Obsidian Pebble (39 page)

“Does she mean the other two artefacts?” Ruff whispered. “The pendant and the ring?”

This time she answered Ruff directly. “I do, Ruff.”

Ruff staggered back against the wall. “Whoa, she knows who I am, too,” he quavered.

“The lightning,” Oz said. “Of course. It switched the pebble on, somehow.”

“Correct,” said Soph. “My severely depleted power source has been charged through a recent antimatter positron emission.” She tilted her head and smiled. “Otherwise known as lightning.”

“Then how come the mark glowed before, if you were so low on power?” Oz asked.

“The base unit is designed to absorb many forms of energy—radio waves, light, heat. Enough to allow hibernating functions such as REM sleep linkage.”

“REM sleep linkage?” Ellie asked.

“Does that mean helping me with revision? Maths, for example?” Oz already knew the answer, because somehow it was already inside his head. But he also knew that Ellie and Ruff needed to hear it.

Soph nodded. “A modular sublimsert was all that was required. You were already in possession of the knowledge; a modification of your perception output was all that was necessary.”

Ruff was still wide-eyed. He mouthed “SUBLIMSERT?” fearfully to Oz.

Soph answered before Oz could ask. “It is simply a synaptic rerouting and reinforcement programme which runs without the need for consciousness.”

“So, in other words, you read my mind while I was asleep, knew what I was struggling with and then pimped my brain for maths?” Oz asked.

“Yes,” Soph said, “in other words.”

“Told you she was a genie,” Ruff whispered unhappily.

“Is it permanent?” Oz asked.

“Of course.”

Oz was helpless to prevent a grin from spreading from one ear to the other.

“But where are you from?” Ruff asked, finally addressing Soph directly.

Soph tilted her head slightly and blinked. “That information remains with the memsource.”

“I suppose it's no good asking why you're here, then, either, is it?” Ellie asked.

Soph blinked.

“But how come you didn't appear when Ellie or Ruff pressed the mark?” Oz demanded.

“The base unit has a genlock,” Soph said. “Access is through a DNA key. You are the only one who matches.”

Of all the things she'd said, that was the one that made Oz look for a chair and sit down heavily. “So Caleb is right. The artefacts do find their way to people.”

“It has been two hundred and fifty-two years since the key was programmed,” Soph said.

Oz's maths brain did the computation. “But the Bunthorpe Encounter was in 1761 and it's 2012 now. I make that two hundred and fifty one years ago.”

“That is correct.”

“So something happened in 1760,” Ellie said.

Soph said nothing.

“Don't tell me. Memsource missing,” Ruff said.

“It was you who put the images on Oz's laptop, too, wasn't it? The image of the dor and the cinder symbol?” Ellie said.

“That is correct,” Soph said.

“But why?”

“A prime directive.”

“So long as we know,” Ruff said, looking increasingly perplexed.

“Oz's laptop gave off enough heat for me to absorb energy for single message transfer. The ‘dor,' as you describe it, is the base unit power source. Its appearance was a device error message so that the user could rectify if so desired. The symbol, however, was programmed as a primary directive.”

“Clear as mud,” Ruff said, looking totally lost.

“She means that the dor is her battery. It was flagged up as an error message, just like an ‘out of ink' message on a printer when you need to change the cartridge,” Oz explained. “But the cinder symbol was something she had to deliver. The message we were meant to get.”

Soph looked calmly at him but didn't elaborate.

Oz thought furiously. This was amazing, brain-boggling stuff. Everything everyone had ever said or believed about the artefacts was true, and he was hearing it from the mouth of a mysterious avatar who had no idea where she was from or why she was here. He realised what the Bunthorpe Encounter was all about. If Soph had shown herself to those bell ringers, they would have totally freaked out. As it was, Ruff looked like he was about to throw up. Oz felt himself tingling from head to foot. If only his dad could be here to see this. When he looked up, Soph was watching him intently.

“You are sad, Oz. Would you like to see Michael Chambers?”

The world suddenly tilted on its axis. It was a long moment before he said anything. Ellie and Ruff just stared.

“What did you say?” Oz whispered.

“Basic functions include holotrack recording. Would you like to see the day your father found me?”

Oz heard footsteps in the stairwell and his mother's still-angry voice calling to him.

“Oz, is everything all right up here?”

But he wasn't listening. He didn't even have to say it. In his mind, Oz thought one word.
Yes
.

He saw his mother and Caleb walk into the library, her face as dark and cold as the passages behind the library wall in the dim light from the candle she held before her. Caleb followed, looking unhappy and strained.

But then something so weird and so unexpected began to happen that Oz forgot the tension between Caleb and his mother. He forgot everything, because, in front of his eyes, the library melted away to reveal another place full of bright daylight. He could still see Ellie and Ruff and Caleb and his mother and the books on the floor, but this new place was all around him, like a film projected on the walls of the library, but in three dimensions.

Oz leaned back in his chair and instinctively shut his eyes before opening them again. The dim library had all but disappeared, but the other place hadn't. It was there as plain as day. He was in a tiny shop crammed full of strange items—jars of all colours and hookahs with elaborate silver stems, urns with sealed stoppers, dried flowers hanging from the ceiling in bunches. The noise of the clattering rain was replaced by the faint clamour of a market in full swing—someone shouting out wares in a strange language, the rattle of carts on hard, dry ground. Rich odours of roses and jasmine filled Oz's nose, and gold filigree danced in elaborate patterns around a door where the globe atlas should have been. An old-fashioned bell rang as a figure pushed the door open. Into the shop stepped a man of average height, with pale blue eyes and dark hair a tad too long for someone of his age.

Oz felt the breath catch in his throat as he watched the man wander in. The face that looked around the shop with unbridled interest was achingly familiar. Oz heard his mother gasp, but she didn't say anything. No one said anything. They were all completely mesmerised by what they were experiencing. It was simply impossible, unfathomable and incredible, yet it was also as if they were actually there, smelling, hearing and seeing this wonderfully exotic place, which looked to be a million miles from Seabourne.

Dr. Michael Chambers crossed the small space between the door and the counter, stopping to examine the ornate urns and bits of armour on display, until a man appeared from the rear of the shop. He was dressed in a brightly coloured striped robe that stretched to his feet, and on his head was a brown fez.

Dr. Chambers smiled. “Good afternoon.” He held out his hand. “Michael Chambers. I believe you're expecting me.”

The sound of his dad's voice, so clear, so unmistakable, made Oz grasp the arm of his chair as a surging tingle of excitement trilled up his spine. He saw his mother put her hand over her mouth, saw Caleb's incredulous expression, saw Ellie and Ruff gawping like idiots, and he knew that they were all seeing this miracle, too.

In the shop, the man in the long robe shook the offered hand and spoke in a heavy accent.

“Doctor Chambers, welcome to Achmed's. It is my great pleasure to meet you.”

“What a fantastic place you have here. Was that a Phoenician Tanit amulet I saw on the way in?”

“It was. We have many things of interest here to a man of your scholarship.”

“I can see that.” Dr. Chambers looked about him in wonder.

“But that is not why you are here, I think.”

Dr. Chambers' face rearranged itself into a wry smile. “No, it isn't. You received my email, I gather?”

“I did. I have been expecting you. As for the item in question, I have it here.”

The shopkeeper turned and reached up to a shelf, from which he took a small wooden tray, upon which nestled the obsidian pebble.

Oz had a moment to wonder how it was they were seeing this, when the source of the image—or whatever it was they were experiencing—was surely the pebble itself. If there was a camera somewhere, why wasn't it in the pebble? But there was too much going on in the shop to make him dwell on this conundrum.

Dr. Chambers stared at the pebble and then looked up into the shopkeeper's face. “May I?” he whispered.

The shopkeeper smiled and shrugged. “Of course.”

Dr. Chambers took the pebble and held it up to the light. “The craftsmanship, it's incredible. It's like nothing I have ever seen,” he said in awe. “And you're sure it's for sale?”

“For sale?” The shopkeeper frowned. “Unfortunately no, it is not for sale.”

Dr. Chambers' face clouded. “But I understood—”

The shopkeeper held up his hand. “Doctor Chambers, may I ask that you do one small thing?”

“What?”

“On the underside there is a symbol. See…here…the maker's mark. Please, let your thumb rest on the symbol.”

Michael Chambers did as he was asked. “Like this? It feels…goodness…” The symbol glowed a faint yellow beneath his thumb. “Is that supposed to happen?”

The shopkeeper fixed Dr. Chambers with a wide-eyed stare. “It is supposed to happen, but it has never happened in my lifetime.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” said the shopkeeper with a fierce conviction, “that though the pebble is not for sale, it is yours by right.”

Dr. Chambers looked up, shocked. “By right? But…”

Again, the shopkeeper held up his hand. “We both know what this really is. Achmed's has existed in this bazaar for centuries. We have sold many exotic and valuable artefacts. But this item…it is not ours to sell. We are merely its keepers. We have been watching over it until its owner claims it.”

“Owner?”

“The last time the symbol lit up was almost eighty years ago. Another Englishman. Perhaps you know of whom I speak.”

Dr. Chambers nodded. “Daniel Morsman?”

“My great-grandfather was very proud of the day Daniel Morsman came to the shop,” the shopkeeper said softly. “Sadly, he was unable to make use of it, and so it was returned to us.”

“Well, that is a bit of a coincidence, since I now live in Morsman's house. We were distantly related, you know.”

“Here at Achmed's, we do not believe in coincidence. What is meant to be will be.”

“Then perhaps the artefacts truly do belong at Penwurt,” Dr. Chambers said, and then muttered, “At least, that's what my research is telling me.” He hesitated, gathering his thoughts. “I have to ask—have there been other enquirers?”

“Some. But Puffers do not find any answers here.” The shopkeeper kept smiling, but there was a grim determination in his eyes.

“Is it safe for me to leave with it? I have a flight out of Cairo tonight.”

The shopkeeper tilted his head. “These are difficult times. Airport security might prove, how shall I put it, awkward? Should you wish to take it, I would recommend that we ship it for you. We have a very secure and discreet service, ways in which we can ensure its safe passage.”

“I would feel a lot happier.” Dr. Chambers took out a card and scribbled on it. “Send it here, and address it to Oscar Chambers.”

“Oscar Chambers?” The shopkeeper frowned.

Dr. Chambers nodded. “My son, that well-known collector of historical bric-a-brac and would-be goalie.” He let his voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. “It'll attract even less attention that way.”

The shopkeeper smiled and held up both hands. “Wait, wait just a moment.” He disappeared behind a beaded curtain and came back with a framed photograph of three smiling children. “These are mine. Yafeu, Sekami, and Rehema.”

“They look full of mischief,” Dr. Chambers said, beaming. He reached into his wallet and took out a photo of the Chambers family. “My wife, Gwen, and Oz,” he said, beaming still.

The shopkeeper smiled admiringly. “They are a credit to you, doctor. It must be difficult to be so far away from them.”

“It is. I miss them terribly.” Dr. Chambers' face suddenly glowed with warmth.

“Oscar, he has your eyes and his mother's smile.”

“He knows how to smile.” He grinned at the shopkeeper. “And so does his mother.”

“Do they know what awaits them with the arrival of the artefact?” the shopkeeper asked keenly.

“No, not yet. Neither do I, really.”

“My heart swells at knowing that you will continue the work.” The shopkeeper's voice dropped to a low whisper. “Yet you are aware that, once it leaves here, the others will know, too.”

“I'll be careful. You've seen my family. I've a lot to be careful for.” Dr. Chambers' face broke into a wry smile. “Although I still haven't worked out how I'm going to explain all this to my wife.”

“She does not believe?” asked the shopkeeper.

“Not yet.” Dr. Chambers shook his head. “That's the next project.”

The two men shook hands and Dr. Chambers turned to leave. He still had the photograph in his hand as he reached the door. He took out his wallet, and just as he was about to replace the photo he hesitated for a second, as if seeing something for the first time; then he smiled and put the snap to his lips and kissed it. The door to the shop opened and the bell rang again. And just as quickly as it had appeared, Achmed's faded into nothingness and they were back in the dimly lit library, the dense darkness pierced only by pools of light from torches held facing the ground.