Free The Adept Book 2 The Lodge Of The Lynx by Katherine Kurtz, Deborah Turner Harris Page A

Randall replied. “I myself saw an exhibition of your work in the National Gallery. The critics’ praise was well-merited, and I’m happy to have met you in person.”
    Before Peregrine could summon a suitable reply, the old man turned back to Adam.
    “Forgive me, but I was almost forgetting. You’ve come about the Bartholomaeus, haven’t you? It’s locked up in my desk. Come upstairs and I’ll get it for you—you, too, Mr. Lovat. Miranda will look after the shop while we chat, won’t you, my dear?”
    They followed him up two flights of stairs to a large garret room at the top of the building. In addition to the heavy oaken desk by the windows, there were two comfortably well-worn armchairs drawn up on either side of a gas fire, as well as a sink and sideboard built into a nook in one corner.
    “My home away from home,” Randall explained to Peregrine with a smile. “Adam, would you and your young friend care for some tea?”
    “I’m afraid we really haven’t a great deal of time,” Adam said apologetically. “I’ve left Christopher minding the car, with instructions to invoke benefit of clergy if a traffic warden gets stroppy, and Victoria will be holding lunch for us. Besides that, we appear to have caught you in the middle of some work.”
    He gestured toward the desk, which was dominated by an ancient manual typewriter. A sheet of typing paper half-covered in print stuck up above the platen.
    “It’s nothing that can’t wait a few minutes,” Randall said with a faint smile. “A letter to the editor of the Sunday Times. It won’t make this week’s edition anyway.”
    “Another letter?” Adam quirked an eyebrow. “I admire your diligence, Randall. Your piece in last week’s Times was quite an elegant apologia for the institution of Freemasonry.”
    The bookseller looked pleased. “Why, thank you. That’s high praise, coming from someone who is not a member of the Craft-though I know you’re sympathetic to the work.” Then his face sobered. “I must confess, I’m not a little worried about the recent attacks that have been made on our fraternal order. Just the other night, vandals broke into the Freemason’s Hall in George Street and did damage to several of the rooms. And there have been other incidents . . .”
    His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. Granted, the public have not always understood the nature of our institution. Our detractors mistrust what they regard as our secrecy. But it’s only through secrecy that we can guarantee that the knowledge entrusted to us will not be abused by men of self-seeking ambition. And so we must continue to guard our rites, hoping at the same time that our works themselves will stand as proof of our benign intentions.”
    Adam was nodding. “To quote from a more modern rendering of the passage from St. Matthew, ‘ Be careful not to parade your good deeds before men to attract their notice, for by doing this you will lose all reward from your Father in heaven.’” You make a very able advocate, Randall. I’ll be watching for your letter in next Sunday’s editorial section.”
    “In that case,” said Randall, “I shall make a point of getting it finished. Now, let me show you the Bartholomaeus.”
    Beckoning Adam to accompany him, he crossed over to the desk and unlocked the lowest drawer on the left-hand side. Peregrine followed, peering over Adam’s shoulder as the elderly bookseller lifted out a stout volume bound in tooled leather.
    “This is merely a Victorian facsimile of the 1495 edition by Wynken de Worde,” Randall explained, “but I think you’ll find that it faithfully mirrors the original.”
    Adam opened to the title page, then lifted the book in his hands so that Peregrine could read it: De Proprietatibus Rerum.
    “Concerning the Properties of Things,” he said aloud, automatically translating the Latin. As Adam continued to leaf through it, Peregrine realized that