he
suggested. ‘Tonight, perhaps?’

Perigoe nodded slowly and her eyelid flapped like a
sheet in the wind. She wanted to look away but for some
reason she was unable. Soft music filled her head, like early-morning
birdsong, and her bony fingertips were beginning
to prickle as if she had been stung by nettles.

‘At midnight?’

Perigoe nodded again.

‘Until then,’ said Joe, breaking the spell, and he went to
the door. He held up the book.

‘How much do I owe you?’

Perigoe’s heart was fluttering like a trapped moth and
she had to steady herself on a shelf. ‘There’s no charge,’ she
whispered.

Joe reached for the doorknob as a dark shadow on the
other side filled the frame. He could hear the sound of heavy
breathing and moments later Jeremiah Ratchet burst in like
an over-fermented bottle of ale popping its cork. When he
saw Joe he snorted scornfully. Joe merely stepped back to
allow him entrance, tipped his hat in greeting and slipped
out without a backwards glance.

As they made their way back to the shop Ludlow wondered
what business Jeremiah had with Perigoe. Surely he
was not a man of letters. Ludlow tried to read the title of
the book Joe now held, something about amphibians, but it
was obscured by the folds of his cloak.

To the outsider, compared to most others in the village Perigoe
Leafbinder had a good life. She ran a successful business
and did not want for money. She had enjoyed her married
life, and now she was equally satisfied with widowhood. But
still she stood under the three golden orbs at midnight. Like
so many of her fellow Pagus Parvians, she harboured a
ruinous secret that would not leave her be. She raised her
arm in the light of the expectant three-quarter moon.

Joe opened the door before she could knock.

‘Mrs Leafbinder,’ he said, ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

Perigoe glided in silently and Joe led her to the back
room.

‘So what is it you do up here late at night?’ she asked
and her eyelid twitched rapidly.

‘I buy secrets.’

Perigoe adjusted her spectacles nervously as she
considered what she had just heard. Finally she said, ‘I
have a secret I’d like to sell. Will you take it?’

‘But of course,’ replied Joe and handed her a glass. ‘I am
sure that any secret of yours would be of the highest quality
and worth a good sum of money.’

Perigoe blushed and winked twice, took a small sip of
the syrupy liquid and began.