by Karl Fish
‘Tea,’ thought the Professor, was the cure for almost everything. Certainly, for his dehydrated self after just a single swill of alcohol.
The light was beginning to stream through the prism at the top of the laboratory on this crisp autumn morning. He was able to securely suspend all three scrolls so light distributed itself equally amongst them. They may have been negatives but the citrus scrawl now allowed the papers to illuminate the lemon lines. Eureka, none of his lives would be lost for today. In-between the scrolls, he subtly moved the layer of muslin containing the encrusted scarab and allowed it to absorb the morning rays which began to beat down.
As each scroll contained three glyphs and working on the assumption that they were produced in the correct order on each scroll, the volume of combinations severely reduced from the tens of thousands to just six. It shouldn’t take a genius to work out, he thought to himself. If the order of the glyphs could be read in their most simplistic form, then a beginning and end were all they required. The rest would solve itself. He was no expert but could offer Mr Louds a recommendation for further validation, since Louds already knew a world-leading authority. For now, though, he would focus on the detail of each one. He already knew that the peculiar leaves and fauna of a plant played a part on one of them and that would be his starting point.
In negative, the swatch containing the plants actually included the images of two females. The first was knelt down with a small bowl and tool, very much like the pestle and mortal presented to him. She was obviously crushing the plant leaves. The other female was stood behind presenting the plant as if she was gathering and supplying the ingredients for the other to use. The stem of the plant arched over and its leaves drooped like spines of an upside-down and inside-out umbrella, one that had succumbed to a gust of dramatic wind. Inside of those leaf fronds, the stamens were plentiful and tipped with large heads. None of this was in colour, just a faint negative outline. Nevertheless, the Professor was convinced, considering the subjects, that the plant must have been from the Nile delta or North African peninsular. Seeking an appropriate book, other than his beloved Culpepper’s everyday flora, he searched the small, yet comprehensive library available to him and began to examine any plant or plant type from that region he could find, burying his head compulsively into the books.
‘Have you ever noticed how quickly an hour flies by when what you really need is two?’ Louds advised Professor Malcolm on his entrance to the room.
The Professor was so absorbed in his search for the correct plant he had not looked at his pocket watch once.
‘Care to enlighten me,’ Louds directed towards the scrolls and the glyphs.
‘Of course,’ Professor Malcolm said, accommodatingly. ‘The light we now see penetrates the parchment and vellum so what we have is a perfect replica of the original but in negative. Where the ink, well, the lemon juice, is present, it is actually a line mark opposed to the negative it appears to us.’
‘Oh, I understand that perfectly, Professor. But I was hoping for you to have deciphered and concluded the current conundrum by now. Instead, you appear to be searching for the intricacies within the puzzle itself and not solving the overall problem.’
Professor Malcolm who was fully aware that a certain fate had befallen his predecessors was on particular edge. ‘My apologies, Mr Louds. I am not an Egyptologist, I do not understand all the symbols. I can only assume each triptych of glyphs is true to their order.’
‘Good, then if that is so, the puzzle is far easier to resolve. Shall we take a look? Together? Perhaps we can take a leap of faith.’
Professor Malcolm dry gulped but, nevertheless, followed Mr Louds.
‘Very interesting,’ Louds pondered, looking at each square in turn. It appeared that he could read the glyphs like a book, an illustrated story. Whereas Professor Malcolm only concentrated on them frame by frame.
‘This here,’ Louds pointed out. ‘This first Hieroglyph on the third panel, this is Horus, the falcon-headed Sun God, the bringer of light.’
The Professor noticed that the humble Mr Louds persona was growing more confident and his enthusiasm was increasingly gaining momentum.
‘I doubt very much he would be the final piece in any puzzle,’ Louds said, before examining the negatives again. ‘And here, you cannot appreciate how this would look in colour. His flesh is green. The final square, on your first set of glyphs, this is OSIRIS. He is the God of the dead. He represents a plethora of differing ideology. Resurrection, regeneration and even life beyond the living world.’
Meticulous Meredith Malcolm was reminded once more of the Institute’s ambition to rehabilitate the severely injured veterans. Perhaps this is what Louds was enthusing about. Perhaps he was, in a perverse manner, talking some sense.
‘You know, dear Professor, I believe your focus may not have been wasted at all. The simplicity of this information, when faced with the images, suggests a very simple recipe for success.’
‘Sorry, I’m not sure I follow,’ the Professor replied.
‘On the contrary, I believe you do,’ Louds surprised him. ‘I believe you understand most of this, my dear chum. So, let’s call your current deception three lives lost. Dare you squander anymore?’
Malcolm was confused but dare not retaliate. He had no hesitancy in believing Mr Louds and Dr Mialora were capable of anything. They had kidnapped him in the first place.
‘Then my apologies, Mr Louds. I do not wish to lose any more lives and ultimately not the one I cherish dearly,’ Malcolm advised humbly. ‘Having researched the plant, the one in the glyph of the serving women, I believe it is a rare marsh papyrus from the Nile delta. Here, look at this image I found.’
Louds took the book from the Professor and cross-examined it.
‘You have excelled yourself, Professor.’
‘And I thought you may wish to know that it has a very close relative in this country too.’
Mr Louds became more attentive.
The professor continued, ‘papyrus are part of the Sedge family. This particular plant is aquatic and must rely on boggy and damp conditions. There is a unique sedge family but only found in marshlands bordering chalk cliffs relative to the English coast.’
‘Then what a perfect coincidence we have, Professor,’ Louds replied.
‘I took the liberty of producing a handful of suggestions from the research books. Here’s the list.’
He read through the list. One name stood out. Not many miles from here and well-known to his orderlies.
‘Ambledown,’ he muttered. Brian Louds could not disguise his happiness as a huge smile offered up a brief glimpse of his scarred face below the surgical mask. ‘Ambledown, Professor. Tell me about this place,’ Louds enquired.
Of all the luck in the world and but a stone’s throw away. Ambledown was half an hour by car and Louds had numerous ambulances at his disposal. Professor Malcolm had certainly changed his luck and as his patients were repeat visitors to the market town their presence would not be a surprise.
‘Well,’ Meticulous Meredith Malcolm started. ‘On the ordnance, you shall see that where the tidal estuary of the English Channel meets with the mouth of the River Amble there are salt marshes.’
Louds was not a great geographer and relied on the Professor’s enthusiastic explanation to understand this great opportunity.
‘These marshes are almost identical, in principle, to the Nile delta and the Sussex Sedge that grow there are a distant relative of the papyrus we seek.’
‘Bravo, Professor. I will need you to instruct my men on exactly what it is you seek.’
Professor Malcolm looked upon the orderlies. He had only heard them grunt and wasn’t sure they could speak.
‘With all due respect, Mr Louds, these plants are delicate and easily trampled or mistaken for their sister plants. Such similar plants are toxic and I would be concerned we miss our opportunity so late in autumn. I am willing to accompany them and coordinate proceedings’
A long pause greeted Professor Malcolm. Brian Louds was perusing the scrolls and table once again where the scarab sat in full view of the light shining down from the pinnacle glass prism.
‘Very well. But rest assured, Professor, should you fail to return, I doubt many of your lives will remain.’
Meredith Malcolm nodded in understanding.
Mr Louds then turned to leave the room with the orderlies. ‘Prepare a list of anything you may need, Professor. My men will take care of everything while you are there.’ And then he was gone.
*****
‘Halt!’ came the American accent, raising a pistol to the observer at the bottom of the cliff. ‘Ahh, Pop Braggan!’
The gold-laden bear of a man was crouching down, examining the rocks and earth at the bottom of the chalks. Lady was swooping from observation point to observation point, and Luna the hound was dutifully standing guard.
‘You shouldn’t be here, Pop. The boundary of the brook is the water’s edge and this is dry land. What do you want?’
‘So glad you asked, boys,’ came Pop’s mumble. ‘Me nephew Lyle was found dead in me brook.’
‘We heard. We’re sorry,’ came their apologetic tone.
‘Have you got something to be sorry for then?’ Pop enquired.
‘No, it wasn’t meant like that. We’re sorry for your loss,’ the Americans said in a more conciliatory tone.
‘Only I hear that you two boys were kind enough to escort him away from the Steep and onward to these cliffs on the night in question.’
The two men looked at each other and took a step back.
‘Look, Pop, you really cannot be here, you know that,’ one of them continued.
‘Then make me leave,’ Pop said inflating himself to his full stature and within a swift arm’s grab of the two men. The Lady meanwhile had landed on his shoulder and was cawing at the men while his wolfhound was letting out an aggressive muzzle-sneering growl.
‘OK, you wanna know what happened? We escorted Lyle to almost where you are standing. He had business, he said. We told him he had to move on. He knew the rules and we left him hurling expletives our way. We passed an hour or so later and we didn’t see him again.’
‘So, what’s this on these stones?’ Pop directed the men to the rocks at his feet.
‘What do you mean?’
‘These rocks and stones, look,’ he said, holding one up. ‘Brown staining probably used to be red. What does that look like to you?’
The men looked confused. They were not sure what he meant. They focused their rifles on Pop, no way that rock was being hurled their way.
‘It’s blood! Lyle’s blood,’ he said angrily.
‘Hold on, Pop,’ one of them replied. ‘We don’t know nothing about no blood.’
‘No? Then what about dollar bills? I bet you know a thing or two about dollar bills. Don’t ya?’ Pop said, revealing the sodden dollars rescued from Lyle’s shoe via the clutches of Messrs Closet and Cleave.
One of the men looked at the other. He lowered his gun and moved towards the giant hulk of a man.
‘Show me the serial numbers,’ he said, curling his fingers towards himself, beckoning the money forward.
Pop was not expecting that response. It confused him into complying. By now he would usually have expected to be brawling.
‘You see this sequence of numbers?’ the American said, holding the bill up to the Braggan. ‘Each one is unique. However, servicemen overseas, such as ourselves, are paid in sequences which can be tracked. These notes here, your notes, are not typical army sequences, they are older and also larger denominations.’
‘So, what y’saying, Lyle’s money came from somewhere other than yours or yours barracks.’
‘Probably. Most likely. Couldn’t be sure but they look old. I doubt our guys hold on to theirs too long, let alone have larger bills to throw around.’
‘So, who else has dollars round ere?’ Pop barked.
‘Your good friend Professor Belchambers deals in many currencies, my friend. We should know.’ They smiled.
‘Impossible, not Gideon. Who else?’
‘Those guys from the hospital. The institute guys who look after the melted men. Silvera Institute. You know the two guys that drive the patients. One with the big gold tooth.’
‘Not American though, are they?’ Pop sneered.
‘Definitely not. We agree on that one. Not even sure they’re Spanish or Portuguese as their institutional name suggests. They speak a little English but usually just grunt and point but they do like to buy contraband using dollars. I’ve sold them American cigarettes myself.’
Pop stood there staring at the men for a while. ‘What do you think, Lady?’ he asked his feathered friend. If it had been down to the decision of his avian accomplice, he would have been embroiled in a fight with the Americans already. Instead, he turned around and guided his dog past the men and plodded back towards the Steep.
Pop Braggan made a slow saunter back to the stone bridge that straddled the Amble. It allowed him thinking time but nothing was clear to him as it stood. The large wooden shoe, which was actually a clog if anyone bothered to look, swayed on its squeaking sign that just about held it above the entrance. Pop Braggan was possibly the only man in Ambledown who could fill the large wooden shoe that acted as the sign for Tink’s shop. ‘Tinker the tailor and fine-shoe purveyor’, to give it its official title, serviced the well-heeled gentry of Ambledown and surrounding areas. Or at least it had done so successfully prior to the war. Tink, as he was known to his friends and Tinks as his shop was less formally called locally, was not only an excellent tailor and cobbler but as his name suggested, could turn his hand to most things. His shop front caught the eye of every passer-by with its intricate models and tiny feats of engineering from the famous miniature buildings of the capital to replicas of Spitfires and Lancaster Bombers, which he suspended from the ceiling. All of them were made from old scrap food cans and disused matches. Eric Peabody was a particular fan and always found money to purchase Tink’s latest aviation creations.
Pop encouraged The Lady to fly off and gather her lunch, while he left Luna unshackled outside. On entry, a discreet bell informed Tink he had custom as he whittled away in his backroom.
‘Morning, Pop.’ Tink smiled on greeting the Braggan chief. ‘What news?’ he asked. A humble man, considering his many abilities, he was dressed in a long brown overall with a dark tan leather apron. His fingers were muscular and gnarled with arthritis after many years at the flying stick and subsequently the cobbler’s needle. Those hands that now kept him away from flying his beloved planes but allowed him the artistry of a double-breasted three-piece. On his head, he had temporarily placed his old fighter goggles. ‘Much better than welding glasses,’ he would always say and still a reminder to his glorious past.
‘The Americans reckon Lyle was paid by someone other than the servicemen in the barracks. Somefink to do with sequences of dollars.’
‘And you believe them?’ Tink replied.
‘Hmmm. Never trust no one is my motto,’ Pop mumbled back, deep in thought. ‘Said bills were old and asked me who might deal in them. Even said Gideon does.’
‘Well, if that is the case, then that’s very true. Gideon does deal in many currencies. However, he was looking after Aggie, Cecile will testify to that.’
Pop gave a sceptical squint. Tink and Gideon were as thick as thieves, always had been. But he really had no reason to suspect them either. They had always done right by him and his family.
‘What d’ya know about the Silvera place?’ Pop enquired.
‘The hospital for recovering serviceman? Not a great deal, old chap. I hear rumours, mutterings that the place is pioneering surgery for burns victims and such. Though I’ve never heard it from the patients themselves.’
‘Do you know some then?’
‘Each Sunday a small group dine at Cecile’s – you know The Black Cat. Anyway, they just talk about white corridors and
odd picture-less frames from the time it was a gallery. They seem well looked after and relaxed but there’s something incomplete about them. It may be my familiarity with them week in week out but they do not seem to be on the mend. That’s my opinion anyway.’
‘Sunday? The day it happened. Were they here then?’ Pop asked, his interest piqued.
‘Definitely. I know as Cecile’s cat escaping was the fault of the orderlies throwing their weight around. That’s what started it all, Pop.’
‘OK. I might take a trip out to see this place for meself.’
‘Be careful if you do. As fortified as any barracks by all account.’
‘One more fing, Tink. When I saw you last, you told me Lyle’s sole was re-heeled recently – the one which was missing.’
‘As I told you, Pop, he wanted an extra-thick sole on it. Almost an inch or so larger than the other foot. I didn’t ask questions. He was in a drunk and argumentative mood.’
‘Could it have been for climbing?’ Pop asked.
‘Possibly, but unlikely. Unsuitable I would say. Why?’
‘‘is jacket pockets was lined with down. I didn’t mention it as wasn’t sure, but he may ’ave been pinching eggs.’
‘Well, I, for one, didn’t line it, so cannot offer insight on that front. Eggs from the cliff you mean? Just gulls and the occasional birds of prey there. I doubt he was pinching any eggs. Too late in the season, Pop.’
‘Perhaps it was the layers’ of those eggs then,’ Pop replied, his thoughts now on another plain.
‘I’m not so sure there is the market for birds of prey anymore, Pop. Not while most men are off fighting abroad.’
‘S’pose not. Not in this country, Tink, anyways.’ Pop doffed his hat towards Tink and turned around, leaving the ringing chime of the bell echoing through the shop.
Tink composed himself and thought for a moment. If Pop was right, Gideon may need to know. Twisting the open sign to a closed sign, he locked up and pulled the blinds down. The whirring and subtle moments of his creations still projected animated shadows from his shop light onto the cloth rollers. Making his way back behind the counter and through to his workshop, he locked every door behind him. Once he was isolated, he opened up his large cabinet of haberdashery. Pots of pins and buttons, swathes of materials, and frilled refinery overflowing from inside. A neat row of tailor’s scissors and fabric shears ran across the top shelf, each of them suspended on metal hooks. Tink simultaneously reached to the top left and top right, a full arms span for the man, and then pulled the two sets of scissors on the farthest hooks downwards in unison. A satisfying click from both of them allowed him to swivel the central axis until he had fully revolved the cabinet so that all haberdashery and tailoring had disappeared.
