Book of Souls

We learned that God alone chooses the moment of our birth and our death, and by logic, all that transpires during our days on earth. We must, indeed, ascribe both prescience and predestination to God. When we attribute prescience to God, we mean that all things always were, and ever continue, under his eye; that to his knowledge there is no past or future, but all things are present, and indeed so present that it is not merely the idea of them that is before him, but that he truly sees and contemplates them as actually under his immediate inspection.

This prescience extends to the whole circuit of the world, and to all creatures. And it follows that God alone chooses whom to elect to bring to himself, not based on merit or faith or corrupt indulgences but on his mercy alone. The superstitions of the Papacy matter not. The greed and conceit of degenerate forms of Christianity matter not. All that matters is the gift of true godliness that I received that day, which set me on fire with a desire to progress to a purer doctrine founded on the absolute power and glory of God. I must count you as the man who caused me to be imbued with a singular and godly pursuit of all that is pure and sacred, and for that I remain your obedient friend and servant,

Ioannis Calvinus

Orleans, 1530

Isabelle put her pad down and simply delivered a breathless, “Wow.”

“This is a big deal, isn’t it?” Will asked.

“Yes, Mr. Piper, it’s a big deal.”

“How much is this puppy worth?”

“Don’t be such a capitalist! This has the highest academic value imaginable. It’s a revelation of one of the underpinnings of the Protestant revolution. Calvin’s philosophy of predestination was based on knowledge of our book! Can you imagine?”

“Sounds like big money.”

“Millions,” she gushed.

“Before we finish, you’ll be able to add a new wing onto the house.”

“No thank you. Plumbing, wiring, and a new roof will do nicely. Surely you’ll join me in a drink now.”

“Is there any more scotch lying around?”

After dinner, Will kept drinking, steadily enough to begin to feel his brain starting to vibrate harmonically. The notion of two down, two to go, reverberated in his mind. He was two clues away from finishing the job and heading home. The isolation of this drafty old house, this beautiful girl, this free-flowing whiskey, all of them were demonizing him, sapping his strength and resolve. This isn’t my fault, he thought numbly, it’s not. They were by the fire in the Great Hall again. He forced himself to ask, “Prophets, what about prophets?”

“Do you really have the energy to tackle the next one?” she answered. “I’m so tired.” She was slurring her speech too. She reached over and touched his knee. They were heading for a repeat performance.

“Name me some prophets.”

She scrunched her face. “Oh gosh. Isaiah, Ezekiel, Muhammad. I don’t know.”

“Any connections to the house?”

“None that come to mind, but I’m knackered, Will. Let’s get a fresh start in the morning.”

“I’ve got to get home soon.”

“We’ll start early. I promise.”

He didn’t invite her into his room-he had the willpower not to do that.

Instead, he sat on a lumpy bedside chair and clumsily texted Nancy: Clue #2 was behind a windmill tile. Another revelation. The plot thickens. On to clue #3. Know any prophets??? Wish U were here.

Twenty minutes later, as he was falling asleep, he didn’t have the willpower to prevent Isabelle from slinking in. As she slid under the sheets he grumbled, “Look, I’m sorry. My wife.”

She moaned and asked him like a child, “Can I just sleep here?”

“Sure. I’ll try anything once.”