“No,” August said, correcting her. “A rabbit and a hare are different.” He pointed a finger at the illumination. “See the short ears and long hind legs? That’s a hare, not a rabbit. It’s a distinction that the illuminator would have wanted the viewer to understand.”

“Why?”

“I think I may know the answer. A few years ago I sold a first edition of Jakob Grimm’s Deutsche Mythologie to the prime minister of England, who wanted to give it to his daughter as a birthday present. I only got about forty thousand dollars for it because a couple of the pages were bent.”

Xandria wagged a long finger and frowned. “Must have been a careless owner.”

“I would suspect, yes,” August answered drolly. “Anyway, Grimm was an enthusiastic fan of medieval literature; it was where most of his tales came from. One of his stories told of an old German festival called Ostara, which commemorated springtime or, more specifically, Easter and the story of Jesus’ resurrection. Grimm explained that the name Ostara came from an even older story about a goddess who took the shape of . . .” August gestured toward the Gutenberg illumination.

“A hare?”

“Exactly,” August said. “Meet the Easter bunny!”

“That’s the reason we have an Easter bunny?”

“Yes. But that’s not the mystery here,” August said. “I think that Gutenberg is suggesting that the Holy Roman Empire possessed a dark religious secret.” August stopped, feeling the impact of what he had just uttered. “I’m not quite sure what that means, but I’m certain that’s the connotation.”

“And what about the fox?” Xandria asked.

“The fox usually portrays dishonesty and trickery. The interesting thing is that in the illumination the second white dog has lost track of the fox, distracted by what appears to be an acorn made of gold coins.”

“So maybe the powerful German, or a second powerful German, is letting treasure get in the way of the deception in front of him.”

“Maybe,” August said, jotting something onto the notepad.

His fingers danced on the keyboard and the second image— which was set inside the initial M—came into view: a king sitting on a throne, his garb a flowing, ruby-red tunic encrusted with jewels and topped with a royal-blue collar. The king held a golden globe in his right hand. His other hand extended up, with two fingers pointed toward the sky. The throne he sat on was simple and rustic, as was the crown set upon his head.

“Thirty minutes,” Xandria said.

August ignored her, lost in the labyrinths of his mind. “The illumination begins the book of 2 Chronicles, which might be reason enough for the king holding up two fingers,” August said, mulling the possibilities. “But the globe . . .”