Sphinx (42 page)

‘The next time the astrarium emerges is during the reign of Ptolemy III. A scroll describing the device and its powers was apparently housed in the great library of Alexandria, the Temple of the Muses or Mouseion. The library was destroyed in 30 AD.’

A medieval illustration of the Mouseion appeared, a projection of what it must have looked like, destroyed along with many of the great written works of mankind in a fire.

‘The Mouseion had been the greatest library of antiquity - debatably of all time. It was here that Ptolemy III commissioned seventy rabbis to translate into Greek the five books of the Old Testament that made up the Torah, and here that the greatest mathematical, astronomical and medical texts of the epoch were housed. Manuscripts were amassed in a multitude of languages: Aramaic, Hebrew, Nabatean, Arabic, the Indian languages as well as Egyptian, reflecting the polyglot nature of the ancient city itself. Every known account of importance was housed here, Ptolemy III was known to have had a huge interest in the mystical as well as the religious.’

A ripple ran through the audience, voices whispering in low undertones. Slowly, I turned, and to my horror saw that Mosry and Omar had now entered the hall at the back, peering through the dim light towards the front.

I tensed up, ready to bolt for the exit, when suddenly four police officers entered the hall from the other end and, walking down, flanked the auditorium, two on either side. To my surprise I noticed their presence seemed to deter Mosry and his henchman from further action. They both sat down in the back row and, arms folded, stared down aggressively at Amelia, who immediately became flustered, knocking some of her papers off the lectern. As she picked them up, I noticed that her hands were now trembling. In a shaky but defiant voice she continued her lecture, as the policemen slowly wove their way through the room. I sat in my chair, paralysed with indecision.

‘There is no doubt that the Ptolemaic queen Cleopatra VII would have known of the astrarium’s existence through scrolls housed at the Mouseion, just as she would have known about its famed military and magical powers.’

Suddenly I felt the touch of a hand on my shoulder. Startled, I almost jumped out of my seat, but Hermes’s low whisper reassured me.

‘Don’t panic, Oliver, and don’t react. I have to get us out of here. I’m just waiting for the right moment. When I say, follow me.’ I glanced back. Hermes had slipped in next to the seat behind me. Behind him, in the back row, Mosry caught my eye and smiled - a cold, smug confirmation, as if he knew he’d cornered me at last. Dread filled me and I felt frozen, pinned to my seat by the sheer terror of his gaze. I looked across at the projector; the mysterious aristocratic figure that had been there earlier had disappeared yet I hadn’t seen anyone leave. Back on the stage, Amelia was concluding her lecture.

‘I suspect Cleopatra might have attempted to employ it in her last great battle between her lover Mark Anthony and Octavian - the sea battle at Actium. A hypothesis I owe to my esteemed and now deceased colleague Isabella Warnock, née Brambilla.’

Across the auditorium Amelia looked directly at me, her eyes burning into mine.

‘The astrarium has dipped in and out of recorded history and there are great periods of time where it appears virtually to have disappeared. I believe these have been times when it fell under the guardianship of a secret sect of Isis worshippers, whose sole task was to ensure that if the device was used it would be for the good of mankind. As to the whereabouts of the astrarium today or the reality of its ability to wreak either chaos or good fortune - who knows? On that note I conclude.’ As Amelia started to collect her notes the curtains suddenly fell shut. Then lights flickered and blacked out, plunging the hall into total, sudden darkness. The room filled with shouting, people getting up and seats banging against wood. I leaped to my feet, then felt Hermes grabbing my arm.

‘This way!’ he hissed.

He pulled me forward and we stumbled blindly up some stairs that led up onto the stage, then fought our way through the soft veil of the velvet curtains. On the other side I blinked as my eyes readjusted to the light level. Just before me, an oblong of dim light radiated from the stage floor, illuminating Hermes who knelt beside it. It was a stage trapdoor. Amelia was nowhere to be seen.

‘In here - quick!’ I bolted over and climbed down the short ladder, followed by Hermes who pulled the trapdoor shut behind him. Using a lighter he guided me through a labyrinth of underground passages. They must have once been the narrow stone lanes of ancient Alexandria, a city famously riddled with subterranean passages. Hermes, holding his lighter high above his head, was almost running as he led me through arched stone and brick tunnels, their walls oozing dampness, the air musky, almost sulphuric. I guessed he must have had an intimate knowledge of the bewildering maze, but his surefootedness amazed me nonetheless. I stumbled and landed on one knee, my trousers now wet with the thin stream that ran down the centre of the floor of the tunnel. Hermes helped me to my feet.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’ll survive - where are we?’

Hermes lifted his lighter, illuminating an ancient ceiling - the remnants of a Roman mosaic that seemed to feature a throned Zeus. ‘Just under the football stadium, not far from your villa,’ he replied. Behind us the sound of men shouting suddenly echoed down the tunnel. Startled, we both swung around.

‘They’re only about ten minutes away.’ Hermes pulled me forward. ‘We must hurry. They will kill you if they catch us.’ His pace intensified and, limping now, I struggled to keep up with him, only terror preventing me from collapsing from pain. After what felt like an hour we arrived at an iron ladder.

‘Up there - you will know where you are once you are on the street.’

I stared at him. Indebted, I had no choice but to trust him now. ‘Thank you.’

‘Do you now believe in the importance of the astrarium, Oliver?’

I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

‘When you’re ready you must bring it to me.’

Suddenly there was the sound of a bullet ricocheting off stone. Hermes pushed me towards the ladder.

‘Hurry!’

‘What about you?’

‘I can take care of myself.’

I watched him bolt back into the shadows. Five minutes later I emerged from a manhole opening into blinding midday light and the frenetic streets of the bazaar. Within minutes I lost myself in the crowd.

Ibrihim was waiting for me back at the villa. Gravely, he handed me a note from Mr Fartime who had received a distressed call from my father in England and asked that I ring Da as soon as I possibly could. Fartime kindly suggested that I should use the company’s phone to make the call. Touched by both his concern and generosity, I borrowed Ibrihim’s Vespa and raced through the back streets of Alexandria, determined to shake off any followers. I parked at the back of the offices and used a tradesman’s entrance that was partially concealed by a couple of stalls selling antiques.

The office was empty - it was Friday, the Islamic day of rest - and as I fished out my key I was thankful for the privacy.

Sitting at Mr Fartime’s desk, I felt a little like a naughty schoolboy who had broken into the headmaster’s office but consoled myself with the thought that I was there with his permission. Ten minutes later the operator had got hold of my father.

‘Oliver, is that you?’ His voice sounded old and frail, but so close I felt as if I could almost smell the faint scent of pipe tobacco coming off his woolly jumper. In my mind I could see his long gnarled fingers curled around the old Bakelite telephone receiver.

‘Da, what’s happened?’ I steeled myself, anxious about Gareth and my father’s own health.

‘It’s Gareth. He didn’t want to ring you himself. He seemed to think you had enough on your plate . . .’

‘Is he okay?’

‘It’s not the drugs, if that’s what you’re worried about . . .’ My imagination leaped ahead but my father’s voice interrupted my grim thoughts. ‘His house was broken into. He couldn’t tell the police for obvious reasons’ - he coughed delicately - ‘but he told me the burglars had been very specific in their ransacking. They sounded like nasty customers - apparently they roughed up his girlfriend when she disturbed them . . .’

Shocked, I leaned against the desk. So Wollington had caught up with me, and worse, I’d inadvertently dragged my family into this mess.

‘Da, listen, I have to get off the phone to ring Gareth immediately. But before I go I want you to promise me not to answer the door to any strangers, you understand?’

‘I’m not frightened of strangers, lad. I’ve fought the best of them in my time,’ he replied gruffly.

‘Da, I know you can look after yourself, but this is different. They could be armed. Please, all I’m asking is for you to lie low for a while.’

‘Oliver, are you in some kind of trouble?’ For the first time in the conversation my father sounded scared.

‘I’ll get myself through it. You have to trust me.’

‘Always, lad, you know that.’

As I put down the receiver I fought back tears.

The line rang for minutes but it felt like hours. By the time Gareth answered I’d convinced myself that Wollington or some hired thug had got there before me and Gareth was now lying dead in the house somewhere.

‘Gareth, Dad rang me.’ I tried to hide the panic in my voice.

‘I told him not to.’

‘Never mind all that, just give me a description of the men.’

‘There were two, at least that’s what Zoë thinks she saw, she was knocked out pretty quickly. Oliver, they took my notebook with the diagrams of the astrarium and my solution to the cipher.’

My heart leaped, my worst fears confirmed. Wollington must have known about the existence of the Was, of course he would - he knew Amelia, Hermes and Silvio - and then followed me to Egypt. Angered by the raid, the urge to protect my brother swept through me.

‘Is Zoë okay?’

‘A slight concussion - actually, she found the whole thing sort of exciting, but that’s Zoë for you. Are
you
okay? I’m worried about you. Who are these nutters?’

‘Look, the less you know the better. Can you stay at Zoë’s for a while? I don’t think they’ll be back and it’ll only be you that they’re after, but I’d feel better if you disappeared for a few weeks.’

‘I can do that. I knew Isabella was on to something huge - wasn’t she, Oliver?’

‘Stay safe, Gareth.’ As I hung up, a new loneliness rushed through me.

 

Back at the villa, a progress report on the new oilfield from Moustafa was waiting for me; the gravity data we had been unofficially collecting looked increasingly encouraging. If I could secure the finances and the licence, I could end up a very wealthy man. I debated whether Johannes Du Voor would support the project, then I remembered his warning about relying too much on intuition and decided to wait until I had more concrete data before telling him about the potential find.

I got up and walked out onto the balcony. I could see the shaggy outline of Tinnin flopped halfway out of his kennel. The rucksack containing the astrarium was still buried behind it. As if sensing my gaze, the Alsatian growled in his sleep.

My mind returned to the lecture and Amelia’s clear chronicling of the astrarium’s trajectory through time. A sudden longing for Isabella swept over me and a memory of us standing besides the River Ganges came into my mind. We’d been watching the local Indians wash and immerse themselves in the holy river when we’d suddenly both noticed a baby struggling as it was taken by a sudden current, the mother screaming in frozen horror from the bank. In a second, Isabella was in the water. Swimming wildly, she reached the child and dragged it back to the bank while I found myself watching in amazement. That was Isabella, fearless, decisive and able to act in the moment. I wondered what she would do in my place. What would her next steps be? I was now as entangled in the mystery of the astrarium as she’d been, whether I wanted to be or not. Had she been trying to tell me something when she visited me in my dreams? Amelia’s statement about the astrarium’s ability to cause chaos or good fortune haunted me, and I realised how far my mind’s boundaries had been pushed in my desperation to solve the enigma of the device. Where did the symbols Isabella pointed to in my dream lead me to? The fish, the bull and the Medusa. A fish, I knew, was a Christian image. And then I suddenly remembered Francesca telling me the name of the priest at St Catherine’s.

 

I paused with my hand on the cool wall of the cathedral, thinking about the first time I’d been there, with Isabella. We’d visited it only months before and I remembered her face avid with passion as she told me about its namesake, Saint Catherine. Like many academics, Isabella was convinced that Catherine was merely a Christian appropriation of Hypatia of Alexandria, a pagan philosopher crucified for making her intellectual beliefs public and who was an extraordinary mathematician and cosmologist. Standing there on the steps it was as if Isabella walked before me, her black hair swinging as she described all this to me. Then I realised with a jolt that my second visit to the cathedral had been for Isabella’s own funeral.