Mr Penumbra's 24 Hour Bookstore

We’ve only been in this book-lined cellar for three minutes and I’ve already forgotten that the rest of the world exists. I’ll bet this place is designed to survive a nuclear war. One of those doors must lead to the stockpile of canned beans.

“There are two treasures here,” Penumbra continues. “One is a collection of many books and the other is a single volume.” He lifts a bony hand to rest on the black-bound volume chained to our table, identical to all the others. On the cover it says, in tall silver letters: MANVTIVS.

“This is the volume,” Penumbra says. “It is the codex vitae of Aldus Manutius. It does not exist anywhere outside of this library.”

Wait: “Not even in your store?”

Penumbra shakes his head. “No novices read this book. Only the full members of this fellowship—the bound and the unbound. There are not many of us, and we read Manutius only here.”

That’s what we’re seeing all around us—all of this intense study. Although I’ve noticed more than a few of the black-robes tipping their noses our way. Maybe not so intense.

Penumbra turns in his chair and waves a hand to indicate the shelves lining the walls. “And this is the other treasure. Following in the Founder’s footsteps, every member of this fellowship produces his or her own codex vitae, or book of life. It is the task of the unbound. Fedorov, for example, who you know”—he nods to me—“is one of these. When he is finished, he will have poured everything he has learned, all his knowledge, into a book like these.”

I think of Fedorov and his snowy-white beard. Yeah, he’s probably learned some things.

“We use our logbook,” he says to me, “to be sure that Fedorov has earned his knowledge.” Penumbra cocks an eyebrow. “We must be sure he understands what he has accomplished.”

Right. They have to be sure he didn’t just feed a bunch of books into a scanner.

“When Fedorov’s codex vitae is validated by me, and then accepted by the First Reader, he will become one of the bound. And then, finally, he will make the ultimate sacrifice.”

Uh-oh: a dark ritual down at the Dais of True Evil. I knew it. I like Fedorov.

“Fedorov’s book will be encrypted, copied, and shelved,” Penumbra says flatly. “It will not be read by anyone until after his death.”

“That sucks,” Neel hisses. I narrow my eyes at him, but Penumbra smiles and raises an open hand.

“We make this sacrifice out of deep faith,” he says. “I speak now with utter seriousness. When we unlock Manutius’s codex vitae, every member of our fellowship who has followed in his footsteps—who has created his own book of life and stored it for safekeeping—will live again.”

I struggle to hold back the skepticism that wants so badly to twist across my face.

“What,” Neel asks, “like zombies?” He says it a little too loud, and some of the black-robes swivel to look our way.

Penumbra shakes his head. “The nature of immortality is a mystery,” he says, speaking so softly that we have to lean closer to hear. “But everything I know of writing and reading tells me that this is true. I have felt it in these shelves and in others.”

I don’t believe the immortality part, but I do know the feeling that Penumbra is talking about. Walking the stacks in a library, dragging your fingers across the spines—it’s hard not to feel the presence of sleeping spirits. That’s just a feeling, not a fact, but remember (I repeat): people believe weirder things than this.

“But why can’t you decode Manutius’s book?” Kat says. This is in her wheelhouse: “What happened to the key?”

“Ah,” Penumbra says. “What, indeed.” He pauses and takes a breath. Then: “Gerritszoon was as remarkable as Manutius, in his own way. He chose not to pass on the key. For five hundred years … we have discussed his decision.”

The way he says it makes me think those discussions might have involved the occasional gun or dagger.

“Without it, we have tried every method we can imagine to unlock Manutius’s codex vitae. We have used geometry. We have searched for hidden shapes. That is the origin of the Founder’s Puzzle.”

The face in the visualization—of course. I feel another little whirl of dislocation. That was Aldus Manutius staring out of my MacBook.

“We have turned to algebra, logic, linguistics, cryptography … we have counted great mathematicians among our number,” Penumbra says. “Men and women who won prizes in the world above.”

Kat is leaning in so intently she’s almost up on top of the table. This is catnip: a code to be cracked and the key to immortality, all in one. I feel a little thrill of pride: I’m the one who brought her here. Google is a disappointment today. The real action is down here with the Unbroken Spine.