‘Jonathon?’
‘We’re here in the dark. Literally in the dark. Please tell us about the bowl and tripod.’
Ulster took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry for my babbling. I won’t let it happen again. Are you familiar with the concept of scrying?’
‘Scrying? Nope, never heard of it.’
‘Scrying is a technique used by soothsayers to predict the future. It involves seeing things psychically in a reflective or translucent medium, such as a crystal ball or a mirror. The watermark you described is an illustration of a popular method. A brass tripod supports a bowl of water above the ground or a table. A single flame is placed nearby, and the seer interprets the images that appear in the rippling surface of the water. This technique was used by many famous psychics, including the Oracle of Delphi.’
‘If scrying is so common, how do you know who wrote our letter?’
‘How? Because of the watermark! Only one man in history used UV ink in that manner and had the talent to pull off such an elaborate puzzle for a future audience. Obviously we won’t know for sure until I test the parchment and sample the handwriting, but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve seen enough to hazard a guess. In fact, it’s more than a guess. I’m 99 per cent sure I know who wrote that letter.’
‘Give me a name,’ Payne demanded.
Ulster grinned. ‘Your pen pal from the past is none other than Michel de Nostredame. Of course, you probably know him by the Latinized version of his name: Nostradamus.’
51
Everyone’s eyes widened in the dark. For the next few seconds, no one made a sound as they pondered the significance of Ulster’s claim.
Finally, Payne ended the silence. ‘Did you say Nostradamus?’
Ulster’s laugh filled the room. ‘Yes, Jonathon, I did.’
‘You mean the prophet from the Middle Ages?’
‘The one and only.’
‘Nostradamus wrote this letter?’
Ulster laughed some more. ‘Yes, I’m fairly certain he did.’
Jones jumped in. ‘Did he send the text, too? Because that would be some freaky shit.’
‘No,’ Ulster clarified, ‘I think he had some help on that one. I would imagine whoever mailed the letter to Megan also sent the text.’
Hearing her name, she entered the conversation. ‘Why would someone do that? Why would someone send me a letter written by Nostradamus?’
‘That, my dear, I do not know. Nor do I understand why he referenced you in his poem. But perhaps the answer is within our grasp. Now that we’ve verified the watermark, let’s examine the rest of the document for clues… Jonathon, are you still there?’
Payne smiled at the question. Where else would he be? ‘Yes, Petr, I’m still here.’
‘Wonderful! Perhaps you would be kind enough to describe everything that is glowing. I believe David mentioned there was a series of letters and numerals.’
Payne repositioned the UV wand above the letter and leaned in for a closer look. ‘Up near the top, he wrote some initials and some numbers: CS 1566.’
Ulster jotted it down. ‘Interesting. Very interesting. What else?’
‘His watermark is in the centre of the page.’
‘Yes, yes, I knew that already.’
‘Toward the bottom of the letter, he wrote something in French: Quai du Mont-Blanc.’
Ulster repeated it back to him, making sure his notes were accurate. ‘Any numbers?’
‘Nope. No numbers.’
‘Strange. Very strange. What else do you see?’
‘Underneath that, there’s a single word. I think it’s a name. Genève.’
‘Genève?’ he blurted. ‘You’re sure of this?’
Payne nodded in the dark. ‘Positive.’
Ulster sought a second opinion. ‘David, do you concur with Jonathon?’
Jones, who knew basic French, read the entire document aloud. ‘CS 1566. Quai du Mont-Blanc. Genève.’
‘Wonderful! Just wonderful! This is exceptional news!’
‘How so?’ Payne wondered.
‘First, before I answer your query, is anything else glowing?’
‘No, Petr, that’s everything.’
‘In that case, you should turn off the wand now. The sooner, the better.’
‘Why?’ Payne asked as Jones walked across the room and turned on the overhead lights. ‘Will it damage the letter?’
‘No,’ Ulster explained, ‘the parchment is quite durable. However, without proper eyewear, long-term exposure to UV light can cause blindness in humans.’
‘Excuse me?’ Payne snapped.
‘Relax, Jonathon, relax. A few minutes are fine. Twenty minutes, not so much.’
Payne rubbed his eyes as he readjusted to the brightness in the room. ‘Next time, warn us in advance. I could’ve used the wand alone while they waited outside.’
‘And robbed your friends of this event? I should think not. Do you know how many people in the world worship Nostradamus? Millions upon millions read his prophecies like scripture. To some, he is the Muhammad of the Middle Ages — not quite a god, yet more than a man. Someday the three of you will look upon this moment as one of the highlights of your lives.’
Although Payne doubted it, he didn’t want to debate Ulster’s statement. There would be plenty of time for that later. For now, he wanted to know about the document. Specifically, what Nostradamus had written.
‘Petr, tell us about the message. I get the feeling you understood it.’
‘The second half, yes. The beginning, no.’
‘Then let’s work backwards. Tell us about the ending.’
‘As you surmised, Genève is a name. Not the name of a person, but a city. Genève is the French spelling of Geneva, Switzerland.’
‘I’ll be damned. How close is that to the Archives?’
Ulster smiled. ‘It’s only a few hours away. Which is why I am familiar with Quai du Mont-Blanc. It is one of my favourite roads in all of Switzerland. It is short, but very scenic. It runs along Lake Geneva, overlooking the marinas and the Jet d’Eau. That’s the tallest fountain in the world. Have you seen photos of it? Water is shot over 140 metres into the air. It is quite spectacular.’
‘How old is the road?’
Ulster paused in thought. ‘Honestly, I can’t recall, but the city itself is quite old. At one time it was part of the Roman Empire. In fact, the man who named it Genua was Julius Caesar.’
‘In other words, the city is much older than Nostradamus.’
‘Good heaven, yes! Nostradamus lived in the mid-sixteenth century, during the time that John Calvin first arrived in Geneva to preach his faith. If my memory is correct, it seems to me that Nostradamus died in 1565 or 15…’ Ulster stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the number’s significance. ‘The number at the top of the page. I’m fairly certain that Nostradamus died in 1566. Somehow I doubt that’s a coincidence.’
‘Probably not.’
Jones was excited by the revelation. ‘What about CS? Any theories on CS?’
‘Sorry, David, none at the moment. Perhaps something will spring to mind as I browse through my library. I have several wonderful books about his life and prophecies. Once we’re done conversing, I’ll see what I can find.’
‘Petr,’ Megan said meekly, ‘may I ask you a question?’
‘Of course, my dear.’
‘Would your books include information about his personal life?’
‘They certainly would.’
‘In that case, will you do me a favour? While you’re searching for CS, can you keep an eye out for my surname? Maybe Moore is a part of his family tree.’
Ulster smiled at her request. In truth, he was surprised she had taken so long to ask. ‘It would be an honour, my dear. And if I find anything, you shall be the first to know.’