The Seals of Abgal

Part 2

But the door to the basement stayed closed and the voices trailed off. I released my breath slowly, softly. Another crash echoed from above, the noise of it less intrusive on my psyche than before, but painful nonetheless as my mind conjured up imagery of the chaos and destruction that must be taking place up there.

The store and this collection had been my labour of love, carefully put together like a puzzle over almost two years. After my dad had died, I lost interest in following in his footsteps and decided not to go to law school. Instead, I chose a different path—one that took me halfway across Europe without a clear set plan other than to be free. Free from the anguish of his passing, free from the constraints that had dictated my life up to that point. I wanted to escape my world and I succeeded for a short while there, but then disaster struck. Stuck in the middle of Prague and scared, the only person I could reach out to, the only family I had left, was my father's brother, Corelius Kaine. He flew in and cleaned up my mess and secured my return to the States. Once back, I joined my uncle in the book business. I've always had an affinity for reading and collecting books, probably because of my sheltered upbringing. Reading served as an escape to worlds where my imagination allowed me no restrictions. The idea of joining my uncle made sense at the time and so I did.

Corelius Kaine deals in rare books. A book hunter, if you like, like Arturo Perez-Reverte's character Lucas Corso in The Club Dumas. Unlike Corso, whose timid demeanor and small frame belied a razor sharp intellect and cunning business acumen, my uncle evinced it. He shared my father's burliness, but where my father exuded an air of temperance and calm, my uncle's temperament could best be described as bellicose. It made him a dragon among the snobbish book dealers he interacted with. Even the most snooty would be circumspect when dealing with him, lest they fall victim to his legendary temper. They knew he was not a force to be trifled with or dared to play those haughty games so popular in certain literary circles. While his brutal-looking physicality tended to intimidate people, assisted by a volatile temperament, my uncle's intelligence secured their respect. Through the years it had garnered him some powerful allies, both in business and politics, many of whom were also his clients. The antiquarian business can be a profoundly personal experience for some. Obtaining a rare edition of a sought after book can elicit an emotional honesty unseen these days. Watching a man, smart and aloof in appearance, crumble in tears as he's presented with the first edition of the only theatrical work ever published by Cervantes and seeing his trembling fingers touch it with the same tenderness as a mother suckling her newborn child, you realize that for this man, paying $145,000 is a pittance. For men and women such as these, it is what the book represents. Money is just money, but what it buys is valued far more. It transforms them from mere spectators to protectors and caretakers of history.

Thus, through the many collections he built for others over the years, my uncle forged strong, lasting relationships and his business flourished. Kaine's Rare Books is run from sprawling offices situated on Madison Avenue and employs thirteen people. Four of whom are dedicated researchers, specialists in their respective fields, four are book hunters, more grandly known as acquisitors, three are sales associates and one, a gallery manager.

The thirteenth employee is Giovanna DeMaso, my uncle's assistant and shadow. Gio, for that's what we called her as it's easier on the tongue, travelled everywhere with my uncle. There had been times when I wondered about their relationship, whether they were anything more than just business partners. There was an obvious history there, one which my uncle chose not to share with me and I didn't ask. So, much about Gio's background was shrouded in mystery. The little bit I did know was what she chose to tell me, which, all things considered, wasn't much. Though slightly older than me, she must have been at least twenty years my uncle's junior. Though we bantered a lot, the conversations were always light and superficial. The two of them made a formidable team. My uncle trusted her implicitly and, by implication, so did I.