Tom Harper - The Book of Secrets

TOM HARPER

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Version 1.0

Epub ISBN 9781409035879

www.randomhouse.co.uk

Published in the United Kingdom by Arrow Books in 2009

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Copyright Tom Harper 2009

Tom Harper has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

First published in the United Kingdom in 2009 by Arrow

Arrow Books The Random House Group Limited 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London, SW1V 2SA Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009 www.rbooks.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 9780099545576

The Random House Group Limited supports The Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), the leading international forest certification organisation. All our titles that are printed on Greenpeace-approved FSC-certified paper carry the FSC logo. Our paper procurement policy can be found at www.rbooks.co.uk/environment

Typeset by SX Composing DTP, Rayleigh, Essex Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading, RG1 8EX

for Owen
Art and Adventure

Tom Harper was born in Germany and studied medieval history at Oxford university. He has written eight novels, including Knights of the Cross and Lost Temple. He lives in York with his wife and son.

Also available by Tom Harper

The Mosaic of Shadows

Knights of the Cross

Siege of Heaven

Lost Temple

Oberwinter, Germany
Thick snow covered the village that morning. A cold silence gripped the streets. The cars parked opposite the hotel were shrouded with frost except one, where a gloved hand had scraped a rough circle clear on the drivers window. Behind the black glass, the red eye of a cigarette blinked and glowed.

A young woman came round the corner and hurried up the hotel steps. She was dressed as if for a run: a hooded sweatshirt and jogging trousers, running shoes, a woollen hat and a small rucksack on her back. But it was not a morning for running, and no footprints had left the hotel since the overnight snow. She let herself in the front door and disappeared. The cigarette in the car glowed faster, then went out.

Gillian reached the top of the hotel stairs, tiptoed across the landing and slipped into her room. A dirty half-light seeped through the curtains, making the shabby room look even shabbier. It stank of nicotine: in the thin mattress and untouched sheets, the heavily varnished furniture, the threadbare rugs slung over the floorboards. The black laptop on the dresser was the only sign of change in the last thirty years.

Gillian pulled off the hat and shook out her raven-black hair. She glimpsed herself in the mirror and felt a faint pang of surprise: the new hair colour still didnt feel right. If she couldnt recognise herself, perhaps others wouldnt either. She unzipped her top and stripped it off. Mud streaked her pale arms; her fingers were cracked and bloody from climbing in the dark, but she hardly noticed. Shed found what shed gone for. She crossed to the computer, flipped up the lid and turned it on. Down on the street, a car door slammed.

As the machine clicked into life, something gave inside Gillian. The adrenalin drained away. She was exhausted and shivering with cold. Too tired to wait for the computer, she went to the bathroom and undressed, peeling the damp fabric away from her skin. She left the clothes in a heap on the floor and stepped into the shower. The old hotel might lack some comforts, but at least the plumbing worked. The hot water blasted her face, slicking her hair flat against her scalp. The sharp droplets pricked warmth back into her skin; her muscles began to relax. She closed her eyes. In the dark space that opened, she saw the castle on the cliff; the icy rock face and the tiny crevice; the terror in her throat as she pushed against the ancient door ...

Her eyes snapped open. Over the white noise of steam and water, shed heard a sound from the bedroom. It might have been nothing the hotel had its share of creaks and bumps but the last three weeks had taught Gillian new fears. She left the water running and stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a skimpy hotel towel. Wet footprints pooled on the floorboards as she tiptoed through to the bedroom.

There was no one there. The laptop sat on the dresser between the two windows, chattering away to itself.

The sound came again a knock at the door. She didnt move.

Frulein telefon.

It was a mans voice, not the hotel owners. Gillian looked at the door. Shed forgotten to attach the safety chain. Did she dare slip it on now, or would that only alert him to her presence? She grabbed the hooded top from the bed and zipped it over her breasts, then pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms from under the pillow. That made her feel less vulnerable.

Frulein? The voice was harsh, impatient or was that just her imagination? No. In horror, she saw the door handle start to turn.

Im here, she called, trying not to sound frightened. Who is it?

Telefon. Is important for you, Frulein. But it didnt sound important it sounded false, a rehearsed lie at the wrong moment, dialogue out of sync with the film. The handle was still down, the tongue of the lock bumping the frame as the man pushed against it.

I cant take it right now, said Gillian. She snatched the laptop from the dresser and stuffed it into the rucksack. Ill be down in five minutes.

Is important. An ill-fitting key scrabbled in the lock. It was opening. She flew across the room and slammed the safety chain home. She grabbed the handle and tried to hold it, but the grip on the other side was remorseless. Her fingers went white; her wrist was twisted back.

With a pop, the lock gave. The door sprang open, flinging Gillian backwards onto the floor. The chain snapped taut, bit and held. The door shuddered to a standstill. Gillian heard a muffled curse. An unseen hand pulled it back a fraction and thrust it forward again. Again the chain held.

Dazed and desperate, Gillian pushed herself up. Blood ran down her cheek where the door had grazed it but she didnt notice. She knew what she had to do. She slung the rucksack over one shoulder, pulled open the window and climbed out onto the tiny balcony. A rusting ladder, the fire escape, ran down the side of the building. Shed insisted on a room next to it, though she hadnt expected to need it. Shed thought shed lost them after Mainz. She pulled her sleeves down over her hands and reached for the nearest rung.