The Book of Whispers

by Kimberley Starr

  Lance that can lead to faked death

  Give you the appearance of resurrection

  Reborn as King of Jerusalem

  King of Jerusalem. Here—right now, with the tower in place—Ramberti’s dream must seem finally within reach. And other lines make me freeze. Thanatos will call more souls. I can only defeat him by performing a counter-charm at the same time as his. There are lines about the falcon carrying the scroll. That means Luca and the book. And it says more about Luca too.

  The young falcon Conte attacks the dark priest

  And in the melee the young Conte dies

  Dies?

  Luca will die?

  I hear a cough and look up. A pair of strong arms grabs me from behind. Engrossed, I did not hear an approach after all.

  I reach for my bow, but it’s stolen from me and tossed beyond reach. An invisible guard binds my hands with rough rope as I gaze upwards. Into the eyes of Dragonus Ramberti.

  ‘Why, it’s the ugly nun,’ he says. ‘The one who can read. How convenient. Let her go, let her go.’

  A guard pushes me as he steps back, sending me sprawling over the pile of carpets. With my hands tied behind my back, I’m helpless.

  A loud slap sounds behind me.

  I roll away as quickly as I can. A guard staggers back, clutching his face. Ramberti stands, rubbing his right hand with his left. His face is red with anger.

  ‘You always take things too far,’ he says to the guard. ‘Now, leave us.’

  I use my shoulders and hips to push myself into a sitting position.

  Ramberti walks over. My heart beats wildly.

  ‘Turn around,’ he says.

  Not wanting my back to him, I shake my head.

  He reaches for my shoulders and heaves me to my feet.

  ‘Let me go!’ I say.

  His eyes widen. His pupils are black and deep. ‘I want to untie your hands.’

  I don’t believe him.

  ‘My guards go too far,’ he continues. ‘I will untie them. If you promise not to attack me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ He tilts his head to one side. ‘Why are you in my tent? We both know the answer, don’t we, Sister Suzan?’

  ‘I’m not a nun.’

  ‘You belonged to a convent.’

  ‘I lived there,’ I say, slowly.

  Ramberti shrugs his shoulders. ‘Be still, and I will untie you.’

  I turn. His fingers are cool. It takes a moment before the rope falls to the ground. Finally, I face him, rubbing my wrists.

  ‘I see you’ve brought me a present,’ Ramberti says in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘The book.’

  Horror sends me reeling. Of course Ramberti knows how we carry the book. He’s had plenty of time to notice details like that. ‘It’s not for you!’

  ‘It’s in the bag you are carrying. You are in my tent.’

  Ramberti reaches for my shoulder strap. I step beyond his reach.

  I step too quickly. My foot twists around a discarded scarf and I trip over. While I’m on the floor, Ramberti snatches the book bag.

  ‘That belongs to Luca!’

  ‘It does not.’ Ramberti opens the bag. ‘The Book of Whispers is mine.’

  CHAPTER 23

  Attack day

  INSIDE JERUSALEM

  Luca

  Still atop the wall, in the wide walkway behind the parapet, we wait for further orders.

  ‘Silence!’ roars a guard. More commotion follows from the siege tower. The wall is now secure. Someone important is climbing the tower to join us.

  Banner-bearing knights leading the way, Prince Bohemond struts out from the siege tower onto the wall. Below his golden hair, his armour has a highly polished sheen.

  ‘Pilgrims! We’re going in!’ he proclaims. ‘God wills it!’

  I stand guard as more junior knights begin their descent down rope ladders. A spray of arrows arcs protectively over the top of them—our archers aiming at Saracens running uphill to Jerusalem’s heart.

  The first of our men reaches the ground beside the old gate. Its doors fly open and triumphant knights emerge from the stairs.

  ‘To the other gates!’ one of them cries. ‘Let everyone in!’

  Around me, men erupt in cheers. ‘God wills it!’

  ‘God wills it!’

  Tension coils in the pit of my stomach like a snake about to strike. Despite the jubilation, this is one of an invasion’s most dangerous moments.

  Men clamber over the wall now, finding openings that lead to stairs and lowering more ladders. I reach one of the ladders and half slide down it. At street level, there’s a yell and a grating noise as the huge gate begins to open. The gate’s demon watches carefully through giant eyes.

  Around me, pilgrims race with swords and maces raised, hitting any fleeing person they can find. Bugles sound.

  ‘God wills it!’ cries Henry and the cry is taken up by others.

  ‘God wills it! God wills it! God wills it!’

  The great city of Jerusalem, which we have marched towards for years, opens before us.

  Once Christians resident in the city know what’s going on, they rush to open other gates. From each entrance runs a maze-like network of narrow alleys between low buildings. Messengers race along them from wall to wall with the news that the Jaffa Gate, the Damascus Gate, Herod’s Gate, have been opened, that good Christian pilgrims—minstrels and merchants, tanners and seamstresses, knights and servants—are entering the city and slaughtering every Saracen they find.

  ‘We won’t leave one of them breathing!’ Henry vows as we stalk a steep stone street, sliding down ramps designed for donkeys to pull carts up the steps.

  I stay Henry’s arm when he’s about to burst into a small sandstone building. ‘I hear a baby crying!’

  Henry laughs and pushes me away. ‘These people poisoned our wells! Pilgrim children died!’

  ‘They’re not all guilty.’

  ‘Even the children are Saracens, Luca. Help me here or find your own battle.’

  I follow Henry, hoping to subdue him. Right now, I don’t know what else to do. The house has only one small room, with a simple dirt floor. Henry strides in purposefully but, for different reasons, our sword arms both sink at the sight that greets us. Other pilgrim knights have beaten us here. The headless body of an elderly man sits at a rickety table, one skinny leg splayed out as if to kick the head lying near its outstretched foot.

  ‘Is no one else here?’ Henry asks.

  I step outside. The baby’s cry must have come from next door. But as I approach, a pilgrim knight drags a woman outside, his gloved fingers grasping her hair. Her skirt and veil are ripped.

  ‘Leave her!’ I command.

  Before I reach them, the knight plunges his dagger deep into the woman’s chest. Beside me, Henry laughs. I have to leave them. I’m powerless here.

  In the next house, a Saracen in a simple linen tunic has had his throat sliced open. His neck gapes red and wet, glistening like an extra mouth.

  ‘God wills it!’ cries a knight, searching the dead man’s pockets for coins.

  Demons circle above us, laughing with glee. I can’t hear the baby any more.

  The onslaught lasts for hours: street by street pilgrims crash into houses, claiming souls for God and gold for themselves. Roads become still more like veins: blood pours along drains at the centre of each. Bodies and body parts lie piled up against stone walls.

  I walk around numbly, in shock. Everywhere I look, I see more violence and murder.

  This is what my fellow pilgrims are capable of? This is what God wills?

  At one house I find a boy and a girl, dressed in rags, begging for their lives. Aged perhaps six and eight, their dirty faces are streaked with muddy tears. A woman—their mother?—lies dead near the doorway. Two pilgrim knights stand over them, swords raised. They’d kill the children for sport, it seems. One is Sir Oderisi, Narlo’s friend.

  ‘Be gone!’ I shout.


  The children run away.

  ‘You’re interfering!’ Oderisi declares, indignant.

  ‘There are plenty more houses to see!’ his partner yells. They both run off.

  ‘I know how you feel.’

  It’s Thanatos’s voice. He’s standing near the doorway. The two murderous knights pass him without seeing. ‘Frustrated?’ he asks me. ‘You’d like to follow the children to see to their safety, but they’ve already disappeared—Oh, dear.’

  Two high-pitched screams sound from the next house. The children’s escape was short-lived.

  ‘So much suffering here,’ Thanatos says. ‘I pity you, Conte. You’re not even enjoying it. You can’t feed on it. I want something from you. I want to know where your cousin is.’

  ‘Why should I tell you?’

  Thanatos ponders. ‘Perhaps I haven’t finished with those children yet.’

  ‘Aren’t they already dead?’ I demand.

  Thanatos smiles through his demonic pearly teeth. ‘Perhaps I can save them.’

  ‘But what do you want me to do?’

  ‘I want your cousin.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Narlo in days.’

  But Oderisi just ran off. Perhaps I can save those children.

  ‘I know who can find him,’ I tell Thanatos.

  I dart into the next house, and the next, and eventually find Oderisi, his arms full of looted treasures, walking from a burning building. Its doorway looks set to collapse.

  ‘Where’s Narlo?’ I demand.

  Sir Oderisi shrugs. His cheeks red with wine and the joys of battle and loot, he speaks easily. ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? Where?’

  Another shrug. ‘He fled. Percy was angry. He says Narlo lied. Narlo told him he was your heir. But Percy found out you have siblings and they’ll inherit ahead of Narlo.’ Oderisi laughs like this is a hilarious joke, and strides off after more loot. Thanatos tips his helmet at me and follows him down the street.

  Perhaps Percy thought Narlo was more likely to hand over the helm than I ever would be. Once I died.

  The burning timber doorway beside me rattles as though in a powerful wind. I try to step away but a force like arms won’t let me move. There’s a flash of wings, a moment of blinding pain and then…

  Nothing but darkness.

  Suzan

  We can hear the invasion’s roars and shouts, but Ramberti remains in the safety of the campsite. He rests the book on an ornate table near his pavilion’s centre post and sinks into a cushion-covered chair. ‘You’re wasting my time, ugly nun. I’m losing patience. I’ve got something to show you. I’m sure it will help you see things more clearly. Guard. Come here.’

  A guard slips back into the tent.

  ‘The bride,’ Ramberti says. ‘Bring her here.’

  The guard disappears.

  ‘What bride?’ I demand.

  ‘Ah ah ah,’ says Ramberti, shaking his head. ‘You mean, what bride, Monsignor.’

  I feel sick. I know who he means. A moment later, the guard brings her through.

  ‘This bride,’ says Ramberti. ‘I found her with the other women. Praying. I thought we might both enjoy her company.’

  Serafina’s hands are tied in front of her. A scarf is wrapped around her mouth, choking off any sound she might make. Ramberti settles more comfortably into his chair. He picks up a sharp knife from a nearby table.

  Serafina’s eyes are wide and, in the guard’s rigid grip, she’s shaking. Then she sees me and, I hope, understands she isn’t alone. The shaking stops.

  ‘Here she is,’ Ramberti says. ‘Now, Suzan. Tell me everything you know about this book, or I will kill her.’

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ I reassure Serafina. ‘We’ll leave here together, I promise.’

  Ramberti laughs. ‘I believe the book is specific about what needs to happen in Jerusalem. Read it to me.’

  I have no choice. I flip through the vellum pages, looking for Jerusalem. ‘It’s difficult,’ I tell him. ‘People have different names for the same places.’

  I find it. My finger shakes over the page.

  ‘What does it say?’

  I read that demons were created at the same time as people. I recognise Bible stories I heard back in Cappadocia. I find the countdown poem, easily.

  Now it ends, within this moon.

  ‘Tell me what you read,’ Ramberti says.

  I blink. This is how I can fight. Not with a sword, like Luca and Mattiolas, but by being aware of what I read, and careful with the truth.

  ‘Now.’ Ramberti slides his chair closer to mine. His breath smells like bad meat.

  Beneath my long robes, my knees wobble. ‘The words are not mine to read.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The book belongs to the Conte de Falconi,’ I say.

  Ramberti tips his head back and roars with laughter. He glares at the guard holding Serafina, daring him to laugh too. ‘De Falconi is dead. Give me the book.’

  Is Luca dead?

  There’s another laugh. This time it’s not Ramberti. Pearly hair and copper eyes appear in the tent’s canvas shade and Thanatos steps out of the shadows.

  ‘Good day,’ he says. ‘Delicious nun.’

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Ramberti demands of me.

  Behind him, Thanatos grins. ‘He can only see me when I choose.’

  ‘I’ll kill her,’ Ramberti insists, shaking Serafina.

  ‘He won’t kill her.’ Thanatos’s tone is as light as if he were speaking about the weather. ‘She’s the only pawn he has.’

  ‘How can I be sure?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m not holding her here for her own amusement.’ Evidently, Ramberti thinks the question was intended for him.

  Thanatos says, ‘We can have fun with Ramberti, can’t we?’

  ‘I don’t want to have fun,’ I reply.

  Ramberti frowns. ‘Ugly Sister, you speak to empty air. You’re quite mad. Tell me what’s in the book.’

  ‘You have the book?’ Thanatos sounds surprised. ‘Luca should have it.’

  I close my eyes. ‘It’s poetry, mostly.’

  Ramberti yanks Serafina’s hair, pulling her head back. She screams.

  ‘Get the book to me in Jerusalem and I’ll get you to Luca,’ Thanatos says, alarmed.

  ‘How can I trust you?’

  ‘The prophecy says the falcon has to take the book to Temple Knoll,’ Thanatos says. ‘You can trust that I need that to happen.’

  ‘Trust me?’ Ramberti demands, still unaware of Thanatos’s presence. ‘Why would you want to trust me?’ His face looks like one of the red ochre faces from Goreme’s rock-chapel walls. With an outstretched finger, he pushes Serafina’s pale curls out of the way and draws a line across her throat.

  ‘You’ll read more. Soon. First, I’m going into the city. I have a palace to claim. A destiny to fulfil. God’s destiny. Vox ecclesia, vox Dei. You will read for me, Suzan. While I’m away, the guards will see that you don’t leave. And if you don’t tell me what you find, I will kill the bride. Understand?’

  He stands. Thanatos steps closer, realising what’s about to happen.

  Ramberti closes the book.

  Only Luca can open it now. Wherever he is.

  Not realising what he’s done, Ramberti strides away.

  CHAPTER 24

  After the siege

  THE OLD CITY

  Suzan

  His guards stay with me all night and it’s matins before Ramberti returns for me. The Damascus Gate yawns open before us across a narrow footbridge. Ramberti drags me through it and down cobblestone alleyways crowded with bodies and running with blood.

  Despite Thanatos’s warning, I can’t stop worrying about Luca. I look out for him everywhere.

  ‘Jerusalem will be mine,’ Ramberti mutters as we walk. ‘It’s the glory God intended for me.’

  I have to keep treading carefully through the broken glass and pieces of clothing, beneath timber doorways that burn and
threaten to collapse, as we approach the city centre and the palace already bearing Ramberti’s banner.

  He stops. ‘Look!’

  I follow his finger through the narrow, smoking alleys. On a high, crenellated tower, a banner has been unfurled. Its intense stripes beat against the grey sky.

  ‘Raymond’s,’ Ramberti tells me. ‘He’s claimed David’s Tower. He thinks he’ll be king. We’ll sort that out. You, me and that book.’

  Ramberti pauses at a heavy timber door in a solid sandstone wall. A face peers over the top. One of his guards. The door swings open and Ramberti ushers me into what could be another world.

  I’ve never been in so grand a place. The contrast between here and the horrors outside feels like travelling with the ankh. From a vast tiled foyer, a curved staircase leads up to three floors of ornate balconies. Heavy doors stand open on each one, jewel-tinted light splashing through stained-glass windows and painting elaborate patterns on the floor.

  Ramberti leads me beneath the stairs and through a kitchen, into a dark storeroom. A small pallet rests near a shelf full of root vegetables.

  ‘To keep Serafina alive, stay here until I send for you.’ Ramberti gestures to a clean white linen tunic folded upon the pallet. ‘There’s water. Wash. And put on a clean shift so you’ll not…excuse me…offend my nose.’

  One burly guard says something to the others and, looking at me, they all laugh. Ramberti enjoys my discomfort. ‘I’ll call when I need you to start reading.’

  I feel myself flush. I’m trapped here. But all is not lost. Thanatos doesn’t have the book, and Ramberti can’t read it. All I have to do is work out where Luca is, and what to do next.

  After I’ve bathed, I lie on my pallet thinking of escape. The bell rings for mid-morning prayers and shortly afterwards guards lead me up that broad marble staircase to a large room with thick curtains and tapestries on the walls. Luca’s book rests on a table. Tutivillus sprawls beside it.

  Across the room, Ramberti sits on what looks like a throne. He’s reading a set of wax tablets, presumably the palace’s records. Beside him, a decorative fountain features a tiled vase overflowing into a blue and green pond. It’s peaceful and Ramberti looks very satisfied with himself. He eats dried dates from a painted bowl and stands slowly, picking up a sheet of parchment with images like the Hydra Luca described. He wants me to know he’s in control.