Page 12 of Strangers in Time

“Yes, indeed. She said they were a wonderful way to get through troubling times, though my sales of late do not necessarily support that conclusion. Perhaps it’s the location. This alleyway can be rather hard to find.”

“Ifound it,” said Charlie.

“Indeed you did.” He paused and glanced at the pile of paper and coins on the counter.

“You must’a dropped it out on the street,” explained Charlie. “I just found it and brought it back.”

“Clumsy of me. But I can be clumsy.”

Charlie looked in the direction of the drawer where Oliver had placed the packet of papers from the night before. When he looked up, Oliver was studying him closely.

Charlie said, “Heard you got the George Medal. That you’re brave.”

“Many people are brave. Why I got the medal over others, I’m not sure.”

“For not sellin’ many books, that’s a lot of quid.”

“That was for many months’ worth of sales, I’m afraid,” replied Oliver. “So not so very much.” He eyed the book next to the money. “Ah, yes, I thought that was missing as well.”

“It ain’t got no words in it,” said Charlie.

“Well, it’s like a diary or a journal. My wife filled up many of them with her… thoughts.”

Charlie spied the odd device he had seen before lying on the counter. “Eh, what’s that thin’?” he asked, pointing.

Oliver picked it up. “It’s a replica of Alberti’s Disk. Have you heard of it?” Charlie shook his head. “Alberti was an Italian polymath from the fifteenth century.”

“A polly what?”

“It means he was quite accomplished at a great many things: poetry, languages, art, architecture, andcryptography, of which this is an example.” He held it up. “It has two concentric rings. The outerring is imprinted with a standard alphabet, and the inner one the same, but with the letters out of normal order. When you rotate the inner ring and line it up with letters from the outer, you can create an encrypted, or secret, message.”

“Why would you wanta do that?”

Oliver set the device down. “Oh, just for a bit of fun.”

“I gotta go now,” said Charlie.

They stood there staring at each other for a moment.

“Charlie, why don’t you keep the book?”

“What?”

“Take the journal and… well, you can write things down in it, like my wife used to do.”

“What things?”

“Imogen would describe things that she saw. A man walking. A bird on a tree branch. A pile of rubble that used to be a home. A woman bringing food to people who needed it. And then she would write down what she thought about all that.”

Charlie used his sleeve to wipe his runny nose. “Is that really somethin’ folks do with their time?”

“At least certain people, yes. You strike me as observant and curious. So you might find it…worthwhile, I guess is the word I’m looking for. Ironic that a bookshop owner has difficulty finding the right words.”

“Bet you know a lot more words than me.”

“I daresay you’ll catch up and pass me. But please take the book. I have so many others, as you can see for yourself.” He picked up the book and held it out to him.

Charlie came forward and his grimy fingers closed around the journal. “Thanks.”

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