The Compendium of Srem by F. Paul Wilson Page A

the cover, saying ‘Berber! Berber!’”
    Tomás felt himself going cold.
    â€œBerber?”
    â€œYes. He was born in Almeria where they speak Berber, and to his eyes the two words on the cover were written in Berber script. He can read only a little of the writing, but he saw enough of it growing up. I opened the book for him and he kept nodding and grinning, saying ‘Berber’ over and over.”
    Tomás knew Amaury, as did everyone else in the monastery—a simpleminded Morisco who performed menial tasks for the monks, like sweeping and serving at table. He was incapable of duplicity.
    â€œAfter that, I gave Brother Ramiro a quick look at the cover, and he saw Compendio , just as you do.” Adelard looked as if he were in physical pain. “It appears to me, good Prior, that whoever looks at this book sees the words in their native tongue. But how can that be? How can that be ?”
    Tomás’s knees felt weak. He pulled the chair to his side and lowered himself onto it.
    â€œWhat sort of deviltry have you brought into our house?”
    â€œI had no idea it was any sort of deviltry when I bought it. I spied it in the marketplace. A Moor had laid it out on a blanket with other trinkets and carvings. I thought it so unusual I bought it for Brother Ramiro—you know how he loves books. I thought he could add it to our library. Not till Amaury made his comment did I realize that it was more than simply a book with an odd cover. It…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what it is, Prior, but it has certainly been touched by deviltry. That is why I’ve brought it to you.”
    To me, Tomás thought. Well, it would have to be me, wouldn’t it.
    Yet in all his fifteen years as Grand Inquisitor he had never had to deal with sorcery or witchcraft. Truth be told, he could give no credence to that sort of nonsense. Peon superstitions.
    Until now.
    â€œThat is not all, Prior. Look at the pattern around the words. What do you see?”
    Tomás leaned closer. “I see crosshatching.”
    â€œSo do I. Now, close your eyes for a count of three.”
    He did so, then reopened them. The pattern had changed to semicircles, each row facing the opposite way of the row above and below it.
    His heart gave a painful squeeze in his chest.
    â€œWhat do you see?”
    â€œA… a wavy pattern.”
    â€œI kept my eyes open and I still see the cross hatching.”
    Tomás said nothing as he tried to comprehend what was happening here. Finally …
    â€œThere is surely deviltry on the covers. What lies between?”
    Adelard’s expression was bleak. “Heresy, Prior… the most profound heresy I have ever seen or heard.”
    â€œThat is an extreme judgment, Brother Adelard. It also means you have read it.”
    â€œNot all. Not nearly all. I spent the rest of the afternoon and all night reading it until just before I came to your door. And even so, I have only begun. It is evil, Prior. Unspeakably evil.”
    He did not recall Adelard being prone to exaggeration, but this last had to be an overstatement.
    â€œShow me.”
    Adelard placed the tome on the table and opened it. Tomás noticed that the metal cover was attached to the spine by odd interlacing hinges of a kind he had never seen before. The pages looked equally odd. Moving his chair closer, he reached out and ran his fingers over the paper—if it was paper at all—and it felt thinner than the skin of an onion, yet completely opaque. He would have expected such delicate material to be marred by wrinkles and tears, but each page was perfect.
    As was the writing that graced those pages—perfect Spanish. It had the appearance of an ornate handwritten script, yet each letter was perfect, and identical to every other of its kind. Every “a” looked like every other “a,” every “m” like every other “m.” Tomás had seen