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one. There’s no obvious reason why this particular quote would appear in this particular language on this particular map.”
    “It’s hard to know where to begin.”
    “What are you after, John? You wouldn’t be trying to solve a murder mystery; I know you better than that.”
    John hesitated. What to tell his former professor? That he had a mystical connection with a dead cartographer? That he felt compelled to learn what happened to him, and the compulsion was already becoming a distraction?
    “It’s just the historian in me demanding closure,” John said.
    “Well, take it from a professional historian: the only thing more elusive than truth is truth in the past. If I were you, I would attack this mystery from the opposite angle.”
    “Meaning?”
    “From the angle of the ruby found in Cellarius’s fist. You know, the sister cities of Idar and Oberstein, both of which appear on the Palatinate map, are centers of a substantial gem and jewelry industry.”
    “No…I didn’t know.”
    “Have been. For centuries.”

FIVE
     
    “WATCH THIS,” DAVID FREEMAN Said. “It’s called the French Drop.” He held up a quarter, pressed between the thumb and fingers of his right hand, and began reaching for it with his left hand. “Just as the coin is about to be snatched by your left hand, allow it to drop into your right palm. Then keep your eyes on your left hand as it moves away, to reinforce the idea that it’s the one holding the coin. Let your right hand go slack, to suggest it’s empty.”
    He was sitting in a beanbag chair that hemorrhaged beans every time he shifted his weight. On the floor next to him were the typical paraphernalia of an amateur magician: cards, coins, ropes, handkerchiefs. The news was on TV, but the anchor’s voice only served as background noise in the room.
    Sarah Sainte-James occupied the only other chair in their South Philadelphia row house. She was staring into a hand mirror, brushing her hair. David secretly clocked her. She’d been at it for nearly twenty minutes already and had yet to begin the other side.
    “Very nice,” Sarah said.
    “Here’s another one. It’s called Finger Palming. You pinch the coin gently between the middle knuckles and palm of your right hand to hold it in place, and you turn the hand over as though to transfer the coin to your left hand.” He demonstrated. “Your left hand makes a grasping motion, as if it took the coin, and your eyes remain focused there to reinforce the idea, as before.”
    “I’m wetting my pants.” Sarah transferred her brush from the right hand to the left without any effort at sleight of hand.
    “This is the most important one, the so-called Classic Palm, the epitome of the palmer’s art. You hide the coin in the center of your palm without any help from your fingers.” He raised his right hand to show the quarter; Sarah didn’t bother looking up. “The trick is to keep your hand as straight as possible, without any tension or unnatural angle that would give the secret away. You almost have to convince yourself the hand really is empty.”
    “I could just shit.”
    “I’ve been sleeping with a quarter in my palm. This morning, for the first time, it was still there when I woke up. But that’s the right hand; I still have to work on the left.”
    “Why don’t you practice palming while washing the dishes?”
    “Somebody once told me that if you can type fifty words a minute with a coin palmed in each hand, you’ve mastered the art.”
    “Or you could do the dishes. Since the drain is clogged, you wouldn’t risk losing the quarter.”
    “The neat thing is, there’s no difference between a coin and any other circular object, like a diamond ring.”
    “You could paint. You could paint the apartment with a coin palmed in each hand. In fact, since the rooms are so narrow, you could do both walls at once, holding a brush in each hand and a coin in each palm.”
    David let his shoulders slump. “Am I to