“I’m an art historian,” said Jean. “It goes with the territory—having a good visual memory. Plus I took a class on artistic anatomy a few years back and we did this whole track on paintings in which the artist had misrepresented human anatomy. I could swear I saw this Melchior. I just don’t remember where he’s from.”

“And you’re sure he’s the only thing . . . strange about this scroll?” said Nemo. “What about all this writing? Couldn’t that be a clue?”

“It all looks pretty standard,” said Jean.

“So you’re telling me I dragged my ass halfway across Europe to discover the secret of alchemy and all we’ve found is a wise man with a funny elbow?”

“There is no secret to alchemy,” said Jean calmly.

“Well there’s some damn secret,” hissed Nemo. “Something that’s worth murdering people on two continents to discover.”

“And what makes you think this wise man isn’t keeping a secret,” said Jean, running a finger across the purple-robed figure almost as if he were a pet.

“Here we go,” said Andrea, bursting back into the room with an oversized art book in her hand. “Ernesto Romano’s Immagini dei Magi.”

“I’ve always loved that Burne-Jones painting of the Adoration,” said Jean, admiring the front cover of the book.

“My wife is an art historian,” said Nemo, remembering he was supposed to be Peter Byerly, the great rare book scholar.