“I’m actually surprised at how easily this is coming to me,” August said. “My dad forced me to take Latin as a kid. He called it ‘resurrection class,’ because . . . you know . . .”

“Nineteen minutes.”

“It means, roughly, ‘And in the sight of the throne was a sea of glass. And around the throne were four living creatures, full of eyes. And the first living creature was like a lion, and the second living creature like an ox, and the third living creature had the face of a man, and the fourth living creature was like an eagle.’”

“Fascinating. And we are right back to where we started.”

“Right. But here’s the important part, in the next verse. ‘And each of the four living creatures had six wings, and they were full of eyes.’”

“Lots of eyes, these creatures.”

“Plenty. But it’s not the eyes I’m concerned with. Look at the ox in the Gutenberg.”

Xandria looked. “No wings. Imagine that.”

“No wings,” August echoed. “Without the wings, you just have a regular old ox.”

“Meaning?”

“That perhaps this isn’t a symbol for Saint Luke,” August said. “Thaon’s Bestiaire said that the ox was a predictor of weather. Combine that with the Latin word on the banner . . .”

“Lumen,” Xandria read.

“. . . meaning ‘light.’ This could mean that the ox sees light ahead. The answer to the riddle, maybe?”

“You don’t think the symbolism of the saint means anything?”

August shrugged. “Maybe it suggests that the answer won’t be achieved without sacrifice.”

Xandria let her head drop back against the headrest. “We’ve all sacrificed,” she said.

“Some more than others,” August responded.

“You’re still alive,” Xandria said.

“For now,” August said. “We’ll see how Leo Kahn feels about that.” He shifted the images on the computer screen to display the ninth illumination, a portrayal of the creation story from Genesis. It was by far the most unusual and elaborate illumination he had ever seen.

“Sir?” It was Janice.

“Yes?”

“We need you to turn off all electronic equipment.”

“Give me one minute.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I really need you to—”

“Please,” August said. “Just give me a minute. Make your rounds, and by the next time you walk by I’ll have it off. I swear.”

“I’ll be back soon,” she said.

“Not a problem.”

“I don’t need a problem.”

“And I won’t be one,” August said.

Janice kept on walking.

August stared at the illumination, committing it fully to memory in case Janice made a quick return and shut him down. The image was composed of three main parts: higher vines and birds, lower vines and birds, and a giant letter I. The vines seemed ornamental, as did the birds, except for a large one in the lower right-hand corner, a peacock. “This,” he said, pointing to the vibrant bird, “was a symbol for immortality.”

“Not pride?”