“Shall we go in?” professor Simmons suggested and led the way through the entrance. Erik plodded along, still out of balance. The professor ventured through the domed entrance hall and stopped just by the entrance to the Egyptian rooms. In front of them was the glass encased Rosetta stone; the pride of the museum and, in spite of fierce competition, arguably its biggest attraction. The professor continued: “You can see before you the trilingual stone which was used to unlock the mystery of Egyptian hieroglyphs.” He waited for Erik to approach the stone. Erik was somewhere else in his mind but to please him he studied it closely, noting that the stone was almost black and full of neat minute writing. He didn’t particularly reflect on what he was looking at exactly and why; too preoccupied with trying to erase the persistent images of his late wife and her brutal death from his mind. “The Rosetta stone bears the same text in three different languages…” The professor rambled on.
Erik decided to force the disturbing thoughts to go away by focussing all his attention on the professor’s mouth as he spoke, silently wondering what the relevance of what he was saying was. Before Erik had managed to understand why they were there, the professor ventured back to the entrance hall and indicated for them to follow. He continued through the lofty room, passed the reception desk, domed library and into an older library on the other side; the King’s library. The student was smug and clearly knew where they were heading. As soon as they entered, Erik noted the smell of old books; it reminded him of visits to the local library when he was at school; possibly the last time he was in a proper library housing something other than law books. The professor led them to the top floor in the most remote corner. There he picked out a volume hidden away in one of the back rows. Evidently one of the most popular books in the library, Erik mused silently and smirked. The professor immediately found the page he was looking for. At this stage, none of them said anything. The book in question appeared to be listing items in the museum’s collection. They walked over to a nearby table and sat down. Professor Simmons smiled and placed the book in front of Erik. There was a black and white picture of a part of a stone showing beautiful ancient writing presented in perfectly straight diagonal lines, crafted with so much care that every hieroglyph was an artwork in itself. He could see that the stone had once been circular in shape but it had been badly damaged and only half of it remained. The edges were uneven and full of ugly cracks. Below the picture was a brief comment about the donation in 1829 and the Swedish donor, Claes Erik Stenbock of Torpa. It also explained that the artefact would have been fifty centimetres in diameter had it been intact. It was four centimetres thick and made of stone. It also detailed that although the artefact appeared to have been circular, most historians agreed that originally it had been tablet shaped, square with a rounded top, with a larger carving at the bottom, probably depicting Pharaoh Ahmose and Queen Tetisheri. The text finished off with a brief statement that the reasons behind the disfiguration were unknown. So this was the Torpa tablet, Erik established. It was a beautiful artefact despite the damage but he was none the wiser about its significance.
The professor started to explain: “I have devoted a major part of my life to trying to decipher the unknown script called Linear A. You might know that this was the writing of the early Minoans on Crete. The Minoans were a powerful people of whom we know fairly little. They populated Crete and some of the other Greek islands in the Bronze Age from about four thousand years ago. We know that they had grand palaces, plumbing, running water and beautiful frescoes. No one has so far managed to decipher the Linear A script.” Erik noted a hint of disappointment in the professor’s eyes, as if he felt personally responsible for the insufficient levels of success in this regard. “But if we did we might be able to find out more about this astonishingly advanced civilisation. I have to say it’s certainly a difficult nut to crack though,” he added thoughtfully and glanced at the student. He then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“I can vouch for that as well,” the student added with a brief laugh. “We believe that the underlying language which the script conveys is wholly unknown, which makes it exceedingly difficult. But we hope that we will be able to get some help,” she said pointing demonstratively at the book. Erik glanced at it but carefully avoided looking at the student, not wanting to catch a glimpse of her eyes.
The professor continued: “Yes this, my boy, is the Torpa tablet,” he said waiving at the picture. “The original is in a museum in Heraklion on Crete, so unfortunately we would have to make do with this picture today.” He sounded as if he was giving one of his lectures. “The Torpa tablet is famous among certain linguists and historians since it may be the key to finally decipher Linear A. The reason for this is that, like the Rosetta stone, it has the same text in more than one language; ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic writing on one side, which we can read, and incomprehensible Linear A on the other. Unfortunately, as you can see, we only have half of it. The other half has never been found. If we had the whole Torpa tablet it may possibly be used to decipher Linear A.” The professor turned the page in the book and fell silent to let Erik study it. Erik still had a headache and didn’t feel like reading anything but forced himself to focus.
On the left page there was an informal translation of the Egyptian side. Erik skimmed it quickly. It appeared to talk about some sort of calamity or war but the text was incomplete:
“…of water which swept in over the land with godly force. Smoke was clouding the sky. By day, the darkness was persisting with no [torch] being lit and by night a pillar of fire could be seen in the [west]. With his council, His Majesty descended in his boat to observe the devastation of the victors…
…coloured white. The descendants of the great Tetisheri [symbols for both priestess and queen] were orphaned and without possessions/[clothes]. His Majesty set about to strengthen the two lands, to cause…
…Before the [tempest] the fleet of the [ ] [coalition] had conquered the foreign invaders and liberated those who were under their command…
…came out victorious but lost their lives when the gods interfered…
…discontent of the gods [titles] ensured that the…
…disappeared under water. All that existed had…”
On the right page Erik could see a picture of the other side of the tablet; the Linear A side. It was equally impressive, with delicate inscriptions of writing boasting exquisite craftsmanship and skill. To Erik the script itself appeared funny; somewhere between a child’s attempt at coming up with a new alphabet or a very untidy form of the Greek. There were in no way as many pictures of recognisable objects as in Egyptian hieroglyphs. If anything, Erik thought, the writing was closer to our alphabet, with more abstract symbols presumably representing sounds rather than words. He suddenly wondered what Anna would have thought of the tablet. She had a history degree and owned an antiques shop in central Gothenburg; always on the lookout for old things with an interesting history, which was probably also why she had been so obsessed with Torpa. Perhaps this broken Bronze Age item would have been too old and damaged to capture her interest for the shop but she would no doubt have been more interested in it than he was. He had been studying the pages for what to him seemed like an eternity and he felt obliged to say something.
“It’s beautiful. A shame it’s broken. But surely you can get some help from the half tablet?” Erik made an effort to sound interested.
“Well, the problem is that the Linear A and Egyptian texts don’t correspond for an obvious reason: The hieroglyphic side has been inscribed diagonally and the Linear A side horizontally. So it’s useless without the other half.” Erik felt stupid for not having thought of that. Professor Simmons continued: “That’s why we need your help; to give us access to Torpa to search for it. We have recently made a discovery which has given us reason to believe that the lost half is still at Torpa. Obviously well hidden.”
Erik thought about the castle, its cold and empty rooms where it would be very diffi
cult to conceal anything and the several acres of grounds surrounding it. He could not see how it could have remained so well hidden for several hundred years, unless it was buried in a hole in the ground or in vegetation in the woods. By now it would either be impossible to find or ruined by the elements. “Hm… I hate to sound negative but it might be something of a needle in a haystack search,” he said. “I understand why Torpa is the obvious place to start but I still think that if it was there and possible to find, someone should have found it by now.”
The professor stood up and started to pace back and forth between the table and the shelves for a minute as if he was pondering a particularly tricky issue before he turned to Erik who was still sitting by the table. “Stranger things have happened,” he said optimistically and smiled mysteriously. “And we should probably also explain why we think it’s likely to be at Torpa.” The professor fell silent and waited for the student to give details. With surprise Erik noted that the professor looked at his student affectionately, a look that seemed to convey more than simple admiration. He couldn’t help wondering if they were in a relationship and what the rules were on teacher-student affiliations.
The student cleared her throat. “I discovered a note in one of the Torpa journals. It was in the earliest journal from the middle ages. It was a simple drawing trying to imitate the cartouche of the pharaoh Ahmose. We know for sure that the tablet was crafted around 1550 BC, in Ahmose’s reign but his name is not mentioned on the half tablet. So the imitation of the cartouche of Ahmose must have been taken from the lost half. This means that the other half must have been at Torpa at some stage.”
“We also know that using Linear B values, the sound Ahs appears on the Linear A side,” the professor added. He had moved away from them towards the bookshelf and was not looking at them as he spoke. “The cartouche of Ahmose in Egyptian hieroglyphs reads ‘Ahms’, which is similar.” Erik didn’t bother to ask what he meant by Linear B values. Instead he looked at his wristwatch and planned his escape.
“Oh my god, is that the time!” he said with make-believe alarm in his voice. In fact, his flight was not for another four hours so there was no real urgency but he was tired, hungry and wanted to be alone with his thoughts. “I really need to rush off to the airport.” He stood up and walked over to the professor. He seemed disappointed, as if he had another hour long lecture about the ancient civilisation of the Minoans planned for him.
“I hope that we have managed to convince you that it is of utmost importance that we find the other half of the tablet. The discoveries that could be made if we did manage to decipher Linear A… Who knows what we may find?” He flapped his arms as if to illustrate just how exciting it would be. Erik nodded slowly in response, not sure what else to do. The student stood up and walked over to them. Professor Simmons continued: “We would like to ask you if we could please get access to Torpa to pre-empt the possibility that the tablet is hidden there. I understand that no proper investigation on this has taken place before.”
“As far as I’m aware, no,” Erik said. He had never heard of the Torpa tablet before and he could not imagine that anyone else at Torpa had either, not even his grandmother, so it was unlikely that there had been an investigation previously, at least not in the last century. “I will speak to my mother about giving you access. I’m sure there’ll be no problem.”
“We would also very much appreciate if you could have a think.” The student looked sheepish and even took Erik’s hand to emphasise her words. Erik was glad that she didn’t quiet manage to look straight at him as he was sure even a glance at her eyes would put him off balance. She continued, speaking quickly: “You might have an idea of where it could be. It’d be so good if you or someone else Swedish could also check the journals; I’d recommend the fifteenth century one and the one from the nineteenth century which mentions the donation.”
Erik promised to do so. They said goodbye and Erik was off. He could not stand the thought of getting on another tube, so he took a taxi to the airport. Feeling the breeze from an open window, Erik could finally relax and gather his thoughts. He was surprised that such an old important object had been found at Torpa and had got its name from the castle; but that his family had forgotten all about it only a few generations after its discovery. It was strange. He wondered how it had got to Torpa in the first place. Probably with the Vikings, he speculated. Although he was glad that his mother would get her share of excitement, he had no intention of getting heavily involved. He didn’t have the time or the desire to spend hours searching for an ancient stone tablet.
THREE
Torpa, Sweden, July 2005
The sledge hammer was heavier than he had expected. Although every step felt like pulling a tonne of bricks with each foot, he progressed at a reasonable pace towards the medieval building in front of him. Wearing his blue and white striped pyjamas and sheepskin slippers, he crossed the draw-bridge over the dried up moat. The white render of the old stone house had an almost purple tinge in the midnight sun. There was no wind and the lake in front of it was tranquil. From a distance he could hear a woman’s muffled scream but he was not able to make out the words. As he reached the black metal door he put down the sledge hammer for a moment. His hands were shaking as he fumbled with the keys. The familiar squeak from the door opening was almost submerged by another chilling scream. It came from upstairs, just as he knew it would. He went into the dark, cold entrance hall. There was a smell of mould mixed with wet clay. He had not brought a torch so he felt his way with his hand on the wall towards the stairs. The surface was uneven like rough sandpaper. Up until that moment he had been glad to be tall and broad shouldered but his size proved to be a major obstacle as he struggled to move in the constricted space. His large slippers didn’t fit on the steps. The weight of the sledge hammer slowed him down. For a moment he thought he was going to get stuck in the bend of the stairs but he managed to break loose. There was another cry, this time much closer. He knew she had been imprisoned inside a wall at the top of the stairs. Now he could hear what she was saying, voice weak and quivering but yet loud:
“Let me out!”
The words were not wholly unexpected coming from someone essentially buried alive. Now that he had reached his destination he felt calmer but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. He took a deep breath and used all his strength to swing the sledge hammer on the wall. It remained intact. He hit it again. Not a scratch. By the third strike he was getting tired. It was as if his slippers were nailed to the ground and as if the floor had turned into a gigantic magnet pulling the hammer down. Frustration and tiredness started to take its toll…
Erik woke up from a stifled thud followed by pain in his left foot. He looked around, drowsy from deep sleep. He found himself in the downstairs library. It was quiet and the room was dark but moonlight from the window illuminated the room to some extent. Three large books had landed on his naked foot. He had been sleepwalking. It had happened many times before. He would sometimes wake up trying to eat soap in his on-suite bathroom or peeing in the walk-in wardrobe but it was the first time he had ventured this far. In front of him was one of the bookshelves. He was alarmed when he noted that he had managed to pull out some of the oldest books there. He stretched down and picked one up. It was one of the valuable Torpa journals; oddly enough the older one that the student, Emma Johnson, had suggested he had a look at a month earlier. He had meant to deal with the student’s request by delegating the whole thing to his mother but after London it had slipped his mind. He hadn’t been back to Torpa since then. His mother had given permission for Professor Simmons to get access to Torpa to search for the tablet and a visit had been planned for August but Erik had forgotten to ask her to arrange for someone to study the journals further in advance of their visit. It was weird but perhaps his subconscious mind had remembered it and brought him there to remind him. As he was sliding the books back onto the shelf he was relieved to see that they were intact despite the fall. Only one
page from the oldest one had come loose but he could easily slip it back in.
Trying to gather his thoughts he went over to the window to look at the moon which appeared unusually bright. It was full moon. He glanced down at the old castle further down the garden and thought about his strange terrifying dream. He almost expected to find the front door open but it wasn’t. Anna had been trapped inside the space in the wall where the medieval girl had died. He wasn’t sure what the significance of this dream was but he thought it was strange that he had ended up in the library in front of the journals when dreaming of Anna and the space in the wall. Was there a connection which he had missed? It occurred to him that a potential hiding place in which no one had looked in the last few hundred years was the gap between the inner and outer wall of the legend. Could the other half of the Torpa tablet somehow have ended up there? It was certainly a long shot but Erik decided to have a look in the journals.
He quickly picked out the oldest book from the fifteenth century, sat down behind the antique desk and turned the table lamp on. He opened the desk drawer and found a pair of white gloves placed there for the purpose of handling old books. With great care he turned the fragile pages. He could almost feel Anna’s presence as he started to look through the old scribbles. She had spent a lot of time going through the journals. Erik found it all very uninteresting; rows and rows of purchases, sales, expenses, revenues. The Swedish was almost incomprehensible, clearly old-style. It also included some notes about particular assets, such as new horses and cattle, as well as comments about staff, meetings with some named people and tax collections. He noticed a morbid headcount – appearing to be naming people in the district who had died from the plague, old age or been executed for one reason or another. There were also some haphazard comments about church visits and godly punishment displaying a mixture of guilt and deep faith. After an hour he had managed to skim through about hundred and fifty pages of unexciting scribbles. Though he had to admit that this record of daily events from a time long gone was a fairly unique collection of notes, he simply could not understand Anna’s fascination, bordering on obsession, with these useless doodles. Just as he was about to give up he came to the page which had come loose when he dropped it on his foot. It was the page with the drawing showing the cartouche of the Egyptian Pharaoh. It was very small and shakily illustrated and he was impressed that the student had spotted it. Next to the miniscule drawing was a comment stating “Fräls oss ifrån ondo”, appearing to be an extract from the Lord’s Prayer: “Deliver us from evil”. He asked himself whether this could give a clue as to where the tablet may have been hidden away – maybe it had been disposed of to ‘deliver them from evil’. The reason why the tablet had been cut in half and why one half had been retained in the house was still a mystery but he suspected that it had been accidentally damaged, judging by the uneven cut which he had seen in the photo. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly morning. The house was still quiet. He continued his deliberations. The tablet was certainly impressive enough, with beautiful writing on both sides. It could perhaps have been sufficiently exotic to the Torpa occupants of that time to create a possible assumption of magical powers. It was generally known that people in the area around the lake had been particularly superstitious, living by an enormous amount of unwritten rules created solely by reason of strange old traditions. This tablet would certainly have been a mystery to them. It could have been put down to ancient spells. Something could have happened to the family at the same time as the tablet had been broken which had made the author of the journals think that the tablet may have had supernatural influence on their lives; inflicting war or ill health or perhaps even protecting them from evil. He immediately thought of the plague and the girl.
The Atlantis Keystone Page 2
