“Touché,” August said, sliding his hand out from under hers. He returned his attention to the illumination. “Here’s something I didn’t see before,” he said. He pointed to the open mouth of the swan-dragon. “It’s attacking the blue man. Eating him alive. Perhaps suggesting that the Order of the Dragon is retaliating, or gaining some revenge.”

“But why is the dragon combined with the image of the swan? The Order was full of evil princes and kings, not holy saints.”

“Maybe someone in the ranks of the Orphans was a traitor, working secretly for the Order of the Dragon,” August ventured. “It could make sense: the swan flows out from the arm of the blue man and then turns back to bite him! Also, the notion that the Order is evil would be in the eyes of the beholder. I bet they would consider themselves saints.”

“And the ghost between the blue man’s legs?”

“An emerging force, perhaps? Something born from the war between the Orphans and the Order of the Dragon?” August said, jotting the ideas in the notebook.

Their conversation was cut short by a female flight attendant. “Would you care for a—wow! What kind of book is that? It looks old!”

Xandria drilled August with her ice-blue eyes. “People always think that,” August said, looking up, smiling. “But it’s just a copy. A real one of these babies would be worth millions.”

“I’m guessing you still wouldn’t want to spill Diet Coke on it,” the flight attendant said.

“Probably not,” August agreed. “Maybe next time.”

“And what about you, ma’am?”

“No thanks.”

“Pillow?”

“Nope.”

“Blanket?”

“Thanks anyway.”

The flight attendant left.

August began flipping pages to find the next illumination. “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and finally, John,” he pronounced, producing the desired page. He peered at the image that sat perched on its side, an image much simpler than the last one. Or at least it appeared that way.

The letter N provided the frame for this image, rendered in shades of red. Splashes of gold and green once again outlined the initial, surrounding the regal figure held captive inside: a brown eagle, its stoic visage directed toward the sky. A golden halo circled its head, and a simple white banner hung from its beak, grasped at the bottom by its left claw.

“Gutenberg is giving us the bird again,” August said.

“Not funny.”

“I’m not kidding,” August said. “Just like the swan, the eagle was a classic symbol used in religious imagery.” He took out his notebook, writing:

Five—Eagle with Banner

“Have you ever heard of Spenser’s The Faerie Queene?” August asked, continuing to make notes.

“Did you used to quiz your wife like this?”

“No, she used to quiz me like this.”

“That must have been awful.”