The Prisoner of Heaven (The Cemetery of Forgotten 3)

‘As you know, I’m not too keen on this place …’

‘You don’t understand. We’ve got to speed up the plan.’

‘When to?’

Martín watched him at length through the curtain of smoke rising from his lips.

‘To tonight.’

Fermín tried to swallow, but his mouth felt as if it were full of dust.

‘But I don’t even know what the plan is yet …’

‘Listen carefully.’

15

That afternoon, before returning to his cell, Fermín approached one of the two guards who had escorted him to Valls’s office.

‘Tell the governor I need to talk to him.’

‘What about?’

‘Tell him I have the results he was waiting for. He’ll know what I mean.’

Before an hour had passed, the guard and his colleague were at the door of cell number 13 to fetch Fermín. Salgado watched the whole thing eagerly from the bunk as he massaged his stump. Fermín winked at him and set off, escorted by the guards.

The governor received him with an effusive smile and a plateful of delicious pastries from Casa Escribá.

‘Fermín, dear friend, what a pleasure to see you here again, ready for an intelligent and productive conversation. Do sit down, please. And enjoy this fine selection of sweets brought to me by the wife of one of the prisoners.’

Fermín, who for days hadn’t been a

ble to swallow so much as a birdseed, picked up a ring-shaped pastry so as not to disobey Valls, and held it in his hand as if he were holding an amulet. Valls poured himself a glass of brandy and dropped into his ample general’s armchair.

‘So? I understand you have good news for me,’ the governor said, inviting Fermín to talk.

Fermín nodded.

‘In the belles-lettres department, I can assure Your Honour that Martín is more than persuaded and motivated to carry out the polishing and ironing task he was requested to do. Moreover, he remarked that the material you supplied him with, sir, is of such a high quality and so fine, that he thinks it will pose no difficulties. All he needs to do is dot a few i’s and cross a few t’s in your work of genius to produce a masterpiece worthy of the great Paracelsus.’

Valls paused to absorb Fermín’s barrage of words, but nodded politely without removing his frozen smile.

‘There’s no need for you to sweeten it for me, Fermín. It’s enough for me to know that Martín will do what he has to do. We’re both aware that he doesn’t like the task he’s been assigned, but I’m glad he’s seeing reason at last and understands that making things possible benefits us all. And now, about the other two points …’

‘I was coming to that, sir. Concerning the burial ground of the lost volumes …’

‘The Cemetery of Forgotten Books,’ Valls corrected him. ‘Have you been able to extract its location from Martín?’

Fermín nodded with utter conviction.

‘From what I’ve been able to gather, the aforementioned ossuary is hidden behind a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers, beneath the Borne market.’

Valls weighed up that revelation, visibly surprised.

‘And the entrance?’

‘I wasn’t able to get that far, sir. I imagine that it must be through some trapdoor camouflaged behind the uninviting paraphernalia and stench of some of the wholesale vegetable stalls. Martín didn’t want to talk about it and I thought that if I pressed him too much he might dig his heels in.’