The Book of Secrets

XXXII

Strassburg

‘This is too dark.’

‘Nobody to spy on us.’ Drach scooped a cobweb from one of the roof beams. A hapless spider dangled from his hand, its legs spinning silk in mid-air.

I peered around the dusty basement. In front of me, about head height, I could see cartwheels, hooves and feet trudging past through the windows that looked out at the street. Those would need covering with clouded glass to allow in light while leaving passers-by oblivious. It was not the place I would have chosen to produce finely detailed work, but Drach seemed delighted by it.

‘And then there is the expense,’ I cautioned. ‘Why pay more for this basement when the house in St Argobast has all the space we need?’

In truth, the upkeep of my little household by the river was costing me more than I had expected – most of the income from my annuity. Meanwhile, the bulk of the loans had already gone on ingredients for the ink, tools for the workshop, copper sheets, coal, papers… The demands on my purse were bottomless. And now Drach insisted we needed a second workshop for the press – which we still did not have.

‘Where do the leather tanners tan their hides?’ Drach demanded.

‘In the tanners’ field outside the walls.’

‘So the stench does not foul up the city. But where do the leather workers and saddlers manufacture their wares?’

‘Here in Strassburg.’

‘To be closer to their customers. We should do the same.’ He pointed up and left, vaguely describing the direction of the cathedral. ‘Here we are within pissing distance of the heart of the city. And where the heart is, there also will our riches be.’

A creak sounded from the stair. It was the landlord, a large man named Andreas Dritzehn, stooping low to clear the beams. On first acquaintance, other men often deferred to him on account of his size and rank; later they found that he craved nothing more than other people’s good opinion and would endure much to avoid offence. Though judging by the size and solidity of his house, he was not so obliging as to pass up opportunities for profit.

‘Is everything satisfactory?’ He had a growth on his throat which made his voice perpetually husky.

‘Perfect.’ Drach spoke before I could say anything. ‘It suits our business exactly.’

It is too dark, too expensive and redundant for our needs, I wanted to say. At least it might have got us a reduction on the rent. But I could not contradict Drach. I stood there awkwardly and said nothing.

Dritzehn peered at us. ‘What did you say your business was?’

‘Copying,’ I said.

Dritzehn waited, hoping for more. I stared Drach into silence and said nothing.

‘So long as you do not light fires or make too much of a smell.’ Dritzehn flapped his hand in front of his nose. ‘My last tenants here were furriers. They had not dried the skins properly and they stank like the dead.’

Outside, dung spattered onto the street from a passing horse. One of the balls rolled into the gutter, tumbled down through the window and landed on the floor.

We crossed the square to Hans Dunne’s goldsmithing shop. I looked up at the cathedral, rising out of its scaffolding like a woman shedding her dress. I marvelled at it. To my mind, the intricacy of the scaffolding, its perfection in its humble purpose, was almost as beautiful as the stonework it supported. When I suggested this to Kaspar, he scoffed.

‘Ropes and poles and ladders? Beauty comes from life: from lust, folly, laughter, misery.’

‘How can misery be beautiful?’

Kaspar pointed out a cripple begging alms by the cathedral door. He had no legs; his right arm had been lost at the elbow. He sat on a low cart which he pushed along using a forked piece of wood lashed to his stump. A seizure had frozen half his face in a slack mask, while the other half was scratched and scarred where he had tried to shave himself.

‘He’s grotesque. Pitiful, not beautiful.’

Kaspar grabbed my shoulder. ‘But you feel alive. Doesn’t he make every limb in your body sing with gratitude simply for existing. How can that not be beautiful?’

It was the sort of strange, unsettling sentiment that Kaspar occasionally voiced when he wanted to be provocative. I had learned to ignore him, and hide my disquiet as best I could.

When we reached the shop, Kaspar bypassed the counter and let us in by the side door. Bolts and locks meant little to him. He possessed almost nothing except his talent, but treated the world as if all was his. He examined a sapphire ring while we waited for Hans to finish with his customer.

‘I have found a man to build you a press,’ said Dunne when he had completed his sale. ‘Saspach the chest maker. He says it will cost six gulden with a wooden screw, or eight with iron.’

‘It must be iron,’ Kaspar insisted. ‘Must it?’ I asked, with a heavy heart and an ever-lighter purse.

‘You know it must. The greater the pressure, the clearer the image. A wooden screw would grow loose – or snap altogether.’

Before I could argue further, Dunne had reached into his cabinet and pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. It was the size of a small book, though when he handed it to me the weight was considerable.

‘This is the first batch.’

I unwrapped it. Insider were a dozen sheets of copper, rolled smooth and no thicker than a sword blade.

Dunne coughed – a polite sound that was becoming all too familiar to me. I sighed.

‘Of course, you will have to be paid.’