Years ago I saw a show on A&E proclaiming Gutenberg “Man of the Millennium.” Man of the Millennium? Really? I was shocked. From my memory, Gutenberg was a footnote in my high school history book. So who was this guy? I hunted everywhere for articles about him, stumbling across one in particular that made my eyes bulge. It turned out that his famous Bible was worth—could this be right?—nearly $100 million dollars. (You probably thought I made that up!) As they say, truth is stranger than fiction, but this wasn’t even close to the strangeness I would later uncover.

Gutenberg was a man of mystery. His birthdate was—at best—a guess. Sizeable chunks of his life were an abyss, completely void of information. The few facts that did exist seemed to suggest a larger story, something far more disturbing going on behind the curtain. But what was it? That was the question that drove me.

Delving deeper into the murky waters of Gutenberg’s history, I uncovered conspiracy after conspiracy, secret society after secret society. I realized that finding an end to the multitude of rabbit holes meant focusing my attention on two opposing forces that circled Gutenberg’s life.

THE ORDER OF THE DRAGON. Any clandestine club crazy enough to call themselves by that name had to be at the top of my list. Again, stuff like this is too good to be made-up. The Order was real. (And, if the Web sites are true, it still exists today!) They were vicious, well organized, and determined to vanquish anyone in their path. Which led me to their most hated enemy . . .

THE ORPHANS. Started by John Huss and later led by the illustrious general , they were equally motivated to battle, though by a completely different set of ideals, a combination of factors both political and religious. Their headquarters—the city of Tábor—was an enigma as well, with its maze of underground tunnels and hidden passageways. How great was all this!? It was like Lost and 24 and Lord of the Rings all rolled into one!

Each new day of research and writing took me deeper into the medieval labyrinth. I must admit that a certain amount of paranoia eventually set in. It all seems a bit silly now, but I remember the late nights, feeling my heart quicken, imagining Dracula-shaped specters from the past creeping up behind me and slitting my throat for shedding light on their nefarious plans. Like I said—silly. (Okay, I just glanced over my shoulder and noticed a man in a black suit, staring at me. And was that a dragon medallion around his neck?)