Following her directions, I passed through another door into a broad passageway, took an elevator up to the fourth level, and turned left into a waiting room. I heard footsteps clicking on the stone, and Mattie Clendennon joined me. Her pictures didn’t do her justice. I’d expected a feeble, half-deranged old woman. But Mattie was ramrod straight. She radiated energy and strolled across that stone floor like a cat. She was tall, imperious, with gray-green eyes and thin, intense features. A smile played about her lips.
“Welcome, Chase Kolpath,” she said. “I don’t get many visitors.”
She wore sand-colored clothes and a trooper hat, the sort of thing you might have wanted if you were going out to do some excavations. Somehow this eighty-year-old woman did not look at all absurd in the outfit.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Clendennon,” I said.
She shifted her gaze to the engravings that surrounded us. “This is where they found the Gilgamesh Epic,” she said.
“Really?” I tried to sound impressed, thinking that the woman was out of her head.
She read my reaction. “Well, of course, not literally. This is a replica of the palace at Khorsabad. Which is where George Smith found the tablets.”
She led the way down a long corridor. The stone gave way to satin curtains, thick carpets, and lush furniture. We turned into a room furnished with modern chairs and a sofa. Curtains were drawn across two windows, softening the sunlight. “Sit down, Kolpath,” she said. “And tell me what brings you to Sargon’s home.”
“This is a magnificent place,” I said. “How do you come to be living here?”
One silver brow arched. “A mixed compliment? Is there a problem?”
“No,” I said. “It just seems a bit unusual.”
“Where better?” She studied me, making up her mind whether I was friend or whatever, and came down on my side of things. “Would you like a drink?”
She mixed us a couple of black bennies while I drew one of the curtains aside and looked out the window. Wetland, which should have been on the horizon, was missing. In its place I saw a city with minarets and towers. “Baghdad,” she said, “in its glory days.”
It was a projection. “It’s lovely,” I said.
“You should see it at night, when it lights up.” She handed me my drink. “I decided I didn’t like life on Rimway very much. So I’ve gone back to a better time.”
I looked around the room, with its climate control and its synthetic walls and its VR capability.
She laughed. “That doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. I get the best of both worlds here.
Baghdad is romantic, but needs to be kept at a distance.”
I sampled the black benny and complimented her on it.
“It’s my favorite.” She started to sit but changed her mind. “Here, Kolpath, let me show you something.” We walked back out into the passageway, made a couple of turns, passed through several rooms, and came into an enormous chamber. Just enough sunlight filtered into it to cut through the gloom. It was filled with clay pots and more stone cylinders. All were engraved. “Each group tells a story,” she said.
“Over there, the deeds of Sennacherib. To your right, the glories of Esarhaddon.
There-” She produced a lamp, turned it on, and directed the beam onto a podium.
“The Crystal Throne itself.”
It glittered brilliantly in the lamplight.
“What’s the Crystal Throne?”
“Sargon, my dear. My, they did neglect your education, didn’t they?”
“Sometimes I think so.”
She laughed, a pleasant sound like tinkling ice cubes. “You’re a security officer of sorts, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Of sorts. Actually, the AI handles the security.” She smiled. “Just in case you had any ideas.”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” I said. “I’ve no use for a crystal throne.”
We returned to the sitting room, where she produced another round of drinks. “Now,” she said, “what is this about Margaret that brings you to the palace?”
“She was a close friend of yours, wasn’t she?”
“Margaret Wescott.” She looked around the room, as if trying to locate something.
“Yes. I never knew anyone else like her.”
“In what way?”
“She was a marvelous woman. She cared about things. You got her for a friend, you knew she’d always be there if you needed her.”
“How about Adam? How well did you know him?”
She thought it over. “Adam was okay. He was like most men. A bit slow. Selfabsorbed. I don’t think he ever appreciated what he had. In her, I mean.”
“He took her for granted?”
Smile. “Oh, yes. Adam was too busy looking at the stars, worrying about things that were far away, to see what was under his nose.”
“But he didn’t mistreat her?”
“Oh, no. Adam wouldn’t have harmed a fly. And he loved her. It was just that it was a kind of limited love. He loved her because she was physically attractive, and she enjoyed the same kinds of things of things he did, and because she shared his passion for the outer boundaries. And because she was the mother of his daughter.” She looked around the room again. “It’s depressing in here. Why don’t we open the curtains, dear?”
I helped, and sunlight streamed in.
“Much better,” she said. “Thank you. Have you met their daughter? Delia?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet young thing. She has a lot of her mother in her.”
She paused, obviously lost in the past. I took advantage of the opening: “Did Margaret ever suggest to you that she and Adam might have discovered something unusual during one of their flights?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Of course. Did you know about that?”
“I know they found something.”
“She always told me to keep it quiet.”
“What did they find?” I asked.
She drew back into the present and looked at me closely, trying to decide whether she could trust me. “Don’t you know?”
“No. I know there was a discovery. I’m not sure what it was. Did they find Margolia?”
Her eyes locked on me. “They found the Seeker,” she said.
“The Seeker.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Yes.”
“They went back several times, trying to extract information from it. But everything was too old.”
“I’d think so.”
“They hoped it would tell them where Margolia was.”
“And it didn’t.”
“No. But they didn’t have enough time. They were still working on the problem when they went out on that damned skiing vacation.”
“Where is the Seeker?”
“I don’t know. She told me once, but I really have no recollection. Just coordinates.
Numbers, and who remembers them?”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Did she write it down?”
“If she did, it’s a long time gone.” She managed another smile. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you hoped to hear.”
“No, it’s okay. But they actually found the Seeker.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell somebody?”
“I didn’t think they’d want me to. I wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t mentioned Margolia. You already had part of the story. So I figured no harm done.” She looked cautiously at me. “I hope I’m right.”
“I’ve no interest,” I said, “in damaging anyone’s reputation. I understand they boarded it.”
“That’s correct.”
“Can you tell me what they saw?”
“A dead ship.” She lowered her voice, as if we were in a sacred place. “It was carrying a full complement.”
“Of crew?”
“Of passengers. I’ll never forget the look on Margaret’s face when she told me.”
My God, I thought, the ship’s capacity was, what, nine hundred people? “Lost together,” she said. “Whatever happened, they were lost together.”
When I got back to the office, a call from Delia Wescott was waiting for me. “I have something you might want to see. Can you come to the island?”
Delia lived on Sirika, which was several hundred kilometers southeast of Andiquar. I got directions from her and grabbed a southbound train for Wakkaida, which is a seacoast community. From there I took a cab, settled into the backseat and relaxed while it rose above the shoreline and headed out to sea.