“All things wise and wonderful, The Lord God made them all.”
The chorus receded into the background as they found their way along the corridors to the front entrance. Dracup gripped Sara’s arm as they exited into the cold, clear air of the car park, their breath leaving white trails behind them.
She looked at him in astonishment. “What? What is it?”
“The clock. Don’t you see? That’s what he was telling us. In the forest it’s seven past seven o’clock he sang. Remember Theodore’s message? In time you will find the whole?” Dracup dragged Sara to the car. “Come on. Quickly. Whatever my grandfather intended to be found, it’s in the clock at Forest Avenue.”
Chapter 9
“Okay, come on. Let’s have it,” Potzner yelled, preempting the knock at his office door. Several lab-coated individuals burst into the room, preceded by a slight, bespectacled character Potzner knew as Mike Fish, head of the Forensic Paleontology group.
“Jim. We have a translation for you.” Fish removed his glasses and held up a red folder. “But I don’t think you’re going to thank us for it.” He smiled apologetically.
“Try me.”
“Right.” Fish drew out a sheaf of paper. The other team members shuffled nervously. One of them dropped a biro.
“In your own time…”
Fish glanced up and cleared his throat. “Okay. It’s a split message, we think. I mean, we think that around half of the text is missing — there are some connective words that just, well, finish right where they are. Could be that whoever sketched the diagram left out some of the lines. Anyhow, it’s definitely cuneiform script, of the style we’d expect to find in or around the Babylonian environs circa 4000 BC.”
“And?”
“This is what we’ve got.” He smiled apologetically. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“Just spit it out, Fish, will you?” Potzner shoved his chair back and stood up. Fish’s colleagues shrank towards the door.
“Right. Here we go. It’s very exciting. The use of cuneiform is normally restricted to tablets — writing tablets I mean — and pottery and so on. Soft imprints. It’s pretty uncommon having an inscription like this on metalwork. The diarist tells us that the composition of the object is silver, with gold inlay.” Fish brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. He was thinning on top and employed a version of the oddly popular comb-over technique, which was, in Potzner’s view, the worst form of denial.
“What does it say, Fish?” Potzner spaced the words with a second’s pause between each.
“Yeah. Sorry. Right.” Fish shuffled his papers. “Okay. Here we go. First line. From holy resting place to rest upon the water.”
“Go on.”
Fish turned to a colleague who whispered something in response. “Yeah. Well, we’re not too sure about this line. We think the name reference is Noah, but it may not be. Hard to say. At any rate, it refers to someone about to take an important action. But Noah, the faithful son…”
“Action? What action?”
Fish removed his glasses again and polished out an imaginary blemish. “Well, that’s the second half of the verse. The one we don’t have.” He shrugged his thin shoulders.
Potzner grunted. “Next.”
“Yeah. This is good. Very clear. Once more in the earth you will find peace.”
“If only I could,” Potzner said.
One of the technicians grinned, saw Potzner’s expression and converted the action to a cough.
“Okay,” Fish said. “Two lines to go. From whence you came.”
“And —?”
“Nope.” Fish smirked. “Between — between the rivers.”
“I wasn’t making a contribution, Fish.” Potzner fought his irritation. “Now read it all.” He sat on the edge of his desk and snapped his cigarette case open, released a new packet from its cellophane wrapper and began to transfer Marlboros from packet to case.
Fish took a deep breath. “What wouldn’t I give to see the real object this guy sketched from. I mean I really have to see the rest of the script to make sense of it all. It’s the clearest example—”
“I know. Just read it.”
“Okay. Right. Here goes:
“There you go. That’s it.” Fish nodded conclusively. His assistants smiled and made appreciative noises.
“Anything else?” Potzner asked them. “Any shape, any word, any stroke of the pen, any other diagrams that might help?”
Fish sighed. “I’m afraid not. We don’t think anything else cross-refers to this particular diagram. The footnote doesn’t really make any sense. It’s in a modern idiom. Roughly translated it says—”
“In time you will find the whole,” Potzner said. “I know.”
Fish and his team exchanged surprised glances.
“I don’t know why I bother with you guys,” Potzner said. “It’s kids’ stuff.”
Dracup inserted his hand carefully into the open door of the grandfather clock. He felt around on either side then slid his hand further up above the door, taking care to avoid contact with the suspended lead weights and pendulum, and was rewarded with the sensation of paper brushing along his searching fingertips.
“Is there something?” Sara asked.
“Yes — I’ve just got to—” Dracup eased the paper out of its hiding place, “—be careful I don’t tear it. It’s quite brittle.”
“Been there for a while, I guess,” Farrell said, chewing thoughtfully on a stick of gum.
“Got it.” Dracup removed his hand and inspected his discovery. They all peered at the closely formed writing. “Same as the diary,” Sara murmured. “It’s him all right.”
Dracup felt a familiar weariness creep over him. “Yes, but what on earth does it mean? Come on. Downstairs.”
They assembled in the front room and Dracup placed the handwritten note on the table. He rubbed his eyes and gave a sigh of frustration. The note was brief. It said:
L'Chaim Doctor A, and dial a close shave in the nick of time
Dracup found that his mind had gone into a kind of suspended animation. Churchill’s revelation had given him a surge of adrenaline and the hope of a quick answer. But the adrenaline had quickly dispersed, leaving him flat and exhausted. His grandfather’s strange words danced before him. He looked at his watch, wondering how much progress Potzner had made. Best give the American a few more hours before phoning in — he was confident Potzner would contact him with any news. And he in turn would want an update. “I need a coffee,” Dracup told them, and went into the kitchen.
As he waited for the kettle he thought about his aunt. How much had she known about all this? Perhaps she had kept herself in deliberate ignorance. The diary had remained at McPherson & McPherson’s offices. She hadn’t discovered the message in the clock, placed there by his grandfather probably some time before his committal. It was almost as if his grandfather knew what was likely to happen and had been able — rationally able — to leave markers for whoever followed, for whoever needed to follow in his footsteps. This was not a legacy of dementia but the premeditated act of a man intent on putting some wrong to rights. There had been something wrong about the second expedition; something had been done that should not have been done. It had not been in Theodore Dracup’s power to undo his actions, but he had seen to it that there would be a way for someone in the future to do just that; someone to make amends. Someone—