Necropolis by Anthony Horowitz

something. You will not shoot me if I reach into my bag?"
    He glanced at the professor, then reached beside him. He took out an old, leather-bound book and laid it on the table. Nobody in the room said anything. But they all knew what it was. It was hard to believe that it was actually there, in front of them. The cover was dark brown with a few faint tracings of gold, tied with a cord. The edges of the pages were rough and uneven. Matt recognized it at once. It contained everything they needed to know about the Old Ones. It might even describe how they could be defeated.
    "It is the diary of the mad monk," Ramon said.
    And it was. The small, square book sitting there in the middle of the table was, supposedly, the only copy in the world. There was no limit to how many secrets it might contain, how valuable it might be.
    "How did you get it?" Richard demanded.
    "I stole it!" Ramon took out a handkerchief and wiped it across his forehead. "I thought it would be impossible, but in fact it was easy. You see, I still had my electronic passkey to the office of Salamanda News International in Lima. And I had this crazy idea. Maybe the key had not been canceled. Se Salamanda was dead, but surely they had forgotten about me. Two days ago, I returned to the office.
    Nobody saw me, although by now they will know that it is gone. I took it from his desk and hurried away into the night. It is possible that the cameras will have identified me and that they will be searching for me even now."
    Richard was still suspicious. "What do you want from us?" he asked. "Do you want us to pay you?"

    Ramon shook his head. "Can you not understand me?" he exclaimed. He clasped his hands in front of him. "I am twenty-eight years old. Next year I hope to be married. When I was given this work by Se Salamanda, I knew nothing. It was just, for me, a job."
    He pushed the diary away.
    "Here! You can have it without payment. It is yours. I brought it to you only because I thought you might make use of it in this great…" He searched for the word in English. "…
    lucha.
    Struggle. I want nothing from you. I am sorry that I came."
    There was a pause. Matt knew that he had just been given a fantastic prize. The diary might explain the dreamworld. It might tell them the history of the twenty-five doorways that stood in so many different countries. Who had built them, and when? It might even help them work out what they were supposed to do when the five of them finally met in London. Ramon was right: Salamanda had been prepared to kill to get his hands on the diary, and now it had just been handed to them, out of the blue.
    Jamie leaned forward and picked it up. He unwound the cord, and the diary opened in his hands. He examined the page in front of him. It was covered in handwriting that would have been almost unreadable even if it hadn't been in Spanish. There were tiny diagrams in the margins. Suddenly his eyes lit up. He pointed to a single word.
    "Sapling," he said. "That was my name when I went back in time. Sapling was killed and I took his place."
    The diary was real. Matt had no doubt of it. But what about the man who had brought it to them? He looked genuine, but Richard had been expecting some sort of trap, and this could well be it. Suddenly Matt had an idea. There was an easy way to find out. "Jamie," he said. "Ask him if he's telling the truth."
    Jamie understood at once. But before he could act, Scott stood up. "I'll do it," he said.
    Scott walked forward and stopped in front of the visitor. He looked Ramon straight in the eyes. "Are you telling the truth?" he demanded.
    "On my mother's grave," Ramon replied, crossing himself and then kissing his thumb. "I'm only here because it is the right thing to do. Because I want to help."
    Scott concentrated. This was his power, the ability that had kept audiences entertained for the many months when he was performing in Reno. They had thought it was a trick, but in fact it was real. He could read