The fairytale code, p.1
The Fairytale Code, page 1
About
THE FAIRYTALE CODE
A dead girl on a cross…
A global cult of women…
An ancient code in everyone’s bedtime story…
Anne Anderson, a brilliant folklorist on the verge of a shocking discovery about the origins of fairytales, is haunted by her memories of what happened to her sister as a child: a brutal crime that is drowning her in guilt. Anne’s redemption is a lifetime quest to decipher the hidden codes her sister discovered in a certain folklore story that leads to atrocious crimes to this very day.
Detective David Tale is not that different from Anne. Witnessing his mother’s murder as a child left him with an unholy lust for catching killers, especially the rich and powerful who think they’re above the law. However, his mental state isn’t up to par, and his superiors only cover for him because of his relentless quest for truth.
When David is assigned to solve the case of a dead teenage girl hung on a cross inside Westminster Abbey, he is exposed to a web of clues left by a killer who claims that only folklorist Anne Anderson can match his brilliance. A killer raised by a cult of women who have been keeping history’s darkest secret for centuries.
A secret that will shatter the world and its history… one that has been cleverly encoded in the original version of a Brothers Grimm book from centuries ago… disguised as a fairytale.
Anne’s sister was right. It’s her duty to uncover the shocking secret that would pull the rug from under politicians, the Vatican, the royal family, and mankind’s history that has suspiciously been written by men—and never allowed women to tell their side of the story…
* The Fairytale Code is NOT a fantasy. It’s a real-life, factual, and fast-paced page-turner that takes place in Europe’s most neglected historical 600-mile-long strip called The Fairytale Road, where the true-life stories of fairytales originated.
* The codes and revelations in the novel are based on facts that have never been exposed before. Author Cameron Jace spent two years traveling Europe to put the puzzle together. And although the book’s priority is entertainment, it presents a conclusion that will leave you speechless about history, women’s rights, and your very own childhood.
* While the series is a trilogy, book 1 ends with a clear resolution, and not on a cliffhanger.
Contents
Stay in the Loop
Facts
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 134
Chapter 135
Chapter 136
Chapter 137
Chapter 138
The Fairytale Plague
AUDIOBOOK
Also by Cameron Jace
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © 2022 by Cameron Jace
All Rights Reserved
Storybook Publishing
Part of Thomas Crown
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Facts
The Fairytale Code is based on a two-year journey of research in Europe. Not the Wikipedia/Google/Online type of research, but long face-to-face conversations with locals inside one-room-sized museums in small abandoned towns in the enchanting region of the Fairytale Road — a six-hundred-mile long-forgotten place in Germany where fairytale originated.
Locations, dates, and revelations are based on facts.
The Fairytale Road
simplified map for book 1
In this book we visit Polle, Trendelburg, Hamelin, and Lohr, starting with London in the beginning.
Please check for a detailed map here…
Fairytale Road Map
1
10 a.m.
The British Library, London
Anne Anderson was never late to her meetings—until today, when she stopped to assist an elderly woman in a wheelchair trying to enter the British Library.
“Thank you,” the woman said to Anne. “That stubborn security guard wouldn’t let me in without a VIP invitation.”
"Don't worry about him. You're with me now," Anne replied happily, wheeling her over to the VIP carpet, past the long line of eagerly awaiting guests. "It's an important day for the library, so they're a bit strict today.”
“I know! That’s why I’m here.” The woman’s eyes widened with excitement. “To see the original version of the Brothers Grimm fairytales.”
“Oh, you know about it, then?” Anne’s eyes shone.
In her experience, hardly anyone showed interest in fairytale origins anymore. The ones who did were mostly older, having read the physical books as children.
Anne spent her life studying these tales, her fascination beginning with her own childhood copy of The Brothers Grimm Fairytales. Now, at thirty-three, she had a Ph.D. in folklore origins, forever solidifying her unique passion.
“I’m a fairytale buff,” the woman said with pride as she looked up at Anne. “I can’t wait to take a look at an authentic, two-century-old original. The two brothers devoted their lives to collecting these brilliant childhood stories. Imagine traveling from town to town to put these beloved tales together.”
Anne wasn’t going to argue that the Brothers Grimm neither traveled nor collected fairytales. Explaining such truth to the everyday reader almost always proved to be a fruitless task. Readers romanticized their childhood stories along with the authors who wrote them and never wanted to hear otherwise.
"My daughter was supposed to meet me here, but then she had to pick up her daughter from school," the elderly woman said as they reached the library's entrance.
“Well, don’t worry, that’s where I come in,” Anne said, flashing her VIP invitation at the security guard.
"Folklorist Anne Anderson?" the guard said, reading her invitation with curiosity. "I've been told to let you right in. Director Jonathan Gray is waiting for you. But," he started, pointing at the woman in the wheelchair. "I can't let her in before the official opening of the ceremony.”
“She’s my mum,” Anne said, secretly nudging the woman in the back to play along. The word mum had a unique taste on her tongue, as she had never met hers. “She goes wherever I go.”
The guard folded his muscular arms, his brow furrowed. “How come your mum doesn’t have an invitation, Professor Anderson?”
“How come your supervisor lets you smoke on the job?” Anne raised an eyebrow at the cigarette stub on the floor, then smoothly brushed ashes off his shirt.
The guard shrugged with defeat.
“I’d suggest you chew gum instead.” Anne snatched back her invitation and rolled the elderly woman past the red tape.
The woman chuckled and rubbed her hands in enthusiasm, happy the ruse worked as they entered the main hall.
Anne stopped the wheelchair in front of the stage that would host the celebration of one of the most sought-after original manuscripts of all time.
“Wait here and enjoy the show,” Anne told her. “I’m late for my meeting.”
The woman gratefully tapped Anne’s hand and winked. “I guess my daughter wasn’t late after all.”
Anne felt her cheeks warm. The woman had no idea how much that meant to her.
She turned at the sound of a voice calling for her.
“Professor Anderson, what took you so long?” Jonathan Gray stood by his office door. “It’s here. You won’t believe your eyes.”
A black limo with dark windows was parked beyond the waiting crowd outside. A man in a black, fully tailored cassock sat in the backseat. He wore a Cappello Romano hat to hide his disproportionately large head, and only if you looked closely could you tell what the hat was disguising. He sat patiently, watching Anne enter the director’s office from the display screen in front of him.
The Advocate, as he was known, could've used his phone to watch her. But he preferred to keep his hands free in case he needed to reach for the gun next to him.
2
10:17 a.m.
Henry VII’s Lady Chapel, Westminster Abbey, London
While forensics gathered evidence at Lady Chapel’s Hall, DCI—detective chief inspector—David Tale couldn’t take his eyes off the dead girl who hung on the wooden cross before him.
Intricate, interlaced knots of dock line ropes bound her to the ten-foot wooden structure. This itself was the meticulous work of a sick mind. The staged crime was nothing short of a macabre image similar to those found in Dante’s Inferno or Paradise Lost—books David had read too many times in the past, trying to solve his own mother’s murder.
Who are you staring at? What was the last thing you saw?
David tilted his head to mirror the girl on the cross and followed her gaze.
Of all places, her dead eyes set their final gaze upon the burial vaults of Elizabeth and Mary the First, former queens of England. David’s face twitched, caught between the dead from both the present and the past.
Unable to come up with an immediate connection between the dead girl and the deceased queens, he let his thoughts trail off. He wondered what it felt like, knowing who killed you and unable to tell anyone.
If God resurrected Jesus, how hard could it be to resurrect those who’ve been wronged to point out their killers?
“David?” Harriet Wilde, his superintendent, interrupted, saving him from his morbid thoughts. “You still there?”
“I wish I wasn’t,” he spoke into his headset while his thoughts swayed like a pendulum of curiosity between the girl and the burial vault.
“Forensics sent photographs of the crime scene to my phone,” Harriet said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. What the hell is this?”
“I’m David, Harriet, not God,” he said absently.
Mary Harper, the forensics photographer, smirked next to him. “Good one. I’ll have to write that down.”
David’s face twitched in response. His previous girlfriend had mocked him that twitching was his closest version to a smile.
“If Harriet stopped watching crimes on her phone in an air-conditioned office,” he whispered to Mary, “she’d understand what it felt like down here.”
“Looking darkness in the eyes,” Mary agreed, nodding toward the dead girl.
“Did you say something, David?” Harriet said.
“Just a little prayer, Harriet,” he said, shushing Mary and motioning to her to finish her work.
Of all his team members, he liked Mary the most. She checked all his boxes—dragon tattoos, being a history fanatic and a horror movie buff, loving morbid photography. Not to mention, everyone called her Bloody Mary, which she loved. But at twenty-two, she was too young to deal with his mess of a soul anyway.
“You don’t do prayers, David,” Harriet scoffed in his ear. “Just tell me what you got. I need something to take back to Her Majesty’s correspondence.”
The Queen of England herself had called Harriet an hour ago, with orders to keep the abbey’s priests and clergy off limits until further notice.
David hadn’t realized Her Majesty possessed such authority. Her interference suggested an inside job at hand.
“I’ve got nothing yet,” he said. “Forensics brought in ladders and are examining her right now.”
“What else?”
“We haven’t identified her yet, but we’ve swabbed for DNA and got fingerprints. I’m waiting for the footage from the surveillance cameras and the CCTVs. One of us will question the cleaning ladies who discovered the body this morning.”
“I appreciate all that, David, but I want to know what you think.”
David squinted at the girl on the cross, homing in on the apple nailed to her left hand. “I know this isn’t just about murder.”
“What is it then?”
“A statement. Maybe a puzzle.”
“Tell me more.”
“Think about it. How long did it take the killer to get this wooden cross inside the abbey? How did he even manage to do it—and when? Or was this cross built here inside the chapel? If so, who helped him?”
