Chapter 1
There was nothing remarkable about the leather-bound book. In the eyes of an ordinary historian, it would not have differed from hundreds of other manuscripts in Oxford's Bodleian Library, ancient and worn as it was. But I knew there was something special about it from the moment I picked it up.
Duke Humphrey's Reading Room was crowded this afternoon in late september, and orders for library materials were quickly being met now that the summer crowding of visiting scholars was over and the fall semester frenzy had not yet begun. Still, I was surprised when Sean stopped me at the counter.
"Diana, the scripts are ready," he whispered with a hint of banter in his voice. On the front of his Scottish-patterned sweater there were rust-colored stripes from old leather ties, and he brushed it embarrassingly. A strand of sand-colored hair fell into his forehead as he did so.
"Thank you," I said, sending him a grateful smile. I was a big fan of the rule that set an upper limit on how many books you could borrow per day. Sean, who had had many drinks with me in the pink-plastered pub across the street during our student days, had complied with my wishes without a hernia for over a week.