In Tongues of the Dead Read Online Free

instruction: he had the name of the school the child attended and would go there after lunch to learn more about the boy and try to find out where he lived. He read the second instruction again, then leaned across his bed and picked up the telephone. He carefully pressed each digit. His hands were shaking.
    The phone rang only once before it was answered.
    A female voice said, “Please hold.”
    Father McCallum started to speak but realized the woman was gone.
    He waited for about five minutes, imagining a series of phone calls and a flurry of activity at the Vatican. The Voynich manuscript must be important if the Holy Church had kept one line, one phone number, dedicated to his call. He tried to calculate what time it would be in Rome. He thought the Vatican was six hours ahead of Connecticut, so it must be around dinnertime there.
    And then the phone clicked and a voice said, “Yes?” It was a voice well worn with time and betrayed a heavy European accent Father McCallum couldn’t quite place.
    â€œThis is Father McCallum. I have been instructed to phone this number.”
    â€œYes, yes, I am well aware. Are you alone?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œCan anyone hear our conversation?”
    â€œNot on this end.”
    â€œGood, good,” the voice murmured. “Now tell me who read the manuscript.”
    â€œIt was a six-year-old boy.”
    â€œYes.”
    Father McCallum expected another question but none came so he continued, “The boy is autistic and a teacher told me that he has never spoken, but he spoke to me.”
    â€œWhat did the boy say?”
    â€œHe said the manuscript was written in the language of the forsaken.”
    â€œThe forsaken?” the voice asked.
    Was it the cardinal? Father McCallum strained to place the accent. “The boy said the forsaken were half angel, half human.”
    There was a silence. Then: “Tell me, did he read any part of the manuscript to you?” The voice was suddenly sharp.
    The priest felt sure it was Cardinal Espinosa. “No,” he answered. “I asked the boy to read it but we were interrupted.”
    â€œDo not allow the boy to read the manuscript,” the cardinal said roughly.
    Father McCallum felt uncomfortable. “Yes, of course,” he said.
    In a more relaxed tone, the cardinal said, “Fine. That is good. And you have told no one but came immediately to this task — to call me?”
    â€œThat’s correct.”
    â€œAnd you know how to find this boy?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œFine. Do not contact this boy directly. Continue to be aware of him and how to find him. I am sending someone to investigate further. When he arrives you will apprise him of the situation and then wait for further instruction from my office.”
    Father McCallum was taken aback. “You’re sending someone?”
    There was no reply, and he realized the cardinal had hung up the phone.
    He felt let down. He would probably not participate in the investigation of the boy. He was only a watchdog, and now, at the most important moment, someone else would take over, and he, loyal Father McCallum, would end up at a desk job somewhere. He had always hoped solving the mystery of the Voynich manuscript would be life-altering, and that afterward he wouldn’t mind leaving his post at the Beinecke Rare Book Collection.
    Instead he felt a cold chill.
It is all for the service of the church
,he reminded himself, rubbing his hands together. He had more work to do: he needed to find out about the boy. Where the school was and where the boy lived. When the Vatican representative arrived, Father McCallum would demonstrate his usefulness.

VI
    Father Benicio Valori’s height made him stand out among the diminutive natives of Cambodia. At just over six feet, he was taller than almost everyone in the tiny village. That wasn’t good — his mission was supposed to be discreet.
    He stretched and yawned. He