The Library of Shadows Read Online Free PDF Page B

the dust of the antiquarian bookshop and hear the silence, which between the shelves of the shop seemed to resonate like nowhere else.
    When Iversen finished his speech, a few people spontaneously applauded until they remembered where they were and fell silent. The priest once again appeared in the pulpit and insisted on singing one last hymn before they said goodbye. Jon followed the text in his hymnal but didn't participate in the song, unlike Iversen, who droned along unembarrassed at his side. For a moment Jon wondered whether he ought to feel guilty about not taking a greater part in the ceremony, but he shook off the thought by directing his gaze at the ceiling. Undoubtedly some of those present were surprised; they might even think he was arrogant, but that was their problem. They didn't know anything. For his part, it was just a matter of getting through the funeral and escaping into the fresh air.
    When the hymn was over, Jon was one of the first to stand up.
    Outside, those in attendance divided themselves into two groups, and Jon kept close to Iversen, who was the only person he knew. They were quickly joined by several others who praised Iversen for his speech and offered their condolences to Jon. Apparently everyone knew who he was, but at the same time he sensed a certain astonishment from those he greeted, as if they hadn't expected him to show up.
    'You look exactly like him,' a middle-aged man in a wheelchair said bluntly. He introduced himself as William Kortmann, and Jon noticed that the wheelchair he was sitting in was completely black; even the spokes of the wheels were black. 'How strange that he didn't say anything,' Kortmann went on, but abruptly fell silent when he noticed Jon's surprised expression. 'Well, we need to be going,' he said, turning to a dark-clad man who stood alone a couple of metres away. As if by telepathy, the man turned around at once and came walking towards them.
    'But of course we'll be seeing each other,' said the man in the wheelchair. 'I'm very much looking forward to working with a Campelli again.'
    Before Jon had time to reply, Kortmann's wheelchair turned and he was pushed away from the chapel by his attendant.
    'What was that all about?' Jon asked Iversen.
    Iversen made a wry face. 'Er, hmm, he's from the ... Reading Group.'
    'But what kind of work did he mean?' Jon insisted.
    'Let's take a walk,' said Iversen, drawing Jon away.
    They left the gravel path and went into the cemetery. The autumn sun hung low in the sky, sending knife-sharp rays through the tree branches and making wavy patterns on the path in front of them. They walked for a while in silence. It was quiet in the older part of the cemetery, where the shrubs were so thick it was impossible to see through them, even though the leaves had begun to fall.
    'Your father loved walking here.'
    Jon nodded. 'I know. I once followed him on one of his walks. I must have been about nine; in any case it was before ...' Jon paused and bent down to pick up an acorn from the ground. He turned it over in his fingers before he went on. 'I pretended I was a secret agent and sneaked after him. I tailed him, imagining he was meeting other spies and passing on information.' Jon cleared his throat and tossed away the acorn. 'Maybe I was a bit disappointed. He didn't do anything except walk among the graves. Occasionally he would stop, and a few times he sat down to read from a book he'd brought along, as if he were reading aloud for the dead.'
    'That sounds just like him,' said Iversen with a chuckle. 'Always looking for an audience.'
    'I wouldn't know,' said Jon.
    They had reached the wall bordering Nørrebrogade, where the ivy grew in abundance, covering the graves along the wall like a green snowfall.
    'You realize you're going to inherit the bookshop, don't you?' said Iversen, keeping his eyes on the path in front of them.
    Jon stopped and glanced at Iversen, who managed to take a couple more steps before he too came to a halt