The School of Night Read Free Page B

scratching across the paper as I read them.
    Hee wold not be the first louer so to be served by Kit, who wold burn Hotte and Cold in the space of but one breth and who cold conjure up proofs for the Deuil or our Savior, howsoever the winde tourned him. Many was the time Chapman grew most greeued at some heresie, only to bee asured that Kit spoke but in jeste, as was his wont.
    Yew will excuse mee, I trust, for laboring in this veyne. I cold faynde noe bettere plaster for my woundes than memorie. In parlous Times, it is grete joye to thincke vppon our homelie Schoole, where wee were glad to gathere, and where your tvtelarie Genius outsvnned ever Star.
    Accompanyed with my best wishes, from
    And even before I got to the closing, I could see that all-too familiar signature:
    Your most asured frinde and humbell sarvant,
    W Rawley
    Derum Howse
    This 27 of March
    â€œWalter Ralegh,” I said faintly.
    I looked up. In the half-light, the old man’s eyes glittered like fish scales.
    â€œOh, it’s much more, Mr. Cavendish. It’s what you and Alonzo have been searching for all your lives.”
    â€œAh, well, as to that—”
    â€œMy dear boy, there’s no need to take that air with me. I’ve just shown you definitive proof that the School of Night existed.”
    â€œSo it would seem,” I allowed. “On first inspection.”
    â€œAnd tenth and twentieth inspection, too, I assure you. Say what you like, Mr. Cavendish, this is an exceptional historical find. I suspect it might form the springboard for quite a—quite a splendid academic treatise. Such as might restore a man’s career.”
    He paused, before carrying on in a breezier vein.
    â€œUnfortunately, neither you nor I can restore anything with a mere digitized copy. A nine-year-old could produce the same thing on his family’s computer. No, to forward our joint purposes, we will , I’m afraid, require the original.”
    I stared down at that paper, checkered with creases. The digitized words rose up once more: Our homelie Schoole, where wee were glad to gathere .
    And then again I remembered Alonzo’s last message to me.
    â€œMay I keep this?” I asked faintly.
    â€œOf course.”
    It went straight into the pocket of my jacket. I gave it two quick pats; I almost thought I heard it coo.
    â€œWell, Mr. Styles, I can promise you this. Over the next few days, as you know, I’ll be sorting through Alonzo’s papers. If your document is there—well, let’s just say I’ll keep a weather eye out. How does that sound?”
    â€œ Weather eye ,” he said, musingly. “That’s a lovely expression. To my ear, it lacks urgency.”
    â€œI could be more urgent,” I said. “If the situation called for it.”
    A brief pause. And then a laugh, bounding across the Tudor beams.
    â€œWith the right incentive, is that what you mean, Mr. Cavendish? I should have thought an entrée back into academia was incentive enough.”
    â€œWho says I want to go back?”
    He grinned at me, frankly admiring. “So academia’s loss is commerce’s gain. Very well, I shall offer you a retainer of ten thousand dollars. Another ninety thousand dollars when you return the document to me. Or perhaps, in light of the prevailing exchange rates, you’d prefer euros?”
    But once I heard those numbers, I was beyond considering exchange rates—or even Walter Ralegh. In no particular order, I was thinking about the rather terse letter from my landlord’s attorney; my ’95 Toyota Corolla, which needed a new belt transponder and which was not strictly speaking mine; the glove compartment of said car, currently crammed with overdraft notices. (In certain moods, I used them for Kleenex.)
    â€œDollars will do,” I said.
    He leaned toward me.
    â€œAnd you’re sure you don’t have weightier projects to command your attention?”
    This was my