the strings and the way they are stretched. The frame is, for all intents and purposes, interchangeable.”
“You have attended the academy in Paris,” Gabriella said, impressed.
“Bien sûr, Dr. Valko,” Sabine said, smiling slightly. “How else would I be entrusted with such a
position as this? You may not recall, but I attended your Introduction to Spiritual Warfare Seminar.”
“What year?” Gabriella asked, studying Sabine, attempting to recognize her.
“The first term of 1987,” Sabine responded.
“My last year at the academy,” Gabriella said.
“It was my favorite course.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” Gabriella said. “And now you can repay me by helping me solve a
puzzle: ‘As a hand at the loom wove this mystery, so a hand must unravel it.’ ” Gabriella watched
Sabine as she repeated the line from Mrs. Rockefeller’s letter, searching for a spark of recognition.
“I am here to assist in the unraveling,” Sabine said. “And I now know what it is that I’m meant to
free from the tapestry.”
“Mrs. Rockefeller wove the strings into this tapestry?” Verlaine said.
“Actually,” Sabine replied, “she hired a very adept professional to do the work for her. But yes,
they are there, inside the Unicorn in Captivity tapestry.”
Verlaine stared at the weave skeptically. “How in the hell will we get them out?”
Nonplussed, Sabine said, “If I am informed correctly, the procedure was skillfully performed and
will leave no damage whatsoever.”
“It is odd that Abby Rockefeller would choose such a delicate piece of art as a shield,” Gabriella
noted.
Sabine said, “You must remember that once upon a time these tapestries were the private property
of the Rockefellers. They hung in Abigail Rockefeller’s living room from 1922, when her husband
bought them, until the late 1930s, when they were brought here. Mrs. Rockefeller had a very intimate
knowledge of the tapestries, including their weak spots.” Sabine pointed at a heavily repaired patch
on the weave. “See how it is irregular? One snip of the repair thread and it will open in a seam.”
A museum security guard stationed at the far side of the room walked casually over to them. “Are
you ready for us, Ms. Clementine?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Sabine responded, her manner becoming crisp and professional. “But we will
need to clear the gallery first. Please call in the others.” Sabine turned to Gabriella and Verlaine. “I
have arranged to block off the area for the duration of the procedure. We will need complete freedom
to work on the tapestry, a task that would be impossible in such a crowd.”
“You can do that?” Verlaine asked, looking at the congested hall.
“Of course,” Sabine said. “I am the associate director of restorations. I can arrange repairs as I see
fit.”
“What about that?” Verlaine asked, nodding to the security camera.
“I have taken care of everything, monsieur.”
Verlaine gazed at the tapestry, realizing that they had very little time to locate the strings and
remove them. As he’d originally suspected, the repaired fabric above the unicorn’s horn, located in
the upper third of the tapestry, contained the largest defect. It was high off the floor, perhaps six feet.
One would have to stand upon a chair or a stool to reach it. The angle wouldn’t be ideal. There was
every possibility that the seam would be too difficult to open and that it would be necessary to
remove the tapestry from the wall, spread it flat on the floor, and work it open there. This, however,
would be the last resort.
A number of security guards entered the gallery and began directing people from the room. Once
the space had been cleared, the guards stood watch at the door.
With the gallery emptied, Sabine escorted a short, bald man past the guards and to the tapestry,
where he placed a metal case on the floor and unfolded a stepladder. Without so much as a glance at
Gabriella or Verlaine, he climbed the stepladder and began to examine the seam.
“The glass, Ms. Clementine,” the man said.
Sabine opened the case, revealing a row of scalpels, threads, scissors, and a great magnifying
glass, the last of which collected a bright swirl of light from the room and condensed it into a single
ball of fire.
Verlaine watched as the man worked, fascinated by his confidence. He had often wondered at the
skills of restoration and had even been to an exhibit that demonstrated the chemical processes used to
clean fabrics such as these. Holding the magnifying glass in one hand and a scalpel in the other, the