Nicholson's reasons for writing it and what made it so valuable. But he couldn't concentrate on anything except the name written in the front of that book.
He knew that name, had known it since the day his parents told him the secret they'd been keeping all his life.
He could still see their faces now. His mother had been so angry Morgan thought she might explode with it. His father hadn't seemed angry at all, which was somehow worse. His face was blank and whenever Morgan spoke to him there was a second's delay before he answered, as if the words had to travel a long way to reach him.
"You're not ours," his father had said. "You never were. Not like -" But he hadn't said the name. Her name hadn't been spoken in their house since the day she'd died.
Morgan had thought this was their way of punishing him for what had happened. "Don't say that," he begged. "Please, mum - tell him it isn't true."
"I wish to God we'd never taken you in," his mum had said, her voice so cold and businesslike that Morgan had barely recognised it. "You've been nothing but trouble since the day you arrived."
Even then, Morgan hadn't believed it. He'd shaken his head and sobbed and his dad might have left it at that. Looking back on the memory now, he thought he might have seen the first flush of shame in his father's face. But his mother had been crazy with grief, and the rage that accompanied it had an easy target.
Morgan remembered her fingers clawing into him as she dragged him to the filing cabinet in one corner of the room. She'd pulled the drawers out so quickly that he'd heard the mechanism break, but she didn't seem to notice. File after file fell on the floor as she threw them aside after only a cursory glance. And then, finally, she'd found the one she was looking for.
For the first time, Morgan had seen a crack in the furious mask of her face, something softer and more human beneath it. But she'd still handed him the file. "Here," she said. "You should see this."
He'd taken it hesitantly. It was a plain brown manila folder with a line of type along one side. It only took him a moment to realise that it was his name and date of birth. "What is it, mum?" he asked.
She couldn't look him in the eye. "Just read it, Morgan."
Morgan had squinted closely, trying to make sense of it. But he was too young to understand and he passed it back to her. "It's just names," he said. "What do they mean?"
His mother hesitated a moment as if, for the first time, she was having second thoughts. Then her face hardened and Morgan knew she was remembering what happened three days ago. "This is your birth certificate," she said. "Those are the names of your parents. Your real parents."
And Morgan had looked again, at those four words - Thalia and Geraint Nicholson- and wondered how he could have spent seven years not knowing the single most important fact about his life.
CHAPTER SIX
Tomas spent a little longer flicking through the book, but it was futile. Whatever code Nicholson had used, it wasn't one Tomas recognised.
"We should skedaddle," Belle said. "Karamov's men are only lost in the maze, they haven't upped and disappeared."
"What about the book?" Morgan asked. His voice sounded shaky and Tomas wasn't surprised. At least when he'd first learned about the Hermetic Division and all it stood for, the veil had been drawn back slowly, giving him time to adjust to each new revelation. Morgan must feel as if the foundations of his world had been chipped away and replaced with quicksand.
It all came back to Nicholson - Nicholson, who was apparently dead. He'd always had such a vital presence, blazing with a passion nothing seemed able to quench. Tomas realised that he didn't find Nicholson's death upsetting so much as profoundly improbable. Men like Nicholson weren't meant to die.
"There's one gentleman who might be able to tell us why this book is so important," Belle said.
Morgan looked puzzled, but after a moment Tomas nodded.
He knew that name, had known it since the day his parents told him the secret they'd been keeping all his life.
He could still see their faces now. His mother had been so angry Morgan thought she might explode with it. His father hadn't seemed angry at all, which was somehow worse. His face was blank and whenever Morgan spoke to him there was a second's delay before he answered, as if the words had to travel a long way to reach him.
"You're not ours," his father had said. "You never were. Not like -" But he hadn't said the name. Her name hadn't been spoken in their house since the day she'd died.
Morgan had thought this was their way of punishing him for what had happened. "Don't say that," he begged. "Please, mum - tell him it isn't true."
"I wish to God we'd never taken you in," his mum had said, her voice so cold and businesslike that Morgan had barely recognised it. "You've been nothing but trouble since the day you arrived."
Even then, Morgan hadn't believed it. He'd shaken his head and sobbed and his dad might have left it at that. Looking back on the memory now, he thought he might have seen the first flush of shame in his father's face. But his mother had been crazy with grief, and the rage that accompanied it had an easy target.
Morgan remembered her fingers clawing into him as she dragged him to the filing cabinet in one corner of the room. She'd pulled the drawers out so quickly that he'd heard the mechanism break, but she didn't seem to notice. File after file fell on the floor as she threw them aside after only a cursory glance. And then, finally, she'd found the one she was looking for.
For the first time, Morgan had seen a crack in the furious mask of her face, something softer and more human beneath it. But she'd still handed him the file. "Here," she said. "You should see this."
He'd taken it hesitantly. It was a plain brown manila folder with a line of type along one side. It only took him a moment to realise that it was his name and date of birth. "What is it, mum?" he asked.
She couldn't look him in the eye. "Just read it, Morgan."
Morgan had squinted closely, trying to make sense of it. But he was too young to understand and he passed it back to her. "It's just names," he said. "What do they mean?"
His mother hesitated a moment as if, for the first time, she was having second thoughts. Then her face hardened and Morgan knew she was remembering what happened three days ago. "This is your birth certificate," she said. "Those are the names of your parents. Your real parents."
And Morgan had looked again, at those four words - Thalia and Geraint Nicholson- and wondered how he could have spent seven years not knowing the single most important fact about his life.
CHAPTER SIX
Tomas spent a little longer flicking through the book, but it was futile. Whatever code Nicholson had used, it wasn't one Tomas recognised.
"We should skedaddle," Belle said. "Karamov's men are only lost in the maze, they haven't upped and disappeared."
"What about the book?" Morgan asked. His voice sounded shaky and Tomas wasn't surprised. At least when he'd first learned about the Hermetic Division and all it stood for, the veil had been drawn back slowly, giving him time to adjust to each new revelation. Morgan must feel as if the foundations of his world had been chipped away and replaced with quicksand.
It all came back to Nicholson - Nicholson, who was apparently dead. He'd always had such a vital presence, blazing with a passion nothing seemed able to quench. Tomas realised that he didn't find Nicholson's death upsetting so much as profoundly improbable. Men like Nicholson weren't meant to die.
"There's one gentleman who might be able to tell us why this book is so important," Belle said.
Morgan looked puzzled, but after a moment Tomas nodded.
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