Figured he’d ask. “Started to. Read a bit whenever there’s time. Like I said, it’s . . .”

“Hard. Old script. Like you said. Practice should make it easier.” He put out a hand. “Let me take a look.”

“Ain’t got it with me.”

“Sure, you do. Like you did last time. Can’t leave a thing like that lying around a den.”

I put on a scowl. “Do you freakin’ know everything?”

He grinned. “Just a good guesser, is all. Remember, I been there.”

Why not? After all, he’d given me zero reason not to trust him, at least a little. Plus, he’d know what the book was worth. Before I could think again, it was out of my gut wallet, and I was thrusting it at him. Oddly, letting it go brought the same relief as stashing the documents. I didn’t think he’d steal it or anything, but I watched closely as he put his back to the wind and turned into the glow of his flashlight to unfold the wrappings. He let the linen drape around his palm and studied the book without touching its cover, a precaution I hadn’t thought to take.

“Nice.” He raised it to his nose for a detailed sniff. “Too bad. I hoped it might still smell like shipboard.”

My turn to laugh. “After two hundred years?”

“Never know. Vellum, leather, cardboard, glue. All very porous and absorbent.”

“Whatever you say. You’re the book dude.”

“Is that what I am?” He posed with the book held out the length of his arm. “The Book Dude. I like it. A lot better than Danny Boy.” He lifted the cover with a careful finger to peer at the crabbed scrawl as if secrets might slip out between the pages. “Really need better light.” He closed it with a sigh, rewrapped it, and handed it back. “Can’t tell you much now. Bring it to me when the weather’s not trying to beat the shit out of us.”

I stared at the small thing in my hands. “Is it . . . um . . . real?”

“Real? You mean, a genuine artifact? Oh, yes, I’d say so. Not much value in faking something like this. Now, if the writer was famous or something . . . is there a name on it?”

“Haven’t found one. Yet.”

“ ’Cause if what you’re asking is, how much is it worth, just in itself, that would require a proper analysis. What’s it about?”

I eyed the book like I could see through the wrapping. “In the part I’ve read, the guy goes off on a boat . . . a ship . . . some kind of business venture halfway round the world, and he leaves everyone behind. His friends, his wife and child. Everyone. Except this one friend who goes with him.”

“Are they on the run?”