Read Online The Black Book of Secrets by F E Higgins - Free Book Online Page B

bring about change, his very presence had
already had a noticeable effect on the villagers. After all, he
had come to Pagus Parvus a stranger, opened his shop and
in a matter of days he had gained the respect and admiration
of all around him. We were all drawn to him, like the
moths that fluttered noisily outside the lighted windows at
night. Some people make their presence known with loud
voices or grand gestures, but Joe didn’t have to do that. He
was a soft-spoken man who didn’t waste words. But you
could just feel when he was near.
    As for how Joe made a living, well that was a complete
mystery to me. After all, what sort of business was it to give
money away? How else could you explain what he wasdoing? The window display was growing daily, but although
he paid for many items, I rarely saw him sell anything.
    And then there was the Black Book of Secrets. Pagus
Parvians were quick to take advantage of the service he
offered and at midnight Joe was handing out bags of coins
to all and sundry. There were many secrets in Pagus Parvus.
During the day the place seemed nothing more than what
it was, a small mountain village. It was only in the hours of
darkness that it became obvious all was not well. All those
wakeful nights I spent looking down the hill, I knew that
behind the windows each glowing lamp, each flickering
candle told a tale. Shadows moved across the curtains, silhouettes
paced in the dark, pressing their knuckles against
their foreheads in frustration and guilt.
    Joe listened intently to every tale of woe and, regardless
of the confession, he never passed judgement. I know he
paid well, but I did not know upon what basis Joe calculated
a secret’s value. I did ask him once where his money came
from and he simply replied, ‘Inheritance,’ and made it clear
the conversation was over.
    Elias Sourdough came up one night from the baker’s and
admitted that he had been cutting the flour with alum and
chalk. That was worth four shillings. When Lily Weavercame by and said she had been cheating her customers out
of cloth by using a short measure, he gave her seven. Even
Polly paid us a visit, sneaking out of Ratchet’s house late one
night to admit to stealing his cutlery. Joe, and I, knew this
already. Polly had pawned a knife and fork only two days
previously but it wasn’t until she was gone that we noticed
Jeremiah’s initials on each piece. I had to admire Polly’s
cheek. She knew we couldn’t put them in the window
(though wouldn’t I have loved to have seen Jeremiah’s face
at the sight of his own cutlery on display). Instead Joe used
them for his dinner.
    Each night Joe stoked up the fire and set the bottle of
liquor and two glasses on the mantel and I took the Black
Book from its hiding place and filled the inkwell. Then we
sat and waited, he in his chair by the fire and I in mine at
the table. There was hardly a night went by without a knock
on the door as the church bell struck twelve. I played my
part. As the villagers gave their confessions, I sat in the
shadows and wrote it all down, word for word.
    Sometimes it was hard not to shout out at what I was
hearing. Every so often I would sneak a look at Joe sitting
by the fire resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, his
fingers slightly touching. His face was like a blank page,whatever was said. Very occasionally he would bend back
his forefingers for a split second, make circles in the air with
the tips and then bring them back together again. But not
once did his expression change.

 
    Chapter Seventeen

Horatio Cleaver
    ‘He’s a murderer,’ hissed the oldest Sourdough. ‘He takes
his chopper in the middle of the night and goes hunting for
fresh meat. Man meat.’
    ‘And he puts it in his pies,’ added the middle brother
while the third, the youngest, began to whimper.
    The three boys stood outside the butcher’s window
watching as he sharpened his knives. They loved the scrape
of the blade on metal and to see the sparks that flew