The Library of Shadows

20

After Tom Nшrreskov told them about the Shadow Organization and Luca's involvement, Jon had tried to reprogram his brain with the new information. After spending twenty years feeding it with speculations, allegations and anger, it felt as if he now had to switch the two halves of his brain around in order to find the true meaning. It was something he had to do alone, and after dropping Katherina off in front of Libri di Luca, he went straight home to his flat.

He unlocked the door, took off his jacket and went into the living room. The cleaning woman had been there, judging by the scent and the way the lifestyle magazines were stacked neatly on the black coffee table. The afternoon sun was shining through the newly washed windows, making him squint as the light reflected off the white floorboards and white walls. He went over to the black leather sofa and sat down with a sigh. The only other piece of furniture in the living room was a low grey bookcase along the opposite wall. On top stood a wide-screen TV and surround-sound system, taking up most of that wall. The wall behind him and the spaces between the windows were dominated by small black banners printed with Chinese characters in silver and red.

Jon leaned forward, picked up the stacks of magazines and set them on the floor. He then shoved them under the sofa without looking at them. The last thing he wanted to do right now was read.

As Jon sat on the sofa with his eyes fixed on the blank TV screen, the sun sank behind the rooftops and softer light filled the room. He found himself immersed in a swirl of questions and theories that refused to let him go. He went back and forth endlessly between his own childhood experiences and Tom Nшrreskov's story. Hunger finally made him get up from the sofa and go out to the kitchen, where he threw together a meal from food he found in the cupboards. Then he dragged himself off to bed.

After a sleepless night Jon decided to go to the office. Partly so he could think about other things, and partly to re-establish contact with his former life, which now seemed so distant that he needed to see whether it really existed or was just a dream.

Jenny gave him a friendly nod when he arrived, but she didn't say anything, and Jon thought he glimpsed a mixture of relief and concern in her eyes. He found out the reason for her concern an hour later when he was summoned to Halbech's office.

'Hello, Campelli,' said Frank Halbech in a businesslike tone after Jon had closed the door behind him and sat down on a chair in front of his boss. 'Nice of you to show up.'

Jon, who was prepared to defend himself for taking time off, nodded. 'Yes, there were still some things to take care of following my father's death, and since the Remer case can't move forward as long as the main player won't give us the information we need, I thought it would be okay.'

Halbech's expression didn't change, but he gave Jon a searching glance.

'I've tried to get him to answer my queries,' Jon went on. 'But he's always either unavailable or he keeps mixing up other things in the case that have nothing to do with the charges.'

'That doesn't match up with what he told me,' said Halbech, leaning back in his office chair with his arms crossed. 'I spoke to him yesterday, since you weren't here. He wants you off the case.'

Jon did his best to hide his surprise.

'Remer claims that you seem uninterested, lazy, that you're not taking the case seriously. According to him, he's been available the whole time, and he was the one who had to contact you to get some sense of what was going on.'

Jon shook his head. 'That's not at all what happened. Remer's the one who's been impossible to reach. He doesn't even answer his emails.'

'Well, you've done something to piss him off, Campelli,' said Halbech, leaning forward. 'Remer puts a lot of money into this firm. So much that we can't afford to lose him because of the family matters of one of our co-workers. Of course it's regrettable that your father died, but you can't let that affect your work.'

'And I don't think I have,' said Jon. 'I can show you the correspondence that-'

'Right,' Halbech cut him off. 'I'm familiar with the correspondence. Remer read some of it to me, and I have to admit that I had expected you to use a more professional tone with our best client.'

Jon looked at him wide-eyed.

'Heread it to you?' he asked.

'Yes,' Halbech confirmed, sounding annoyed.

'On the phone?'

'No,' replied Halbech, clearly annoyed now. 'I told you that he was here yesterday. He had copies of your correspondence, and he gave me a few examples, and I must say that…'

Jon was no longer listening; a shocking realization forming in his mind. He pictured Remer sitting in the same chair where he now sat, reading aloud to Halbech, the co-owner of the law firm, who would have listened carefully and receptively to what the firm's notorious cash-cow had to say. Jon could guess how the tone of the text might seem, given his absences from work this last week, but what if Remer was a transmitter? Halbech wouldn't have had a chance.

As he sat there explaining how Remer had reviewed the material for him, Halbech seemed genuinely convinced that he was spouting his own appraisal, as if he had in fact formed an opinion about the material and had independently drawn his own conclusions.

'… and so we've decided to take you off the case,' Halbech finished saying.

'Okay,' said Jon with resignation. He started to get up.

'In fact,' said Halbech, raising his voice, which made Jon stay in his chair. 'In fact, we've had to take another look at your employment with the firm.'

Jon stared in shock at the man behind the desk.

'This office has no use for individuals who don't take our clients seriously,' Halbech elaborated without blinking. 'The clients come to us because they're in a bind, in one way or another, and it's our bloody obligation to treat them professionally. If word gets around that we're not serious about our work, whether it's true or not, we're finished in this business.'

'What is it you're trying to say?'

'That you're fired,' said Halbech curtly without taking his eyes off Jon. 'Relieved of your duties. Pack up your personal possessions and leave the building immediately.'

Jon knew there was nothing to be done. It wouldn't do any good to try to argue or explain. Remer had won this round, that much was clear. Jon looked down at his hands, as if they were what had prevented him from working. He noticed a rage growing inside him. Halbech was not the enemy here – he merely thought he was protecting his business. Jon nodded.

'Fine,' he said and got up.

'Jenny will escort you out,' said Halbech with a nod towards the door. 'Goodbye, Campelli.'

Jon turned on his heel without saying goodbye and walked over to the door. Outside Jenny was waiting, tears in her eyes.

'I'm so sorry, Jon,' she said at once.

'It's okay,' said Jon, giving her a hug. She was trembling, and she held onto him for a long time until Jon gently cleared his throat.

Jenny reluctantly released him. 'I have to ask you for your mobile and car keys,' she explained, stifling a sob and giving him an apologetic look.

Jon nodded. 'Let's get it over with.'

Ten minutes later he stood out on the pavement with no job or car or phone. He hardly knew which was the greatest loss. His job had secured him a certain standard of living, and the car had allowed him to get around, but without a mobile he felt very alone, cast out from the flow of information and unable to reach anyone who might help him. That was of course a load of crap, he persuaded himself. But it still took a long time before he found a public telephone that was functioning, and when he did find one, he decided to forget it. Partly because he didn't know what number to ring – all his phone numbers were stored in the mobile that he had just turned in – and partly because it suddenly seemed much too public to be talking on a pay phone in the middle of Strшget, the pedestrian street – much worse than if he'd used his mobile in the same place.

Jenny had slipped him a taxi voucher, but he left it in his pocket and walked home instead. On the way he had an opportunity to gather his thoughts. The rage was still hovering inside him like a stomach-ache, but it gave him a sense of satisfaction to know where he should direct his fury: at Remer and the Shadow Organization. They had succeeded in destroying Luca's life, and they were well on the way to doing the same with him. They had taken what he loved most – his work – or so they thought, at least. But Jon had actually begun to have his doubts. The events of the past few days had pushed his law career into the background, and he was no longer sure it was where his passion lay. But under no circumstance was he about to let this all just pass.

Back home in his flat, he rang Katherina.

After that everything happened very fast. Katherina rang him back in less than ten minutes. She had spoken to Iversen, who was going to be discharged that same day, and he had immediately suggested they should carry out the activation – or seance, as they called it – the following day. Jon asked if there was anything he needed to do to prepare, but the only advice Katherina could give him was that he should relax. So that was what he did, along with a bottle of red wine. The day ended with him falling asleep on the sofa, which was where he awoke the next morning.

In the sunlight, everything looked different. A couple of times he considered ringing Frank Halbech to explain the whole matter, but each time he tried to imagine the conversation that would result, he gave up. Besides, he had a terrible headache that prevented him from thinking clearly and reminded him how long it had been since he'd drunk a whole bottle of wine by himself.

The seance wasn't going to take place at Libri di Luca until after closing time, so his hangover had time to subside over the course of the day. In the evening Jon ate a solid meal of beef stroganoff, which for once he prepared from scratch in his kitchen. After that he took a cab to Libri di Luca, where Iversen was waiting.

Aside from a couple of cuts on his face, the old man looked like his old self, and he didn't even show any sign of fatigue after spending all day in the shop for the first time since his hospital stay.

'It's so wonderful to be back here again,' he said, smiling happily as he looked around the room. 'She's taken good care of the place, Katherina. I gave her the day off, but they'll be here for the activation – both Katherina and Pau.'

'Is that necessary?' asked Jon, who was beginning to feel uneasy.

'The effect is better the more participants there are,' Iversen explained. 'Katherina is especially important. As a receiver, she has the ability to guide your powers if it should turn out that you're a transmitter like your father.'

'And if I'm not?'

'If you're a receiver like Katherina, we'll need to proceed more cautiously. Not because there's any danger for you, but there could be some risk for me, as the reader of the text we're using. When you're activated, you won't know how to control your new powers.'

'And what if it turns out that I don't have any powers at all?'

'I'm sure you do, Jon. I've already noticed something about you. The Campelli tradition suggests that you're a transmitter, but it won't be possible to tell until the seance is over.'

'Does it hurt?'

'Not if you're relaxed and open,' replied Iversen. 'But if you try to fight it, there might be some pain associated with the activation. If you block it completely, we won't be able to carry it out, no matter how much we pressure you. Most people are naturally a little nervous in the beginning and have a hard time surrendering, but once they realize that it goes easier if they relax, the rest usually proceeds painlessly.'

'It sounds as if you've taken part in quite a few seances.'

'Actually only three.' Iversen smiled with embarrassment. 'And one of them was my own activation.'

Jon laughed. 'I feel much better now.'

Iversen studied Jon intently. 'I didn't mean to make you nervous, but the truth is that it's not an exact science. There are plenty of things we don't yet understand. But you're in good hands, Jon. If we sense that the slightest thing is going wrong, we'll just abort the whole process.'

'I hope you're not going to stop the whole thing just because I might happen to frown. I'm ready to do whatever's necessary, even if it does hurt a little.'

'Let's wait and see, Jon. Wait and see.'

At that moment there was a knock on the door and they both turned towards the sound. Katherina came in wearing a long dark coat. She gave Iversen a hug and then, smiling, held out her hand to Jon. He took her hand and pulled her close for an embrace. It was nice to see her again, so nice that he had to divert his eyes as their bodies separated.

'So, are you ready?' asked Katherina as she took off her coat and draped it over the counter. Underneath she was wearing a blue sweater, a pair of snug jeans and short black boots.

'As ready as I'll ever be.'

'Don't worry, we'll get you through this in one piece,' she said.

'Yes, well, that's what you all keep telling me.'

Katherina went downstairs while the two men stayed at the counter.

'So we're just waiting for Pau,' said Iversen, peering out of the window.

They didn't have to wait more than a couple of minutes before Pau came rushing through the door, making the bells dance.

'Hi, Svend. Hi, Jon.'

Both returned his greeting.

'Great night for an activation, huh? I mean, wind, rain and maybe if we're lucky we'll even get some thunder.'

Iversen smiled. 'So maybe we should move it outdoors?'

'No, that's okay, Svend,' said the young man, tossing his leather jacket on top of Katherina's coat. 'The princess here?'

'She's downstairs,' replied Iversen. 'We're just waiting for you.'

Pau seemed to think about that for a moment, but then he clapped his hands together and looked at Jon. 'Well, let's get started then.'

Jon and Pau went on ahead while Iversen locked the door and turned off the lights in the shop.

'How many activations have you participated in?' asked Jon when they reached the stairs.

'Just one,' said Pau. 'My own. But I wasn't really conscious during it. I was run down by a psychopath on Strшget and hit my head on the cobblestones, and when I woke up from a coma three weeks later' – Pau snapped his fingers – 'bam! That was it.' He started down the stairs. 'It took a while before I figured out what it was all about, even though I could tell right away that something was wrong. But you'll soon see what I'm talking about. Just wait.' He laughed.

They had reached the bottom of the stairs and continued on down the dark corridor to the oak door that led to the library. A faint light came from the doorway.

'Hi, Kat,' said Pau as he stepped inside.

Jon followed Pau into the room. The electric lights were dimmed and the room was almost entirely lit by candles on the table and the few shelves not holding books.

'It's just for atmosphere,' Katherina told Jon. 'It doesn't have any importance for the activation.' She smiled.

'But it's damned cosy,' exclaimed Pau as he dropped into a chair. 'All we need now is some incense and herb tea.'

Katherina ignored him and pulled a book from the glass case in front of her.

'Have you read this?' she asked, handing the volume to Jon.

He took the book and studied it. It was bound in black leather, and even though he didn't have much understanding of such things, he could tell that it was high-quality workmanship. When he turned the book round to look at the title, he saw that it wasDon Quixote.

'No,' Jon said at last. 'I've never got round to reading it.'

'That's a shame,' she said. 'It's a classic. Iversen has read it to me several times.'

Jon nodded and leafed through the book. The paper was thick and pleasant to the touch. It was obvious that someone had put some love into this edition.

'We're going to use it for the activation,' Katherina said casually as she took out another book and then closed the glass case.

'This one?' said Jon in surprise. 'I thought it would involve all sorts of oaths and magic formulas.'

Katherina smiled. 'It's not the words that are important. It's the energy and the emotions that the text conjures up that mean something.' She placed her free hand on the book Jon was holding. 'This one is strong. Can you feel it?'

Jon placed his palm on the book, brushing against Katherina's fingers, which she quickly removed. He closed his eyes and tried to sense the energy she was talking about.

Pau laughed behind them.

'Can you feel anything, Jon?' he asked sarcastically.

'Not the slightest,' Jon decided, opening his eyes.

Katherina shrugged. 'Well, you haven't been activated yet. That usually helps, but even people who are activated can't always feel it.' She cast a glance at Pau, whose smile instantly froze.

'So, is everyone ready?' they heard Iversen say as he came into the room. They all confirmed they were, and Iversen closed the door. Katherina handed the book to Iversen, and they all sat down in the chairs around the table. There was a moment of silence. The flames from the candles slowly stopped flickering. Jon's heart started beating faster, and sweat made his hands damp, as well as the book he was clutching. Across from him sat Iversen. Katherina was on his right, and Pau on the left.

Iversen picked up a book. It was bound in leather, like the one that Jon was holding, but a white bookmark was sticking out of it.

'This is the text we're going to use for the activation. It's the same as the one that you have in your hands, and the whole process really just involves us reading together. I'll start by reading aloud, and then you join in. It's important that we read at the same pace, but that's usually not a problem, once we get going.'

Iversen fell silent and looked expectantly at Jon, who with a curt nod acknowledged that he understood.

'It's been a long time since I read anything aloud,' he said uncertainly. 'At least from a work of fiction.'

'You'll do fine. Katherina will help both of us keep the right tempo,' Iversen explained. 'As we get further along, she'll reinforce or mute the emotions that come up. Don't be afraid, just relax and concentrate on the reading and the rhythm. Immerse yourself in the story and the mood of the book. The more relaxed you are, the easier the activation will be.'

Jon nodded again and took a deep breath. 'I'm ready.'

Iversen opened the book at the place where the bookmark stuck out.

'Page fifty,' he said.

Jon turned to the right page in his copy.

Iversen started reading. His voice was clear and the pace was slow. Jon followed along in the text, and after a couple of paragraphs joined in. He cleared his throat a few times during the first section, and he really had to concentrate to match Iversen's voice. The next section went more smoothly and he had an easier time keeping up. Together they picked up the pace a bit so it didn't seem as artificially slow as when they started. As they turned the page, Jon cast a quick glance at Iversen. He was leaning back in his chair, focusing all his attention on the book. His whole face radiated a tense concentration that made him frown and hold the book closer to his eyes.

The reading continued and Jon noticed how the rhythm and tempo had stabilized; he no longer had to concentrate as much to keep it going. The type and the words before his eyes practically invited his voice, enticing him to pronounce them, as if they had been waiting years for this moment. Little by little Iversen's voice grew fainter until finally Jon didn't hear it at all. He heard only his own voice. It felt as if he were lying in a canoe, low in the water, floating along a river at a comfortable and even speed. The surface was broken only by the boat, while an invisible undercurrent carried it along. He didn't hesitate even when he turned the page. He felt as if he could see what was on the next page so that he could continue reading without interruption.

The letters of the words seemed sharper and more distinct in relation to the white background, which also appeared to have changed character. It was no longer the thick, white surface in which the structure of the paper pulp could be glimpsed; instead, the background was more even, with a glossier surface, as if it were a frosted white windowpane on which the type had been embossed. Behind the pane he could suddenly discern silhouettes appearing and disappearing like a shadow play that was out of focus.

Jon hardly noticed any more that he was reading aloud. The reading itself proceeded almost mechanically and he was able to admire the interplay between the type and the background. He focused on the shadows as they appeared, and after a while he had the feeling that they were following along with the story. When the text mentioned two men on horseback, he could sense there were two figures on horseback behind the white pane, and when the text described a windmill, he could make out its rotating sails cleaving the air behind the white fog.

This discovery made him concentrate even more on the shadows as he read, and just as the main character lunged at a sail of the mill, the white pane shattered and thousands of shards of glass fell away, revealing the scene behind.

Jon gave a start, but the reading continued at the same tempo, even though the words were now hovering mysteriously in the air in front of the scene with the main character and the windmill. They looked like subtitles for a film, but in this case the reading of the words drove the images forward and not vice versa. He could feel his heart beating faster again, his pulse rising.

The reading continued inexorably, as if he were no longer in control of it and he could enjoy the images it was creating. They became clearer and clearer the more he read until he felt he could almost step into the landscapes visible behind the text. The colours of these images were strong and clear, but they seemed artificial. It was as if the colour control on a TV was broken and the result was colour-saturated images that threatened to flow together. The outlines of the people and surroundings seemed blurred, and he tried to freeze the boundaries by intensely focusing on the hazy border areas. He felt a slight resistance, as if he were turning a rusty door handle, but suddenly he broke through and discovered he was able to adjust the sharpness of the images. Astonished, he played with this new tool. He let the scene flow all the way out, so it looked as if it were taking place in a thick fog, and then he adjusted the focus so sharply that the characters looked as if they'd been cut out of cardboard with a scalpel. He could also adjust the colour balance. The scene could be made brighter or darker, and he could control how warm it felt by bathing it in soft yellow light. He experimented with all the adjustments, finding the outer limits and the possibilities for combinations. He noticed that some adjustments offered resistance, but if he focused very hard, he could break through that threshold too and force the precise mood he wanted on the scene.

The speed at which he read also had an effect. If he read slowly, he had more time to fill the scene with emotions and mood, while a rapid reading speed was not nearly as nuanced and restricted the impact to a few powerful emotions. Jon noticed that when he read quickly, his heartbeat was faster and not entirely regular and he began to sweat, as if he were exerting himself physically. He tried to figure out how fast he could read, but again something seemed to be holding him back, some sort of brake that prevented him from exploring the rest of the scale. Slightly annoyed, he began reading spasmodically, like a pile driver, to remove this obstacle, but he noticed his body lurch and he felt a huge hand grabbing hold of him and holding him tight. He tried to get free, but the more he struggled, the more the grip tightened, and he had no choice but to slow his reading down. The grip still didn't loosen, and he felt as if his lungs were no longer able to get any air.

Jon stopped reading.

Incapable of taking in anything around him, he closed his eyes and his head fell forward towards his chest. Only a few seconds passed before he began taking in impressions from the basement again.

It was his sense of hearing that returned first, very slowly, as if someone were turning up the volume. He could sense commotion around him, the sound of footsteps and furniture being moved. Nervous voices conversed, though he couldn't hear what they were saying, and a crackling sound sliced through the air above his head. Then he smelled smoke; the sharp odour of burning wool and plastic found its way into his nose, tearing at his nostrils. Then Jon opened his eyes.

The sight he encountered was so unreal that his first thought was that it had to be a dream, or that he was still immersed in the story. The room was almost completely filled with smoke, several of the candles had toppled over, the chair on his left had fallen backwards, and sparks and electrical discharges were flying out of the light fixtures. Iversen and Pau were running around putting out the flames that had taken hold on the carpet and furniture. Pau was using his sweater while Iversen was armed with a rug.

Katherina was sitting to Jon's right, staring at him with a blank expression in her eyes. Two thin streams of blood were coming out of her nose, collecting at her lips, and running down her chin. Her hands were clutching the armrests of her chair so hard that her knuckles were white.

Jon's next thought was that the bookshop had been attacked again.

'Who was it?' he managed to stammer, noticing how dry his throat was.

Pau cast a glance at Jon on his way over to a switch near the door where a burst of flame had just ignited the door frame.

'Hey, he's back,' shouted Pau to Iversen, flinging his sweater with his left hand at the flames coming from the electrical outlet. 'She did it.'

Jon noticed that Pau's right arm hung limply at his side.

'Jon?' Iversen came over to him. 'Jon, close the book. Do you hear me?'

Jon turned his head towards Iversen, who came closer with the rug slung over one arm. Jon was about to look down at the book when Iversen began shouting at him.

'Jon, look at me! Just close the book, Jon. Look at me, and close the book!' There was fear in Iversen's voice.

Jon kept eye contact with Iversen as he slowly closed the book. An obvious expression of relief spread over Iversen's face.

'Who was it?' Jon asked again.

'It was you, Jon,' said Iversen. At the same instant he caught sight of new flames leaping up behind Jon's chair. He immediately went over to slam the rug at the fire until the flames died out. In the meantime, Pau had put out the fire at the electrical outlet and was now standing at alert, keeping an eye on the room in case any new fire should break out. The sweater he was holding ready in his hand was smoking faintly.

Katherina had bowed her head so her chin rested on her chest. Her hands were clasped in her lap, as if in prayer. They were trembling ever so slightly.

Jon tried to stand up, but was immediately seized with dizziness and dropped back into his chair. He felt Iversen's hand gripping his shoulder.

'Just stay where you are, Jon. It'll be over soon.'

He wanted to turn round to face Iversen to ask for an explanation, but before he managed to turn his head, he blacked out.