43

The Bunting book had arrived at the hotel early that morning. Nick and Verity rushed the pages to the World Map, hoping to see some difference between this Antwerp edition and the other editions. However, hard as they looked, it was only the publisher’s address that stood out.

‘Maybe there’s a clue in the way the address is written,’ said Verity.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Nick, staring at images of the De Jode maps on his laptop. ‘Look, here is the same address in the same font, in another De Jode map from a few years later, and here is another. I don’t think that’s it.’

Finally, in exasperation, Nick phoned Winston Thornton to see if his old mentor had any ideas.

‘Nick, Nick, Nick,’ said Winston in that annoying condescending way. ‘If there’s no difference in the map or the verso, then there is only one other option.’

‘Yes, well what’s that?’

‘Nick, Nick, Nick, come on, use your young brain.’

‘Oh my God, Winston … I can’t stand it … what the fuck are you talking about?!’

‘You know … you do give the impression that butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.’

‘Well, I did learn it all from the legend,’ said Nick, hopefully placating the situation.

‘Good boy … that’s better. Now, in my opinion, if there are no discernible differences and you say there has to be a difference, then it is in the paper.’

‘In the paper … in the paper,’ spluttered Nick down the phone. ‘What do you mean in the … of course! I see what you are getting at.’

‘You’ve a long way to go before you get to my level, young man,’ said Winston. ‘Go and see Llewellyn the Welshman. He’s in Magdeburg and he’s very good if he’s not drunk or depressed about another relationship breakdown.’ And with that, he hung up.

They walked the full length of Breiter Weg until they arrived at Hasselbachplatz.

‘Are you sure this is the correct address?’ said Verity, looking around at the bars, nightclubs and restaurants. ‘It doesn’t seem the right type of area for a paper conservator.’

Five roads centred on Hasselbachplatz, the cars merging into a huge anti-clockwise roundabout with four-storey Gründerzeit buildings crowding the perimeter.

‘I think these buildings are Gothic revival from the late-nineteenth century,’ said Nick, looking around the Plaza for Liebigstrasse. ‘I have a set of lithographs for sale in the gallery of this style of building. Now, he is meant to be on the corner of Hasselbachplatz and Liebigstrasse.’

A few minutes later they found the incongruous business, tucked between an upmarket Turkish restaurant and a country and western-style bar.

‘I wonder what brought a Welshman to Magdeburg?’ said Nick, staring at the dual language sign above the door: David Llewellyn: Art Conservation Service.

David Llewellyn was as enigmatic as the location of his business. ‘So, Winston sent you. Did he now? Strange fellow, that Winston.’

Llewellyn appeared about sixty, completely bald with dangling earrings hanging from both ears. He wore a long-sleeved, frilled white shirt, with a red cravat tucked at the neck. A green velvet waistcoat finished the top half. Completing the ‘pirate look’, as Verity saw it, were the almost knee-length leather boots.

‘Here, have a Chivas. Best whisky to come out of Scotland.’ He poured Nick and Verity generous portions and refilled his own glass.

‘Now, don’t think I’m “Johnny come lately”. I was here well before this area became trendy. I’m the last one standing. The rest have either died or sold out. It was only last month that Kurt the pervert next door sold his furniture restoration business to the country and western crowd, and six months since the Leibnitz twins closed their antique jewellery store.’

‘Do you live here?’ asked Verity, looking around.

Llewellyn nodded. ‘It’s the only way you can make it work. You eat, sleep, work and shit in the same space. In fact, Winston spent a drunken summer with me here only a couple of years ago, just after his second wife left him and I was in-between “arrangements”. Winston is lucky … he knows the answer to everything … I call him God.’

‘Yeah, he’s a bit like that,’ said Nick, enjoying the Welshman’s accent and conversation.

Llewellyn poured himself another full glass and topped up Nick and Verity’s. ‘I came here nearly thirty years ago. It was Winston’s idea after I left Taffy. I was at a loss and needed to get out of London. Winston knew Hans and arranged for me to come and work for that dear man.’

Verity and Nick were caught by surprise as great sobs suddenly erupted from the Welshman. ‘I loved that man. He taught me everything.’ He recovered quickly. ‘We became lovers and partners in the business, until my dear Hans passed away … almost five years ago. The gay disease …’

‘That’s terrible,’ said Verity sympathetically, setting the Welshman off again.

‘Now I am alone … and the neighbourhood has changed forever.’

After what Nick thought was an appropriate length of time, he brought up the reason for their visit and proffered the Bunting book, opened at the map.

The Welshman’s demeanour changed immediately. What Verity would have described seconds ago as a self-absorbed narcissist, changed suddenly into a serious and seasoned professional.

‘Follow me please.’ Llewellyn placed the Chivas down and walked into a large shed-like room with high ceilings at the rear of the building. ‘We built this add-on years ago.’

The room was illuminated from high horizontal windows. ‘It’s important to have as much natural light as possible, but not direct sunlight.’ Maps, charts and lithographs lay on all the tables and desks like a blanket of ancient script. Numerous sinks of varying depths adjoined the walls, with shelves above, crowded with bottles and jars of varying sizes and colours. A strong chemical smell pervaded the whole workshop.

Llewellyn took some clean white gloves from a wooden box on one of the tables and gestured for the book to be handed to him. He first examined the binding. Then, mumbling more to himself than to either Nick or Verity, ‘Mmm, original full vellum binding over boards with clasps and extensive blind tooling, bevelled with wide squares. I can see the outline of double-sewing stations, most likely flax cord under the vellum along the spine.’ He looked up. ‘Where did you say this book was published?’

‘Well,’ said Verity, ‘we believe it was published here in Magdeburg in 1581. It has been in the collection of the Bodleian Library, Oxford for hundreds of years.’

‘Mmm, maybe the pages were; however, this binding is definitely original and typical of late-sixteenth century Antwerpus.’

‘Are you saying Antwerp?’ asked Nick abruptly.

Llewellyn turned the book over in his gloved hands. ‘This binding was more than likely done in the Plantin workshop. However, other publishers in Antwerp would also have utilised this method or used the same binder.’

Verity and Nick could hardly contain their excitement. ‘What about the map?’ asked Verity.

Llewellyn carefully wedged the book, open at the World Map, in a glass and plastic contraption with a computer screen above. He fiddled with some switches. The book was now bathed in a sharp white light. From above the glass, Verity and Nick could see the World Map magnified on the screen a number of times over.

‘Original copper-plate engraved map with publisher’s address C. de Jode 10 Twaalfmaandenstraat Antwerpus 1581. Well, that confirms my view about the binding,’ said the Welshman.

‘Have a look at the other maps,’ said Verity.

Llewellyn examined the numerous maps throughout the book and finally returned to the World Map. ‘I see what you are saying. This map appears to be different to the rest. I can see by the paper quality that it was made from the best linen rags, while the others are of a far lesser, greyer quality. As you probably know, in this period most paper was still being made from rags, soaked and flattened then hung to dry. So there was plenty of variation possible and often by design. It also has a straight cut and not the deckle edges of all the other pages.’

‘So maybe all the original 1581 content was created and published in Magdeburg apart from the World Map, which was added later to some editions,’ said Nick.

‘And with bindings also made in Antwerp. Yes, makes sense.’ added Verity.

‘Now, if you require more information, I have to be invasive.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Verity.

‘Well, if there are some unusual qualities or secrets hidden in the paper, then one method of revealing them is by heating the paper.’ As he was speaking, he opened a drawer and lifted out a hair dryer.

‘You mean, like a secret message that spies use?’ said Nick.

‘Yes – spies, prisoners, illicit lovers, really anybody in days gone by who wanted to hide the true message of their correspondence. Royalty and heads of state used it all the time.’

He switched on the dryer. ‘This should do the trick if the person used a solution of milk, lime or lemon juice or even urine.’ Llewellyn gently wafted the warm air back and forward over the map.

All eyes stared at the paper, willing it to reveal its four-hundred-year-old secrets. However, after about sixty seconds, Llewellyn switched off the dryer.

‘Is that it then?’ asked Nick. ‘There are no secrets hidden in this map?’

Llewellyn spoke carefully, knowing what he was going to say next may be problematic. ‘Look, there is probably a good reason why the map is of a superior paper quality and different to the rest of the publication that has nothing to do with secret messages, but we can be a bit more radical and add chemicals to the paper.’

‘Will it damage the paper?’ inquired Verity, looking anxious.

‘Yes, it will, by loosening the rag fibres it may cause a stain to the image.’

‘I think we should do it,’ said Nick.

‘Well, it’s easy for you to say that, you’re not responsible for it. Let me think for a second.’

‘If it helps, Verity,’ said Llewellyn, ‘I can remove any staining that occurs and the damage to the paper will not be obvious to anybody who is not an expert in paper conservation.’

‘Bloody hell, this is a serious issue for me. This is about professional integrity!’

‘Verity, how else are we going to follow this lead? What else have we got to go on? Sarah was killed because of this shit.’

‘Look, Nick,’ shouted Verity, eyes ablaze, ‘my fucking job is on the line here.’ She turned her back on the two men.

There was a long awkward silence while they waited for her decision.

Verity pondered what the other professors at Oxford would do. There was no way they would interfere with the integrity of the map. It was almost a sacred duty not to harm these old manuscripts and rare works on paper. Yes, you could under special circumstances repair damage, but only after numerous committee meetings with full disclosure. So, for her to sanction an action that would create damage was inconceivable.

She could sense Nick and Llewellyn staring at her back. Her eyes wandered around the studio and finally settled on an early map of Scotland, probably a Jansson map from about 1650, and her father came to her mind. His recent stoush with the Scottish Parliament over the landing site of Bonny Prince Charlie made her smile to herself. ‘Research, my girl. That’s what it’s all about.’ She knew what Julius would do.

‘Sorry about that. I’ve calmed down.’

Neither of the men was game to speak.

‘Let’s apply the chemicals and give it a go.’

‘Okay,’ said Llewellyn, as if nothing had happened, ‘we can be a bit more radical and add some acidic solution, to create a small chemical reaction. The rag paper, being naturally alkaline, will reveal anything that has been written or painted onto the map using baking soda or hydrated sodium carbonate, or some natural substance that has these minerals.’

He lifted down a bottle from a shelf. ‘This is basically vinegar. I’ll dilute it with some pH-neutral water.’

While he was mixing the solution, Nick looked at Verity and mouthed ‘sorry’.

Llewellyn then lifted a small feather-ended quill and gently applied the solution to the map.

For a few seconds nothing happened.

Then, as if by magic, writing started to appear on the paper. ‘Jesus Christ!’ gasped Nick.

He could feel the shivers up the back of his neck and his head started to pound. It was as if Heinrich Bunting himself was standing next to him.

‘I can’t believe it!’ said Verity, gasping in wonderment at the figures and writing now clearly discernible on the map.

All of them could see a single line with arrows coming from Europe around the Cape of Good Hope and up the east coast of Africa, continuing eastwards south of India and off the page. However, there was a concentration of writing all the way down the west coast of Australia, with annotations written on the continent itself.

‘I suggest you photograph the page,’ said Llewellyn calmly, ‘before it disappears. I would prefer not to reapply more of this solution.’

Both Nick and Verity grabbed their phones to capture the newly revealed image.

As the writing slowly vanished, Llewellyn turned to his shocked guests. ‘I really didn’t expect that to happen. It has completely thrown me. Who wants a Chivas?’

Two hours later, Llewellyn lay flat on his back, in the same shed-like room. His eyes glazed over as he stared up at the horizontal windows. Billy removed the garrotte from around the Welshman’s neck, rolled it tightly and replaced it in his jacket pocket. No doubt the poof had revealed everything: Lawrance and Merton had discovered the secret, taken photographs and left. The queer had squealed everything but didn’t have a copy to give him, only the answers to the chemicals he had used. The Master would know what to do. Billy wandered slowly around the room, emptying all the jars and bottles of solutions onto the tables and floor, until small acrid-smelling rivulets lapped the now lifeless body. He stepped back towards the exit to the room and lit a Marlboro Red. He took a deep drag and threw it on to the ground. He watched as small flames did a macabre dance around the body. He placed the rest of the pack on a table and left.