The Ninth Gate Page #4

11. BALKAN BUILDING: ELEVATOR INT/NIGHT

BALKAN punches a code number on the elevator's digital keyboard

With a subdued hiss, the elevator starts to ascend.

BALKAN:
You're right, of course. Your friendships don't concern

me in the least. Our relations have always been strictly

commercial, isn't that so? There's no one more reliable than a

man whose loyalty can be bought for hard cash.

CORSO:
Hey, Balkan, I came here to do some business, not shoot

the breeze. You want to expound your personal philosophy, write

another book.

BALKAN:
You don't like me, do you?

CORSO (shrugs):
I don't have to like you. You're a client, and

you pay well.

The elevator reaches its destination, the doors open.

12. BALKAN BUILDING: COLLECTION INT/NIGHT

The elevator opens straight into a spacious room faced with black

marble. The walls are bare save for a big, back-lighted

photograph of a ruined castle overlooking a desolate valley.

Two huge windows in the right-hand wall extend from floor to

ceiling. Visible outside on the building's floodlit facade,

gargoyles gaze out over the city with their monstrous heads

propped on their claws.

The centre of the room is occupied by a rectangular block of

tinted glass resembling a big black monolith. Vaguely discernible

through the glass are shelves filled with antique books in

exquisite bindings.

BALKAN leads CORSO over to the 'monolith' . He gestures at it

proudly, soliciting admiration.

BALKAN:
Well?

CORSO:
Yup.

BALKAN:
You're privileged, Corso. Very few people have ever set

foot in here. This Is my private collection. Some bibliophiles

specialize in Gothic novels, others in Books of Hours. All my own

rare editions have the same protagonist: the Devil.

CORSO is impressed but does his best not to show it.

CORSO:
May I take a look?

BALKAN:
That's why I brought you here.

He goes over to the 'monolith' and punches a keyboard on a

control panel, gestures to CORSO to come closer.

CORSO puts out his hand. Before he can touch the glass, it glides

aside with a faint hum. He adjusts his glasses and glances at

BALKAN, who looks on calmly. His eyes roam along the spines of

the books. BALKAN comes and stands beside him.

BALKAN (cont.):
Beautiful, aren't they? That soft sheen, that

superb gilding... Not to mention the centuries of wisdom they

contain -- centuries of erudition, of delving Into the secrets of

the Universe and the hearts of men... I know people who would

kill for a collection like this. (CORSO shoots him a quick

glance) The Ars Diavoli! You'll never see as many books on the

subject anywhere else in the world. They're the rarest, the

choicest editions in existence. It has taken me a lifetime to

assemble them. Only the supreme masterpiece was missing. Come...

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