The castle felt bigger than ever, the route to the main exit never-ending. There was no one in the dining room and the florist had gone. Outside, all the vehicles had been cleared from the drive. I stood on the steps. It was freezing, but sweat beaded on my hairline and under my arms.
The housekeeper said, “If you wait here, the car will come round in a minute.”
It felt like I waited for an eternity. It was dusky out there, the moon visible, rising above the trees just like it had on my first visit here. Floodlights snapped on, bringing the building to life as darkness swaddled it. Eventually the car came, and the driver hustled me in quickly. I didn’t know her, but she seemed harassed. I sat in the back and hugged the manuscript to my chest, trying to look calm, to quiet my breathing. The car took off down the drive, much faster than usual. I heard the crackle of a voice from the driver’s earpiece, and she braked hard.
Lights and noise filled the sky as a chopper appeared suddenly from behind the trees and then banked sharply and landed on the field beside the driveway, coming down right in front of us, its blades bowing the grass, severing leaves from nearby trees. As soon as the blades stopped turning, the driver hit the gas and my head snapped back. The gates opened automatically as we approached at speed. I looked back as we slowed momentarily to turn onto the lane.
Magnus was getting out of the helicopter. I was sure it was him, even in the semidark. And as he did, Tracy emerged from the castle to meet him. When he reached her, they kissed like lovers.
I was shocked but not surprised. It confirmed what he’d hinted at and it intensified my disgust for him. When I turned back to facethe front the driver was watching me in the rearview mirror. I had the feeling I wasn’t supposed to have seen any of that, but they hadn’t got me out of there in time.
As we drove through the countryside, I hugged the manuscript tighter. Surely I wasn’t going to get away with taking it. What if Magnus wanted to look at his books while he was here?
I’d seen a similar manuscript sell at auction. Whether Mum was right about the glossary and the Voynich or not, I’d just made off with roughly three million pounds’ worth of my father’s property.
Sid
Alone in the cottage for the first time in a few days, Sid felt claustrophobic and afraid. The shocking news about Diana’s death didn’t help.
It weighed on him that he hadn’t told Anya what he’d read online about Folio 9, but he told himself he’d done the right thing. A single comment on a message board wasn’t proof that Folio 9 was forged, of course, but if he mentioned it, it could get under her skin and fuel her insecurities, which was the last thing she needed. He still felt it was best to see what more he could find out before saying anything. He was very much hoping to discover that it wasn’t true. If it was, Anya would be deeply embarrassed at best, and, more likely, devastated.
But first, he wanted to talk to Mel, the private investigator, again. He wanted to tell her what Paul had said about Zofia, because he didn’t think she knew that another young woman had gone missing. On his way to the lab he knocked on her door. She didn’t answer, and when he peered through the window the cottage looked empty. He’d call or message her later, he decided, if she wasn’t back when he got home.
Moving on, he found himself glancing over his shoulder as he walked and scanning faces in every group of students he passed or stood among as he waited to cross the road.
When he reached the lab he found a quiet cubicle and tried to revisit the dark web chat about Folio 9, but it had been deleted.
Every nerve in his body jangled. He tried more searches, desperate to learn anything useful about Folio 9 or about Zofia, but couldn’t find anything. It was getting dark as he walked back to the cottage. He called next door again but Mel wasn’t back. Anya wasn’t home, either, and he hadn’t heard from her.
He searched for Mel’s card but he’d mislaid it. While he waited for her and for Anya, he went to his office and attempted to work on Lucis, but all he could think about was the possibility that the walls had eyes. Their little paradise was a panopticon.
The waiting got so painful that he took a walk. Students were in the shops, buying dinner, or gathering in pubs and bars. He wandered the center for a while, but the crowds were too much, and he found himself drawn to the quieter streets, then heading in the direction of Paul and Giulia’s home. He thought he might try to talk to Paul again. He needed more clarity. At the very least it would be helpful to have Zofia’s surname.
There were lights on in their house. As Sid approached, Giulia appeared at the window, looking out, and Sid froze. He was partially hidden by parked vehicles, and the birch in her yard had just enough leaves on it to obscure her view of him. He watched her as she stared up the street toward the ruins. It was a shock to see her in person now that he knew she wasn’t who she said she was. It had been one thing to learn it, but it felt more real, more of a deception now that she was in front of him. She looked put together, as usual, though her expression was peculiarly blank and hard, and he wondered how Diana’s death had affected her. She didn’t seem to see him, but Sid stayed stock-still until she’d lowered the blinds, then backed away so as not to have to walk past the house and took the long route back to the cottage.
The windows in Mel’s cottage were dark and Anya still wasn’t home. He waited awhile, nerves building, and sent Anya a message to which she didn’t reply. His anxiety escalated.
He was searching again for Mel’s card, when blue light filled the cottage suddenly, bright and eerie, pulsating, startling him. It came from the back lane. His stomach lurched even though he knew it probably had nothing to do with him. He ran out of the back gate and toward the commotion.
An ambulance and police car were parked in front of the cathedral complex, lights revolving. The chain securing the gates had been severed and two police officers were on site, walking toward the ruins with flashlights. A dog walker watched from the pavement, his face pale with shock. “I saw someone on top of the ruins,” he said. “Walking toward the tower. And—” He was visibly shaken up.
“Jesus,” Sid said. He entered the site. Nobody told him not to. The police raked the ruins with the beams of their flashlights. Sid followed, his heart in his mouth. The flashlight beams converged to illuminate the stump of a column. A body lay broken over it, limbs abnormally crooked, neck bent back unnaturally over the edge of the stone, eyes open but seeing nothing.
It wasn’t Anya. He almost vomited with relief, but as he got closer, he realized it was Paul, and he did retch then, painfully and as silently as he could, before backing away into the darkness so he wouldn’t be seen.
It was enough. Enough people dying, disappearing. He needed to find Anya now.
At the gate, more people had gathered, rubbernecking. Sid avoided it. He climbed the wall to get out and tried to call Anya as he walked the few hundred yards home. She didn’t answer. His nerves were stretched so taut he felt like he might snap, but as he got closer to home, he saw her getting out of a car at the end of Gregory Lane and the relief almost brought him to tears.
He waited in the shadows until the car had pulled away before he stepped out, then he put his arm around her as if he was hugging her and whispered in her ear that they had to leave. Now. He wasn’t going to risk them staying another moment in that place.
In the filmy darkness he could see the whites of her eyes. Beneath his arm he could feel her tension. She nodded and tilted her head to whisper back.
“We grab only what we need. We’re not coming back.”
He stiffened. It was like she already knew they had to go. He dreaded to think why, but there was no time to ask.
Inside, he picked up their passports, his laptop, and the car keys and couldn’t think of anything else that mattered. All he needed was Anya.
