The Library of Shadows by Mikkel Birkegaard Read Free Book Online Page B

on the back of his neck quivered.
    'This is the Campelli collection,' said Iversen as he vanished into the darkness beyond the door. A moment later the lights went on and Jon stepped inside. The low-ceilinged room was approximately 30 square metres, and the floor was covered with a thick, dark carpet. In the middle of the room stood four comfortable-looking leather chairs around a low table made of dark wood. The walls were covered with bookshelves and glass cabinets filled with books in various bindings. Most of them had leather spines, and the indirect light from the top of the shelves bathed the books and the rest of the room in a soft, golden glow.
    Jon whistled softly. 'Impressive.' He let his hand slide over the books on the nearest shelf. 'Not that I know much about it, but I have to admit it's an amazing sight.'
    'I can assure you that for those in the know, the sight is no less impressive,' added Iversen. He smiled proudly as he let his gaze roam from shelf to shelf. 'The collection was put together over the centuries by your father and your ancestors. Many of the works have travelled around most of Europe before ending up here.' With great care he pulled out a volume and caressed the darkened leather with his fingertips. 'If only I could hear it speak,' he said to himself. 'A story within a story.'
    'Is it valuable?'
    'Very,' replied Iversen. 'Maybe not in terms of cash, but it has a high sentimental and bibliographic value.'
    'So, is this the big secret?' asked Jon.
    'Part of it,' replied Iversen. 'Sit down, Jon.' He pointed to the leather chairs and went over to shut the door. With the door closed it felt as if they were inside a glass bell. No sounds seemed able to penetrate the atmosphere of the library, and Jon had the feeling that no one outside would hear them, no matter how much they yelled or shouted. He sat down in one of the leather chairs and placed his elbows on the armrests with his hands clasped in front of him.
    Iversen sat down in a chair across from Jon and cleared his throat before he began.
    'First of all, you need to know that what I'm about to say is something that your father would have told you at some point – just as Luca was initiated by his father, Arman. He should have done it long ago, but the climate in your family hasn't been the most conducive to confessions.'
    Jon didn't say a word, and the expression on his face didn't change.
    'But let's not go into that,' Iversen went on. 'Though I'd like to say that since things are the way they are, I'm proud of the fact that I'm the one who is privileged to tell you what you're now going to hear.'
    Iversen's voice quavered a bit, and he took a deep breath before he continued. 'You've experienced personally how unusually good your father was at reading stories aloud, just as his father was. I myself, in all modesty, am rather good at it, but nothing in comparison with Luca.' Iversen paused. 'So what do you think makes someone good at reading aloud, Jon?'
    In spite of all the intervening years, Jon still knew Iversen too well to be surprised by the question. He felt himself carried back in time to all the occasions when Iversen, enthroned in the green leather chair behind the counter, had asked Jon about the stories he had heard read aloud. Always penetrating questions about what Jon thought of the stories, the descriptions, the characters.
    'Practice, empathy and acting skill, to a certain degree,' he replied without taking his eyes off Iversen's face.
    The man across from him nodded. 'The more a person reads, the better he gets at finding the tempo and knowing how to pause at the right moments. As he gains more experience, the language flows more easily from his lips, and he can devote more attention to the two other traits you mentioned: empathy and acting skill. It's no coincidence that actors are often the ones who read stories on the radio.'
    Iversen leaned towards Jon. 'But some people have an extra card to play, so to speak.' He paused