Osley’s eyes seemed to deepen and he spoke as Tolkien would, gazing directly into Cadence’s eyes.
“With my work I carved a window through which could be seen portions of a world. In that world there are things older and grander than I have been able to discern. But they are there nonetheless.”
She nodded, almost believing that Professor Tolkien was speaking to her.
“My journey is closing. It is for others, perhaps, to find and tell those tales. Let others follow, root and branch, where they may lead. After all, Middle-earth truly existed long before me and will exist long after.”
Osley paused here, gathering his memory even as it seemed that Tolkien might have gathered his thoughts.
“That is precisely why this trove of true Elvish — priceless beyond measure — remains so important. For now, however, let it sleep. I fear it will again grow restless and by its very being summon the restive hauntings I fear.”
“This was the night before he left,” Osley said. “He spoke those last words with sadness. But just before getting up from that seat, he smiled a bit and said in a tone that almost seemed to wink with relief—”
“‘The moon’s the same body one sees from my home on the coast at Bournesmouth. It waxes full here at its proper time. I take that as proper reckoning and a portent for good. To my dear Edith I go now and let these mysteries take their own path. I hope Jess, the Sharpener, dispatches his errand well. You have been a good friend. Good-bye.’”
Osley seemed spent by the effort to recall (she was afraid to think “invent”) this long-ago conversation.
“And with that we shook hands and he left. I never saw him again.” Osley paused in thought, “I miss him. He was a great and just man. He was better to me than I deserved. He once said he could not tell if this … gift was from the Dark Elves. If so, it might be laden with purpose and peril far deeper than we realized.”
Osley stopped and looked up. “But let us now turn back to you, Cadence. What of all this so far can we make sense? And what is your next step?”
She thought for only a second. “Simple. Do I stay or do I go? Like the song.”
“The prudence of going may now be best,” he said. “Your mom would have approved of that.”
She looked at him, wondering how he might have so astutely pegged her mother. Before she could say anything he rose, said “Very well, good night,” and left.
Chapter 19
OCTOBER 24. MORNING
Cadence woke straight up, and screamed, “SHIIITTT” The alchemy of a decent night’s rest made one thing crystal clear: she was falling into a trance with Osley and all this Mirkwood-Elvish hoodoo stuff. She had to get down to business.
As if on cue, Mel called. It was eight. That made it five a.m. in L.A. He jumped right in. “Cadence, here’s the situation. The original manuscript of the complete Lord of the Rings lies in a secured case in, get this, Milwaukee. It’s at Marquette University, a gift from Tolkien. That single product has generated over six billion dollars in revenue from books, movies, action-figures, lunch boxes. Not as much lately, but the revenues continue. It is, in the parlance, a franchise.”
She interrupted to save her ear. “Mel, it’s safe. It’s secret. Is that what you’re asking?”
“No. Just listen to me. The tale, hence the franchise, is dwindling. It is, as we say in the business, losing its legs. Beyond making a movie or two out of The Hobbit, there isn’t much more of Tolkien left that’s got sustained commercial value. I tell you this because, if you are right, you have possession of physical and intellectual property worth millions of dollars. The very existence of these lost manuscripts may actually enhance the ongoing value of the franchise. Dispute means buzz. Controversy means buzz. The entertainment business loves buzz. Any mystery begets buzz, which generates more buzz.”
She took a break and held the phone away from her ear. He was sounding like an over-excited bee. She waited. When she listened again, “… the market is still keen on alternative scenes and alternative endings. The Director’s Cut. That, in essence, is what Tolkien gave your grandfather, and …”
“Oh come on, Mel, you’re way ahead of yourself. No book cover with foil dragons just yet. No Oprah plug. All this could be totally unrelated. It could be part of another story altogether, or just historical mishmash. I’ve even got people telling me that parts of it change as you read it. How’s that for provenance?” “Who? You’re not talking with another agent?” “No, Mel, relax. I found a translator of … uh … Elvish. He also says he knew Tolkien. He says … well its all pretty weird. I’ll leave it at that.”
“Well, where does one thing begin and another leave off?” “That’s the question, isn’t it? So, you say, we should be happy?” “Of course. At least so far.”
“Well, I’m not. So far, I’m not sure I’m any closer to finding my grandfather.”
“Don’t go there yet. Let’s stay on track.” “That’s what I’m saying, I’m feeling off track.” “Here’s what I’m saying. Stick with the story-side of this. These documents may be perceived as a threat. Like some kind of surprise bastard sibling who’s horning in on the inheritance. No doubt there are some in the business who would want them destroyed. Smart money would promote this find, but who knows what’s at work here.”
“OK, Mel. You’re paying my hotel bill. I’ll stick with the program for a few more days. You definitely sound more upbeat than before. Why?”
“I read it, Cadence. I mean I read the whole damn LOTR thing. Usually I fake it, but I did a lot of homework this week. With the new Hobbit movies coming up, well … well … this could be huge.”
“Great. So when does your part, the Huge Contract, happen?”
“Soon. Don’t worry. Your job is to answer the same question posed at the Council of the Wise, ‘May we see the proofs?’ So tell me, how’s your search really going?”
“I don’t know. It’s tough to tell. Tolkien was here, but was this stuff really his? It could be something authentic or just lunatic ramblings. I feel stymied.”
“You’re distracted. Forget about your grandfather for a while. I mean don’t forget about him, just lighten up. You’ll learn something about him out of this for sure. But let’s focus. Cut to the critical path. If you won’t put the documents in my safekeeping, let’s at least take them to some experts — maybe that scrap with Tolkien’s note, and some of the Elvish writing stuff — and establish the proofs. OK? Otherwise we’re wasting our time.”
“All right, what do you suggest?”
“Thank you. It’s all arranged. You will meet Monsieur Brian de Bois-Gilbert. He is head of L’Institute des Inspecteurs, the world’s leading experts on detecting forgeries and fakes. They have done all the big stuff since the Hitler Diaries fiasco. Documents, paintings, vintage wine, you name it. If you’re ready to find out the truth, he’s your guy.”
“When and where?”
“Good girl. Ten, Sunday morning. They made a spot in their schedule. That’s day after tomorrow.” He gave her the address. She wrote it down quickly on a room service card.
“Mel?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not a girl. Also, one last thing. If this is real, if it is an authentic collection of lost manuscripts somehow relating to Tolkien?”
“Yes?”
“Well, I have this feeling that something in it is beginning to tick.”
“Let’s hope it’s a money counter.”
“I’m not sure I buy that, but if it saves The Mirkwood Forest from foreclosure until I can find out what happened to my grandfather, so be it.”