Arcanum by Simon Morden Read Free Book Online Page B

shelf. He looked around again, making absolutely sure he couldn’t be spotted by anyone, anyone except the master librarian, and he was always asleep until lunch.
    He pressed the satchel into the gap, pinned it close with the book, then reshelved the heavy folios. He shuffled back to inspect his handiwork, and was satisfied. Those particular titles probably hadn’t been moved for the better part of a century, and it was unlikely they’d be disturbed for another hundred years. All he had to do was remember where he’d put it.
    He went back to his desk, but still clarity eluded him. He’d hidden the unicorn’s horn. Now he had to discover why Büber had found two of them, without their attendant unicorns.
    He needed fresh air. The library was windowless, and, with only the one main door that stayed mostly closed, was still and quiet and musty. Even the walls of the building were powdery with age: the Romans had worshipped their gods here, in their pantheon. That hadn’t suited German ways; they instead raised great pillars of wood in forest clearings and on rock outcrops under the open sky. The statues of Jupiter and Mercury had been turned out and cast into the river, but the space had remained, unused and unloved until one of Gerhard’s ancestors decided on a whim that he wanted a library.
    Gods bless him for doing so.
    Thaler got up from his desk again, and carried his outdoor shoes down the creaking staircase to the ground floor. From there, he made his way to the entrance hall, passing the huge desk that blocked the way to visitors – not that there were ever many, or even a few – and the dozing form of Glockner, the head usher, as crumpled and dusty as the books he supposedly guarded.
    He kicked off his library slippers, nudging them back to a pair against the stonework of the hall, and eased on his shoes. As he fumbled his fat fingers into the heels, he looked up at the vast dome, the encircling galleries, the heavy lights on their solid chains, the stadia of shelves beneath. His lip trembled for a moment, before he stiffened it.
    It could be brilliant, with a little more care, a few more librarians, a touch more of the prince’s money. They could do only so much with the meagre resources they had, and that grieved him. When he was the Master, he’d go to Gerhard and tell him so.
    The front doors were heavy, studded with iron, dark with pitch. It took genuine effort to lift the latch and pull the ring. The outside poured in through the crack, and Thaler had to keep the door moving until it was wide enough to get his bulk across the threshold. He turned, and strained again until the door banged shut.
    There, that should wake Glockner.
    He was under the colonnaded portico of the pantheon, in shadow and cold. Out in Library Square, a fountain played with the spring breezes, and over in the corner, a sausage seller was setting out his stall. In comparison to the inside, the square was teeming with activity. Carts, more or less steered by their drivers, rumbled across the cobbles, and busy people with baskets and sacks crossed from one street to another, disappearing up narrow alleys and emerging from doors.
    Distraction and familiarity, that was what he needed.
    He turned left, down the hill. The cobbles were still glistening with melting frost, and it was chilly enough in between the tall town houses to make him wrap himself tightly in his black librarian’s gown.
    Sunlight was striking the eaves of the east-facing roofs, so he chose to walk down to the quay. There was little heat in the spring sun, but it would be something, and the river didn’t trap the air like the narrow alleyways of the Old Town.
    He threaded his way by the most direct route, which is to say not direct at all, and suddenly popped out between two high walls onto the quayside. Two long barges were being loaded, bundles and crates passed up from carts and onto the flat-bottomed boats by a chain of shirt-sleeved men. A third was undergoing