Read Online The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell, Dustin Thomason - Free Book Online Page B

seem to notice the pronouns changing in Stein’s language.
    “What is it?” I say more assertively.
    “It’s the diary of the portmaster from Genoa,” Paul says. His voice is quiet, his eyes circling the script on each page.
    I’m stunned. “Richard Curry’s diary?”
    Paul nods. Curry was working on an ancient Genoese manuscript thirty years ago, which he claimed would unlock the
Hypnerotomachia.
Shortly after he told Taft about the book, it was stolen from his apartment. Curry insisted Taft had stolen it. Whatever the truth was, Paul and I had accepted from the beginning that the book was lost to us. We’d gone about our work without it. Now, with Paul pushing to finish his thesis, the diary could be invaluable.
    “Richard told me there were references to Francesco Colonna in here,” Paul says. “Francesco was waiting for a ship to come into port. The portmaster made daily entries about him and his men. Where they stayed, what they did.”
    “Take it for a day,” Bill says, interrupting. He stands up and moves toward the door. “Make a copy if you need to. A hand copy. Whatever will help finish the work. But I need it back.”
    Paul’s concentration breaks. “You’re leaving?”
    “I have to go.”
    “We’ll see you at Vincent’s lecture?”
    “Lecture?” Stein stops. “No. I can’t.”
    It’s making me nervous, just watching how twitchy he is.
    “I’ll be in my office,” he continues, wrapping a red tartan scarf around his neck. “Remember, I need it back.”
    “Sure,” Paul says, drawing the little bundle closer to him. “I’ll go through it tonight. I can make notes.”
    “And don’t tell Vincent,” Stein adds, zipping up his coat. “Just between us.”
    “I’ll have it back for you tomorrow,” Paul tells him. “My deadline is midnight.”
    “Tomorrow, then,” Stein says, flicking the scarf behind him and slinking off. His exits always seem dramatic, being so abrupt. In a few lanky strides he’s crossed the threshold where Mrs. Lockhart presides, and is gone. The ancient librarian places a wilted palm on a frayed copy of Victor Hugo, stroking the neck of an old boyfriend.
    “Mrs. Lockhart,” comes Bill’s voice, fading from a place we can’t see. “Good-bye.”
     
    “It’s really the diary?” I ask as soon as he’s gone.
    “Just listen,” Paul says.
    He refocuses on the little book and begins reading out loud. The translation proceeds haltingly at first, Paul struggling with the Ligurian dialect, the language of Columbus’s Genoa, fused with stray French-sounding words. But gradually his pace improves.
    “High seas last night. One ship . . . broken on the shore. Sharks washed up, one very large. French sailors go to the brothels. A Moorish . . . corsair? . . . seen in close waters.”
    He turns several pages, reading at random.
    “Fine day. Maria is recovering. Her urine is improving, the doctor says. Expensive quack! The . . . herbalist . . . says he will treat her for half the price. And twice as quickly!”
Paul pauses, staring at the page.
“Bat dung,”
he continues,
“will cure anything.”
    I interrupt. “What does this have to do with the
Hypnerotomachia
?”
    But he keeps shuttling through the pages.
    “A Venetian captain drank too much last night and began boasting. Our weakness at Fornovo. The old defeat at Portofino. The men brought him to the . . . shipyard . . . and strung him from a tall mast. He is still hanging there this morning.”
    Before I can repeat my question, Paul’s eyes go wide.
    “The same man from Rome came again last night,”
he reads.
“Dressed more richly than a duke. No one knows his business here. Why has he come? I ask others. Those who know anything will not speak. A ship of his is coming to port, the rumor goes. He has come to see that it arrives safely.”
    I sit forward in my chair. Paul flips the page and continues.
    “What is of such importance that a man like this comes to see it? What cargo? Women, says the