The black book of secrets pdf download

I dragged him across the grass between the headstones to the church gates, where Jeremiah had said there would be someone waiting. I saw them. Two men dressed in black, their faces and heads hidden beneath hoods.

Without a word they took the body and threw it on to the back of their cart between barrels of ale. They covered it with straw and then took off. I worked like a man possessed, shovelling with the energy of a demon, and when it was finally done I went home. I woke the next day convinced I had dreamed it all, but there by the fireplace was the wooden shovel.

I could hardly bear to look upon myself in the mirror. Whatever my reason for doing it, I was still no better than a common bodysnatcher. Doubtless the corpse was now far away, likely as not in the City, under the knife of a surgeon in the anatomy school and all in the interest of science. They paid good money for bodies, and Jeremiah was lining his pockets with it, but never had I thought I would be involved in such a grisly, sinful business.

Jeremiah came knocking that night. What are you talking about? Now you want more? Belonged to his father. Strange custom, to bury what could be sold for cash. Ratchet wanted me to be a thief for him as well as a bodysnatcher. Next time you will have to be more careful. That was over six months ago and Jeremiah has called on me again and again to do his dirty work.

All I know is if I am caught, Jeremiah will not be the one to suffer. That man enjoys the fruits of my wickedness and I can do nothing about it. I lie awake until the small hours, tortured by my actions. I am betraying the trust of the villagers, a trust I have built up all my life. If they knew they would string me up as soon as they got hold of me.

Jeremiah Ratchet. How I detest that man. Ludlow hesitated at that last sentence, but he had been instructed to write everything he heard so he did. He stole a look at Obadiah, who was as ashenfaced as the very corpses he unearthed. Then he put down his quill, laid a sheet of blotting paper between the pages and closed the book.

Obadiah sat back in the chair, exhausted, and covered his face with his hands. There is a natural justice in this world. Perhaps it is not as swift as we should like, but believe me, Jeremiah Ratchet will feel its force.

Now, go home and you will sleep, and you will not dream. Joe merely blinked once slowly. Be patient. It was after two when Obadiah left and Joe stood at the door and watched him go down the hill and into his cottage. He waited until the lights were extinguished and the place was in complete darkness before coming back in and locking up.

I stayed at the table staring blankly at the closed book, my mind spinning at what I had just heard. Now I understood. It was difficult to believe that Joe had allowed me to touch such a book, let alone write in it. How I desired to throw it open and read it from cover to cover! What other tales of desperation and despair would I find in there?

I could hear Joe moving around in the shop and talking to the frog. I snapped the book shut and jumped awkwardly to my feet, knocking over the chair.

I watched nervously as he examined what I had written. I was not used to praise. To cover my embarrassment I pointed to the golden words on the cover. People believe what they read, whatever the truth of it. They have confided in me, confessing their deepest secrets, and it is my duty to protect them.

Wherever I go, there is a criminal element, loyal to no one, who would pay well for this and use it for financial gain or worse. But these confessions have been trusted to us, Ludlow, and we must not speak of them outside this room.

But just then my hand felt something cold in my pocket and my heart skipped a beat. The timepieces. I still had them. He must not have noticed they had gone.

I resolved to return them as soon as possible. I nodded solemnly. But I also know what it is to be human. Temptation is a curse to all men. I knew a fellow once who only made decisions on the toss of a coin. Should he get up or stay in bed? He tossed a coin. Should he eat or should he not? He lived thus for nearly two years until he was struck down by illness. So he tossed a coin to decide whether or not to send for the physician and the coin said yes.

His diagnosis was somewhat awry and the medicine he gave was rather too strong so the poor chap died the next day. Now, where were we? First, we always start on a clean page. I make it a rule to go forwards, never to go back. He knew I had looked in the book. Was this some sort of test? Was he tempting me to steal it?

As I continued to stare he asked me a curious question. Such as those who are not born in the City. Most born there die there. But you have managed to leave. Maybe it was Destiny herself brought you here to me. More like my own two feet!

As such you control your own fate. Only one thing is certain: none of us can escape the grave. Although it was unexpected I took it. We went to bed soon after that.

Then I settled down again, wrapped up in the cloak. Sleep evaded me, for my mind was restless. I turned over and thought of Obadiah and Jeremiah Ratchet. Poor Obadiah, he was right to be disgusted at himself; grave robbers and bodysnatchers were considered below contempt. What a cruel irony, for a gravedigger to have to unbury the dead.

As I pitied the gravedigger, my contempt grew for Ratchet. He might have brought me to the village, but that was more by luck than design. An hour passed and still I was awake. My mind was thick with confusion.

I knew that had Ma and Pa been here they would not have thought twice about hitting Joe over the head and taking the Black Book of Secrets. As for the bottle on the mantel, that would have been downed long ago. They would have expected no less of me. My instincts — to lie, to steal, to cheat — were bred into me practically from birth.

But here, in Pagus Parvus with Joe, they seemed wrong. I lay in an agony of indecision. How could I be expected not to do what had come naturally to me my whole life? Carefully I eased the book out from under his mattress and tucked it in the crook of my arm. I wrapped the cloak around me and crept through to the shop.

I was surprised to find that the door to the street was unlocked. I pulled it open and stepped outside. It had all been so easy. Not a floorboard had squeaked, not a hinge had creaked.

Snow was falling lightly and a glow fell on the street from the lights in the windows. Like last night most of Pagus Parvus was still awake. If I went now I could go down that hill and never be seen again. Suddenly I felt the timepieces jarring against my leg and I stopped. I laughed quietly at my own stupidity. What was I thinking? It was the middle of the night, the middle of winter.

Behind me was a warm bed and food and someone who seemed to care for me; ahead of me was nothing but white snow and bitter cold. I hurried inside and placed the timepieces back in the window.

With a shaking hand I slipped the Black Book back under the mattress, willing Joe not to wake, and crept over to the fireplace. As I curled up beside the orange coals I chastized myself. It was hard to believe that only a day or so ago I had been in the foul City, living the precarious life of a common thief and facing at the hands of my own parents a terrible betrayal.

Yet here I was now earning a living, and one more mysterious and exciting than I could ever have imagined. I might have to live with my past, but here, with Joe, I had a future. Joe was standing in front of the fire toasting the heels of a loaf on the end of the poker.

I was a little disturbed myself. Joe dropped the toast on to a plate and sat down at the table. We could have been murdered in our beds.

Joe continued smoothly. You would be a great help to me. Time for breakfast. There was even cutlery, but Ludlow did not let this slow him down and he ate as if he were a condemned man. Such hospitality. Joe took another large bite of toast and washed it down with a mouthful of beer. He dabbed at his chin with a napkin that lay across his knees.

Ludlow had not seen such gentility before and self-consciously he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Then for once he waited until he had swallowed before speaking. I think he is a good man. But that is little comfort to the poor man. He is right to be scared. If he is caught, then he will certainly be put in prison or hanged from the nearest tree. What about his part? After all, what proof is there that Jeremiah is connected? The verdict is as good as decided already.

I fear Jeremiah has such a grip on this village that no one here would dare accuse him, let alone try to convict him. Joe shook his head. I must not interfere in the course of things. Our job is to keep secrets. Once it is in the book, the matter is closed. In fact, we should not even be speaking of it now.

The chamber pot sat in the corner next to the wooden leg. Towards the end of the afternoon Ludlow was rearranging the buttons in the window when he became aware that he had an audience.

Three boys stood outside — the same three who had been in the crowd when Joe had first introduced himself — their heights descending from right to left. They pressed their faces against the window but they appeared to be shy about coming in. Joe went to the door. The youngest proved to be the bravest. They went up to the tank and looked in awe at the colourful creature who repaid their interest by promptly turning her back to them. He allowed them to drop the tasty titbits into the tank through a hatch in the lid.

After all, it is not difficult to hold a frog. What you seek is my permission. He hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. Joe had a tale for the boys almost every day they came up to the shop. He mesmerized them with stories of the faraway lands he had visited, where the mountains spewed fire and molten rock; of the forests where the trees were so tall it was always cold night on the forest floor and yet their leaves were burned by the sun.

He spoke of ships and cities that lay together on the bottom of the ocean; of the frozen wastes where the sun never set. But there was one thing he never told them about, no matter how hard they pleaded, no matter how urgently they begged. But Joe always shook his head.

She and Ludlow still enjoyed their brief chats over the counter, although actually it was more a case of Ludlow listening and Polly talking, for once she got started it was no easy task to stop her. He was curious about the village and its inhabitants, Jeremiah in particular, and Polly was more than happy to tell him about the goings-on in the large house down the hill.

Ludlow soon realized that life had not treated Polly well. She was bright but suffered the disadvantage of little education. Her parents had died when she was only a baby, and Lily Weaver, the local seamstress, had taken her in. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, for Polly, it was about that time Jeremiah Ratchet made it known that he was in need of a maid.

It gave me some peace. They buried him so quickly no one even saw the body. He treated Horatio, his son, really badly. Was it really that bad? The few times he had asked, Joe had avoided the question very successfully. Ludlow did not actually know very much about his new master.

Even in the exotic stories he told to the Sourdough brothers Joe somehow managed to give little away. You should hear how he curses the pair of you. One day he really will explode! True, they owned little of any great value, but, unlike most pawnbrokers, Joe took everything he was offered, even the most ridiculous and worthless items — a moth-eaten, slightly mouldy stuffed cat being one such example — and paid good money as he promised.

Ludlow could not imagine even Lembart Jellico accepting such a pledge. As most customers came in wheezing after climbing the hill, Joe instructed that a chair be set by the door and it was gratefully received.

Ludlow watched them from behind the counter, gasping and coughing and complaining. Eventually the noise would subside and they would come over to show whatever sorry item they had brought.

Joe would hold it up to the light and turn it this way and that. All the while the customer stood by hardly breathing, fists closed and whiteknuckled, hoping that Joe would take the useless object. He did of course and they were all grateful, immensely so, and thanked Joe profusely.

Often that was the end of business and they would back out of the door still saying thank you. But sometimes the person hung on, hopping from one foot to the other, pretending to be interested in Saluki. Invariably they would talk about Jeremiah Ratchet. It had made a great impression upon the villagers. He merely shook his head sadly. I soon learned the weather in the region varied little from what I had experienced the night I arrived.

Sitting as it was on the exposed side of a mountain, covered in snow eight months out of twelve and rained on for the other four, Pagus Parvus was not popular with outsiders, and those who lived there left it rarely. Although rumours had reached them of a vehicle that moved by itself, they had not yet seen one of these great iron beasts, and the parallel tracks it rode on were not coming in the direction of Pagus Parvus. If given a choice Pagus Parvians preferred to travel by horse and carriage, but that was a privilege of the few, so mainly they were on foot.

If it had not been for Joe there was little to keep me here, but still I began to think of it as home. My days as a pickpocket were long over and I was glad not to have to thieve any more. It was worth it to see how he stared whenever we met. At night, after supper, we would sit by the fire and talk. We discussed many things but seldom reached any conclusions. Joe was a man of few expressions; his face rarely gave anything away, although he became quite animated when we talked about Saluki.

That frog was treated like a queen. Joe fed her the finest bugs and snails and worms and the Sourdough boys were up almost every day just to fuss over her. We also talked about Jeremiah Ratchet. Whenever the shop bell rang I had taken to guessing whether it would be a pledge or merely another complaint about Jeremiah.

The blustering buffoon had practically the whole village beholden to him. He seemed to spend his days either threatening to evict his tenants or sending his masked men to do just that.

Every time I heard his name I became more and more frustrated that no one in the village seemed willing, or able, to challenge him. Sometimes conversations with Joe were like riddles. There are enough of them. Each person is so caught up with his own predicament that he cannot see true strength is in the crowd.

To overthrow Jeremiah they must work together, but he has them divided and held hostage to their fears. They believe he has informers in the village. They talk to me because I am a stranger and Jeremiah has no hold over me. In their desperation they think I might save them from that scoundrel. Silently I willed Joe to take him on. I cannot count the number of times Joe said this. It always left me wondering: was he suggesting that he knew the course of things?

And although he maintained that he was unwilling to bring about change, his very presence had already had a noticeable effect on the villagers. After all, he had come to Pagus Parvus a stranger, opened his shop and in a matter of days he had gained the respect and admiration of all around him.

We were all drawn to him, like the moths that fluttered noisily outside the lighted windows at night. But you could just feel when he was near. As for how Joe made a living, well that was a complete mystery to me. After all, what sort of business was it to give money away?

How else could you explain what he was doing? The window display was growing daily, but although he paid for many items, I rarely saw him sell anything. And then there was the Black Book of Secrets. Pagus Parvians were quick to take advantage of the service he offered and at midnight Joe was handing out bags of coins to all and sundry. There were many secrets in Pagus Parvus. During the day the place seemed nothing more than what it was, a small mountain village. It was only in the hours of darkness that it became obvious all was not well.

All those wakeful nights I spent looking down the hill, I knew that behind the windows each glowing lamp, each flickering candle told a tale.

Shadows moved across the curtains, silhouettes paced in the dark, pressing their knuckles against their foreheads in frustration and guilt. Joe listened intently to every tale of woe and, regardless of the confession, he never passed judgement. That was worth four shillings. When Lily Weaver came by and said she had been cheating her customers out of cloth by using a short measure, he gave her seven.

Joe, and I, knew this already. Instead Joe used them for his dinner. Each night Joe stoked up the fire and set the bottle of liquor and two glasses on the mantel and I took the Black Book from its hiding place and filled the inkwell. Then we sat and waited, he in his chair by the fire and I in mine at the table. There was hardly a night went by without a knock on the door as the church bell struck twelve.

I played my part. As the villagers gave their confessions, I sat in the shadows and wrote it all down, word for word. Sometimes it was hard not to shout out at what I was hearing. Every so often I would sneak a look at Joe sitting by the fire resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, his fingers slightly touching.

His face was like a blank page, whatever was said. Very occasionally he would bend back his forefingers for a split second, make circles in the air with the tips and then bring them back together again.

But not once did his expression change. Man meat. They loved the scrape of the blade on metal and to see the sparks that flew around his head. As for Horatio Cleaver, the subject of this slander, as soon as he saw their wet noses against the window he roared at them and ran to the door and shook his knives violently in their direction. The trio ran away screaming and laughing, tripping and skidding down the icy hill with their arms flailing. Ludlow and Joe arrived just in time to see the Sourdough boys disappearing in the distance.

Open Library is a project of the Internet Archive , a c 3 non-profit. See more about this book on Archive. This edition doesn't have a description yet. Can you add one? Previews available in:. Add another edition? Copy and paste this code into your Wikipedia page. Need help? The Black Book of Buried Secrets. Advanced embedding details, examples, and help!

Publication date Topics Family secrets , Code and cipher stories , Family secrets , Family secrets Publisher New York : Scholastic Collection inlibrary ; printdisabled ; internetarchivebooks ; delawarecountydistrictlibrary ; china ; americana Digitizing sponsor Internet Archive Contributor Internet Archive Language English. A full-color guide that provides complete access to the Cahill's most deeply-buried secrets and lays bare each hidden fact, concealed strategy, top agent, lost founder, secret base and hushed-up scandal of the Clue hunt as well as providing information about all five branches of history's most notorious family, including the elusive Madrigals.

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