Book of Souls

The snow had stopped falling in the evening, and as the students made their way back to their dormitory after final chapel, the bright moonlight was making the surface of the courtyard snow appear like it was studded with millions of diamonds. Edgar looked over his shoulder and saw that Jean was making a beeline to follow him. For a skeptical soul, he was certainly overcome with a zestful enthusiasm.

Jean was on his heels when Edgar entered his room, and once the candles were lit, he hovered as Edgar retrieved the book from his chest.

“Find the date,” Jean urged him. “Twenty-one February, come on!”

“Why so are you so excited, Jean? You do not believe in the book.”

“I am anxious to expose this fraud, so I can return without distraction to my more productive studies.”

Edgar snorted. “We shall see.”

He sat down on his bed and tilted the book to catch the light. He flipped the pages furiously until he found the first entry for the twenty-first of the month. He stuck his finger at the spot and flipped forward until he saw the first notation of the twenty-second. “My goodness,” he whispered, “there are names aplenty for a single day.”

“Be systematic, my friend. Start from the first and read to the last. Otherwise, you will waste our time.”

In ten minutes, Edgar’s eyes were red and dry and the fatigue of a long day was catching up with him. “I am more than halfway through, but I fear I will miss something. Can you finish the task, Jean?”

The two boys traded places, and Jean slowly moved his finger down the page from row to row, name to name. He turned a page, then another, blinking rapidly and silently mouthing all the names, some of them difficult or impossible to decipher owing to the multiplicity of languages and scripts.

Then his finger stopped.

“Mon Dieu!”

“What is it, Jean?”

“I see it, but I can scarcely believe it! Look, Edgar, here-21 February 1537 Fremin du Bois Natus!”

“I told you! I told you! Now what do you say my doubting French friend?”

And then, a quarter page below he spied this: 21 February 1537 Jacques Vizet Mors.

He tapped the entry with his finger and bade the amazed Jean to read it also.

The spasm began in his diaphragm and rose through his chest into his throat and mouth. Jean’s sobs alarmed Edgar until he realized his friend was shedding tears of joy.

“Edgar,” he exclaimed, “this is the happiest moment of my life. I now see, in one instant and with absolute clarity, that God foresees all! No amount of good works or prayer can force God to change His holy mind. All is set. All is predestined. We are truly in His hands, Edgar. Come, kneel with me. Let us pray to His Almighty Glory!”

The two boys knelt beside each other and prayed for a long time until Edgar slowly lowered his head against his bed and began snoring. Jean gently helped him onto his mattress and covered him with his blanket. Then he reverentially returned the large book to the chest, snuffed out the candles, and silently left the room.

ISABELLE WORKED FOR an hour making a careful translation onto a lined pad. Calvin’s handwriting was no better than a chicken scrawl, and the old French constructions and spellings challenged all her linguistic skills. At one point she paused and asked Will whether he’d care for a “little drinkie.” He was sorely tempted, but he resolutely declined. Maybe he’d give in, maybe he wouldn’t. At least it wasn’t going to be a snap decision.

Instead, he decided to text a message to Spence. He assumed the fellow must be crawling out of his skin, wondering how he was getting on. He wasn’t inclined to deliver blow-by-blow progress reports-it wasn’t his style. For years at the Bureau, he drove his superiors to distraction by holding his investigations close to the vest, offering up information only when he needed a warrant or a subpoena, or better yet, when he had the case all wrapped up in ribbons and bows.

His thumbs were absurdly large on the cell-phone buttons, and the mechanics of texting never came to him naturally. It took an inordinate amount of time to send the simple message: Making considerable progress. 2 down 2 to go. No guarantees but hopeful. 1 thing certain. We now know a lot more than we did before. U won’t be disappointed. Tell Kenyon that John Calvin is involved! Hope to be back in NY in a couple of days. Piper.

He hit SEND and smiled. It hit him: all this sleuthing around the old house, the intellectual thrill of the chase: he was enjoying himself-maybe he’d have to rethink his notions of retirement, after all.