“I think I can trust you. I called because something obvious has just struck me. Those number squares—both of them. There’s one in the first cache of documents, remember, and a new one which was under the tile. I’m sure you’ve realized, they’re both magic ‘thirty-four’ squares. The older one is known as the Tablet of Jupiter. I think it’s used in Dee’s angel magic—especially the words around it, all names for God or the angels that may have been relevant for a magic circle. I spent the night hours combing through Will’s esoteric books while I sat up with Max. It seems Jupiter and Venus were the planetary influences seen as an antidote to too much Saturnian melancholy—and Saturn governed the scholarly mind for the study and practice of the magic. The Tablet of Jupiter calls down the presence of God, apparently. The Renaissance historian Frances Yates feels this may be why Dürer included it in his etching of Melancholia, which in her view depicts an adept working into the night on alchemy and angelology, neglecting all other material pleasures. The Tablet of Jupiter prevents the magus from becoming mired, and balances his mind—Jupiter is his protection.

“Now then, the star on the tile also adds to the number thirty-four. It seems that this was considered the power number by the ancients—related to God, and part of the Golden Proportion. It’s a Fibonacci number. I was wondering how many connections to this number there might be in the puzzle texts.”

A transfixed Lucy hushed Simon with a finger. “You think the number might be the key?”

“I do. Dante chose it specifically for the number of books that make up his Inferno; in fact, the words under the star tile are the very last words of the Inferno. Are you following me, Lucy? They’re the closing words to Canto Thirty-Four. The number is said to symbolize the axis of the world, and the power of the Realization of Man, making a god of man, if you like. So yes, I think it’s possibly a key. Look at the riddle about the enamels and the painting of miniatures. There’s a link there. And the one about ‘the little girl in the state of the twister,’ and the Madonna’s robe. There’s a bridge between it and the number. And if you can’t find it,” Alex laughed teasingly, “you can buy me dinner tonight for the answer—now that you’re a working girl again. And by the way: the latter was typed on my grandmother’s distinctive old Olivetti. I recognized it immediately.”

“Curious, said Alice.” Lucy decided to probe a little. “It sounds like you’ve had a close look at the photos. Does this mean you haven’t entirely consigned the chase?”