THIRTY-FIVE
The maggiordomo ushered him into the unlit room, the man’s lone candle casting the only illumination for Teodoro to follow. He stood at the threshold of the unfamiliar chamber as the liveried servant used a taper, sparking flame to wick, lighting a random assortment of the candles set generously about, some in elaborate branches and sconces, others in short and stubby plain pewter holders.
As flickering golden radiance steeped into the cubby, Teodoro stepped in. The piles of books stood in the corners like sentinels standing guard over the small, incongruously simple wooden desk, the plainly carved piece out of place in this elaborate home. Beautiful pieces of art vied for space and attention upon plain walls; the colors and filaments of the rectangular carpet were worn down
