The Compendium of Srem by F. Paul Wilson Page B

one of the Holy Bibles printed by that German, Gutenberg, where each letter had been exactly like all its brothers. The Gutenberg book had been printed in two columns per page, however, whereas the script in this compendium flowed from margin to margin.
    â€œShow me heresy,” Tomás said.
    â€œLet me show you deviltry first, Prior,” said the monk as he began to turn the pages at blinding speed.
    â€œYou go too fast. How will you know when to stop?”
    â€œI will know, Prior. I will know.”
    Tomás saw numerous illustrations fly by, many in color.
    â€œHere!” Adelard said, stopping and jabbing his finger at a page. “Here is deviltry most infernal!”
    Tomás felt his saliva dry as he faced a page with an illustration that moved… a globe spinning in a rectangular black void. Lines crisscrossed the globe, connecting glowing dots on its surface.
    â€œHeavenly Lord! It…” He licked his lips. “It moves.”
    He reached out, but hesitated. It looked as if his hand might pass into the void depicted on the page.
    â€œGo ahead, Prior. I have touched it.”
    He ran his fingers over the spinning globe. It felt as flat and smooth as the rest of the page—no motion against his fingertips, and yet the globe continued to turn beneath them.
    â€œWhat sorcery is this?”
    â€œI was praying you could tell me. Do you think that sphere is supposed to represent the world?”
    â€œI do not know. Perhaps. The Queen has just sent that Genoan, Colón, on his third voyage to the New World. He has proven that the world is round… a sphere.”
    Adelard shrugged. “He has proven only what sailors have been saying for decades.”
    Ah, yes. Brother Adelard fancied himself a philosopher.
    Tomás stared at the spinning globe. Although some members of the Church hierarchy argued against it, most now accepted that the world God had created for Mankind was indeed round; but if this apparition was supposed to be that world, then the perspective was from that of the Lord Himself.
    Why now? Why, with his health slipping away like sand—he doubted he would survive the year—did a tome that could only be described as sorcerous find its way to his quarters? In his younger days he would have relished hunting down the perpetrators of this deviltry. But now… now he barely had the strength to drag himself through the day.
    He sighed. “Light my candle and leave this abomination to me. I would read it.”
    â€œI know you must, dear Prior, but prepare yourself. The heresies are so profound they will… they will steal your sleep.”
    â€œI doubt that Brother Adelard.” In his years as Grand Inquisitor he had heard every conceivable heresy. “I doubt that very much.”
    But no matter what its contents, this tome had already stolen his sleep.
    After Adelard departed, he looked around at his spare quarters. Four familiar whitewashed walls, bare except for the crucifix over his bed. A white ceiling and a sepia tiled floor. A cot, a desk, a chair, a small chest of drawers, and a Holy Bible comprised the furnishings. As prior, as Grand Inquisitor, as the queen’s confessor, no one would have raised an eyebrow had he requisitioned more comfortable quarters. But earthly trappings led to distractions, and he would not be swayed from his Holy Course.
    Before opening the Compendium , he took his bible, kissed its cover, and laid it in his lap…

2
    Tomás read through the night. His candle burned out just as dawn began to light the sky, so he read on, foregoing breakfast. Finally he forced himself to close both the abominable book and his eyes.
    As he slumped in his chair he heard the sounds of hammers and saws and axes and the calls of the workmen wafting through his window. Every day was the same—except Sunday, of course. Main construction on the monastery— Monasterio de Santo Tomás —had been officially