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„Is this real?’ Firbank replied. He flicked through the book again taking in not just
the words and revelations but the painstaking images and sketches that accompanied
them. „Wilkins, this book answers many of the questions that have baffled historians for
centuries. Eglacius and the fall of Arlvayamond, the final resting place of Leansja the
Great, the truth behind the passing of the dragons and the mystery behind Mufessius the
Doppelganger.’ Firbank paused for a moment; his eyes were fixed on the edge of the desk
as his mind sifted through a forest of repressed memories. When Firbank’s eyes finally
blinked and shifted from their statuesque position, he faced Wilkins. „Where did you get
„The author brought it to me personally. Can you believe that? He must be eager to
see this in print and who could blame him? This will put our rivals to shame. No more
romance novels for us. We can live off this for years.’
„What was his name?’
„It was something with a hawk in it. Hawksmoor? Hawkweed? No. Hawkswood!
That’s it. Hawkswood.’
Firbank froze as Wilkins continued to convince himself of the mysterious author’s
name. As soon as he heard mention of „hawk,’ Firbank felt as if a tight fist had snared his
throat and began to crush his windpipe. He could barely force a breath let alone words as
the magnitude of this revelation grew ever more significant.
„What did he look like?’ Firbank asked. He immediately covered his mouth with one
hand, afraid to say any more, and almost cursed himself for the question.
Wilkins scratched the stubble on his chin while his eyes glanced up at the ceiling as
if the answers were written there. „He was one of those types from Emeraldon, you know