Chapter 10 Mainz Spring 1453

The dead silence woke me up.Not quite right.I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness, trying to hear any sound, any movement, but found nothing.Only traces of silvery moonlight slanted across the ground.Darkness surrounded me from all sides, thick as velvet. Peter has been my sleeping partner for months.He would twitch and scratch and keep me awake.I also suffered from his dreams and the fleas, although his dreams were never shared with me, but passed the fleas on to me.However, I am still grateful to have him for company.When heavy snow covered the roofs of the city and the icy wind entered the house, his body temperature was like a bear, keeping me from shivering in the long winter nights.

Spring is finally here.Peasants and brewers began to plow the fields again to prepare, and people regained their spirits, choosing their way forward in the streets and alleys of melting snow, and the memory of fresh fruits revived on the tip of their tongues.After much difficulty, the river finally thawed, allowing ships to travel up and down the Rhine to do business. For the upcoming fair in Frankfurt, Mr. Gutenberg urged us to complete part of the trial printing of the Bible at the beginning of the year.Now it's time to go to the market in a few days.He quickly invested Foster's money, bought another five printing presses, and invited more typesetting workers. These people and the original apprentices all moved to Humbrechthof (Humbrechthof) .It was more spacious to live in, and most of the printing was done there.But Peter and I were still under his special care, sharing a bed in the attic of his house.Peter was gifted and soon became a typographer, and my fingers are undoubtedly still good at typesetting.

The work of printing new editions of the Bible has been going on, and thousands of movable types and countless reams of paper have been prepared for this great event.Even so, it will take another two years to complete this massive tome.The master intends to print 150 copies at the beginning, 30 of which will be printed on the finest parchment, but the order list is getting longer and longer, and the clergy and nobles of the church are eager to see our amazing machine How to match the hard-working scribe.There are even rumors that we are fellow travelers of the devil, otherwise how could we have produced the exact same version so quickly?You know, that's all nonsense.It's not all about our hard work.

Mr. Gutenberg is busier than ever.Every day he repaired the typeface of movable type, readjusted the size of the margins, and experimented with how many lines could fit on each page.Everything must be in order.He expects that the Bible he printed will be the most beautiful, clearest and most readable book in history, to show his ingenuity, to witness the holy words of the gospel, to establish a profitable business, and to return Foster's investment several times. As for Foster, he was more often seen at Mr. Gutenberg's house, lingering near the mysterious box, than in the studio.Printing Bibles was not so important to him.He was concerned with another study.I wouldn't be surprised if Foster was practicing witchcraft, secretly hoping to unravel the laws of creation.For I have often seen him brooding over ancient manuscripts, which belonged to the monks of the Order of the Barefoot, and which contained queer phrases, and incomprehensible signs and symbols, while he Trying to piece together these fragments of ancient texts.Due to repeated reading, his fingers were all black, and there were heavy dark circles under his eyes that lingered.From time to time, when I was at my desk picking words, he would look at me and then reach out to stop him, as if he was testing the quality of my work.I would avoid his touch.

He timed his visit, I noticed, according to the waxing and waning of the moon, and stayed the longest during the dark nights, when there was not even a shred of skylight.Looking out of our attic bedroom window tonight, all I can see is a crescent moon and a few clouds above.Still, it was enough for me to see the emptiness of the room.Peter is gone. At first I thought he was out on a night excursion again, to meet the dark-haired Christina.Christina is the daughter of Foster, and he has a deep affection for this steady, dignified and kind-hearted girl.He could be seen lingering outside the walls of Foster's lodgings like an exiled lover on religious holidays, when the printing operations were suspended; .However, Peter was not with Christina tonight.

From somewhere in the room came the sound of talking.Soft-spoken.Small movements flitted across the floor of the printing room downstairs, as if someone had dragged Foster's box from its hiding place and pushed it across the floor. I rubbed my eyes, chased away the bleary sleepiness, and tiptoed towards the stairs.The candle in the iron candlestick had been burned to the point where there was only a small piece of tallow left, which gave off a greasy smell, but there was no candlelight.I tried to feel my way in the dark, staggering.Shadows move around me, changing like quicksilver. I went downstairs slowly, careful not to make a sound.Even the slightest creaking of wood may let the other party know that I am eavesdropping.

The downstairs room was a red light.The flames could be seen burning brightly from the steps, and the embers were rekindled.Shapes bounced and flickered against the walls like evil minions dancing around the printing press. I step closer. Foster had dragged the dreadful box to the fire, and bent over it.He mumbled words, uttered incantations I didn't understand, and ran his fingers along the side of the box.Then, as deftly as a scribe dipping his quill, he dipped his fingers into the glass, which Peter stood before Foster. I nearly collapsed and fell.The ink was dark and thick, like blood.

Foster quickly curled his hands around the heads of the two snakes, dripping a drop of liquid from each of his fingertips.The snake's teeth seemed to penetrate into his flesh, sliding together at his request.The lid of the box popped open. Are my eyes wrong?Could it be that snake teeth are not poisonous, as I believed before? I slowly moved closer. The printing press was shackled like a monster to the floor in the center of the room, and I ducked quickly under the wooden belly of the press, squeezing between the pillars for protection. Now Foster pulled a silver-green hide from the upper shelf of the box.I hold my breath.He held the hide up to the light, and the hide immediately absorbed the flames, as if the setting sun had turned into a battlefield full of red and blood.

Startled, Peter stretched out a hand to touch it.Foster clapped his hands aside.go!Don't touch it.He hissed to stop it, and while laying layers of animal skins on the floor, he reached into the dark box again. My eyes widen as he pulls out a long undulating sheet of paper that seems to undulate, rippling with life.I have never seen such a spectacle before.It was a huge piece of parchment!The paper is as white as snow, and it doesn't seem like snow will melt.The paper would not melt even if the fire was burning nearby, bursting with sparks and crackling.The enchanted paper seemed to absorb the color of the flames and burn even hotter.Even the master's best parchment looked dull by comparison.My fingers clenched the feet of the printing press, longing to touch the magical vision.

There were more papers like this in the box, and I could see them like a rippling sea in the silvery moonlight.But just as I watched, the thin paper in Foster's hand actually separated, becoming thinner, thinner, almost transparent, with delicate silver light shining through the veins.This single sheet of paper seems to conjure up an infinite number of pages.What a miracle! Although thin, this paper can almost be said to be unstoppable.Foster said, hanging a corner of the animal skin paper into the fire. I listened, and the paper made a soft hiss, but it didn't burn as I expected, much to my horror.It seemed instead that the paper held the fire back, and the fire went from fiery red to a sombre gray and back to red again.However, when Foster pulled the paper back, there was no scorching or burn marks on it.

I rub my eyes.is this real? Peter stood over his Master's shoulder and peered ahead.How did you get such incredible parchment?he asked softly in disbelief. Foster remained silent and thought for a moment.Then he smiled, and the tip of his tongue flicked between the upper and lower teeth. It was a gift from that pious fool of Haarlem (Editor: Dutch city, known as the Flower City). I held my breath and listened to him tell the source of the paper. A few years ago, there was a man named Lawrence.A Dutchman from Koster, whose home is in the coastal lowlands, he took his five or six-year-old granddaughter for a walk near his home.They walked to the middle of the forest and found a towering tree that they had never seen before.Surprisingly, his granddaughter insisted that she saw a dragon hiding among the leaves. Have it?Peter asked, holding his breath. Be patient!Shut him up with a reproachful look, Foster said, and I'll tell you. Coster's granddaughter is an imaginative child who likes to daydream, and Coster doesn't believe her.He thought the tree must be a particularly tall beech.So, to prove his granddaughter wrong, Coster plunged his knife deep into the center of the trunk, cutting into a circle of unhealthy-looking bark, to provoke the dragon to appear, or to chop it into firewood .In the end nothing happened.The dragon did not appear. The girl was furious and stomped away. Foster went on to say that the little girl's distress seemed to make him gloat, and an evil look shot out of her eyes, and she, teary-eyed, bumped headfirst into another. tree, fell to the ground.Her cries brought her grandfather to hurry. Peter lost interest in the story because he asked what it had to do with the paper. I'm about to talk about it, Foster said coldly, the little girl didn't know whether she scratched her elbow or scratched her knee, I can't remember where, but the scratch was bleeding, and my grandfather had to use a piece of cloth to cover her wound stop bleeding. Peter was about to interrupt when Foster held up a finger for silence. The next thing is important, he said sternly, and to amuse his granddaughter, Coster used the bark of the tree she had found to carve out a set of letters for her to play with.He is a master craftsman, understand, he used to do woodcut design.He wrapped the letters in the blood-stained cloth, took his granddaughter home, and made up his mind that as soon as she fell asleep, he would come back and cut down the tree, just to use it as firewood. Foster paused to study Peter's expression.Unexpectedly, as soon as he returned to the residence, he continued in a low voice, and Coster found that the letters transferred the sap to the blood-stained rag. Peter shook his head and asked: What do you mean? I mean, Peter, said Foster, what is printed on the cloth is not just the outline of the letters he carved, but a whole word, a word strung together by a pair of hands that you can't see but know everything .It was as if the tree was really possessed by a dragon or spirit. Peter's mouth was open, but The letters, Foster spoke more slowly, spelled out the name of Coster's granddaughter. Peter tugged at his ears as if he had misheard, but how could that be? Foster seemed to be laughing.My whole body shuddered. Open your eyes wide, boy.The answer is right in front of you. He spat into the stove. When the flames dimmed, the piece of dragon skin on the ground turned back to its original green and silver color, like a large handful of frosted leaves.I found myself wanting to bury my hands in that seductive texture again. Are you saying that there is always a dragon on that tree?Peter stammered, did the dragon recognize the girl? Foster twisted his wrist slightly, and the piece of paper that was spread out in his hand was closed again.When Coster returned to the wood, he said, he found a great heap of quivering leaves in the clearing where the tree had once stood.The creature writhed in pain, shed its bark-like hide, and slithered across the ground, struggling to die in the burning.It exhaled its last breath, scorching the ground brown and black. Foster stopped and looked at the fire in the hearth for a moment.The flames hissed and made a sound like a sigh. After the dragon was burned to ashes, he resumed the topic, and among the ashes and wreckage, Coster found a pile of pure white paper and dragon skin paper with flawless scales intact.He really couldn't resist the strong temptation and embraced the thing in his arms. And Coster showed you something?Peter took it excitedly and said, pointing to the open box, he gave you the dragon skin? Foster hesitated, so to speak, and one year on Christmas Eve he opened the storeroom for me to look at.he avoided the question. Shocked, Peter turned to his master, you mean you stole it?And it's Christmas Eve!How can you do such a thing? Oh, Peter, silly boy!Foster's good words to coax, don't be so honest.You are not suitable for the pure heart.These papers will make you rich and become a rich and enviable man. I shook my head, wanting both to escape the room and Foster's wicked ways, and to stay in front of the fire and see what wonders this paper could perform.The appeal of the hide, the gleaming luster, lured me closer. Either way, the promise of fortune Foster seems to linger in Peter's mind.He fumbled awkwardly at the thick thread of the tight top, and there were a few patches of uncomfortable material that Christina sewed on for him. That's right, said Foster slyly, Coster doesn't know what to do with what he's found, but I do. Peter stared at his Master dumbfounded for a long moment. What are you going to do?At last he stammered, almost unable to speak. Foster twirled the tail of his beard, which had been divided into two tufts.I wanted to control the power contained in this hide, and he responded with aplomb, turning the dragonskin into a book, better than Gutenberg's precious Bible. My heart was pounding in my chest.How can anyone dare to compare with the sacred and inviolable works of the master? Peter looked confused and I didn't understand. I spent several months studying this dragon skin, Foster said, this dragon belongs to the rarest and most mysterious kind. The fable said that it once lived in the Garden of Eden, and the mystery of eternal wisdom was hidden under the skin.All that Adam and Eve longed for, but lost, is now within our grasp.Just think of what this paper could reveal, if we could read it! Peter bit his lip, but Heck, everything!exclaimed Foster ecstatically, clapping his hands, the jeweled rings clanging between his fingers.The secrets of all things in the universe will be controlled by us, all in one book! But the paper is blank, Peter muttered, how do you find the information you want? Foster smiled slyly, his eyes darting across the room.I crouched lower in my hiding place, hoping he wouldn't see me.His eyes were restless like headless chickens: they stopped at each piece of equipment, and finally fell on the stained and refilled ink balls used to ink the type. Ink, said Foster finally, we need ink.He paused to rub his fingertips, still black with the oil he'd used to open the silver fangs.Peter glanced uneasily at the table, where he had put the metal cup back.No matter what is inside, it has slowly filled the room with a poisonous smell, a metallic smell like blood.You remember it was Coster's granddaughter who could see the dragon, right?Foster raised a red eyebrow and said suddenly. Peter nodded. Was it her blood that gave life to those letters? Peter nodded again, only this time not so convinced. Can't you see it?Foster finally broke out that this paper needs special ink for its meaning to emerge! I felt my blood go out.Peter also turned pale. Blood?He asked tremblingly, is blood the ink it needs? Foster didn't answer, but just stared intently at the flame, which twisted and coiled like a snake.His eyes were red as hot coals.Just to think, he said, was this little girl so innocent, so innocent, it was almost repulsive.But she is what she is!There is that power to conjure words from dragons.That power is something I don't have.Not yet.He gritted his teeth and finished the last sentence. What does that mean? Coster designed the box very deftly. Foster explained that when he saw the thing died, he didn't feel a desire, but regretted it.He realized that he had destroyed the most sacred creature in the hands of the Creator, a beast endowed by God with eternal knowledge.Just one malicious action to destroy the granddaughter's imagination is enough to kill this legendary creature.So he made the box so horrible, so ugly, so creepy, that no one would dare to open it.Finally, he added two treacherous serpents from the Garden of Eden. Peter's mouth was open, but then how did you? He pointed to the box with the lid open. I felt my eyes drawn to that horrible box again.The fiends carved on the panels glared at me, and the demons from hell wept amber tears in the firelight.Its structure reveals a cruelty, but also guilt and remorse, a poignant poignancy. Foster pointed to the cup on the table and said: I tried to use that thing to purify the blood before, and I was able to fool the lock, but it was not quite right.Even the monk's poison is not powerful enough to make the characters on the dragon skin paper visible.For this I need something more powerful. He waved a black finger, and I finally recognized the scent wafting towards me.Monk poison.The metal used by masters to forge special type, an ingredient so potent that monks are said to drink it all to cleanse their souls.However, my master repeatedly warned me that even a small amount could be fatal. Foster shook his head. No, the paper would respond to something else entirely.With purity, frankness, sincerity I wanted desperately to run upstairs and crawl under my blankets, knowing what terrible truth I was going to hear next. This piece of paper, Foster finally said, was to be fed the boy's blood. I couldn't help myself, I recoiled in fright.My head hit the rack of the printing press, creating a muffled thud in the dimly lit room.Foster turned from the mouth of the box, fast as a fox, his eyes darting over the furniture, trying to dislodge anything that shouldn't be there. I stayed where I was, not moving, too scared to even take a breath. Foster's gaze came closer and closer to my hiding place, and I shrank further into the shadows.I'm afraid he's about to grab my heels and drag me out to feed that paper.However, he seemed to dispel his doubts and turned to face the pot of fire.He shivered, as if cold. Only then did I notice my tool bag sitting on a nearby workbench.Trying not to attract any attention, I reached out and grabbed it, spreading out the soft leather lining.Inside the bag was a row of shiny metal tools, and I picked out a sharp chisel for protection, just in case Foster or Peter got too close.I hid under the printing press and watched. That's when Foster grabs Peter by the shoulder and whispers into his ear.I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I was taken aback by Peter's reaction.master!what's wrong with youhe yelled as Foster's body slid to the floor.His face turned pale for a while, and he began to tremble, as if he had a fever. He hugged his stomach and retched in pain.It's monk's poison, he's out of breath, it's bad for my body. What should I do? send me back.Close the box and send me home.Christina knows about therapy. The mention of Christina's name spurred Peter to take immediate action.He randomly stuffed the dragon skin into the box, kicked the lid of the box, and hurried to help the master.He stooped, and fumblingly managed to lift Foster up and usher him toward the stairs.The man faltered and wobbled like a drunk. Before leaving, Peter allowed himself a quick glance at the row of mirrors against the wall, examining his reflection in them.That night, for the first time, I saw a real smile on his lips.Then he remembered the monk's poison in the cup, and hurried back to pour the remaining liquid on the fire.After a burst of suffocating white smoke, the fire went out. The room was plunged into darkness. I stayed where I was and listened, making sure they weren't coming back, and hurried over to where the box was. The room was cold and dark, and I could barely see myself.There was only a trace of residual heat in the stove, and it was like a hibernating animal, blinking at me with red eyes from the depths of the ashes. I hold the leather tool bag in my hand and lay it beside me.Desperate to get a peek inside, I groped my fingers around the carved paneling until I came across the round heads of the two-headed snake that protected the lid.My fingers were shaking with tension, but I managed to control it.I know what to do.I took a deep breath, and let my hands slide down the smooth curve of the silver tooth, and finally touched the tip of the tooth.The tip of the tooth felt sharp and cold to the touch, and it pricked my skin violently, and I flinched. I had seen it all before, so I half expected a lot of venom to seep into me and leave me unconscious and lethargic, but nothing happened.After the initial sudden stinging pain passed, there was only an incredible cool and comfortable feeling when the snake teeth sucked my finger.I wondered, could I be considered pure enough to look inside? It didn't take long for the bleeding to stop.Then, following Foster's example, I moved the snake's teeth together, and watched the entangled snake's head magically separate, and the lid of the box opened. The flames suddenly flared up again, and I jumped up. I realized almost at once that the fangs that had terrified me for so long did not belong to the two snakes, but to a part of the dragon whose claws pierced the front of the lid and protruded from the snake's mouth.Those two snakes were just appearances, and they were used as a deterrent.Guarding the chest and its contents is the dragon itself.Its claws touched my fingers, allowing me to enter. I took courage and reached into the box.The top layer of dragon hide feels like a layer of frost-hardened leaves.With green and silver dragon skin, it seems to be made into an invincible armor.I had to remind myself that these were not leaves, nor chain mail, but real scales.Dragon scales! My heart was beating wildly in my chest.Could this be true? The dragonskin paper underneath glowed softly, and I buried my hands in the undulating texture.My fingers melted into a stack of paper as cold and soft as snow, but I didn't feel the cold.I felt a shudder in my skin.A great sense of security welled up in my heart. I greedily picked up several pieces of dragon skin paper and watched the air vibrate in it, brushing gently, injecting life into each layer.I couldn't contain the excitement.The paper was as thin as a cicada's wing, yet it shone through under the strange light source.I was bewitched, fascinated. Then something caught my eye.It was faint words, fine silver characters like gossamer, which appeared before my eyes like an oracle.Where do these words come from?I read it quickly, eager to absorb the knowledge above: (Children can see what adults cannot) (In the future that time forgot:) (Books yet to be published and completed books) (Hidden and hidden between the pages.) (While darkness seeks what the light reveals) (Shadows are born and truth is hidden.) (This is what I want to say, Endymion Spring) (Insider's opinion) Recognizing the name gave me a shudder.that's my name!The dragon speaks to me as it did to Coster's granddaughter years ago.My hands started shaking. I could see other words, other messages, between the sheets of paper spread out under my fingers.Randomly opening pockets of dragon skin paper is to open an invisible door leading to wisdom.It's more amazing than anything I've ever imagined, and faster than Mr. Gutenberg's printing press.In just a few pages, kingdoms rise and fall, leaving a written legacy.I wanted to walk down each new path, step up each paper staircase, figure out where they led, and suddenly my exultation turned to terror. As if a shadow drifted into the room from behind me, I became suspicious.Isn't that what Foster has always wanted?The solution to the riddle of the universe lay before his eyes like a book?There are more characters appearing on the magical dragon skin paper, born from under the skin, and diffused into the box.Can't stop it! Suddenly, I realized that there was something wrong with my method.I opened a great anthology of knowledge, a never-ending book of books.But how do I close it? A gust of night wind blew quietly into the house and hit the back of my neck.The door downstairs opened, and not just one group, but two groups of footsteps approached.Peter was not alone.Foster came back with him. Terrified, I clutched the paper in my hand.The paper that was constantly expanding in my hand seemed to respond, and began to shrink rapidly, getting smaller and smaller as it was folded.The vast tome quickly becomes no bigger than a booklet and fits easily in the palm of your hand. I grabbed the tool bag, hurriedly removed the contents, stuffed the stack of papers inside, wrapped the straps as fast as I could, and tied it firmly with a bunch, but at least I could save the upper layer of dragon skin paper, not to teach Foss Special according to their own. Miraculously, the rest of the paper began to freeze, as if frozen.Those words are like shadows under the ice, although they are faintly visible through the white paper, they are practically impossible to decipher.Perhaps the upper layers of paper are missing, and the lower ream of paper is incomplete, so the power cannot be released?Maybe I can still make things right?I can only hope so. The Fosters are almost here. I quickly closed the lid of the box, leaving it in place, then picked up the scattered tools on the floor as quietly as possible, hid the booklet under my linen pajamas, and walked quickly across the room to the stairs.The flames wilted into a ball of red light again. I could feel Foster's eyes searching for me in the dark, but I was already up the stairs and hurried back to my bedroom.I couldn't escape the arrangement of fate, and I returned to my old job of pickpocketing.