Don’t Worry…Love Anne

~

The Voynich Solution

~

Andrea Peters

2006 © Andre Souang

When knowledge is limited – it leads to folly.

When knowledge exceeds a certain limit – it leads to exploitation.

~ Abu Bakr 573-634 C.E.

Prologue

March 27, 2007, Seattle, Washington U.S.A.

“Hold it like this,” Anne said, her arms wrapping around Jarred as she placed her hands on top of his. She pulled slowly on the bow, drawing it across the strings. The resonating sound hummed through both of their hands and she got goose bumps.

“How about you do all the work and I’ll just enjoy it,” Jarred said, turning his head and grinning.

“I can see you’re not a serious student today.” Anne rested her chin on his left shoulder and stopped playing. Her long brown hair ticked his cheek.

“Oh but I am! Serious that is.” Jarred relinquished the cello and bow – turning around in her encircled arms.

“Then how am I supposed to teach you anything with you facing this way?”

“I’m sure we can think of something to learn…” His voice drifted off as he kissed her. Anne sighed and pulled the bow down to her side.

“I guess the lessons are over for today,” Anne said, gingerly pulling the cello around and leaning it against the piano.

“Can we go upstairs now?” Jarred asked.

“One day you might wish you would have taken your lessons more seriously,” Anne said, smiling and grabbing his hand.

“I already do,” Jarred said, heading to the stairs.

3 a.m. March 28^th, 2007

“Wonderful! It’s amazing! God I love dreams like this!”

Anne was lying on her side smiling - her fingers on her left hand moving in her sleep. She knew she was dreaming but it was so perfect. The cello sang like a chorus of angles, the notes swam around her like fluid – enveloping her in pure emotion. She paused for a second to ponder why it felt so good. She was safe. That was it. Safe and protected - with the perfect song of her own composition. She hoped that she could remember it when she awoke and that it sounded as wonderful. It was such a downer when the reality didn’t meet fantasy.

Jarred walked in and started dancing – by himself. Now she knew for sure that she was in a dream. But no matter – she would enjoy the ride. Her hands picked up momentum, her hair swinging as she became one with the instrument. She was playing so fast that she no longer could keep up with the notes on the paper. That was until the paper became words - words of gibberish.

Whoa! She stopped playing when Jarred walked over and took her bow, looking at her quizzically.

“Jarred? What are you doing?”

He ignored her and started playing air guitar with it.

“Jarred! I was playing!”

“Jarred!”

Anne woke suddenly hearing the last fragment of her husband’s name in the cool night air and turned to look beside her. Jarred was still sound asleep, purring like a kitten. He hated it when she said he snored. He insisted that he purred.

Anne stared at the ceiling. She could barely make out a couple of shades of black. There was no moon to light the sky. She couldn’t remember if it had been cloudy that day or for that matter the last couple of days. In fact, the entire last two weeks were a complete blur.

Her eyes started to play games with her as images danced across the air and she reverted to her dream so as to not freak herself out - trying to remember the song she had just ‘played’. Much to her shock the notes were still dancing around in her mind. Her eyes grew wide and she tore back the covers and bolted from the bed. She made it to the hallway before stopping. Jarred hated it when she disappeared in the middle of the night – and she did it fairly often which was really starting to irritate him. He didn’t understand her insomnia. So she found a scrap of paper and wrote him a note, letting it drift down to the carpet – face up – outside their door before tearing off down the two flights of stairs to her music studio.

She looked at the piano and then the cello, picking up the bow without even consciously making a decision, then walked over to her desk. All the papers were still there and they made so much sense now. Anne took out a blank sheet of paper and copied down the gibberish that she had seen in her dream before translating it. She knew what made up the final part of the secret key! Un-stinking believable!

It took the better part of two and a half hours before she was done. Pleased with herself to no end but with no one to tell for a few more hours, she picked up her discarded bow and walked over to her cello – placing it between her knees.

Music. It calmed her and helped her think. Nearly nine months had passed. Too many people had died; mysteries had been uncovered on top of mysteries, trips to foreign lands, cryptic notes, the Voynich manuscript. What a misnomer that was. It was all going to be over…just as soon as Jarred woke up and she could tell him. She untwisted the cap on her bottle of water from a couple of days ago and took a swig. It was stale – she wrinkled her nose, put the cap back on and threw it in the garbage.

Anne looked across the room to the key and closed her eyes. Relax. Let it flow.

Her hands moved like they were guided by unseen hands. She loved it when it felt like that. The sounds melded together, filling her senses with purpose and hope. She could feel herself getting heavier – weighed down by the release. As the bow stretched across the strings – the fine hairs vibrating ever so slightly over the bridge of the instrument before flowing into it and building to a crescendo – something twinged.

Her heart. The music was moving her heart. She imagined that it would be that way one day to an unborn child in her womb, enveloped in the hollow chamber of her belly listening to the beating of her heart.

Amazing!

The music flowed out of her and in her as if the ebb and flow of the ocean.

It was then that she knew something was wrong.

The flow had stopped – plugging her lungs. She couldn’t breath. She opened her eyes and helplessly stared at the room – hoping. But this was no dream. Her body didn’t remember how to breathe. It had forgotten. How was that possible? She could feel her chest, her stomach, as her brain told them to move – but they didn’t know how to interpret the command.

Anne felt her temperature rising. For a moment she thought it was menopause. But that was impossible – and the temperature kept rising. That was when she saw flashes of light. Dozens of them were surrounding the air around her. She tried to follow a particularly bright one but the room spun around and she knew she was falling because of the angle at which she was now looking at the piano. The neck of the cello lay broken at the pedals. She must have landed on it.

“Oh, Jarred. I wish you would have learned the cello,” she said, before the blackness overtook her.

Jarred awoke feeling something was wrong. He immediately looked to Anne’s side of the bed. She was gone. He breathed a sigh of exasperation. Her insomnia was going to drive him nuts.

“Anne!” he yelled, then waited a moment.

“Anne!” Still no answer. He was getting irritated.

“Anne!” Jarred reached up and turned on the light, looking over at her side of the bed.

“Anne – I thought we agreed that you would leave a note when you did this!” he said loudly, hoping that she would hear him.

He stood up and looked at her night table. Nothing.

“What am I going to do with you?” he said under his breath, walking toward the hallway.

The note was just outside the door lying on the carpet like an offering.

“Oh...Sorry!” he said sheepishly.

He bent over to pick it up while yawning.

“What?!” He looked up to see if there were any lights on in the study next to their bedroom.

“Anne!” he yelled as he took off down the stairs, leaping the last four steps with one stride.

The light to her music studio was on and he felt a bit of relief as he reached for the door knob.

“Annie! You scared me – again. What did you –“.

The first thing he noticed was her new favorite piece of art; a copy of Michelangelo’s ‘Creation of Adam’, that she had picked up in Italy a few months ago, had a large tear in it and was upside down on the piano.

His eyes moved down to the floor where Anne lay on her side - crumpled in a ball, her cello, twisted and broken beside her.

“Anne!”

“NO!!!”

Jarred dived to the floor and shook her. His insistence moved her body like a rag doll, flopping Anne over to her back.

Jarred looked down at her beautiful face and screamed.

Upstairs the note that he had dropped in such a hurry had fluttered down, finally landing on the floor by the porcelain rabbit whose ears, Jarred had always thought, were just a little too pink.

The note was, of course, oblivious to the words that were scrawled on it – no matter that they were written with tenderness and affection.

“Jarred! I figured it out! I know what it means! I’m downstairs…

Don’t worry…Love Anne”

Chapter 1

Friday June 9, 2006 – nine months earlier – Augusta, Georgia, U.S.A.

The house was on Water’s Edge Drive, on the river between North Augusta and the city center. Professor Nigel, widower, had lived there ever since he had retired ten years ago. He used to use his boat every day, running up and down the river, fishing once in a while, mostly sightseeing. But now the fifteen foot runabout sat tied to the pilings, rotting slowly while being consumed by a thick brownish growth. After a year of trying to keep it clean he had given up and decided that someone would just have to deal with it after he died. Up until six months ago he hadn’t cared if he did die. Retirement was boring and golf was only a little better – which was the reason why he had moved to Augusta in the first place. He didn’t understand the Internet – the email contraption that his daughter had sent him five years ago was still plugged into the phone – unused. The CD player however he did like and used it regularly. The headphones were attached to his armchair like a vice grip.

But everything had changed back in December. That was when the first letter came. He never had liked puzzles before – used to chew out his students for doing crosswords in his law class back at Harvard. Of course he had heard of The Da Vinci Code – the incredibly popular book. His daughter had sent him a copy, thinking that he might want to join one of those crazy tours. He never even finished chapter six. It was, after all, fiction. He didn’t feel it was a productive use of his time – not that he really had anything better to do.

The first note was sent from Philadelphia. It bore no return address and included only two pages – the first of which was a handwritten letter. The other page, however, was what had captured his attention. It was like nothing he had ever seen. The writer had insisted that it was a true mystery – a seven by nine inch page of a manuscript – handwritten on vellum with strange letters and illustrations of plants. Of course he had not taken the writer’s word, though he did keep his promise not to reveal the pages which he had been accumulating. With just a little research he had discovered that somehow his anonymous friend had gotten his hands on what was referred to now as Manuscript 408, aka “The Most Mysterious Manuscript in the World”. Countless people had tried to decipher it – even the legendary English World War II cryptographers that had broken Hitler’s Enigma[1] codes - but no one had provided a satisfactory answer to what it said. It was suggested to be a book of alchemy, astronomy, physics, even containing the secrets of the universe, but to no avail - as the key had remained a secret until now - albeit with a little help from the sender.

He had fifteen pages in his locked file and he had worked day and night on a solution since day one. Today he received page sixteen. It was different from the others. A page with what appeared to be an apple on it. In several ways, it was unlike the others that he had deciphered. Most prominently, it had relatively few words on it and a single large illustration (f2v).

Professor Nigel sat in his chair, The Solution sat on the table beside a glass of iced scotch. He looked at it every few minutes to make sure it was real, the excitement inside him growing like a water balloon attached to a spigot. What he had discovered would bring him unimaginable prominence and money – not that he needed any of the later – but still – it would come.

f2v

He had been promised that he could break the news to the world tomorrow and so he sat there with no intention on sleeping, his mind consumed with exactly what he would say and how he would present his find to the scientific, mathematic and political communities.

The knock came at 1:00 a.m. but honestly, Professor Nigel had no idea what time it was when he extracted himself from his favorite high leather backed chair and hobbled over to the door. He remembered to look out of the peephole before opening it. There had been a break-in just last week two houses down the street. A man shielded his eyes when the professor turned on the exterior light.

“What do you want?” he asked loudly, his ear toward the door to catch the response.

“A moment of your time professor,” the man said, squinting and trying to smile. He had a friendly face but wore a strange hat.

“Do I know you?” the professor asked. Maybe an old student he thought.

“Well – yes. I believe you do. I’ve been sending you pages of my book the last six months,” the man said. “May I come in?”

“Oh! Oh yes! Of course!” the professor said, fumbling with the deadbolt. He opened the door and the man quickly rushed in, looking behind him before closing the door.

“I…I didn’t expect to meet you…” the professor said. The man was adjusting something in his ear.

“What?” he asked – still fiddling around with whatever it was.

“I didn’t expect to meet you,” the professor repeated a little louder. The man looked at him and smiled.

“I understand. I was just in the neighborhood and thought that perhaps we should talk before tomorrow…I mean today,” the man said a little too loudly while looking at his watch and smiling.

“Yes. Yes! Of course. Come in. Can I get you something to drink? I’m having a scotch myself.”

“Actually, I would love one. But tell you what. This night is a cause for celebration and I have brought just the toast!” The man pulled out a bottle from a paper bag.

“Aberlor. Have you ever had it?” the man asked.

“Oh yes. Good stuff. The best. I’ll get some glasses.” The professor’s taste buds were salivating. Aberlor was an expensive Highlands cask Scotch.

The man poured a generous amount in the glasses that the Professor brought him.

“Sit down – sit down,” the professor said, pointing to the chair opposite him. The scene reminded the man of a Sherlock Holme’s novel. How appropriate, the man thought, as he took a sip – watching the professor do the same.

“Good stuff. Yes. Very nice,” the professor said.

“Glad you are enjoying it.”

“So, what did you think of that last page I sent you?” the man asked.

“Damn! Do you realize what it contains?” the professor asked.

“So I have guessed,” the man said.

“Do you realize what that means?” the professor asked.

“Yes. It means you are about to be a very famous man. Do you know how many extremely intelligent people have tried to solve that mystery?”

The professor looked at him wryly. He didn’t know if he should reveal that he knew the source of the pages.

“Ah…professor. No worries! I expected that you would do some research. So I can infer then that you know the book where the pages came from?”

“Yes. Manuscript 408.”

“Then you realize this is going to change the world as we know it,” the man said.

“Yes,” the professor said nervously as he gulped down the last bit of scotch. The man poured him another.

“Thank you.”

“So exactly who are you going to call first?” the man asked.

“I thought I would try CNN,” the professor said, “I know the law correspondent there.”

“Good place to start. By this time then, tomorrow you and the manuscript will be world famous. Salute,” he said, raising his glass in the air.

“Salute!” the professor said.

“There is one last thing you should know,” the man said while getting up and moving towards the bookcase.

“Oh? What is that?” the professor asked.

“Here – better that you listen to it. I wasn’t sure if I would see you in person so I brought it to you on CD. It gives a little more unknown history on the manuscript. May I?” the man asked, pointing to the CD player.

“Oh...yes. Go ahead.” The professor was feeling quite mellow with the two glasses of scotch in him. He felt like singing.

“Go ahead and put on your headphones…I don’t like the sound of my own voice,” the man said.

It took the professor a second to realize what he was asking and he nodded before adorning them. They were Bose – the best that money could buy.

“Ready?” the man asked, his voice muffled. The professor gave him a thumbs up and the man pressed the button. After a few seconds the professor had a quizzical look on his face.

“I think you got the wrong one…” the professor managed to say before his eyes opened wide. The man had put up his index finger signaling for him to wait a moment. He walked over to the professor, bent over and spoke loudly.

“Here – look at this – you can read it while you are listening.” The man put an old yellowed envelope on the professor’s lap. He picked it up and looked at it.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Read it,” the man said. The professor struggled to take out the letter; his hands were shaking as he read it. He looked up at the man, his eyes worried.

“I don’t understand…this is from me..me..me..me,” the professor said like a scratched CD. His head was bobbing up and down like a bobble doll.

“What –what - did did did you do to me?” he asked as he clutched his chest with both hands before falling over - hitting the wood floor with a loud muted thud.

“I know. I understand,” the professor whispered, his eyes wide as he stared at the dust balls under his chair. The moment of clarity that came the instant before death closed like an aperture and everything went black.

“Yes, I’m sure you do professor. I’m sure you do,” the man said as he moved efficiently around the room, cleaning out the CD player and washing the glasses before he left.

Chapter 2

“Hi Anne - it’s me. I have to go to Portland for the day to the head office. The big honcho wants to see me in person. Say, you didn’t happen to mention what we did at the company party last month did you? I’m joking. OK. I think I am. Call me if you did say something that I should be aware of before I walk into the den of lions. I’m on my cell. Maybe I’ll bring you a rose from the City of Roses,” Jarred said, before hanging up. He had just passed Olympia. It was his least favorite part of the drive as it always seemed to be under construction. Actually, his least favorite part of the drive was having to drive on the wrong side of the road. He really did miss England.

It was nearly 2:00 p.m. by the time he turned onto Highway 26 to Beaverton. Starosa, LLC shared a secured compound on the outskirts of Aloha and he was happy when the guards were expecting him. He hated feeling like a stranger at his own company.

“Go ahead. You need to wear this at all times,” the man said, handing him a badge. “Parking space two C.”

Jarred was tempted to tell him he had been there at least six times in the last year but decided it was a waste of breath and drove up the winding road to the parking space.

Although the compound was large, Starosa was actually a relatively small company. A brain trust actually. As one of several in-house counsels, he wasn’t exactly sure what it did but he was involved in the intellectual property division. It was never a dull place. One of the coolest things he had done was to negotiate with attorneys for Bill Gates of Microsoft fame for permission to take digital photographs of Leonardo da Vinci’s Codex Leicester, which he had purchased in 1994. That had taken him over a year to reach a deal on. But it was worth it as he and Anne had received a personal invitation to look in on the book of thirty-six folios containing drawings of anatomy, plants, and machines – even the movement of water. Very cool he reminded himself as he made his way up to the third floor.

“Come on in Jarred,” his boss Mark said, greeting him at the main doors.

“How are you Mr. Caroma?” Jarred asked, offering his hand.

“Please Jarred – I’m fine. Follow me. We are in the conference room,” Mark said, leading the way down the granite hallway.

“Did John fill you in?” he asked without looking back.

“Uh…no. He just said to hightail it down here,” Jarred said, cringing. He was picking up too many American idioms from Anne. Hightail?

“Oh. OK. You’ll catch up quickly enough. Hope you packed your bag,” Mark said while pushing open the conference room. Jarred really wanted to know why he was supposed to have packed a bag because John certainly didn’t tell him to do so.

“Everyone – this is Jarred. Intellectual property division. Jarred...” Mark turned toward him and smiled, “this is everyone.”

“Hello everyone,” Jarred said, looking for an empty seat.

“Coffee?” a pretty blonde standing to his right asked him – cup already poised.

“Sure. Thanks!” he said.

“You’re going to need it,” she said, smiling.

“Marie – please close the door on the way out. No disturbances please,” Mark said, removing his coat.

Jarred really wanted to know what was going on.

“Yes, Mr. Caroma,” Marie said as the door clicked shut.

“OK everyone. Just to make sure everyone is on the right page. The deadline is 10:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. There is only a small window in which to get this done. Please speak to your department heads if you have questions. You can go,” Mark said.

Eight people gathered their belongings and stood up, heading toward the exit. Jarred looked around confused but got up as well – the coffee untouched in front of him.

“Everyone except you and John,” Mark said. “You in a hurry to leave? You just got here!”

“I…no, sir,” Jarred said, sitting back down.

“I’m joking Jarred – relax a bit. You’re next,” Mark said before talking to two men in matching blue suits as they left. One of them laughed and patted Mark on the back.

Mark returned a moment later.

“John – fill him in,” Mark said.

John removed a picture from a folder and pushed it across to Jarred. Ever seen this?” he asked.

Jarred looked at it briefly.

“Nope. Definitely not. What is it?” he asked.

“Manuscript 408,” John said. “F67R1, to be precise”

“da Vinci?” Jarred asked.

“Nope. We don’t know. Maybe Roger Bacon,” Mark said, looking at him closely.

“The…the friar?” Jarred said, picturing the bald man in a brown robe. “That’s strange,” he muttered.

Mark laughed. “Why?”

“Just one of those weird coincidences – nothing…” Jarred looked at Mark, “And?”

“Philosopher, teacher, Franciscan friar. Yup. All of the above,” Mark said.

“So…” Jarred looked at the picture then back at Mark.

(f67r1)

“And you want to photograph this like the Codex?” Jarred asked.

“Not at all. We want you to get possession of it,” John said.

“So – where is it?” Jarred asked, a bit afraid of the answer because the conversation was seemingly being drawn out like they were hiding something.

“Well that is the catch,” Mark said.

“It’s in police custody,” John said.

“OK. I’ll bite. Why?” Jarred had opened his mouth twice to ask but didn’t know if he wanted the answer.

“The owner died,” Mark said, “An old guy, Professor…” he looked down at his open file, “Nigel. Retired – Harvard. He’s an …was an attorney – just like you,” Mark smiled.

Jarred waited. It was obvious that there was more to the story.

“So I guess the police took it because they found it by the old man when he died. Brain aneurysm or something like that. John, you want to fill him in on the legal stuff?”

“Sure. So the paper didn’t belong to Professor Nigel. We know that for a fact,” John said. “No one has claimed it and the police won’t release it to anyone. Not that they really care but they are afraid of legal recourse.”

“And you want it?” Jarred offered.

“Yes. Starosa,” John said.

“But it’s not yours? I mean legally?” Jarred asked.

“That’s correct in the legal sense of the word,” John said. Jarred thought he sounded like the attorney that he was.

“We have drafted an ex parte motion,” John pushed a paper across the table to Jarred.

“For ownership? I’ve never heard of that being done before.” Jarred looked down at the paper.

“But you were in international antiquity law before, correct?” Mark asked. The question made Jarred smile. That is how he had met Anne.

“Yes – but that is a bit different…”

“Not so much. Use your brain on this one Jarred – we would really like the item. We have hired a local firm to assist you in Georgia, but this is your baby. Bring it home to us,” Mark said, glancing at his watch. “We done here?”

“John, fill him in and get him the directions,” Mark said, “Good to see you, Jarred. I’ve got to run.” He offered his hand which Jarred took then left in a hurry.

“So when do I need to be there?” Jarred asked, wondering about the missing bag that he was supposed to have brought with him.

“Late tonight. There are a couple of connecting flights that will get you in Atlanta by the morning. The hearing is at eleven,” John said, smiling. “That gives you about nineteen hours. Marie has your directions and expense money. She can handle anything else you need. Give me a holler if you need anything else.” John picked up his jacket and opened the door.

“Marie is down the hall to the left,” he said before disappearing. Jarred was left wondering what he was going to tell Anne.

“Oh…and this is on the QT,” John reappeared with a finger to his lips.

“Oh…sure thing,” Jarred said, long after John had disappeared again.

After meeting with Marie for a few minutes, Jarred left the building and headed to Portland International. He would have much preferred driving back to Sea-Tac but there just wasn’t enough time. Especially since it was rush hour, he thought to himself as he pulled out on Highway 26.

Chapter 3

Nisan 5, 852 BCE – Nineveh, the capital city of Assyria, modern day Iraq. The celebration of Akitu[2].

“Has the temple been cleansed?” Shamshi Adad asked his son who had just entered the illuminated festival room.

“Yes, father. It is already done,” Prince Amagnon said. His exposed muscular arms were crossed as he leaned against the hewn stone wall.

“Then it is time we change for the feast,” the king said before leaving the room.

“Esar!” Prince Amagnon yelled. He knew the aide was somewhere.

“My Lord.” Esar appeared from behind one of the two throne pillars as if from thin air, prostrating himself on the ground.

“Get up, Esar. Has the prophet departed the city?”

“He is sitting outside the gates, my Lord. Sitting under a tree.”

“Is there word? Are the god’s pleased?”

“The god is pleased, my Lord. He shall not smite the city,” Esar said, his sandals tripping on the fringes of his long robe as he righted himself.

“Good. It is done then. Bring in the food and wine and women,” Amagnon said. “The king will be here shortly.”

Amagnon sat down on the hammock chair and looked at the room. The rock walls were covered in long vibrant animal tapestries which moved slightly as the servants walked by making their preparations. Above him, on the ceiling was a relief of all the demi-gods of Babylon, complete in the center with a gold overlaid carving of Marduk himself. All this would be his one day. His rule would surely be marked by the greatness of Assyrian kings of the past like Ashurnasirpal[3], unlike his father.

The feast lasted till the early morning. By then, the king had left with one of his concubines and only the prince and a few of the women were still carousing.

“When I am king one day – Assyria will once again rise to be a world power. We shall conquer the land from the Great Sea to the desert!” Amagnon whispered to a barely clothed young woman who lay beside him on the pillows, adorned more in gold chains than anything else.

“Amagnon. You shall be a great king! One to be feared and respected above all else!” she whispered. His eyes blazed.

“Esar!” Amagnon yelled after gulping from his jewel encrusted cup filled with wine.

“Yes, Lord?” Esar appeared behind him.

“Must you always appear behind me?! I will end up striking you through one day!”Amagnon hissed.

“Yes, Lord. My apologies,” Esar said – knowing full well that Amagnon could do no such thing without the permission of his father who relied heavily upon him.

“Do you require more wine, Lord?”

“No! Bring me the priest of Nabu!” Amagnon said.

Esar looked concerned and he hesitated.

“Do you question my command? Bring me the priest of Nabu!”

“But my Lord, he cannot be seen this day. You are aware of this. It is Nisan 5^th. The temple has been cleansed. It is forbidden…” Esar paused for a moment, thinking, “…but if you wish I shall do so.” Esar bowed his head and left the room. This might be a good way to rid himself of the arrogant son of Shamshi Adad, his master.

A few minutes later, the priest of Nabu appeared. He was visibly shaking and carried with him a box and a strangely shaped zither.

“Ah priest!” Amagnon stood up. “Tell us the future. What kind of king shall I be?” Amagnon looked over to the woman, making sure that she was paying attention.

“Lord…I cannot…this is forbidden on this day,” the priest said.

Amagnon stumbled over, putting his hands on the priest shoulders.

“What is your name, priest?”

“Magnon,” the priest said in a low voice.

“Magnon. I am the king’s son. I shall rule this kingdom in a very short while. Do not worry. I am the god’s servant,” Amagnon said in mock humility.

“Tell me – will Assyria rise again under my hand?” Amagnon backed a few feet away and stared at the little man. Magnon didn’t answer.

“Fine, priest. Tell me then. What did you learn of the prophet that spoke to the city?”

The priest looked up. “I have learned that his god is to be feared. He has much power,” he said, hugging the little box he was holding.

“He is more powerful than Marduk[4]?!” Amagnon belched incredulously.

The priest hesitated.

“Esar!”

“Yes, Lord?”

“Strip him, he is blasphemous!” Amagnon pointed to Magnon.

Esar looked at the priest then at Amagnon. Insolent boy!

“Strip him,” Amagnon said, withdrawing a dagger.

Esar moved toward the priest who backed into a wall. Esar pulled the man’s robes to the stone floor then attempted to remove his helmet but the man started shrieking and Esar backed off. He hoped it would be enough. The priest picked back up the zither and box and stood in front of them, shivering.

“What is in your box, priest?” Amagnon danced in a circle like a woman. The women behind him chuckled.

“Your box!” he yelled.

“It is just something I learned from the prophet. I am writing it for your Lord, the King, but it is yet unfinished,” Magnon said.

“Show it to me!” Amagnon waved his hand forward and the priest, with his head down, slowly walked over and presented it to him.

Amagnon opened the box and found a small scroll. As he unraveled it, the texture of the papyrus scrapped against his fingers.

“What is this? What does it say?”

“It is…it is…in the old language, called Xul Hur[5],” the priest said quietly.

“Xul Hur?! That is merely a tale. Old woman speak,” Amagnon said.

“Yes, Lord. I’m sure it is. I have not had a chance to study it…but as you say - it is just child’s dribble, I’m sure,” the priest said. “As you see I am but a foolish old priest – I will leave my Lord alone with the beautiful woman. Good night –“

Amagnon interrupted.

“Show us,” he said calmly.

“Wh-what?” the priest stopped retreating - no longer even aware that he was naked.

“Show us Xul Hur,” Amagnon sat down with the women.

“Yes. Show us Xul Hur or I will kill you tonight, priest,” Amagnon ordered as if he was sending the stable boy out to water the horses.

“But Lord – it is not wise.”

“Priest. Show us Xul Hur or you will die,” Amagnon pulled out the dagger and rested it in his lap.

The king was awakened by a horrific chorus of screams that pierced through the palace walls. He ran down to the festival room and was met by what appeared to be a half dozen sleeping women, along with his son and Esar. He was about to leave and continue on to the great hall when he saw the priest, cowering in the corner - naked except for the helmet on his head. He was clutching a small box in his arms.

The King looked back at his son and ran over to him, touching his face.

“Aiye!” he screamed, looking at his hand which was burning and red. He could see smoke as if from the embers of a fire rising in small circular wisps from his son’s exposed flesh.

“What have you done!” the king screamed at Magnon.

“What have you done?!”

“Xul Hur. Xul Hur. Xul Hur,” the priest mumbled over and over.

Chapter 4

Jarred called Anne after getting to the airport gate.

“Hello? Jarred?” she asked, sounding concerned. He hated caller ID. There were no surprises anymore.

“Hi Annie, what are you up to?”

“Oh…nothing much, I was looking at the classifieds to see if anyone wanted to hire a talented, pretty, newly minted lawyer,” she said. He could picture the grin on her face.

“So – were there lots of want ads for pretty attorneys in the Times today?”

“Uh…I couldn’t even count the number!” Anne said, in perfect lawyer double speak. Jarred laughed.

“I really need to find something to do…I’m getting bored,” Anne said. “I am bored.”

“It’s only been four days Anne…good grief – relax a bit. You’ve worked hard these past two years.”

“Yeah. Anyway – what time are you coming home? I was thinking you could take me out to dinner?”

“Well…that’s why I’m calling. Seems I’m headed to Augusta.”

“What? Now? Is there a hot golf game going on….oh wait a second…” Anne put down the phone for a second.

“Someone has just left you a package…from Portland. Aren’t you there right now?”

“Sure am.”

“Strange…anyway you are going to Georgia – now? How long? Do you have a bag? What about our thing-a-ma-jig on Saturday…er..tomorrow? Why are you going again?”

Jarred started laughing.

“I can’t even remember the first question!”

“Oh - sorry! Ummm,” he could picture her biting on her bottom lip as her eyes darted around.

“Oh! Why are you going to Georgia?

“Ah yes. I am supposed to try and get my hands on a page from an old manuscript – seems it is in police custody,” Jarred said.

“Hey – that sounds interesting – like the Codex?”

“Something like that but a lot more mysterious.”

“OK…How long?”

“A day…so Mark said.”

“Do you have a bag?”

“Not unless you count the secretary coming with me.”

“Very funny.”

“Yes I am. No.”

“No you’re not funny?”

“No, I don’t have a bag. Anything else, officer?”

“The thing-a-ma-jig – tomorrow with what’s their names…” Anne’s voice drifted off.

“Sounds like you are sooo excited about that ‘thing a ma jig’ with the ‘what’s their names’,” Jarred was laughing too hard to notice the other passengers which were glancing furtively at him.

“Oh – hold - me - back - baby,” she exaggerated.

“How about I call them and tell them we will have to reschedule.”

Anne sighed.

“What Annie?”

“I’m bored…”

“So you said…”

~

August was a little hotter than he had grown accustomed to. As he made his way past baggage claim and down to the car rental counter he noticed the abundance of golf club cases scattered along the carousels. He wondered if he would enjoy the game.

“How many days?” the young girl wearing a red polyester top asked him.

“One. I think,” he said, smiling. She didn’t even look back at him as her fingers furiously typed. Must have been a common reply.

“OK. Go out to those doors …follow the signs,” she said, handing him the keys.

“Do you have a map?” Jarred asked.

“There’s one in the glove compartment box…can I help you?” she said to the next person in line -a man holding a golf club case.

By the time he figured out how to get to Highway 1 it was very early Saturday morning. The Sheriff’s department was supposed to be on the south side of the river – which river he didn’t know. It took him about fifteen minutes till he realized that he had driven into another state – South Carolina - and he ended up getting off highway 276 at Shultz Hill, then promptly got lost.

The one thing he knew was that he was really tired and he hoped the hotel was guaranteed – and had good pillows. He liked to sleep with lots of them.

After several turns he ended up finding the river and pulled off at the first street that he found. Waters Edge Drive. For some reason the name sounded familiar and, despite the voice in his head pleading with him to let it go, he pulled out his file.

Professor Walter Nigel, 2645 Waters Edge Drive.

It was too weird. The dead man’s home.

Jarred looked to his right and saw the numbers were going down. He continued until in front of a gated brick driveway and stopped.

2645. There was something about looking at a home whose owner’s had just died. It was a kind