though I am not sure whether I believe it to be entirely true. So you will not mind proving that it is truly yours?’
Sam hesitated. This caused the abbot to frown. ‘Why so reluctant? It is a fair test, the one she told me to use. Make him wear his crown, she said. No other man dares.’
‘I don’t blame them,’ murmured Sam, almost inaudibly. Carefully he placed the crown on his head and looked at the abbot. ‘I am not mad,’ he said. ‘I am who I claim to be.’
Still the abbot wasn’t satisfied. Leaning forward, inches from Sam’s nose, he peered into his eyes.
Finally he said, ‘Yes. It isn’t just a trick of the light. You came,
you
came.’
Sam retrieved his dagger and put away the sword, ignoring the disbelief that lingered in the other’s voice. ‘You said you were expecting me.’
‘Yes. There was a backup system.’
‘Tell me. I mean, everything.’
‘Now that is a lot to tell. And I fear I only know parts of it.’
Sam sat down again. ‘Then tell me what you do know. That, for you at least, will be everything.’
‘Ah.’ The abbot smiled. ‘You even speak like she said you would. I imagined your voice – it came very close.’ Wrapping his robes around him and acquiring a serious tone, he assumed the storyteller’s pose. The abbot, Sam decided, was one of those rare beings: a man who reported everything as received by his eyes and ears, not as his mind had interpreted it.
‘Six months ago,’ he began, ‘your friend and her companion arrived at my monastery. He was younger, and where she was quiet he was loud, and where she was serene he was always on edge, striving to do something else. So when she requested that I take him into my order for a while, I was doubtful. But my librarian, whom she knew, spoke well of them. In the end I did not regret my decision to take her companion… Andrew’ – he pronounced the word with difficulty – ‘into my order. He was a meticulous worker, and when he wasn’t with the librarian his time was spent helping my monks with their work. He often visited the sick and went with the monks into the lowlands to pick up supplies. He stayed here… oh, for two out of every four weeks, unless the weather prevented him from travelling. We just called him Andrew. He never gave any other name.’
An immediate clue
, thought Sam.
Weather wouldn’t have stopped one of us. We would have used the Portal.
‘He was always sending postcards – in Cantonese – to England, to France, but mostly to America. He seemed to be looking for something. Each time he returned from the lowlands he’d be carrying more books. Our library nearly doubled. One day I asked him, “Since you have to go down the mountain to buy all these books, why bother to come back up?” He only laughed. “Because up here I am safe. Down there other eyes are watching.” And he was particular about security. No one outside the monastery was to see his face. In the city he would always go through at least four dealers to get one book that he could have got by direct means for half the price. He gave the impression of a man on the run. Except when here, working all hours with my librarian.’
‘What changed?’
The abbot made a judicious noise. ‘First, let me tell you of the backup to this security. He explained it fully to me, you see. “If I’m ever caught out at my own game, there’s someone else. I am, after all, only mortal. Accidents do happen. But he – he will see this thing to its conclusion.” He didn’t have to do anything, he said, because you’d find your way here of your own accord. If something happened to him, Freya would contact you. If something happened to Freya, he was certain you would try to find out what. And once you got on to a scent, he said, you didn’t stop hunting for anything. He seemed very confident that you’d come. I was to give you full cooperation, but to be utterly certain it was you. He described you, your eyes, your
Sam hesitated. This caused the abbot to frown. ‘Why so reluctant? It is a fair test, the one she told me to use. Make him wear his crown, she said. No other man dares.’
‘I don’t blame them,’ murmured Sam, almost inaudibly. Carefully he placed the crown on his head and looked at the abbot. ‘I am not mad,’ he said. ‘I am who I claim to be.’
Still the abbot wasn’t satisfied. Leaning forward, inches from Sam’s nose, he peered into his eyes.
Finally he said, ‘Yes. It isn’t just a trick of the light. You came,
you
came.’
Sam retrieved his dagger and put away the sword, ignoring the disbelief that lingered in the other’s voice. ‘You said you were expecting me.’
‘Yes. There was a backup system.’
‘Tell me. I mean, everything.’
‘Now that is a lot to tell. And I fear I only know parts of it.’
Sam sat down again. ‘Then tell me what you do know. That, for you at least, will be everything.’
‘Ah.’ The abbot smiled. ‘You even speak like she said you would. I imagined your voice – it came very close.’ Wrapping his robes around him and acquiring a serious tone, he assumed the storyteller’s pose. The abbot, Sam decided, was one of those rare beings: a man who reported everything as received by his eyes and ears, not as his mind had interpreted it.
‘Six months ago,’ he began, ‘your friend and her companion arrived at my monastery. He was younger, and where she was quiet he was loud, and where she was serene he was always on edge, striving to do something else. So when she requested that I take him into my order for a while, I was doubtful. But my librarian, whom she knew, spoke well of them. In the end I did not regret my decision to take her companion… Andrew’ – he pronounced the word with difficulty – ‘into my order. He was a meticulous worker, and when he wasn’t with the librarian his time was spent helping my monks with their work. He often visited the sick and went with the monks into the lowlands to pick up supplies. He stayed here… oh, for two out of every four weeks, unless the weather prevented him from travelling. We just called him Andrew. He never gave any other name.’
An immediate clue
, thought Sam.
Weather wouldn’t have stopped one of us. We would have used the Portal.
‘He was always sending postcards – in Cantonese – to England, to France, but mostly to America. He seemed to be looking for something. Each time he returned from the lowlands he’d be carrying more books. Our library nearly doubled. One day I asked him, “Since you have to go down the mountain to buy all these books, why bother to come back up?” He only laughed. “Because up here I am safe. Down there other eyes are watching.” And he was particular about security. No one outside the monastery was to see his face. In the city he would always go through at least four dealers to get one book that he could have got by direct means for half the price. He gave the impression of a man on the run. Except when here, working all hours with my librarian.’
‘What changed?’
The abbot made a judicious noise. ‘First, let me tell you of the backup to this security. He explained it fully to me, you see. “If I’m ever caught out at my own game, there’s someone else. I am, after all, only mortal. Accidents do happen. But he – he will see this thing to its conclusion.” He didn’t have to do anything, he said, because you’d find your way here of your own accord. If something happened to him, Freya would contact you. If something happened to Freya, he was certain you would try to find out what. And once you got on to a scent, he said, you didn’t stop hunting for anything. He seemed very confident that you’d come. I was to give you full cooperation, but to be utterly certain it was you. He described you, your eyes, your
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