The Fifth Codex (9 page)

The hopeful morning of March 4
th
has bled into the grueling evening hours of March 5
th
.  To this point, we have made little progress concerning a translation.  To our surprise, the Sapien Codex utilizes all three of the languages I had previously identified.  Its ancient authors scribed a group of copper plates in one language, then another group in a second language, then a final group in the third.  For the time being, we do not know what to make of this.

With their three-dimensional scanners, Drs. Leitz, Ravensdale, and Korzhak tirelessly scan the copper plates from the Sapien Codex into my computers.  To scan each plate is no simple matter as it takes a good bit of time and precise effort to do so.  As for the other four codices, I had already scanned their copper plates years ago.  My computers work to find phrases from one codex that match up with others in the Sapien Codex, but this happens rarely.  Now near the end of this second day of dutiful work, we have discovered barely sixty new words.

“And
that
is the last plate to scan!”  Victor’s jolly spirit masks a shared anxiousness; both of us are dying to know what the codices say.

Copper plates lay scattered across the marble table; somehow, they are still in order.  At least I think they are.  With a deep sigh, I thank my three helpers, but the frustration in my voice is obvious.  Dr. Saddlebirch spins around in his chair and nods his agreement.  We are not doing well.

“
However
,” Chance says with a sudden cheeriness as he leaps from his chair, “I think I have found something of interest.  Two things actually.”  He carries a copper plate in each hand and sets both on the marble table next to where the rest of us stand.  Next, he pulls a digital tablet close and props it up between the two plates.

“Okay, y’all, so far we have guessed that each block of assorted hieroglyphs and the scripts surrounding them are what we call a paragraph.  In some cases, there are only a few glyphs, in other cases a bunch of em’.  These blocks in the shape of a rectangle – dozens of which are on each plate – script is always wrapped around glyphs like a border no matter what, right?”

I nod my head for both myself and, as they are not linguists, the other three.

“Alistair, please come to my left side,” Saddlebirch says.  “Alfred, to my right.”

Both do as told.  Dr. Korzhak and I now across from the three scientists on the other side of the table, we lean over it.  Dr. Ravensdale stands in front of the copper plate on the cowboy’s left, my right.  Dr. Leitz just the opposite, he stands in front of the other copper plate on Chance’s right, my left.

“We won’t know for sure,” he continues, “until we decipher more, but I think two hunches are a good bet.  For the first one, let’s start with you, Alfred.”  He points to a spot on the plate with his finger.  Dr. Leitz moves his finger to the same spot.  “With eight glyphs and the script around them, see these scripts here?”

“Yes, I see them,” Alfred answers.

The rest of us nod.  Saddlebirch then moves his finger slightly.

“Now, take a good look at this symbol.  It looks a lot like a group of asterisks.  They sit at the
bottom left
corner of the rectangle – a paragraph – and the script comes after.  Does everyone see this?”

“Yes,” we reply to our teacher as if a chorus.  To show greater interest, we all move even closer to each other.

“Okay, bottom left.  Let’s remember that.  Moving over to mine here on the digital tablet,” he zooms into a single rectangle and points to one of its corners, “the symbol on mine sits at the
top left
corner and the script bordering the glyphs comes after it as well.  We have two different positions for this symbol, but they mean nothing without the third.  Now, let’s look at Alistair’s copper plate to find out why.”

Chance now points to the largest rectangle filled with script and glyphs.  The room deadly silent, we barely breathe.

“This third symbol is on the
bottom right
corner and the script goes, well, backward I guess you could say.”

“To the past …” I whisper.  “The symbol on the top left indicates the present and the bottom left is for the future!  That’s brilliant, Dr. Saddlebirch!”  As if I offer this compliment in thought only, he says nothing in return.  He does not even bother to look up.

“But why are there scripts
and
hieroglyphs?” Victor asks.

Oh, but he can look up and acknowledge Korzhak!

“That brings us to my second hunch.”

Saddlebirch pauses.  Perhaps he expects applause, but we are too entranced to offer it.

“I think those who wrote these used the glyphs only for what we refer to as nouns – people, places, things.  Script is for
everything
else!  Throughout each script that borders the glyphs are these tiny nicks.”  He points out a few.  “I am betting that each tells the reader when to pull a glyph, which is a noun – the reader does so – and then just keeps on reading the script.  For this one, there are five tiny nicks and five glyphs.  The counts are always the same in every block I have found.”

I had realized long ago that the tiny cuts scattered about script were for the placement of each glyph.  What I had
never
considered, however, was that the glyphs could be nouns
only
.

“If so, that would be quite elegant, I think.  It reminds me of books from the Middle Ages that have decorations and images about the text.”

“Illuminated manuscripts,” I suggest.  Dr. Ravensdale nods his thanks and smiles.

“The hieroglyphs are beautiful,” Dr. Leitz breaks in, “but if they had script
in addition
to glyphs, then why continue to use glyphs at all?  Help me out on this Dr., but hasn’t history shown a progression from these pictures to script in writing?”

“Hmmm … that
is
a good question,” Saddlebirch drawls.  “You’re right.”

It is now my turn to contribute to the conversation.  “Having stared at the Mermaid Codex for days at a time,” I announce confidently, “each plate is a work of art.  As if written by beings who did not prize function over form, but rather wished to meld them together.  Perhaps these ancients simply viewed the glyphs as we do now, that they are beautiful and did not wish to discard them.  Although they could have moved to straight scripting, I believe they wished for their writings to be magnificent concerning not just the tales they told, but of how they appeared while telling them.”

“Maybe,” Chance returns dryly.  Either he does not like my idea or, more likely, is not so happy I considered it first.  “But if I am correct in how the texts relate to past, present, and future, then we are very, very lucky.”

“Well, of course,” Dr. Korzhak howls, “it will help tell us what they say!”

Saddlebirch chuckles and flashes us a smile the Cheshire Cat would envy.

“Well, yeah, sure.  But look closely at the two plates.  Where do you see these symbols most?”

“The top left,” Alistair answers.  “Of the ones I scanned, nearly all of them are in the present.  So … what does this mean?”

“
It means
,” the beaming cowboy explains, “that those who scribed these plates did not simply retell history they had heard from others, but were there when it happened.”

*****

Dinner is next.  Aside from Chance’s unending goofy grins for having made his first contribution to the group since arriving, it is rather uneventful.  This discovery will certainly be helpful when it comes time to read the texts, but does not get us any closer to a true translation.  The other scientists off to their barracks, after a shower, I return to the translation room around 2100.

Now far past midnight, two of my men do as I ask and pile up the still in order, but scattered about, copper plates.  As they do this, I fritter about and pay little attention to them.  Finally, I plant my bottom in an overstuffed sitting chair that faces the table about five meters away, prop a digital tablet against my pulled in knees, and bury my head in it.  In truth, I really do not wish to gaze any longer at the copper plates atop the marble table.

What would be the point?  They will just laugh at my failures right to my face if I do so.

My men finished and bidding me
bonsoir
, I curtly wave them farewell and continue doing, for the most part, nothing.  After a few minutes, I let out a heavy sigh to ensure the soldiers standing watch in the CIC can hear how sorry I feel for myself.  Next, I lower my knees and look straight ahead.  The pure brilliance in the form of three equally sized stacks of copper plates my men had assembled do not laugh at me as I expect, but instead, simply offer their congratulations.

For the past four hours, I had expectedly discovered nothing new.  Quite unexpectedly, I am suddenly on the cusp of discovering
everything
.

“
Il ne peut pas être
[10]
,” I gasp at the very welcome sight before me.  I leap up and stand dumbfounded before the three stacks.  I hurriedly look through the first few plates in each stack – yes, indeed; they are still in order and separated by each language.  “Could they have been so brilliant and I so stupid!”

I have to tell one of the others or else I will explode –
who better to bother so late at night than the cowboy?

In a flash, I dash from the CIC to the barracks.  My access card swiped; the door to their barracks opens.  As I make my way in more clumsily than quietly, it surprises me to see that each scientist has his own separate room.  These bedrooms connect to the common room I now wander in the middle of.  I peek into the bedroom to my right; sure enough, there he is.

“Chance, wake up,” I whisper.  This not working, I shake him.  Upon doing so, he groans in much too whiny a way considering the manly hat and oversized silver belt buckle he proudly wears each day.

“Go bother someone who likes you….”

I let out a seething growl –
his still closed eyes and sleepy state are no excuse for such mumbled rudeness!

Taking a minute to look about, a refreshing idea flows into my mind.  I stomp into his bathroom, grab an ice bucket, and draw water from a finely decorated marble sink.  Considering our cozy, but humble barracks, it looks very much out of place.  But water draws from its faucet just fine, so in the end, no complaints.

“Everyone else likes me and so will you,” I whisper angrily as I exit the bathroom – my weapon firmly in hand.  As I hover over his resumed peaceful sleep, I almost feel sorry for him.  But not really.

“Time for a bath,
cowboy
!” I foreshadow through gritted teeth.

The bucket full of frigid Antarctic water hits his face flush.  My aim right on target, Saddlebirch springs up as if a banshee has just shrieked in his ear.  His look of ghastly shock quickly turns to slippery concern as he falls backward out of the opposite side of the bed I glare at him from.  The thump of his body hitting the floor sounds rather painful, but I feel no pity.  Indeed, my look upon his untidy state – sheets and blankets still wrapped around him as if a cocoon – does not change one bit.

Saddlebirch forcefully blinks his eyes a few times before he finally focuses on his awakener.

“A-A-Alexys
Élisa
––”

The towel I pitch into his face promptly quiets this sleepy drawl.  Drying off his face and pulling the towel to his chin, I notice the slightest of smirks.

Can it be that I have finally broken the stubborn bronco?

No time to wait for him to come to me, I grab his arm.  “
Venez avec moi, venez avec moi
[11]
– I must show you!”

Stumbling behind me and bouncing off the walls as if a drunken mule, the still half-asleep cowboy bumpily follows.  I push him into the CIC and then drag him into the translation room.  Well used to my random bouts of madness, my soldiers just smirk as we pass by.

“Take a look!”  I point to the three equally tall piles of copper plates and await his response with baited breath.

“Pancakes,” Chance drawls with a chuckle.  A wistful smile graces his face.

“WHAT?”

Oh no!  My rude dunking at such an early hour has turned one of the world’s great linguists into Inspector Clouseau.

“All those copper plates look like giant stacks of pancakes!”  His chuckle turns into a drowsy giggle.  “Is it time for breakfast already?  I feel as if I have only slept ––”

I immediately grab his arm and practically throw him onto the pile of scribed plates.

“Try again!” I plead to the soaked cowboy.  “A little
harder
this time!”

That he is still half-asleep probably keeps him from storming off – or worse.  After Saddlebirch steadies his bearings a bit, he does look harder.  His face then twists and turns in fits and starts until it freezes solid.  As if they are curious snakes, ten probing fingers spread out upon the three piles in front of him.  With a gulping gasp, he then takes a step back.