to undo it, but I can’t. The best I can do is make sure it never comes to light.” Lorenzo tapped ash from his cigar. “In 1431, shortly after he became Pope, Martin the Fifth signed an agreement known as the Concordat. The Church has been living with its provisions ever since. It was wrong to sign it, wrong to abide by it, but at this point the Church would be seriously damaged if its existence became known. Much more than the damage that’s already been done by continuing to follow it.”
Thomas frowned in thought. “The Concordat? I haven’t heard of it.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. It’s hidden even from you deeply learned scholars. It’s a secret even most cardinals aren’t privy to.”
“I see. But now that you’re Archivist and Librarian—”
“That’s what they think. But I was familiar with it already. I’ve known for some time.”
“This Concordat—it’s an agreement with whom?”
“I can’t tell you that. When you read it you’ll know, but until then— Thomas, I’m afraid of what it will do to you, to your faith, to hear me tell it without proof.”
Thomas stared, and then laughed. “My faith? I’ve been through that fire and out the other side. Thanks to you. Whatever this is about, it can’t be worse than that was.”
“You’re wrong.” Flatly, Lorenzo returned Thomas’s gaze. A silence stretched, and Thomas became aware of an unseen clock ticking in some distant corner.
Lorenzo shifted, puffed on the cigar again. “The Concordat is missing.”
“Missing?”
“The Vatican copy. The other party has evidently been able to keep track of theirs through the centuries—at least, I haven’t heard otherwise. Ours, however, seems to have vanished sometime after 1802. That’s the last time a comprehensive inventory was attempted. Though even then, I can’t be sure the records are accurate.” Lorenzo shook his head. “I told you: this collection is chaotic. Disastrously so.”
“But the renovation—the entire Library was closed for three years.”
“Renovated chaos is still chaos. That was all about electronic security chips, computer workstations, and bombproof bunkers. What’s here, and where it is—still anybody’s guess.”
The door opened and the young priest returned, bearing a silver coffee service and china cups. “Thank you, Father,” Lorenzo said. “You didn’t have to bring it in yourself. They tell me that’s what the valet is for.”
The priest smiled. “I had a sense you wanted a certain level of discretion, Eminence. And coffee is not so heavy.”
“A fine young man, that,” Lorenzo told Thomas once Father Ateba was gone. “He has a future here in Rome. Or he could go back to Cameroon, and he’ll become a bishop, without question. The future of the Church lies in Africa. In Latin America. In Asia! Do you know why?”
Thomas took the coffee Lorenzo handed him and added cream and sugar, marveling at the delicate porcelain. “You’re about to tell me, aren’t you?”
“To enlighten you, yes!” Lorenzo’s tone was self-mocking but he continued seriously. “Because they believe. It’s about faith with them—with us it’s logic, it’s reason, it’s rationalism. Other words for compromise. So-called fairness—accommodation!—they’ll be the death of this Church. Oh, wipe off that smile.”
“It’s a pleasure to hear you fume again, is all. Your Eminence.”
“Yes, fine. You think I’m Cardinal Chicken Little. Still, indulge me. This is serious business. I may be wrong, and you’re certainly entitled to keep that thought in your head as you do your work, as long as you do it. I need you to find the Church’s copy of the Concordat. That’s why I called you here. I had a search made when I took this office. No trace of it’s turned up. But we need to find it. Before someone stumbles over it by accident and everything comes out.”
Thomas sat back against the chair and let his gaze wander the high-ceilinged room. The
Thomas frowned in thought. “The Concordat? I haven’t heard of it.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. It’s hidden even from you deeply learned scholars. It’s a secret even most cardinals aren’t privy to.”
“I see. But now that you’re Archivist and Librarian—”
“That’s what they think. But I was familiar with it already. I’ve known for some time.”
“This Concordat—it’s an agreement with whom?”
“I can’t tell you that. When you read it you’ll know, but until then— Thomas, I’m afraid of what it will do to you, to your faith, to hear me tell it without proof.”
Thomas stared, and then laughed. “My faith? I’ve been through that fire and out the other side. Thanks to you. Whatever this is about, it can’t be worse than that was.”
“You’re wrong.” Flatly, Lorenzo returned Thomas’s gaze. A silence stretched, and Thomas became aware of an unseen clock ticking in some distant corner.
Lorenzo shifted, puffed on the cigar again. “The Concordat is missing.”
“Missing?”
“The Vatican copy. The other party has evidently been able to keep track of theirs through the centuries—at least, I haven’t heard otherwise. Ours, however, seems to have vanished sometime after 1802. That’s the last time a comprehensive inventory was attempted. Though even then, I can’t be sure the records are accurate.” Lorenzo shook his head. “I told you: this collection is chaotic. Disastrously so.”
“But the renovation—the entire Library was closed for three years.”
“Renovated chaos is still chaos. That was all about electronic security chips, computer workstations, and bombproof bunkers. What’s here, and where it is—still anybody’s guess.”
The door opened and the young priest returned, bearing a silver coffee service and china cups. “Thank you, Father,” Lorenzo said. “You didn’t have to bring it in yourself. They tell me that’s what the valet is for.”
The priest smiled. “I had a sense you wanted a certain level of discretion, Eminence. And coffee is not so heavy.”
“A fine young man, that,” Lorenzo told Thomas once Father Ateba was gone. “He has a future here in Rome. Or he could go back to Cameroon, and he’ll become a bishop, without question. The future of the Church lies in Africa. In Latin America. In Asia! Do you know why?”
Thomas took the coffee Lorenzo handed him and added cream and sugar, marveling at the delicate porcelain. “You’re about to tell me, aren’t you?”
“To enlighten you, yes!” Lorenzo’s tone was self-mocking but he continued seriously. “Because they believe. It’s about faith with them—with us it’s logic, it’s reason, it’s rationalism. Other words for compromise. So-called fairness—accommodation!—they’ll be the death of this Church. Oh, wipe off that smile.”
“It’s a pleasure to hear you fume again, is all. Your Eminence.”
“Yes, fine. You think I’m Cardinal Chicken Little. Still, indulge me. This is serious business. I may be wrong, and you’re certainly entitled to keep that thought in your head as you do your work, as long as you do it. I need you to find the Church’s copy of the Concordat. That’s why I called you here. I had a search made when I took this office. No trace of it’s turned up. But we need to find it. Before someone stumbles over it by accident and everything comes out.”
Thomas sat back against the chair and let his gaze wander the high-ceilinged room. The
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