Tower of the Five Orders Excerpt

7/27/2019 Tower of the Five Orders Excerpt

1/25


2/25

Copyright 2013 by Deron Hicks

Illustrations copyright 2013 by Mark Geyer

All rights reserved. For inormation about permission to

reproduce selections rom this book, write to Permissions,

Houghton Miin Harcourt Publishing Company,

215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

Houghton Miin Books or Children is an imprint o

Houghton Miin Harcourt Publishing Company.

www.hmhbooks.com

The text o this book is set in New Century Schoolbook

Library o Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

CIP data TK

Manuactured in TK

TK 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

45XXXXXXXX


3/25

Prologue

Elanor Bulls Public House

Deptford, England

May 30, 1593

The smell o roasted meat and the noisy clank o

kitchen pots flled the room. A young potboy whistled

as he gathered dishes rom a table and shued them

o to the back o the house.

Christopher Marlowe gazed out the window at the

rapidly ading sunlight. He took a long draw rom his

tankard o ale, closed his eyes, and savored the brie

moment o peace. It had been, to say the least, a bad


4/25

4

year. The plague had once again cast a spell o death

across London. In an eort to slow its progress, by or-

der o the Crown, the theaters had been closed. As ithe loss o his livelihood was not sufcient, Marlowe

hadin just the previous monthbeen arrested,

charged with heresy, and orbidden to leave the city

until called upon or trial.

Marlowe was not a ool. He knew that the trialwould be a mere ormality. It was clear that orces

were aligned against himthe same orces that had

once called upon his assistance. The charge o heresy

was utter nonsense. Facts, however, were o no conse-

quence. He would be lucky to escape a date with the

executioners sword. Two days earlier it had seemed

all but certain that he would spend the remaining

days o his lie in shackles and under guard. And yet

or some reason, he had been allowed to remain at

liberty until the time or his trial.

Odd, Marlowe thought as he took another drink

rom his tankard. The Crown is usually not so . . .

He paused in midthought.

Fie! What a ool I am. O course they let me go.

He contemplated the obvious: that they had never

intended to provide him a trial. He knew ar too

muchhis ate had already been decided.

I shall leave or France orthwith.


5/25

5

Marlowe started to rise rom his seat when he no-

ticed that the room had suddenly turned silent. No

banging o pots in the kitchen. No scufng o chairsalong the stone oor. No murmur o conversation.

Nothing.

Marlowe peered around the room. It was empty.

Elanor Bull, who owned and operated the public

house, was nowhere to be seen. The potboys whistlewas silent. Marlowe had been so absorbed in his own

thoughts that he had ailed to notice what was tak-

ing place around him.

Fie again!

He set his tankard on the table, and his hand went

instantly to the dagger at his side. The ront door

creaked open. Marlowe shielded his eyes rom the

light o the late aternoon sun as it streamed through

the open doorway. He could not see who had entered

or how many.

When the door shut, a large man dressed in black

turned to ace him. He held a sword at his side. Two

men stood beside the man in blacktheir swords

drawn.

Robert Poley, said Marlowe to the man standing

at the door. What news? Have ye come on behal o

God, the Crown, or the Devil?

Poley spoke slowly, his voice deep and raspy.


6/25

6

Neither God nor the Crown has any use or thee,

Christopher Marlowe.

Aye, tis true, Robert Poley, Marlowe replied, butI suspect that it is on the Devils behal that a man

such as yoursel was sent.

Marlowe held the dagger close to his hip as he

stood and moved toward the center o the room. He

needed time to assess the situation. So the Earl oEssex preers his secrets in the grave? he said.

Poley grunted and spat on the oor. Impertinent

dog, he growled. Tis worms who shall bear witness

to what secrets ye hold.

Marlowe knew that there was a rear door leading

to a narrow alley behind the tavern. He could make

it to the alley beore Poley and his men had time to

react. But he also knew Poleyhe would have the

exit covered. The only way out would be through

the ront door and at the point o his own dagger.

Marlowe cursed himsel or lack o more substantial

arms.

At that moment, Marlowe heard a aint shue o

eet in the darkness behind him.

He smiled. Clumsy ool.

Marlowe pivoted backwards just as a sword thrust

at him rom the shadows. His dagger ashed rom

his side and into the right arm o his attacker. The


7/25

7

man screamed as the sword ell rom his hand and

clanked onto the hard stone oor. Marlowe grabbed

the sword and turned to ace Poley and his hench-men. He grinned as he ran the steel o his dagger

down the blade o the sword. Ye may seek to whet

thy swords on my bones, he said, but ye will fnd me

a most unwilling grindstone.

So be it, growled Poley.The clank o steel on steel rang through the room

and into the street beyond.


8/25

Auspicious Presenting avorable circumstances

or showing signs o a avorable outcome.

The discovery o the Shakespeare manuscripts by

Colophon Letterord and her cousin Julian did not

go unnoticed. Universally hailed as the most impor-

tant literary discovery o the last century, i not o all

time, the story seized the publics imagination.

The New York Times ran a fve-part series about

the discovery. The Boston Globe eatured a picture

o Mull Letterord, Colophons ather, on the ront

page o its Sunday edition. An editorial inLe Monde

Auspicious

ChapTerone


9/25

9

praised the Letterord amily and their contributions

to literary history.

Magazines such as Time, Newsweek, NationalGeographic, and Bon Apptit profled the discovery

with cover stories.

Mull Letterord was interviewed on NPR, CNN,

Fox, CBS, NBC, ABC, the BBC, the CBC, CCTV, and

Radio Liechtenstein. Colophon was invited to theset oMythBustersher all-time avorite TV show

and celebrated her thirteenth birthday with the

cast and crew. Julian appeared on Good Morning

America. It was the frst time Colophon had ever

seen him with his hair combed and his ace shaved

and wearing a tie.

The academic communitywhich could barely

contain its collective gleegeared up or what was

anticipated to be years o research, examination,

interpretation, and explication o the manuscripts.

Requests poured in to Letterord & Sons rom re-

searchers or opportunities to study the original

manuscripts. Every reputable (and not so reputable)

Shakespearean scholar on the planet oered his or

her services ree o charge just or the opportunity

to have access to the manuscripts. Preorders or

the summer edition o the Shakespeare Quarterly


10/25

10

overwhelmed the limited sta and resources o the

John Hopkins University Press. Meg Letterord,

Colophons mother, received invitations rom acrossthe academic spectrum to join aculties as a visiting

proessor. The Folger Shakespeare Library in Wash-

ington, D.C., held a symposium that coincided with

a week-long exhibit o several o the manuscripts.

Tickets or the exhibit sold out in minutes.Numerous oers were made to purchase the man-

uscripts, or stunning amounts. But Mull Letterord

held frm. The manuscripts, he said repeatedly, be-

longed to humanity. He could not bear the thought

o them ending up in the private collection o some

billionaire, never to be studied or enjoyed by the rest

o the world.

The Letterord name, well known and respected

within literary circles or centuries, had now become

well known and respected in the world at large.

It was a glorious time.

And it was short-lived.


11/25

Exposure An instance o being subjected

to an action or an inuence; revelation,

especially o crime or guilt.

Carbondale, Pennsylvania

Secure-Tite Specialty Storage

Tuesday, April 172:05 p.m.

Unit number?

Two hundred thirty-fve.

Name in which the unit is registered?

Reginald Whitmore.

Identifcation, please.

Exposure

ChapTerTWo


12/25

12

Whitmore placed his drivers license into the slid-

ing drawer and pushed the drawer back under the

inch-thick bulletproo glass. The clerk checked theidentifcation, entered some inormation into the

computer, and returned the license.

Please enter your code on the keypad, the clerk

said.

Whitmore punched in his fve-digit code. The lighton the keypad turned green.

Thank you, Mr. Whitmore, the clerk replied as

the secure door opened.

Whitmore picked up his briecase and stepped

through the doorway. He walked to the elevator and

pressed the call button. He did not mind the security

precautions. To the contrary, that was one o the pri-

mary reasons he had selected this particular acility.

Security, however, was only one o its aspects that

had interested him. The acility served a specialized

clienteleantique dealers, art collectors, and any-

one else who needed to store delicate items o value

under proper conditions. The entire acility was

maintained at a constant temperature o seventy-

two degrees and a humidity level o fty percent. Its

fre-suppression system was based on oam, not wa-

ter. The acilitys owners understood that antique ta-

bles and ancient oil paintings do not respond well to


13/25

13

a dousing o water. The air was recirculated at least

twice a day through specialized flters that removed

any trace o airborne contaminants that might dam-age the precious items stored within.

The elevator pinged and the door opened. Whit-

more stepped in and pushed the button or the sec-

ond oor. The trip took less than fve seconds. Once

the elevator door opened, Whitmore stepped out,turned right, and headed to unit 235. Upon reaching

it, he punched a code into the keypad adjacent to the

units door.

There was a slight pause, then . . . click click click.

The door unlocked. Whitmore stepped inside,

turned on the light, and shut the door.

Another short pause, then . . . click click click.

The door was secure once again.

Whitmore looked around the room. Several pieces

o antique urniture were arranged neatly against

the walls. One particular piece, towered over the

restan early-eighteenth-century armoire. Heavy

and thick, it stood at least eight eet tall and six eet

wide. It seemed impossibly deep. Made o chestnut,

the wood glowed with a patina that could have been

achieved only by centuries o care and use. Whitmore

walked over to the armoire and opened wide its large

doors.


14/25

14

He stood back and admired his collection.

It had taken years to assemble: pages rom illumi-

nated manuscripts, rare maps, papyrus scrolls, andrare books that had languished or ar too long on

orgotten shelves. His position allowed him access to

some o the most prestigious libraries and collections

o ancient books and manuscripts across the globe.

Access had been important. Patience, however, hadbeen the true key to building his collection.

Dont get greedy, he had told himsel requently.

And he had not.

He had passed on opportunities to add many, many

items to his collection. And his patience had paid o.

The opportunities inevitably presented themselves.

People were lazy, sloppy, and easily distracted.

And they trusted him.

Ater all these years, no one suspected. Not a

single librarian. Not a single curator. Not a single

collector.

No one.

His acquisition process was decidedly low tech but

effective: wait until no one was paying attention, then

simply slip the book, manuscript, or map into the hid-

den compartment in his briefcase. Using this process,

he had built an impressive collection. But it had its


15/25

15

limits. He would never be a member of the Roxburghe

Club. His collection would never rival many of the

private collections held across the globe. Put togetherby kings, industrialists, and tyrants, those collections

were symbols of power and wealthnothing more.

His collection would always pale in comparison.

Whitmore grinned. Until now.

Now, he thought,I have something that only oneother person on the planet has.

Whitmore opened his briecase, pulled out a large

aluminum notebook, and placed it on a small table

next to the armoire. He opened the notebook to reveal

a single document. He took a pair o tweezers rom a

drawer and careully lited the ragile document. He

placed it on a piece o green elt on the table.

Magnifcent.

This single page, he knew, would be the crowning

jewel o any collection an actual page rom a man-

uscript in William Shakespeares own hand. He rel-

ished the thought o all the collectors, libraries, and

curators who would give anythingpay anything

to have the document that now lay in ront o him.

And then the phone rang.

Whitmore looked around, conused. He always set

his cell phone on vibrate. Had he somehow orgotten?


16/25

16

His hand instantly went to his belt, where he kept

his phone.

It wasnt vibrating. And it certainly wasnt ringing.He looked around in horror. The phone rang again.

The sound was coming rom the armoire.

Whitmore made his way over to the armoire and

looked inside. The phone rang again.

The sound appeared to be coming rom the up-permost shel. He reached up and elt along the tops

o the books. His hand came across a small metallic

objectcompletely out o place atop vellum-covered

books rom the fteenth and sixteenth centuries. He

grabbed the object and pulled it down.

He held in his hand a small cell phone. A phone

that was not his. A phone that he had not placed on

the shel.

It rang again.

How is this happening?

The phone rang again.

This isnt possible.


No one knows about this place.

No one.

But, he suddenly realized, someone did.



17/25

17

He had no choicehe had to answer it. Whitmore

pushed the button, closed his eyes, and held it up to

his right ear.Hello?

Good aternoon, Dr. Whitmore, a voice responded.

How is the collection coming along? Quite an im-

pressive new addition youve obtained, isnt it? The

voice was pleasant and conversational.Whitmores heart roze. His voice cracked as he

spoke. Im sorry, what are you talking about? What

collection? I think you have the wrong number.

The voice laughed. Come now, Dr. Whitmore,

please dont take me or a ool. Your collection is very

impressive. I enjoyed looking through it.

What do you want? Whitmore asked.

Merely a avornothing more.

Whitmore sat and listened as the voice told him

what it wanted him to do.

I truly appreciate your assistance in this en-

deavor, the voice concluded.

I have no choice, Whitmore replied.

The tone o the voice immediately changed. It was

no longer pleasant, but cold and at. Correct, it re-

sponded, you have no choice.

+ + +


18/25

18

Carbondale, Pennsylvania

Tuesday, April 17

2:35 p.m.

Trigue James ended the phone call.

Whitmore would cooperate.

James had known that he would.

James was parked a hal mile away rom the en-trance to the storage acility, at a small strip mall. It

provided a perect vantage point. He could observe

anyone who entered or exited.

James took a sip rom a bottle o Diet Coke.

Treemont contacting him a month ago had come as

somewhat o a surprise. Things had not gone well

in London the previous December, and James had

been reluctant to have any urther involvement with

Treemonts schemes.

But Treemont had been persistenthe had in-

sisted that he needed Jamess unique skills. Persis-

tence, James knew all too well, could be a sign o im-

patienceand an impatient client was a risky client.

He took another sip o Diet Coke.

Treemont, however, had not struck James as im-

patient or risky. So James had oered his services

yet againor a substantially increased price. Ater

all, a job was a job.


19/25

19

James glanced at the storage acility. Whitmores

car still sat in the parking lot.

He opened the back o his cell phone and careullyremoved the SIM card. He snapped it in two, then

dropped both pieces into the hal-empty bottle o

Diet Coke.

James started his car, pulled out o the strip mall,

and headed east.

Manchester, Georgia

Friday, May 25

6:15 a.m.

Colophon Letterord sat upright in bed as soon as

her alarm sounded.

It was the last day o school.

Normally Colophon dreaded those words. She

enjoyed school. She enjoyed her teachers and her

classes (particularly social studies) and seeing her

riends every day. Not that summer was entirely

badit had its brie moments o un. But it usually

brought something that Colophon dreaded.

Summer camp.

She hated summer camp.

Each June or the last three years she had been

shipped o or our agonizingly long weeks at Camp


20/25

20

Arrowhead in North Carolina. Her ather had at-

tended Camp Arrowhead in his youth and requently

regaled her with stories o summers spent swimmingin the lake, learning to fsh, canoeing, making crats,

and engaging in a host o other un camp activities.

He had obviously been brainwashed.

In Colophons opinion, Camp Arrowhead was a

mosquito-inested chamber o horrors where the tem-perature never dropped below one hundred degrees.

And that wasnt even the worst part. Colophon had

never been among the most popular girls at camp.

She always had one or two good riends and had al-

ways gotten along reasonably well with most o the

other kids there. But the camp was run by a small

cadre o popular kids. Every year Colophon expected

it to change, but it didnt. The popular kids got the

best camp assignments, the best cabins, the best ta-

ble in the caeteria, and the coolest counselors. The

divide between the popular kids and the rest o the

campers (which included Colophon) was huge. And it

was dreadul.

But maybe this summer would be dierent.

This year it wouldnt matter who the popular kids

were, how hot it got, or i the mosquitoes were the

size o small cars. Colophon had solved an ancient

amily riddle, barely escaped with her lie rom an


21/25

21

underground crypt, chased a criminal through the

streets o London, and helped save the amily busi-

ness. Compared to all that, Camp Arrowhead wouldbe a minor challenge.

She dressed quickly, brushed her teeth, and hur-

ried downstairs to the kitchen.

Good morning, Coly, Audrey Letterord said as

Colophon entered the kitchen.Aunt Audrey! What are you doing here?

Your ather called me late last night and asked

me to come down and take you and Case to school

this morning. He had . . . something come up.

Mull Letterords older sister was a fxture in the

Letterord home, so Colophon was not particularly

surprised to fnd her in the kitchen. Meg Letterord

was in San Francisco at an academic conerence, so

Colophons ather had planned to take her and Case

to school that morning. Still, something seemed o

with her aunt. She was not displaying her usual

room-consuming personality.

Is something wrong? asked Colophon. You seem

. . . upset.

Im just tired, dear, her aunt replied. I didnt get

in rom Atlanta until early this morning.

Colophon decided not to pursue the subject. It was

not the frst time her ather had had to rush away


22/25

22

on business. And her aunt did look tiredexhausted

even.

Case managed to make his way downstairs at 6:43a.m., which was precisely two minutes beore they

had to leave or school. He took one look at his aunt,

grunted hello, grabbed a can o iced coee rom the

rerigerator, and went out to the car.

The drive to school was quiet. Case slept the en-tire way. Despite Colophons best eorts to engage

her aunt in conversation, Audrey barely spoke.

When Audrey dropped Colophon o at the middle

school, Colophon reminded her that it was the last

day o school and that she would be getting out at

noon. Dont orget me, she joked.

Audrey simply nodded. Ill see you then.

Colophon stood on the sidewalk and watched the

car pull o toward the high school. Aunt Audrey had

seemed on the verge o tears. Colophon would have

to get to the bottom o whatever was bothering her

aunt later, when she picked her up.

Colophon turned and headed down the covered

walkway to the middle school building. She didnt

need any books or the last day o class, and she had

already cleaned out her locker or the year, so she

headed straight or homeroom. Every classroom in

the building buzzed with the excitement o the last


23/25

23

day o school. As Colophon turned the corner into her

homeroom, she could hear the loud chatter o her

classmates.But chatter ceased as soon as Colophon entered.

Every eye turned toward her.

What was going on?

Colophon slowly made her way up the row to-

ward her desk. As she walked, she looked over at herbest riend at school, Ashley Eager, who sat a couple

o rows away. Ashley quickly averted her eyes and

looked down at her desk. Colophon glanced around

the classroom. Ms. Bowman, her teacher, was no-

where to be ound.

Colophon reached her desk and sat down. The

room was absolutely silent. At the next desk over sat

Elliott Messer.

Elliott, she said, whats going on?

He tried to ignore her.

Elliott, she repeated, whats going on?

He turned to her and whispered: Ms. Bowman

told us not to say anything.

Anything about what? she whispered back.

Go ahead, Elliott, said Anna Drew, who sat in

ront o Colophon. Show it to her.

Elliott handed Colophon a olded-up newspaper.

Im sorry, he said.


24/25

24

Colophon opened the newspaperit was the

morning edition o the Columbus Ledger. The

headline, which covered hal the ront page, read:shakespeare manuscripts fake.

Colophon stared at the headline. She could eel ev-

ery eye in the room on her. No one spoke.

Then she elt a hand on her shoulder. It was Ms.

Bowman.Coly, the teacher said, Im so sorry. I was in the

ront hallway looking or you. You mustve slipped by

in the crowd.

Colophon couldnt respond. Her eyes burned. She

was on the verge o tears.

Your ather just called, she continued. Your

aunt is coming back to pick you up.

Colophon simply stared at the headline.

Colophon sat on a couch in the principals ofce and

read the article. According to the newspaper, a pro-

essor by the name o Reginald Whitmore had an-

nounced with great anare that the Shakespeare

manuscripts were, in all likelihood, orgeries. Dr.

Whitmore, who specialized in the analysis o six-

teenth- and seventeenth-century manuscripts and

books, had actually been hired by Letterord &

Sons to assist in the cataloging and analysis o the


25/25

manuscripts. I have signifcant concerns over the

authenticity o the paper, the ink, and the hand-

writing on the documents, Dr. Whitmore had said.These documents should be subjected to the highest

level o scrutiny and require extensive evaluation.

A representative rom the British Museum had sug-

gested that a commission be established to authenti-

cate the documents.Coly.

It was Case. He stood in the doorway o the princi-

pals ofce. His hair was a mess, and he had a bruised

lower lip.

What happened to you? she asked.

Someone in my homeroom class thought it

was a good idea to express his opinion about the

manuscripts.

Dads going to reak when he sees you.

I think Dad has other things on his mind. Case

sat down beside his sister on the couch.

The manuscripts are real, Colophon said. Youll

seeDad will prove theyre real.

Case sighed. I hope youre right, Coly. I really

hope youre right.

Documents

Tower of the Five Orders Excerpt