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books, making and remaking the plans, never satisfied with them. By then he had realised than that he no longer cared about the payment, for his immortality would be secured by that prodigious library and not from some legendary magic elixir. The emperor, patient but concerned, kept reminding him that the final siege of the Ottomans was drawing nigh and there was no time to waste. When, at long last, Edmond de Luna solved the mighty conundrum, it was too late: the troops of Mehmed II the Conqueror had besieged Constantinople. The end of the city and of the empire were imminent. The emperor marvelled when he received the plans, but realised that he would never be able to build the labyrinth under the city that bore his name. So he asked Edmond to try to escape the siege together with so many other artists and thinkers who were about to set out for Italy. ‘ Dear friend,’ he said, ‘ I know you will find the perfect place to build the labyrinth .’ In gratitude, the Emperor handed him the phial with the blood of the last dragon, but a shadow of concern clouded his face as he did so. ‘ When I offered you this gift, I was appealing to your avid mind, to tempt you, dear friend. I now want you also to accept this humble amulet, which one day will appeal to the wisdom of your soul if the price of ambition is too high . . .’ The emperor removed a medal that hung round his neck and handed it to him. The pendant contained neither gold nor jewels, just a small stone that looked like a simple grain of sand. ‘ The man who gave it to me told me it was a tear shed by Christ.’ Edmond frowned. ‘ I know you’re not a man of faith, Edmond, but faith is found when one isn’t looking for it and the day will come when your heart, and not your mind, will long for the purification of the soul. ’ Edmond did not wish to contradict the emperor so he hung the insignificant medal round his neck. With no more baggage than the plan for his labyrinth and the scarlet flask, he departed that very night. Constantinople and the empire would fall shortly afterwards, following a bloody siege, while Edmond traversed the Mediterranean in search of the city he had left in his youth. He sailed with a group of mercenaries who had offered him a passage taking him to be a rich merchant whose pouch they could empty once they attained the high seas. When they discovered that he carried no riches upon him they decided to throw him overboard, but Edmond persuaded them to let him stay by narrating some of his adventures in the manner of Scherezade. The trick consisted in always leaving them craving for another morsel, as a wise dweller of Damascus had once taught him. ‘ They will despise you for it, but they will want you even more.’ In his spare time he began to record his experiences in a notebook and in order to keep it from the prying eyes of those pirates, he wrote in Persian, an extraordinary tongue he had learned during the years he had spent in ancient Babylon. Half way along the journey they came across a ship that was sailing adrift with no voyagers or crew. It carried large amphorae of wine which they took aboard and with which the pirates got drunk every night while listening to the stories recounted by Edmond – who was not allowed to taste a single drop of it. After a few days the crew began to fall ill and soon one after the other the mercenaries died, poisoned by the stolen wine. Edmond, the only survivor, placed them one by one in sarcophagi the pirates carried in the ship’s hold – the bounty from one of their pillages. Only when he was the last man left alive on the ship and feared he might die adrift on the high seas in the most terrible solitude, did he dare open the scarlet bottle and sniff its contents for a second. An instant sufficed for him to glimpse the chasm that threatened to take possession of him. He felt the vapour creeping up from the phial over his skin and for a moment saw his hands being covered in scales and his