feel drawn to the very things you describe. This spirit travel of which you speak—is there anything of use for practical application contained in the book?”
“Oh, indeed. Brother Luciferus was keenly interested in this mode of conveyance and its implications for discerning what he calls”—the philosopher paused to consult the pages in his hand, scanning them for the place he had marked—“yes, here it is, ‘a most salubrious mechanism which reveals the impossible breadth of creation and the deeper expression of the Mind of God.’ In this, he is not wrong—as I myself can attest.”
“Indeed?” Douglas affected surprise. He knew from his researches the legend that Roger Bacon had been credited with the ability to appear and disappear at will, and even to be in two places at once—both of which would be easily accomplished through ley travel.
“Oh, yes. I have indulged in experiments which have proved beyond all doubt that it is a repeatable phenomenon which, however poor our understanding of it, nevertheless affords ready application of its properties to those who know how to manipulate the more subtle energies.”
“The book tells how to do it?”
Bacon nodded. “And more. Brother Luciferus expounds practical principles as well as concomitant philosophical considerations—such as deriving the dynamism by which spirit travel operates, the mechanism, if you will, and its salutary effects on the physical body.”
“How very interesting.” Douglas’ eye fell upon the sheaf of parchment scraps. “And you have translated this?”
“For purposes of further experimentation, I have.” Bacon paused, then added, “I hope your abbot will not mind. Of course, the translation is mine and must never leave my possession.”
They talked on through the evening hours and far into the night, pausing only to take a little bread and wine so that they might continue their discussion. When at last the renowned scholar confessed to growing weary and needing a little rest, Douglas rose and with a low bow of deference, thanked his host for his unstinting diligence and service. “I shall speak to my abbot, and no doubt he will wish to reward you for your intellectual generosity and service to scholarship. You have been more than helpful.”
“I hope you will give your abbot my best regards.” Bacon took the red ribbon and carefully retied the bundle in his lap, then returned to the strongbox and locked away the deciphered script. “Will you come to me again, brother?” he asked, dropping the key back into place inside his robe. “We have much to discuss.”
“Alas, my time in Oxford has come to an end,” replied Douglas. “My duties at the abbey . . .” He smiled apologetically.
“I understand.”
“But, God willing, I may be asked to return for further instruction. If so, I will welcome the opportunity. Indeed, I—” He paused, as if embarrassed.
“What is it, I pray you?” asked the professor. “Was there something else?”
“I have already taxed you enough,” said Douglas. “But there is one final matter which may interest you as much as it has excited the curiosity of many of our brothers at the abbey—a matter I have been pursuing in my own researches.” He reached into his robe and brought out the copy of the Skin Map he had obtained from Sir Henry’s strongbox in the Christ Church crypt. “May I?”
“By all means,” granted Bacon. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn.
“I am led to believe that this is a map. I mention it now because of its uncanny similarity to the symbol language you have translated from the Book of Forbidden Secrets.”
Friar Bacon held out his hand for the parchment. “If you would allow me.” He unrolled it and held it to the light. “Yes, I see what you mean.”
“Can you make any sense of it?”
“A map, you say?”
“So I believe.”
“Yesss . . . ,” the scholar said slowly. “Fascinating.”
Douglas bit his lip.
“Yes, I do see what you mean,” confirmed Bacon. “But it is not a map.”
Douglas felt his strength leaking away through his legs into the floor. He swayed on his feet as if the floor were tilting beneath the knowledge that his efforts had been for nothing. He fought down his disappointment.
“Not a map in the common sense of the word,” Bacon continued, “though I understand why some may think it so.” He held the parchment to his face to study it more closely. “Yes. These are numerical coordinates.” He tapped a finger on one of the meticulously copied symbols. “Given a key, I believe I could decipher