by Brian Meeks
Henry was shown to the dining room, where Dr. Schaeffer was standing by his Victrola. The man was removing the needle from Wagner’s Die Feen. He carefully took off the record and returned it to its sleeve. Dr. Schaeffer then made another selection. When the music began, he spoke to Henry.
“I hope you don’t mind a little music.”
“I like music, though I don’t know this piece.”
“It's by a 19th century Russian composer and pianist by the name of Anton Rubinstein. Will you stay for dinner?”
Henry expected to ask him a few questions, but the aromas emanating from the kitchen were too enticing to resist. Hans stiffened at the request, but eased up when Dr. Schaeffer gave him a quick glance.
“Thank you, I believe I will, if it isn’t too much of an inconvenience.”
“Not at all Mr. Wood, though…where are my manners? I have not properly introduced myself. I gathered from the brief conversation at the door that you must be the detective Henry Wood. I'm Dr. Schaeffer… welcome to my home.”
Henry shook his hand, looking him straight in the eye. One can learn a lot about a person if one looks them in the eye, especially when they first meet. Henry learned nothing, and made mental a note to never play poker with Dr. Schaeffer.
The three of them took seats and a place was set for Henry. Dr. Schaeffer seemed to know the questions before they could be asked, so he did most of the talking. It was a long narrative about his home, with a little bit about Hans. He didn’t really touch on why Hans had come to see him, but as dinner was finishing up, he asked Henry, “Would you like to hear a story?”
Henry had very much enjoyed dinner. Hans had warmed to him and forgiven the intrusion. If the story was half as interesting as the dinner conversation, it would be well worth hearing. “I do like a good story. What is it about?”
“Have you heard of the ‘Antikythera Mechanism’?”
The hairs on the back of Henry’s neck stood up. “I was asked that yesterday. I hadn’t heard of it, but I guess I have now. What is it?”
“Follow me, let’s go into the library.” Dr. Schaeffer gave Hans a look, and Hans made an excuse to leave. Henry followed Dr. Schaeffer to the library. As they entered, a flash of gray fur darted in front of Henry. It startled him, then a black whirling dervish shot between his legs.
“My apologies, Mr. Wood, for Jacob and Wilhelm; they are the true lords of the manor. I have had them both since they were kittens, failed to establish who was in charge, and they naturally assumed it was them. They will likely check you out, possibly give you a disapproving hiss, which shouldn’t be taken personally, and then hide in the piano room. I hope you aren’t allergic?”
“No, I'm fine. I almost stepped on the gray one.”
“Yes, he is always under foot. The gray one is Jacob.”
The cats did seem to vanish, though without the hiss. Henry felt they were still watching.
Dr. Schaeffer offered Henry a cigar and brandy, which he gladly accepted. They sat down in the two chairs facing the fire. There was a brief discussion about the brandy.
Dr. Schaeffer was about to begin his story when he noticed that Jacob was on Henry’s lap, and Wilhelm was perched on the top of the chair behind Henry’s head, in pre-nap position. How unusual, he thought.
“It appears my audience is ready. They aren’t bothering you, are they?”
Henry smiled. “No, I think we are ready for the story.”
Captain Dimitrios Kondos made the decision in October, 1900. They might have been able to sail through the storm, but he thought it would be safer to stay. They chose to dive for sponges. His team used standard diving dresses; the canvas suits and copper helmets allowed them to dive deeper than without the gear.
The first diver to come across the shipwreck was Elias Stadiatos. It was his description of the scene that started the questions. He said that it looked like a giant pile of rotting corpses and horses on the seabed. There was much concern on board at that, as it wasn’t the first time he had been touched from the madness which comes with too much carbon dioxide. They didn’t believe he had found anything… until the second diver came back with the bronze arm of a statue.
Over the next two years, a treasure trove of artifacts was recovered. There were statues, a marble bull, a bronze lyre, and even a strange box with many gears.
The work at the site was not without troubles. Several divers died from decompression sickness. This put an end to the diving.
There were many people involved in the salvage of the ship, but it was the politics of the Greek Education Ministry which caused a few of the divers to talk of mutiny. Valerios Stais, an archaeologist, was well known for having found the “Antikythera Mechanism,” but what was less well known was that he felt cheated. It might have been the greatest technological discovery of the 20th century, or of any century before, and his compensation was rather paltry.
He had a brother who also excelled at diving, and was older and less honorable than Valerios. It was the brother who discovered the tube, covered in a thousand years of sea growth. It looked like a long thin rock, but he had a good eye and brought it up. He didn’t tell anyone, not even his brother, at first. Several weeks of carefully removing nature’s outer shell revealed a tube, carved of ebony, with a remarkably tight- fitting cap. A month later, he confided in Valerios, and they opened it together.
They were shocked. It contained a perfectly intact document. The brothers decided not to report the find. Valerios was curious and loved documents more than the other treasures, and felt he and his brother deserved a small bit of treasure. It was the first shady thing he had ever done. Though he felt guilty about the deception, his joy at reading the ship’s manifest helped him get over it.
The ship had been carrying a portion of the loot from the Roman General Sullas, in 89 B.C., and was en route to Italy. In addition to the loot, there were several items which were gifts for high-ranking officials back in Rome, including a wealthy businessman. The businessman, who was only listed by a number on the manifest, had commissioned a device for studying the heavens. The creator saw the value of it, and decided that if he were going to spend so much time inventing such a machine, it might be worth creating two. When it was completed, the first machine was such a brilliantly conceived device that those few who saw it joked that he must have gotten help from God. The second device was never shown to anyone but the man who had made arrangements to sell it to Augustus. The second machine was much more advanced, inspired by the first, and improved upon greatly.
When it came time to ship the items, great care was taken with their packing. Two men were hired to travel with them to make sure they arrived safely and to keep anyone from knowing about the second machine. Both items were listed on the manifest. There was a detailed paragraph explaining that the box destined for the benefactor was not to be touched by anyone aboard. The penalty for disturbing it was loss of one month’s salary. The penalty for opening the second hand-carved ebony and ivory crate, which was for Augustus, was death. The entire crew knew better than to cross the captain or get curious about the cargo.
The container for Augustus was four times the size required to hold its precious cargo. There were three other interior boxes, lined with wool, and sealed tightly to protect it on the voyage. The precision of the machine was impressive, but the engineering and craftsmanship of the boxes was truly remarkable. The outside box was heavy and thick, with modest ornamentation, just enough to be impressive without being so awe-inspiring as to invite thieves. The interior boxes were not just containers, but locks, of a sort. Each box had a secret panel, which needed to be found in order to remove the lid. Each of the three interior boxes was made by the same craftsman, and was so precise as to be air tight.
All of these details were described in the manifest. If the ship carrying Augustus’s shipment were to go down, it was believed the box would float, and thus be found and sent to Augustus. The ship did go down, but the box destined for Augustus didn’t, n
ot at first. It did float…for a while. The outer box was not quite as air tight as had been hoped. It stayed buoyant long enough to travel another three kilometers, before it sank.
The brothers, reading about the second box, knowing that it hadn’t been found, devoted the next twenty years to searching for it. They found it by chance, mostly buried in the sand, a proverbial needle in a wet hay stack. They didn’t know what they had; nevertheless, they bestowed the name “The Eye of God” on their find.
This is where the story begins.
Dr. Schaeffer was about to continue, when Hans entered, apologized for interrupting, and whispered something in his ear.
“I apologize, but it's a call I must take. Perhaps we can continue the story another time. It's quite fascinating, and when you know the rest of the tale, you will be better able to help me in my request. Hans will show you to the door.”
The cats had both vanished when Hans had entered. Henry stood up, thanked the doctor and Hans for the dinner, and left. Henry shook Hans’ hand, apologized again for the surprise, and then headed back to his office. He had a lot of writing to do.
CHAPTER 24
A lovely young woman with straight dark hair and what some would describe as a European beauty sat with her friends. The bar was moderately crowded with people engrossed in their own lives. Professor Brookert sat at the bar reading while he drank a beer.
The woman was overheard saying, "I don't walk outside."
Her friends laughed. They were used to declarative statements from Celine. The aging Professor Brookert, not generally inclined to eavesdropping, had his curiosity piqued. He set his newspaper down and gave a look at the woman and her friends.
“May I inquire as to how one avoids walking outside?”
Her friends giggled. He wasn’t sure if it was his age, attire, or manner of speaking which brought about their collective laughter. Their tone was light and not at all condescending, though, so he chose not to take it personally.
Celine, sensing that her friends’ burst of laughter might have been misinterpreted, stood and addressed the professor. “Don’t mind them. They are laughing at me.” Then she told them to shush. “In the winter, it's much too icy. I choose to walk like this.” Celine took a few steps on the balls of her feet.
The professor couldn’t stop from smiling.
“I haven’t fallen down in four winters!” she said triumphantly.
The last comment made her friends burst out in even greater laughter. People in the bar were beginning to pay attention to the commotion. It certainly seemed like there was a lot of fun happening around that table.
Celine grabbed her beer and went up to the bar. She threw herself onto the bar stool. “Does that answer your question?”
Professor Brookert picked up his own beer and clinked her glass. “Yes it does, and that was a superb demonstration, young lady, thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome.” Celine cocked her head to one side, surveyed his horrifically unfashionable suit, and said, “You look like a professor.” She smiled confidently with a nod.
Now it was time for the old man to laugh, though it was more of a chortle.“Guilty as charged, Miss.”
“What do you teach?”
“I enlighten the minds of our youth regarding antiquities, old cultures, and ancient languages at NYU.”
“A history teacher, eh?”
Normally having his life’s devotion distilled to such a pedestrian description would have gotten his dander up, and he would have torn into the troglodyte who said it. She had not meant to offend, was hardly a cave dweller (she was too fashionably dressed), and he found her rather charming. He simply nodded in agreement.
Professor Brookert finished his beer and was about to leave, when Celine’s friends insisted he join them. Two hours passed. It was a lively conversation, with Celine doing most of the talking. She had lots of stories to tell, and the professor enjoyed them all. He rarely spoke that night, but occasionally doled out a spoonful of fatherly advice when called upon.
One of the women worked at a brokerage firm, mostly getting coffee, typing up letters, and fending off advances from the bankers. “Most of the time,” she giggled. The two other women were in serious relationships, lived together, and were working diligently at getting their men to propose. Both were quite sure that they would be betrothed soon.
Celine was between jobs. Two days earlier, her boss had crossed the line. She demanded respect. This part of the story she emphasized with a fist to the table. Her friends cheered. Her boss was unimpressed when she had said it to him with the same flourish, and fired her.
When Celine expressed concern about finding a job, the professor had an idea.
“I hope you won’t find this too forward, but this very day…” More snickers from the peanut gallery. “…an associate of mine, a private detective, who I occasionally consult with, has expressed interest in bringing on a secretary. Though I suspect ‘Chaos Manager’ may be a more apt title.”
Celine shot a serious look at the old man. “A detective! I would be a great secretary for a detective. Didn’t I figure out that you're a professor?”
Brookert laughed, “That you did, my dear, that you did.” He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote down the address and a phone number for the Henry Wood Detective Agency, and included a note to Henry. “If you give Henry this piece of paper and show up at 9:00 sharp tomorrow morning, he will grant you an interview.”
Celine, showing an even higher level of enthusiasm than she had already displayed that evening, popped up from the table. “If I'm going to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow, I best go. Night, girls. Professor Brookert.” Celine flew out of the bar, and, true to form, immediately started her special winter prancing. A few careful steps later, and she was in a checkered cab.
CHAPTER 25
Celine walked down the long hallway and read the words aloud on the door as she approached. “Henry Wood Detective Agency.” Just hearing it seemed thrilling, certainly more so than her last job. She just hoped that this Henry Wood was more of a gentleman than Mr. Grabby Hands.
Celine was not one who was prone to stage fright. She hadn’t been at all nervous when she played Little Orphan Annie as a child in the school play. Today, though, there was the slightest bit of trepidation. She really needed the job, and wanted it more than she had wanted anything in a long time. She took one last long deep breath, which calmed her fidgeting, and came to stop in front of the door. She raised her perfectly manicured hand and knocked at an appropriately moderate noise level.
She heard movement and then footsteps approaching the door. She counted the steps and quickly surmised the distance from the back office to the door. She pictured the inside and a desk, which would be hers.
“Hello, come right in. How may I help you?”
Though she didn’t show it, she was a little startled by the question. The professor had told her to show up at 9:00 and to give the man the piece of paper, which she had in her coat pocket. Celine had expected to be expected.
The smile and enthusiasm made an impression immediately, though she hadn’t said a word yet. Henry took the piece of paper which had just been thrust at his chest with the speed and accuracy of an Olympic fencer. He opened it.
“I'm here about the job!”
Henry held the door for her and offered to take her coat. He hung up next to his, and motioned for her to follow him into his office. They both took their seats. Henry grabbed a yellow legal pad and pencil.
“I’m Henry Wood, as you might have read on the door. What is your name, Miss?”
“Celine Spinoza.”
Henry wrote her name at the top of the page. “Have you done secretarial work before?”
She spoke clearly and at a blindingly fast pace. “Yes sir. I can type 100 words per minute, take dictation, short hand, pick up dry cleaning, fix coffee, and on occasion bring in a plate of brownies which will change your perception of ‘yummy.’”
He
nry had delusions of note-taking, but knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with her, so he tried to fake it.
“The brownies sound delicious.”
Celine cocked her head to one side. She looked intently at Henry, and there was a long, strangely comfortable silence. “Did you really write all of that down?”
Henry looked at her, his eyes narrowed, and then he held up the yellow pad, turning it around so she could see that he had been bluffing.
“I knew it!” she said while pointing a finger. Henry thought it would have been more dramatic if she had said it in French, “J’accuse!” Still, her delivery was excellent.
“You need someone who is able to write fast enough to keep up with the speedy talkers.”
Henry couldn’t argue that point. He suspected that anyone trying to argue with this woman was getting in for more than they bargained for. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I’m friendly, but I don’t like fresh. I love baseball, but not the Yankees. I don’t like cats…because of who they are. If you ask me a question, I'll answer truthfully, even if I suspect you might want something else.”
Having given up the pretense of note-taking, he continued, “Tell me about your parents.”
“My mother is Italian, by birth and in attitude. She might be crazy. I can’t imagine her having children. My father, a businessman, also loves baseball. We try to go to games often – he always buys the peanuts. I love him for that. He likes foreign women and loves Mother deeply. She loves him too, but would never admit it.” Celine took a breath.
She was fearless and interesting. Henry was about to ask another question when she started up again.
“Oh, and I have a cat named Buttons.”
“I thought you said you don’t like cats.”
“Yes. I did.”
Henry expected her to elaborate, but she sat in heroic silence.
“You’ve got the job.”
