his cigar in a crystal ashtray. “Do you think you can find it?”
“I have no idea. But why not leave it hidden?”
“You mean, since it hasn’t been found in all these years, assume it won’t be? For two reasons. First, we’re not sure Damiani—is that his name?—was talking about the Concordat. I’d hate to think he’d unearthed yet another document equally dangerous, and I’d like to know. For another, assuming it is the Concordat, it’s too big a risk. Maybe it’s been destroyed by now, but if it hasn’t, it could still be found. Someone will be digging a foundation or knocking down a wall, leafing through an old book or reframing a picture . . . No, what I need is either the thing itself or some believable proof it’s gone for good. Can you bring me that?”
“I really don’t know. Do you want me looking for the Concordat, whatever it is, or the document Damiani stole and hid, whatever it is?”
“Both. Pursue whatever trails make sense. But I have a feeling you might be right. Follow your poet. Find what he stole. If it’s the Concordat, you will have done your Church a great service.”
In the opulent room with the unseen clock faintly ticking, Thomas nodded. “I’ll start this afternoon.”
7
Standing in the dank silence of the bone-decked crypt, Livia Pietro struggled to find her voice. She’d been given the instructions of the Conclave, delivered by the Pontifex himself; no argument was possible, but still, she spoke. “My Lord. I can’t.”
“On the contrary,” the Pontifex replied calmly. “You will kill Jonah Richter, or we will. He is your Disciple. He is your responsibility.”
Livia felt faint. Of course he was right. She knew the Law. Her first transgression—bringing Jonah into the Community without prior permission—had been a major one, and it was by grace of the Conclave that she hadn’t been exiled for it. They wouldn’t be so lenient again.
“The search for the Concordat, right now, takes precedence over the search for Jonah Richter,” said the American, Horace Sumner. At that, Livia felt a spark of hope. Perhaps if she found the document and returned it, Jonah would be spared. He was impatient, yes, but he was still New, and he was young. He could be made to understand—to see that many others had thought through the position he’d taken and that the results of Unveiling would not be what he hoped.
Sumner went on. “As far as that, we’ve fallen into a bit of luck. A priest has recently arrived in Rome, sent for by the new Librarian of the Vatican. Father Thomas Kelly, from Boston by way of London. Father Kelly’s field is the history of the Church. His specialization is Italy in the nineteenth century.”
“The Cardinal is searching for the Vatican’s copy of the Concordat,” Cartelli said. “He had people comb through the collection when he arrived, and of course they didn’t find it. He knows when it was last seen, thus more or less when it disappeared. Our sources say he’s brought Father Kelly here because of that expertise, but we think the priest doesn’t know the nature of the document.”
Livia looked from Cartelli to Sumner. “An odd coincidence. The timing, I mean.”
“No.” Sumner shook his head. “It’s more likely that Jonah Richter, seeing the Cardinal make such a serious effort to locate the Concordat, feels his hand’s been forced and so is forcing ours.”
The scholar in Livia, trying to stay calm, focused on an unanswered question. “Why, in fact, is the Cardinal making this effort? From what you say, the Archivists before him have been content to let this secret lie.”
The Pontifex spoke. “Just as we have always been divided between those who are grateful for the Concordat and willing to abide by its provisions and those who believe it constricts us and that the time is past for Unveiling, the Church has had for centuries its own internal debate. Among those in the Church who know about the Concordat, all—
“I have no idea. But why not leave it hidden?”
“You mean, since it hasn’t been found in all these years, assume it won’t be? For two reasons. First, we’re not sure Damiani—is that his name?—was talking about the Concordat. I’d hate to think he’d unearthed yet another document equally dangerous, and I’d like to know. For another, assuming it is the Concordat, it’s too big a risk. Maybe it’s been destroyed by now, but if it hasn’t, it could still be found. Someone will be digging a foundation or knocking down a wall, leafing through an old book or reframing a picture . . . No, what I need is either the thing itself or some believable proof it’s gone for good. Can you bring me that?”
“I really don’t know. Do you want me looking for the Concordat, whatever it is, or the document Damiani stole and hid, whatever it is?”
“Both. Pursue whatever trails make sense. But I have a feeling you might be right. Follow your poet. Find what he stole. If it’s the Concordat, you will have done your Church a great service.”
In the opulent room with the unseen clock faintly ticking, Thomas nodded. “I’ll start this afternoon.”
7
Standing in the dank silence of the bone-decked crypt, Livia Pietro struggled to find her voice. She’d been given the instructions of the Conclave, delivered by the Pontifex himself; no argument was possible, but still, she spoke. “My Lord. I can’t.”
“On the contrary,” the Pontifex replied calmly. “You will kill Jonah Richter, or we will. He is your Disciple. He is your responsibility.”
Livia felt faint. Of course he was right. She knew the Law. Her first transgression—bringing Jonah into the Community without prior permission—had been a major one, and it was by grace of the Conclave that she hadn’t been exiled for it. They wouldn’t be so lenient again.
“The search for the Concordat, right now, takes precedence over the search for Jonah Richter,” said the American, Horace Sumner. At that, Livia felt a spark of hope. Perhaps if she found the document and returned it, Jonah would be spared. He was impatient, yes, but he was still New, and he was young. He could be made to understand—to see that many others had thought through the position he’d taken and that the results of Unveiling would not be what he hoped.
Sumner went on. “As far as that, we’ve fallen into a bit of luck. A priest has recently arrived in Rome, sent for by the new Librarian of the Vatican. Father Thomas Kelly, from Boston by way of London. Father Kelly’s field is the history of the Church. His specialization is Italy in the nineteenth century.”
“The Cardinal is searching for the Vatican’s copy of the Concordat,” Cartelli said. “He had people comb through the collection when he arrived, and of course they didn’t find it. He knows when it was last seen, thus more or less when it disappeared. Our sources say he’s brought Father Kelly here because of that expertise, but we think the priest doesn’t know the nature of the document.”
Livia looked from Cartelli to Sumner. “An odd coincidence. The timing, I mean.”
“No.” Sumner shook his head. “It’s more likely that Jonah Richter, seeing the Cardinal make such a serious effort to locate the Concordat, feels his hand’s been forced and so is forcing ours.”
The scholar in Livia, trying to stay calm, focused on an unanswered question. “Why, in fact, is the Cardinal making this effort? From what you say, the Archivists before him have been content to let this secret lie.”
The Pontifex spoke. “Just as we have always been divided between those who are grateful for the Concordat and willing to abide by its provisions and those who believe it constricts us and that the time is past for Unveiling, the Church has had for centuries its own internal debate. Among those in the Church who know about the Concordat, all—
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