“And it would be noticeable,” Ben said. “There was nothing like that in the library downstairs.”
“The house is air-conditioned,” Tenzin said. “The conditions in the library are probably sufficient for the majority of his collection because there are no windows.”
“So where does he keep…?” Ben floated to the middle of the bedroom, looking back and forth out the windows on either side of the bed. “I’m getting that weird sense again.”
Tenzin floated toward him. “You’re right, it’s subtle, but you’re right. It’s nothing like the mansion in Hungary, but…”
They both said it at the same time. “It’s bigger on the outside.”
Ben walked to the window and looked to the right. “There’s a hidden room up here.”
Tenzin walked to a silk tapestry hanging just to the right of the bathroom door and pulled it aside. “I told you,” she said. “Unimaginative.”
Ben walked to the window and looked out. “There are windows on the outside. I think he might have enclosed a balcony somehow.” He looked at the door. “Let’s see if we can find a way in.”
Tenzin pressed an electronic panel set into the wall, and a set of numbers started to glow.
“Don’t forget gloves.”
Ben tossed her a sleek pair of leather gloves, and Tenzin put them on, quickly wiping the panel she’d just pressed. The last thing they needed was their fingerprints on file in some computer database.
“Okay, here’s where we need him to wake up,” Tenzin said. “We need the combination.”
“But he’s so quiet and dumb-looking right now.” Ben cocked his head, watching the sleeping Englishman. “Try his birthday.”
Tenzin snorted. “He wouldn’t.”
Ben shrugged. “He might.” He reached in the man’s pocket and found a slim billfold. “March sixth, nineteen eighty-nine.”
Tenzin tried it, but the panel glowed red. “No.”
“Did you try American or European dates?”
“Oh.” She’d been in the United States too long. She reversed the month and day and tried again.
The panel glowed green; then a section of the wall popped out and slid to the side, revealing a thoroughly modern private gallery that positively glittered.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Tenzin was giddy.
She walked into the hidden room and marveled. There were precious stones sitting in one case and a treasury of Byzantine jewelry in another. There was a mosaic framed on one wall that was a dead ringer for some of the Pompeiian mosaics she’d seen in a museum in Naples.
And standing alone at the end of the room was a white-marble-and-glass case holding a small manuscript open on a silk-covered book rest. The devotional was under another thick glass case, and Tenzin could hear the quiet hum of the dehumidifier working in the windowless room. She walked over and looked at the priceless work of art that had been Desta of Aksum’s last and most personal work.
“Is that it?” Ben was at her shoulder.
“Yes.” Tenzin had seen some other pieces that Lucien held dear, and this book had the same sublime beauty. But despite its age, the pages were even more colorful and well preserved than Lucien’s examples.
“She was the scribe?” Ben stared at the book.
“No, the gospel was commissioned; Desta did the artwork.”
Desta, most beloved daughter of Saba and sister of Lucien Thrax, had not only been an earth vampire, an accomplished scholar, and a famed beauty. She’d also been an artist of immense talent. The vampire commissioned the devotional written in Ge’ez when she converted to Christianity in the late sixth century, and she’d spent nearly fifty years completing the illuminations in the traditional Aksumite style of her human ancestors. The devotional was intended to be a gift for her mother Saba, but the ancient rejected it, unimpressed with her daughter’s new faith.
“Are we certain this is it?” Ben asked. “Makeda’s father—”
“Is a scholar of immense reputation, backed up by Desta’s only living brother. Dr. Abel showed the pictures to Lucien, and Lucien says it’s genuine.” She couldn’t pull her eyes away from it. “In addition, look at the style. Look at the binding.” She placed her hands on the sides of the glass. “I don’t feel any sensors, do you?”
“No, I don’t think it’s alarmed.” Ben looked around the room. “He depended on a birthday combination lock for all this.”
“Idiot.”
“Arrogant.”
Oh well, easier for them. “Did you bring the glass cutter?”
Ben’s eyes went wide. “You said you were bringing it.”
“Oh right.” Her grin was impish. “You looked so panicked. It’s in my purse.”
“I’ll pay you back later for that one,” he muttered and walked out of the room while Tenzin perused the other offerings in Trevor Blythe-Bickman’s gallery.
There was another artifact from Jodhpur that she’d be relieving him of, an intricately jeweled dagger that would look perfect in her collection. The paintings on the wall were primarily from European masters and held little interest for her.
“Oil, pigment, and canvas,” she muttered.
“What’s that?” Ben asked, returning with the glass cutter and immediately getting to work on the manuscript case.
“Paintings are fundamentally worthless.”
“The market determines the value, Tenzin. They have worth because of their rarity and the skill involved. How can you devalue paintings but value manuscripts?”
“Because manuscripts contain knowledge.”
“So does an e-book.”
“Fine. Manuscripts are prettier. And they have gold.”
“And they have gold,” he muttered. “So did the Florentine masters.”
It was an old argument, but one that reared its head at least once or twice a year. “When you’re done with Desta’s book, I want that dagger.”
Ben glanced at her and smiled. “I knew you had your eye on that one.”
They could only take what would fit in their pockets. They didn’t need extra scrutiny when they made their exit. Luckily, Ben had brought a big coat.
“Did you mess up the sheets?” Tenzin asked.
“Oh, I thought I’d leave that to your vivid imagination,” Ben murmured. “Almost done here…” A wide circle of glass popped out of the side of the case. “Hello, gorgeous.” Ben pulled an acid-free roll of paper from his inside coat pocket and quickly bent it to fit the dimensions of the manuscript. Then he removed his gloves and opened a sealed hand wipe Giovanni had given him. He thoroughly washed his hands and waved them in the air until they were dry.
“This is better than gloves?” Tenzin asked.
Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m listening to my uncle here. He says gloves can do more harm than good with pieces this old.”
“Okay.” Tenzin tried to be patient. Book people…
When his hands were thoroughly dry, Ben reached inside the case and gently closed the devotional. It was the first time Tenzin had seen the cover, which was leather and inset with gems and carved ivory.