Vera peered into the room at vague, static shapes filling the square space. The room looked to be the same size as the other storage areas, but, even in the dim light, it was apparent that it had been cared for, unlike the rat hotel or the haphazard haberdashery.
She peered further into the darkness before a cascade of light appeared above her. A small crystal chandler illuminated the space, revealing a cache of treasure that would impress even Aladdin or Long John Silver. Spinoza's hand crept around the wall to her left, affixed to a light switch.
Small shelves interspersed at regular intervals throughout the room held sundry glittering objects mingled with large cardboard boxes. Even larger cardboard boxes stood as intermediaries between the shelves, containing even greater mysteries.
Spinoza whistled, "What a haul, huh? That chandelier isn't some cheap knock off. It looks like it's something from pre-Edisonian times that's been wired for electricity. Pretty deft touch by Snell to use it as the light fixture in here. Gives the place some atmosphere."
On the shelves against the left wall, there was a greater inventory of crystal goblets - some lined in gold - alongside a stack of silver platters. In the far corner, a thick stack of rolled carpeting occupied the niche between the shelves on the left and the shelves pressed against the back wall.
Spinoza walked over to the corner with Vera in pursuit. He grabbed the first carpet, unrolled it slightly, and rubbed the material between his thumb and forefinger. "Silk. These are real Turkish rugs."
Vera's eyes were wide, less in the recognition of the value of the items in the room than with Spinoza's ability to quickly estimate their value and sourcing. "How do you know all of this?"
"I spent a few years in Europe after the war and took the opportunity to get more acquainted with the history of the continent."
They moved to the next corner of the storage area and observed a stack of paintings, some still housed in ornate frames, some rolled casually up in piled groupings, nestled between another set of shelves.
"What about these paintings? Do you know anything about them?"
"Not too much. Given the nature of their subject matter, their verisimilitude, and the attention to detail," he pointed to a dark shadow on one painting illuminated by the overhead chandelier, "I'd say they're likely paintings from Dutch masters. See how even in the darkest spots on the painting, you can still make out a clear delineation of shapes? That was typical of Dutch renaissance style."
Vera peered closer, paused, moved her head for further adjustment, and then nodded in appreciation.
Finally, they turned toward the wall on the storage room's right. There, on every shelf, were menorahs piled on top of one another. Some were simple silver structures. Others were embossed with ornate designs. Still others were solid gold, while a select group was decorated with jewels.
Spinoza grunted in growing comprehension of the room's purpose. He pulled a box from the shelf housing the menorahs and opened it, unsurprised by its contents. He lifted a garment from the box and, as with the carpet, rubbed the material between his thumb and forefinger.
"What is it?"
"It's called a tallit. It's a Jewish prayer shawl. This one's silk. I expect the others folded up in these boxes are likely silk as well. Or wool. Something higher end and well-made at any rate." He paused and folded the shawl carefully before placing it back in the box. "Let's check a few more boxes."
They moved back to the center wall and pulled one of the lower boxes from the shelf. The weight of the box caused it to land with a muted thud on the floor. Spinoza lifted one of the flaps back and stuck a hand inside. A brief look of perplexity on his face caused temporary panic in Vera, who was still suspecting a literal rat at every turn. Her fear abated as he calmly lifted the other flap, revealing the box's contents.
"Books?"
"I don't think they're just any books." He lifted the top volume from its resting place and the two of them examined it. It was bound in embossed leather with a golden clasp holding its pages secure. Spinoza popped the clasp and the book sprung open slightly, but perceptibly with a small sigh and a creak. He carefully turned page after page.
"Can you read Latin?" Vera asked, expecting after the other talents he'd revealed in the last couple of minutes that answer would be a resounding 'yes.'
"Nothing past the basic roots. Can you?"
She shook her head but continued to stare, transfixed by the colors and gold leafing reflecting light from every page. "It's beautiful."
They perused more pages, the light seemingly emanating from the manuscript rather than from the chandelier above them. The images composed of vibrant primary colors. "Do you think it was illustrated by monks?"
He shrugged, "most likely. Monks were typically the literate ones for the time period. But that's not what's most interesting about this edition."
She glanced at him, perplexed.
"All of the stories - they're Old Testament. Not a picture of Jesus to be had in the book."
"Is that unusual? Maybe it was a prelude to another edition containing scenes from the New Testament."
Spinoza shook his head slowly. "During a time when an entire continent was adamant against professing - and waging war on behalf of - its faith? Doubtful." He paused in thought. "There are instances of Jewish manuscripts that were often produced by Christian miniaturists. Europe wasn't openly hostile to Judaism for every moment of the last millennium. Just most of them."
Vera stared at Spinoza in astonishment. "How..."
"This is actually pretty standard art history stuff, and I took a few classes in college. I audited a few more when I was in Europe."
"So, why do you think the manuscript landed here?"
"Well, I've got a theory," he pointed to another shelf of boxed merchandise, "but let's open a few more just to be sure."
Vera scrambled to the next available box and eagerly pried it open, pulling out a thick sheaf of identical documents labeled in what looked like gothic font with government seals affixed to them.
"German treasury bonds," Spinoza responded before Vera could formulate the question. "Keep digging."
She did as asked and immediately pulled out another batch of documents nearly identical to one another, but this time with familiar lettering and the faces of Jackson, Grant, and Franklin rubber-banded together. She looked straight at Spinoza. "What's your theory? Some sort of local burglary ring?"
"No," Spinoza shook his head mournfully. "All of these artifacts are Jewish or likely to show up in wealthy European residences. I think this is plunder from looted Jewish households in Germany. Our friends are probably here to sell it to interested bidders."
[Author's Note: Today's edition is 1153 words for a running total of 37619. I highly recommend Khan Academy's course on art history. It helps provide details for describing luxurious scenes.]
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