The Scribe by Antonio Garrido Read Free Book Online Page A

Korne’s behavior, but Gorgias suspected his words stemmed from more than some common fit of anger. He thanked them for their intervention and left to continue his search.
    After walking around the perimeter of the site, he observed that the fire had not only devastated the workshops and Korne’s home, but also the storerooms and adjoining stables. Fortunately, there were no animals in the stables, and as far as he knew the storerooms contained no grain, so the losses would be limited to the value of the buildings. Both buildings would surely be condemned, for the fire had started to vent its rage on their roofs.
    He noticed that the wall between the courtyard and the workshops was still standing, and he remembered that Korne, fed up with so many thefts, had ordered the primitive palisade to be replaced with a stone wall. Thanks to that decision, it appeared that the area between the wall and the pools had been saved from the flames.
    A trembling hand touched Gorgias on the shoulder. It was Bertharda.
    “What a tragedy. Such a great tragedy!” she said, tears in her eyes.
    “Bertharda, for the love of God, have you seen my daughter?” he asked with desperation in his voice.
    “She saved my life. Do you hear me? She saved me.”
    “Yes, yes, I hear you. But where is she? Is she hurt?”
    “I told her not to go in. To forget the books. But she ignored me.”
    “For goodness’ sake, Bertharda, tell me where my daughter is,” Gorgias insisted, shaking the woman by the shoulders.
    The woman stared at him but it was as if her red eyes were focused on another world.
    “We came out of the workshop, escaping the flames,” she explained. “In the courtyard she helped me scale the wall. She helped me until she could see I was safe, and then she said she had to go back for the codices. I shouted at her not to go, to climb the wall with me, but you know how headstrong she is,” she sobbed. “She went back into the workshop among those terrible flames andthen suddenly there was a crashing sound and the roof fell in. Do you hear me? She saved me and then everything collapsed.”
    Gorgias turned in horror and ran headlong into the wreckage. The embers sizzled and crackled as the grayish smoke spread slowly into the sky like a sign announcing the macabre event.
    If he had been thinking clearly, he would have waited for the fire to die out, but he could not wait another second. He dodged the rafters that were in his way and went deeper into the chaos of crossbeams, stanchions, and buttresses, ignoring the flames that licked his limbs. His eyes were stinging and the heat burned his lungs. He could barely see his own hands in the cloud of ash and embers floating in the air, but it did not stop him. Striding on, he shoved aside uprights, corbels, and frames, screaming Theresa’s name over and over.
    Suddenly, as he was trying to find his bearings in the smoke, he heard a cry for help behind him. He turned and ran across the embers, but as he reached some earthenware jars he saw the cry for help came from Johan Shortfoot, son of Hans the tanner. The youngster was just eleven years of age and his torso was severely burned. Gorgias cursed his bad luck, but quickly bent over the boy only to see that he was trapped under a crossbeam.
    A quick glance was enough to understand that if he did not help him at once he would inevitably die, so he gathered his strength and pulled on the boards that pinned him to the ground. But as fate would have it, the beam would not budge. He tore a piece from the bandage on his arm and used it to wipe the sweat from the boy’s face.
    “Johan. Listen to me. I’m going to need help to get you out of here. My arm is wounded and I cannot move these boards alone. I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Can you count?”
    “Yes, sir. I can count to ten,” he said with pride.
    “Well, that’s marvelous. Now I want you to breathe through this bandage, and every five breaths, shout your name as loud as