The Witchhammer: Eadie Hazard Mystery, #1

By Madeleine Ivy

The Witchhammer

An Eadie Hazard Mystery, Book 1

 

After accepting the job offer of a reclusive European art collector, an enterprising digital archivist finds herself in a race against time to find a valuable, long-lost medieval manuscript before a mysterious group of international art forgers gets to it first.

 

77,680 words 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Madeleine Ivy
• Release date: Jul 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201197049

Madeleine Ivy

Madeleine Ivy is a writer living in Portland, Oregon. The Witchhammer is her first novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The sudden shadow of the man made me stumble and nearly drop my coffee.

Way to start your Friday, I thought, clenching the cup with one hand until the heat burned my fingers.

I’d stopped for coffee on my way into the office I share with my business partner of one year, Lola Wu. My name is Eadie Hazard and our agency, Whiz Designs (we rearranged letters from both our names to come up with that. Clever, I know), provides digital archiving solutions for privately-owned art collections. What this means is that we catalogue artwork and build websites and databases for people wealthy enough to 1) have valuable artwork, and 2) pay somebody to put it all online. Our client list is small (as in one-name small), but we haven’t been in business long enough to let that discourage us. While digitally archiving art might not sound like the most exciting or dangerous of jobs, in approximately ten minutes I was going to accept a job that would end with me bloody, unconscious, and left for dead in an abandoned medieval tunnel in Italy.

But of course I didn’t know that yet.

I glanced up at the grey sky and sighed. This was the time of day I loved best, if only I could manage to pull myself out of bed in time to catch it (I have a serious snooze button addiction). It was still early enough that the dense, wet fog so common to Limantour—the Pacific coastal town of just under 100,000 people located fifteen miles south of San Francisco I’d been calling home my entire life—still blanketed everything, smoothing out the rough edges of what had to be one of the last remaining blue-collar holdouts in a region dominated by Silicon Valley multi-millionaires and billionaires. The streets were still quiet at this hour, the only open sign coming from the unimaginatively named Fog City Coffee a block from our little office. I stepped inside and ordered my usual.

A minute later, I was carrying two steaming coffees and trying to not burn my fingers. As I approached the front door, I heard the crunch of glass before I actually looked up at our front window, which I now saw had been smashed to smithereens, a few shards of which I now stood on. I figured the rest was inside, meaning I had a cleanup job waiting for me. I stifled the obscenity I wanted to yell into the empty street, instead, fumbling for my keys. For about the thousandth time, I cursed the Bay Area’s sky-high rental prices that meant the only office I could afford was in a rundown building in a rundown part of town.

I was still searching for my keys. It wasn’t easy with both hands full of hot coffee. The shrill ring of the phone interrupted me and I momentarily gave up on the keys. At least I knew where my phone was. I placed one coffee on the windowsill and glanced at the screen before answering.

Hey, Lola.

A shadow had caught my eye and I turned to see a man a few feet from me, face obscured by a hood. He stood on what had been only moments ago an empty street. Where had he come from? 

Eadie? The voice on the other end sounded annoyed. Or maybe it just sounded like Lola being Lola.

Yes, I just grabbed our coffee and I’m in front of the off—

You’re late, Lola interrupted.

What?

You said you’d be here at seven.

I turned my head again and this time the man was closer, so close the word ‘looming’ popped into my head. And when I say looming, I mean looming. If there was an award for looming this guy would win, hands down. I took a closer look, noting that I was positively petite compared to his much larger size. For a half-second this made me feel more kindly disposed toward him (the last time I’d been called petite I’d probably been in diapers), but then common sense took over. He looked menacing as hell. I was trying to decide what to do when the door flew open and Lola yanked me inside.

Why are you late? We’ve only got ten minutes before DeeDee’s call and we agreed to prep beforehand. Come on.

I know, I know, I’m sorry. I sounded like I’d been doing heavy time on a Stairmaster.  The loomer, as I was already thinking of him, had really spooked me. Did you see that guy? I looked through the open window but the street was deserted again. Why do we keep getting broken into? Haven’t they figured out by now that there’s absolutely nothing here worth stealing?

I’ve already called Dale to replace the window, Lola informed me.

Dale loves us, I replied, handing her one of the coffees with a sigh. I was pretty sure it wasn’t the one I’d already sipped from. We’re single-handedly keeping him in business, I think.

I followed Lola into our tiny office and shut the door.  Dropping my backpack on the floor, I heard a distinctive jingle coming from the front pocket. Ah, my keys. Nice to finally know where they were.

Lola was already seated at the double desk we shared in the small room, which served as both our office and general waiting area for any clients brave (or desperate) enough to dodge the broken glass, drunks, and other questionable types lurking nearby to make it to our now-windowless office. I must have come in right after they’d broken the window this time, because I saw somebody running down the street. That weird guy you saw at the front door was there, too, but I don’t think he was involved. Be careful, by the way. Some of the glass got onto the floor in here. We’ll have to vacuum once we’re done talking to DeeDee.

I glanced around, feeling a burst of pride despite the rough neighborhood and the general air of shabbiness, not to mention the broken glass littering the floor. In addition to the main room with the double desk, a printer along one wall, and two rickety-looking chairs, the office had a small supply room (more of a closet, really), and a tiny kitchenette. Maybe it wouldn’t impress anyone else, but to me it represented a lot of years of hard work, scrimping and saving, even if the end result was only a dingy office in a crappy part of town. At least it was my dingy office. Well, mine and Lola's, technically.

DeeDee is calling us in— Lola glanced at her laptop —five minutes. Are you ready? I know your upcoming trip to Italy is distracting you, but can you try to get into the right mindset for this, Eadie? You know how DeeDee is.

She bent over, picking up chunks of glass as she spoke, as if our most demanding client would be able to see evidence of our latest break-in through the telephone. My upcoming trip to Italy was distracting me, no doubt about it. My former professor and mentor, Nenad Albrecht, now an art history professor at the University of Florence, had managed to finagle an extra ticket for me to the much coveted and highly anticipated commemoration ceremony marking the fifty-year anniversary of Florence’s Great Flood. After a serious discussion with Lola that involved a lot of excited yelling and fist pumping on both our parts, we’d decided that it was too valuable an opportunity for the agency to pass up. The networking opportunities alone would be worth the cost of overseas travel and a stay in Florence, we assured each other.

I’m always ready for DeeDee, I said now, only half-joking. As the agency’s first—and largest—customer, she would always have a special place in my heart. Other than that, she was mostly a pain in the ass.

Why does DeeDee think it’s okay to schedule a call at seven in the morning? I already knew the question was pointless, I just wanted to gripe.

She’s in Europe and they’re eight hours ahead of us. Eadie, would you plug that back in? I can’t reach. Lola had the end of an extension cord in her hand, pointing it at me like a gun.

I grabbed it and leaned over, pushing the desk out of the way, grumbling as I went.

Speaking of Europe, did you see the news this morning?

No, I was too busy buying overpriced, organic coffee. My voice was muffled as I bent over trying to squeeze between the desk and the wall. There was nothing I enjoyed more than office calisthenics at seven in the morning. What happened?

"They found a copy of The Witchhammer. Well, part of it, at any rate."

Wow, really? I stopped ineffectually jabbing the plug at the outlet to digest this. Wait. Only part of it? How did they find it? Where did they find it?

I gave another shove and the desk suddenly moved, letting out an ear-damaging screech as it went. Now I had just enough room to maneuver so I could fit the plug into the socket. Seconds later, I heard the satisfying hum of office equipment starting up as Lola read from the article.

Vinci, Italy – The body of an unidentified man was found today in this tiny medieval town twenty kilometers north of Florence. In his possession were pages from a rare and valuable medieval manuscript: The Witchhammer, reported missing from the Vatican Archives fifty years ago at the time of the Great Flood in Florence.

According to Commissario Pietro Donata, a detective within the Florence Police Department, the man is unknown to residents of the town. Commissario Donata confirmed that, based on a preliminary police report, the victim had been stabbed twice in the chest, and that a preliminary autopsy appeared to confirm death by stabbing. Police continue to question locals, but so far have no leads or persons of interest in the case.

The pages found on the man are thought to be from a 1487 printing of the Malleus Maleficarum, roughly translated to mean ‘Hammer of Witches,’ a medieval handbook for hunting witches and those engaged in the practice of witchcraft. Written by the Catholic clergyman Heinrich Kramer under the name Henricus Institoris, the manuscript was one of the first books printed with the early printing press and was owned by the private Rodenegg collection in South Tyrol until 1645 when it passed into the possession of the Catholic Church under events that are unclear today. According to leading medieval scholars, the manuscript is controversial for its emphasis on torture to extract confessions from suspects, and for its misogyny.

The pages found on the victim have been handed over to forensic experts within the Italian Carabinieri, Italy’s investigative body under whose jurisdiction art-related crime falls. Calls to the Carabinieri were not returned at the time this article went to print.

The ringing phone made us both look up. Lola stopped reading and rolled her eyes.

Oh great, DeeDee’s early. Why am I not surprised?

Lemme handle this, you know how much she loves me. I grabbed for the phone, making a face at Lola as I announced into the receiver, Whiz Designs, Eadie Hazard speaking. How can I help you?

I was expecting DeeDee Blaison, patroness of the arts, tireless attender of charity events, and a screaming she-devil if her arbitrary and ever-shifting project deadlines weren’t met. But instead of DeeDee, the voice on the other end of the phone was male, and a sexy, foreign-sounding male at that. I perked up immediately. His English was fluent, but he spoke in the stilted, formal way of someone who was not fully comfortable with the language.

Hello, this is Eadie Hazard, yes? Hello, good morning, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Luccio Santelli. The voice gave a hesitant laugh, paused, and then continued. I apologize for calling so early. To be honest, I expected a machine and was prepared to leave a message. Though, of course, speaking to a person is preferred. Another brief pause, and then You do not know who I am, but I was given your name and phone number by a friend of a friend. The director of the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale of Florence, Dr. Finfanni, recommended you through his association with Professor Nenad Albrecht, who provided your name for a digital archiving job. 

I listened to the entirety of this speech with my mind racing, mouth half-open in astonishment. I didn’t know who he was? Everybody knew who Luccio Santelli was! Well, anybody who was connected in some way to the art world knew who he was, at least. My mind quickly ran through all the things I’d heard about Luccio Santelli over the years: famously reclusive and private, and one of the most highly-regarded private art collectors in the world, with a collection rumored to include a Rembrandt and a Caravaggio, jewels from the Borghese family, and one of the most comprehensive assemblages of Chinese porcelain in the Western world. All of that, and I hadn’t even gotten to his extensive manuscript collection. Known as one of the world’s leading bibliophiles, he’d amassed a veritable treasure trove of medieval and Renaissance-era manuscripts, if rumors were to be believed. In fact, if I remembered correctly, I’d read somewhere that he’d been in possession at one point of a copy of one of the many printings of The Witchhammer. I tried to remember the details or where I’d read this but drew a blank. And after a few seconds, I gave up. Luccio Santelli was talking on the other end of the phone, a reminder that I’d better pay attention.  

I have had a need for a digital archivist for some time for my private manuscript collection and when your name came up, I decided it was time to finally take the steps to digitally document my collection. There was a polite pause before he asked, Would you care to hear about the job?

I paused for a beat, not quite believing what I was hearing. Was Luccio Santelli really asking me if I wanted to digitize his collection? And, did he actually think I would say no? All thoughts of DeeDee and her call had flown right out of my head.

Why, yes, I would very much like to hear about the archiving job, I said, hoping my voice didn’t convey any of the shock and awe I was feeling. You said you were referred by Professor Albrecht and Dr. Finfanni of the— I tried to remember the Italian name for the Florence library and finally gave up, knowing it was hopeless— library in Florence? I cast a furtive glance back at Lola to see if she was listening, but she had her head buried in her keyboard and was typing furiously. Preparing for the DeeDee call, no doubt.

Santelli had a slightly breathless way of speaking that, for some reason, I found charming. He began describing his manuscript collection and as I listened, fascinated, I found my excitement growing. Based on what he was telling me, his collection sounded even better than the rumors. It contained several valuable and rare, hand-written manuscripts created before the invention of the printing press and in excellent condition. He went on to mention several famous manuscript titles I’d only dreamed of documenting, including a ninth-century Book of Kells, several prayer books, and gospels dating from the Renaissance (one of which had purportedly been given to Catherine de’ Medici by Henry II of France on the occasion of their marriage), and a 1513 original manuscript of Machiavelli’s The Prince. As a bonus, he’d clearly done his homework about the benefits of digitizing a private art collection. We spent several minutes discussing various layouts and categorization ideas that had occurred to me on the fly while he’d described his collection. I was pleasantly surprised at the knowledgeable questions he asked about my approach and work process.

By the time he was done telling me about his manuscripts and his fabulous palazzo in Florence (he didn’t actually use the word ‘fabulous’, I have to admit. That word was my contribution), I was ready to catch the next flight to Italy. Vaguely, I heard the other line ringing, and Lola answering, but I was too distracted imagining myself traipsing through an Italian palazzo to pay much attention. Santelli’s idea was that I come to Florence for one week to record the details of his collection and take photos of everything to upload to the website I’d build for him.

All expenses paid, of course, he told me. You would stay in my home in the Oltrarno neighborhood of Florence. It is within walking distance of downtown and very accessible. There was another pause. I’ve been told by Dr. Finfanni that you are also attending the commemoration ceremony, so this would be a very convenient job for you. To kill two birds with one stone; this is the expression in English, yes? How does this sound to you?

How did it sound? I could barely contain my excitement, but I had just enough self-control to not leap out of my seat and howl with delight. That could wait a few more minutes. An all-expenses paid trip to Italy to archive a private collection of rare, illuminated manuscripts owned by Luccio Santelli? Heck, I might have done it for free. That last thought brought me up short. We hadn’t yet discussed money and now might be a good time to do it.

He didn’t gasp or give any other reaction that I could discern through the phone when I explained our standard fee arrangement, which I took as a good sign. We spent a few more minutes discussing details and ended the call with me promising to send him my travel arrangements as soon as I figured everything out.  

I’d missed the call with Lola and DeeDee. Judging by what I could hear from Lola’s end of the conversation, they were wrapping up, so I took the opportunity to sweep the broken glass out front and tidy things as much as possible. Lola was just ending the call when I came back inside.

Did you hear that? We’ve got our first international client! Woohoo! I did a little jig around Lola who was standing with hands on hips and a neutral expression on her face. She preferred maintaining control of her emotions. At least, this is what she told me on a regular basis. Wait until I told her who I’d been talking to.

Yes, I heard. I’ll be more excited when I see that first deposit hit our account. Plus, you’ll have to change your ticket and that’s going to cost us. Lola was typing something into the computer as she spoke and I came around to see what she was doing.

Give the guy some time to pay up, will you? We just got done agreeing to the details. And whatever the cost is to change an airline ticket we’ll more than make up for with this job. Besides, I haven’t even told you the most important part. Guess who we’re talking about? You’ll never guess whose collection this is.

Well, since I’ll never guess, according to you, you’ll just have to tell me.

Way to not try, Lola, I said. Okay, fine. Our newest client is Luccio Santelli. Can you believe it?

By the end of the question my voice had risen to an almost-squeak, I’m slightly ashamed to admit. Let me just say upfront that I’m not the squeaking type, but getting over-the-top-fantastic news, like being chosen to archive one of the world’s most famous private (and famously private) collections, can have that kind of effect on a person.

Are you shitting me?

I would never shit you, Lola. Surely you know this by now. I basked in the expression on her face, the wide-open eyes, the lips tilted ever-so-slightly upwards so that they could almost—almost—be considered a smile.

Isn’t he known for being a recluse?

I nodded.

Has his collection ever been archived or catalogued by someone from outside?

Not that I’m aware of, I said. "Weren’t there rumors years ago that he was connected to one of The Witchhammer manuscripts?"

Oh...yeah, now that you mention it that sounds familiar. Something to do with one of the manuscripts that disappeared. Lola squinted at her laptop’s screen. I’m looking at your schedule while you’re in Italy. The timing is perfect. It’s almost like he knew you were coming.

He did know I was coming. He was referred by Nenad through the director at the Florence library, who knew I would be in Florence.

Nice of Nenad to not bother to give you a little advance warning he was going to contact us, Lola muttered.

I glanced down at my laptop and saw an unopened email from Nenad, delivered moments ago to my inbox. I clicked on it and read the message explaining what Santelli and I had just discussed, then turned to Lola. Here’s his advance warning, sent ten minutes too late.

Lola shook her head. Well, it will cost us a bit more for you to stay longer, but having Luccio Santelli as a client, along with his fee, will more than make up for that.

Santelli offered his palazzo as a place to stay while I’m working on his collection. I forgot to mention that. It overlaps with when I planned to be in Florence for the commemoration ceremony anyway, so we can cancel my hotel reservation. It works out perfectly, actually. I stopped and glanced at Lola, who stared at the computer screen. Are you sure you’ll be okay with me gone? We’ve got a lot of work going on right now. You can manage DeeDee on your own, right?

I can handle whatever DeeDee throws at us. I’m more interested in learning how Nenad managed to get two invitations to what is the hottest event going in Italy right now. 

He’s a distinguished Medieval Studies professor at the university in Florence, I replied. And, he’s one of the world’s foremost experts on medieval manuscripts and their maintenance and repair, though you already knew that. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s friendly with the director of the national library in Florence. Basically, he’s connected.

Well, between him, DeeDee, and Luccio Santelli, I’d say our future is looking brighter every day. 

That’s the attitude, I grinned at Lola. I have a good feeling about this Santelli job.

Which shows just how much I know.

Chapter 2

Ihad clothes on my mind. As in, how quickly could I throw a few things into my suitcase and get to the airport?

I made a quick, mental inventory of my wardrobe (heavy on jeans and faded cotton t-shirts) from the front seat of my car as I flipped on the windshield wipers and waited for the light to change. The line of the Santa Cruz Mountains was a distant blur from where I sat, even this early in the day. My eyes moved halfway down the mountain, searching for the white dome I knew was there. It was barely visible in the fog. The campus