This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming YA historical fiction author, Anne E. Johnson. Her latest title, TROUBLE AT THE SCRIPTORIUM, is a medieval mystery set in 12th century England. Join us Sunday, when Anne will be here to talk about the novel and offer a copy to a lucky winner. Here's the blurb:
Anne E. Johnson's medieval mystery novel for ages 9-12, Trouble at the Scriptorium, features a twelve-year-old boy named Harley. It takes place in the early twelfth century, in Berkhamsted, a fiefdom north of London.
Anne E. Johnson's medieval mystery novel for ages 9-12, Trouble at the Scriptorium, features a twelve-year-old boy named Harley. It takes place in the early twelfth century, in Berkhamsted, a fiefdom north of London.
This fast-paced
adventure features missing jewels, a missing monk, and a secret message hidden
in a book of Gregorian chant! Good thing twelve-year-old Lady Margaret reads
Latin, but Harley sure finds it hard to know how to behave around a noble girl
he wants to be friends with.
Harley’s father
is a traveling jester, his mother a lady’s maid, his uncle the monks’
choirmaster. Through Harley’s eyes, the reader experiences life in a medieval
English castle, village, and monastery.
**An Excerpt from TROUBLE AT THE SCRIPTORIUM**
In this
passage, Harley is at the Monastery of St. Aidan’s, where his uncle is the
choir director. Harley waits in the monastery library and pages through the new
chant book that a nearby scriptorium recently made for his lady’s name-day
gift. The book has errors in it, though, including at least one missing
illumination.
The library always made Harley feel cozy, even
when he was alone in it. There was a comforting musty smell from the books and
the wooden furniture. Stretching half the length of the room was an oak table
that would have seated twelve men with manuscripts laid out in front of them. The
edges of its thick timbers were rounded by time, its red-brown finish worn and
scratched. The ornate wooden chairs were so heavy that Harley could barely
slide one across the flagstones. He climbed onto one, leaving it at an angle to
the table. Once he’d mounted the seat, the chair wouldn’t budge.
Benedict’s satchel had been left on the center
of the table, with the chant book still in it. Harley untied the bag and
struggled to grasp the big leather volume. When he opened the cover, his nose
took in an acrid puff of tanned animal hide. Not just the cover, but the
parchment pages themselves were made from skins. He smelled another new scent,
rich and heavy, from all those vibrant paints. Brother Benedict had explained
that the paints were made from plant leaves, bark, seeds, roots,
blossoms---anything in nature with color to offer. Egg yolks and boiled animal
bones were used to make the paint thick and keep its hue. No wonder it stank! Harley
coughed to clear his lungs.
Finding
that his feet wouldn’t touch the floor, he sat cross-legged to wander through
the book’s glittering pages. Soon he got used to the smell. He was awed by such
beauty, and the faith it stood for.
Suddenly, the window rattled. Harley gasped and
dropped the page he was handling. There was some scraping from the back of the
library.
“Hello?” Harley said weakly.
No answer. There was silence now. Turning so
that he was on his knees and grasping the chair’s back, Harley took a quick
glance around the room. He couldn’t see anything wrong.
“Hello? Anyone there?” The wind must have picked
up, he assured himself.
He returned to the book, but now with an
irrational feeling that he was being watched. Perhaps it was the ghosts of old
monastery scholars, guarding their collection. Silently, Harley promised them
that he would be very careful with the treasure that lay in front of him.
To turn each page, he took the sheet of vellum
between his finger and thumb, and flipped it gingerly to the left, as if it
were a butterfly wing. He admired how smooth and polished the right-hand pages
were, and how the back of each leaf often had a bit of fur left from the goat
it was made from.
The glorious illustrations swam across his
vision. Deepest blues, greens, yellows, reds, and pure shimmering gold. Saints
and martyrs and plants and animals, swirls and curly-cues, Crosses, planets,
even goblins. It was like a wondrous city, and turning each page was like
turning a corner, with fantastic new things to see. Harley wanted to go on
forever, walking through this fantasyland. But he stopped short when he reached
the unfinished page.
* * *
You can
purchase Trouble at the Scriptorium directly
from Royal Fireworks Press: http://www.rfwp.com/browse/novels
For updates on
Anne’s publications and appearances, Like her Facebook author page.
