‘So, how did you get into maps?’
Nathan’s face split into a wide grin. ‘Fra Mauro.’
The name didn’t ring a bell for Elizabeth. ‘Fra Mauro?’
‘He painted an incredible world map in the fifteenth century. The first time I saw a picture of it, I was lost.’ Nathan grinned again. ‘I was only eight at the time. After that, all I wanted for birthdays and Christmases were books about maps. I even named my cat P E Mandeville, short for Poor English Mandeville.’
This Nathan was clever. ‘I haven’t heard of him before. Poor English Mandeville?’
‘Well, actually, it was Sir John Mandeville. He wrote a travelogue in the fourteenth century, as good as Marco Polo’s, but because he was English he wasn’t believed. He influenced Shakespeare, Coleridge and Swift,’ Nathan paused, looking anxious. ‘Sorry, once I get started on maps I tend to go on. You can tell me to shut up.’
‘It’s okay, I understand. I’m the same with archaeology and genetics.’ Or at least, I was.
Nathan made a show of breathing a sigh of relief.
‘Archaeology…Egyptology maybe?’ Nathan asked.
Elizabeth was surprised. ‘Good guess.’
‘The cartouche was a big hint.’
Elizabeth grasped her necklace involuntarily.
‘If you’d like to get started on some work, how about this?’ Nathan pointed at the compactus in front of them. ‘Everything here needs to be catalogued. They’re all Chinese maps, with no English. Your CV said you speak Chinese?’
‘Enough for this, as long as I have a dictionary.’
‘Excellent. I’ve put a copy of the AACR on your desk, and we have a selection of dictionaries next door. Maybe translate the information on ten maps to start with, then we’ll catalogue them together? Once you’re comfortable, we’ll let you loose on the whole collection.’
Elizabeth sighed with relief. ‘That sounds good.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. For me, working quietly on old things, finding out what they are and where they come from, is…bliss.’
This time Nathan genuinely sighed. Elizabeth didn’t know what to make of him. He was tall, medium brown hair, medium brown eyes, pleasant-enough looking. He was probably a few years older than her. Something about him wasn’t quite ‘normal’, though…but then, who was she to judge? She wasn’t exactly normal herself.
Ten minutes later, Elizabeth was firmly ensconced in the room of compacti. Armed with her Chinese–English dictionaries and a copy of the Anglo-American Cataloguing Rules, she immersed herself in translation and categorisation. She enjoyed both the monotony of the work and the challenge of memorising the AACR, flicking back and forth between the pages in her mind.
It was good to have something to concentrate on other than the loss of her former life.
—
After what seemed like only minutes, Lynton knocked on the door of the vault. Lunchtime. Negotiating her way through map-laden trolleys, Elizabeth retrieved her lunch from her desk and joined Lynton and Nathan at the staff table. She noticed Nathan reading a book with a curious title: The Island of Lost Maps.
‘That looks like an interesting read.’
‘It’s about international map crime.’
‘That’s a thing?’
‘Yep. Lots of rare-map thefts have been discovered recently,’ Nathan said. ‘Even a famous map – the fifteenth-century Ulm Ptolemy World Map – was stolen from Spain and ended up here in Australia.’
How had Elizabeth never heard of this before? It sounded like the archaeological black market. ‘People who steal from public collections are the lowest of the low!’
Nathan gave her an odd smile. ‘The lengths they’ll go to are incredible,’ he continued. ‘Disguises, briefcases with hidden panels, concealed scalpels…real cloak-and-dagger stuff. I’m actually writing a paper on map security for the national librarian conference.’
He was publishing something? Elizabeth burned with jealousy, which quickly turned to shame. She had made her choice, and she had to live with it. She had no right to resent other people’s success. ‘Ah, that sounds interesting,’ she managed.
Nathan smiled again.
‘Someone in the cafe said your dad used to work here,’ Lynton said, munching on her boxed salad.
Elizabeth felt her cheeks redden.
‘I wondered about that,’ Nathan said. ‘You’ve got the same surname as William Pimms, a man who worked here until about a year ago, only you don’t look like him.’
Elizabeth heard the question in the statement, took a deep breath and recited the stock explanation. It was easier that way.
‘Yes, he was my dad. We’re a typical Australian family, quite mixed. Taid, my grandfather, is Welsh. His wife, my grandmère Maddie, is French Berber. My other grandmother, Nainai Cho, was Dad’s mum. She’s Chinese. I take after the Welsh side of the family, that’s why most people don’t see the resemblance between Dad and me straight away.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Lynton said, her cheeks now matching Elizabeth’s. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’
Elizabeth willed herself to nod.
‘That’s okay Lynton, you weren’t to know,’ she said, casting about for another subject. Her eyes fell on a photo frame on Nathan’s desk. ‘Who are the two cuties?’
‘My intrepid cats, Bass and Flinders,’ he answered.
‘Intrepid?’
‘They’re adventurers, like the real George Bass and Matthew Flinders.’
The grey tabbies in the photo looked identical. ‘Are they twins?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘I think so. I can only tell them apart by some scars on Flinders’ legs. Otherwise they’re indistinguishable.’
‘They sound like Loki and Paris, two of our cats,’ Elizabeth said.
‘One god of mischief, one instigator of war. Sounds serious!’
Elizabeth was tickled that Nathan knew the mythological references.
‘Do you have any photos?’ Lynton asked.
‘Yes, hang on.’ Elizabeth grabbed her phone from her satchel. ‘Here we are.’
First she showed them a photo of one tiny grey cat and one large black-and-grey-striped tabby. ‘This is Seshet and Thoth.’
Next she scrolled to a photo of two sweet, innocent-looking caramel tabbies.
‘Paris and Loki. Don’t ask me which is which, you can only tell by their tails.’
‘Oh?’
‘Loki is missing the tip of her tail. Otherwise they are a perfect pair of double-trouble.’
‘Why is she missing the tip of her tail? Is it a congenital thing?’ Nathan asked.
‘No, she lost it last year when she brought an entire bookshelf down on herself. She compressed the end of her tail, and the vet said it had to come off.’
‘Definitely used one of her nine lives, then,’ Lynton said.
‘I’m surprised she has any left,’ Elizabeth smiled.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ Nathan said, ‘if your Seshet and my Flinders got together, we’d have to call their kitten Petrie!’
Elizabeth laughed loudly. She was pleased by Nathan’s knowledge of Egyptology.
Lynton looked puzzled. ‘As in petri dish?’
‘Um, no. Seshet, my cat, is named after the Egyptian goddess of writing. And Matthew Flinders, the cartographer Nathan’s cat is named for, had a grandson called William Matthew Flinders Petrie,’ Elizabeth said. ‘He was a famous early British archaeologist.’ Fabulous Egyptologist too, she thought. Shame about his views on eugenics.
‘Oh,’ was Lynton’s only response.
‘How about you, any pets?’ Elizabeth asked.
It turned out that Lynton had two small dogs, whom she loved just as passionately as anyone might love their cats, despite the smell.
Returning to the rare maps vault after lunch, Elizabeth noticed it had finally stopped raining outside.
—
Elizabeth awoke on Friday morning looking forward to the end of her first week at the
Library. Despite the rocky start on Monday, she was adjusting. It wasn’t archaeology but she quite enjoyed the process of cataloguing maps, and she was slowly making friends with Lynton and Nathan.
At three o’clock that afternoon, Elizabeth and Nathan left the Maps wing for a graduate afternoon tea. Everyone connected to the program was invited, including future graduate supervisors for the whole year. Elizabeth fervently hoped she wouldn’t make a fool of herself in front of everyone again.
Around thirty people gathered in the shade on the terrace outside Addendum Café, overlooking the Library’s Llewellyn residential wing. They couldn’t escape the fierce heat of the Australian summer, though. The Library’s concrete walls radiated with the energy they had soaked up from the sun that morning, baking anyone who stood too near the building. Elizabeth took a large glass of iced water to the edge of the terrace, hoping to catch a breeze.
In the distance, Mount Ainslie slumped skyward, its darkly mottled shape a perfect background for the intensely green trees lining Lake Burley Griffin. In the foreground, dragon-boat crews raced past the blazing white pillar of the Carillion, nestled among willow trees on its own little island. Canberra could be so beautiful, despite the heat.
‘This is sensible.’
Elizabeth jumped, and turned to see that Judy, Nathan, Paul and Mai had joined her.
‘No hogging the breeze!’ Paul said. ‘It’s so hot. In Tassie, it’s only like this one or two days a year. Do you ever get used to it?’
‘Yes,’ chorused Nathan and Judy. They glanced at each other and smiled.
‘I’ve only been here for a few years,’ Nathan said, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other holding a large glass of fruit punch. ‘The first one or two are rough, but you adjust after that.’
‘And I’ve lived here my whole life,’ said Judy, shaking her head of curls ferociously as she spoke. ‘It doesn’t bother me at all.’
‘How about you, Elizabeth?’ asked Paul, rolling his cool glass across his forehead. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Canberra. I’ve lived here most of my life, too. I’m not used to the heat, though. My grandfather says it’s my Welsh blood…We’re built to survive an ice age, not an Australian summer.’
‘Elizabeth certainly is from Canberra,’ Judy said.
Elizabeth grimaced. Here it came.
‘Her whole family comes from the Library. Her grandfather worked here. Her father worked here. And her mother and father met here. Isn’t that romantic?’
Elizabeth thought Nathan was looking at her sympathetically, though it was hard to tell. Everyone had sunglasses on. Mai stood next to Nathan, strangely quiet through this whole exchange.
‘Oh, I remember now,’ Paul said. ‘That’s why your name is familiar. The Body in the Library. Your dad died here, didn’t he? I saw that when I was googling the Library.’
Elizabeth was stricken.
‘Oh…’ Paul trailed off. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
That stupid reporter. He’d headlined Dad’s death in the local paper as The Body in the Library, making it into some form of sick entertainment. Poor Grandmère Maddie, an avid Agatha Christie fan, had quietly buried her copy of the novel in the garage.
‘How about we get another cold drink, then go into the air-conditioning?’ Judy suggested, seeming to realise her mistake. All too late. Elizabeth’s distress had returned with full force.
Paul trailed Judy back to the drinks table. Elizabeth considered following them.
Suddenly Mai leaned across Nathan, coming close to Elizabeth’s face. In the split second timing of her thoughts Elizabeth assumed Mai was going to be consoling.
‘You’re such a spoilt princess,’ Mai hissed. ‘Everyone fawning over you because you’re the poor little girl who lost her daddy.’ Mai’s voice rasped with loathing. ‘You’re just lucky you had your father for so long!’ she spat, then strode away.
Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her ears.
Nathan touched her shoulder, making her jump again. She turned to him as he lifted his sunglasses. His eyes were very wide.
‘What’s going on? What was that about?’
‘I have no idea,’ Elizabeth said, adrenaline tremors running through her legs.
‘Come on, back inside. You’ve had a tough week. I think it’s time you went home.’
Chapter Three
Sitting on the balcony outside her bedroom, Elizabeth was torn between anger at Mai’s attack and anxiety over not knowing what had provoked it. On the Library terrace Elizabeth had wanted to run after Mai and demand an explanation. Thankfully, Nathan had urged her to go home. The last thing Elizabeth needed was an altercation with someone at work, especially in her first week.
Elizabeth patted a madly purring Thoth and a sunbaking Seshet, trying to work out if she had accidentally repeated mistakes from her past. As a little girl, it took Elizabeth a long time to learn that she could stop the bullying if she deliberately lowered her test scores and ‘forgot’ enough things to seem like everyone else. It had been such a relief to be left alone; the process of defending herself always left her drained and nauseous. She thought she had left random assaults like Mai’s in the past…but hang on, it wasn’t possible for Elizabeth’s differences to have aggravated Mai. The only thing Elizabeth had done was faint in front of her – how could that trigger such vitriol?
Elizabeth sighed. Returning to work was going to be uncomfortable, whatever the reason for Mai’s outburst. If only she didn’t have to go back on Monday. If only she didn’t have to go back at all. For a fraction of a second Elizabeth decided she’d pack a bag, go to the airport, and fly to Mexico to be with Luke…
Thump! Paris and Loki skidded into her bedroom. Thoth sat up and moved in front of Seshet. Elizabeth smiled ruefully. Thoth was protecting Seshet, just as she was protecting her family by working at the Library. No matter how tempting, it seemed she couldn’t walk away from her responsibilities. It had been a terrible first week at the Library, though. Hopefully it would never be that bad again.
What to do? For now, perhaps the best thing was an early night. And as for tomorrow, she had already promised to spend it in her usual Saturday way: slaughtering monsters and plundering hoards with Matty. Her thirteen-year-old brother, in constant low-level discomfort from his damaged bones, loved losing himself in fantasy board games. Elizabeth had to admit they were a welcome distraction for her, too.
Removing her contacts and climbing into her favourite hieroglyphic-print pyjamas, Elizabeth returned from her ensuite to find all four cats strewn across the bed. Fending off gnawing uncertainty over the motive for Mai’s attack, Elizabeth crawled into their purring embrace.
—
By ten o’clock on Sunday morning Elizabeth ensured she was seated in the conservatory along with Taid, Sam and Matty. Every Sunday started with the Full Pimms Breakfast – or else!
As usual, the conservatory and kitchen courtyard looked elegant. Inside, sunlight played on every surface, glinting off the chandelier, shining on the silverware, and gleaming along four cats’ backs as they vacuumed up Sunday-morning treats. Outside, bright-yellow roses clung to the courtyard’s walls, glowing above bee-laden lavender. The house was very beautiful, Elizabeth reminded herself, and worth saving.
As the house’s inhabitants settled in – humans at the table and cats in supervisory cane chairs – Grandmère Maddie and Nainai Cho ferried in the feast. The table’s legs creaked beneath heaped platters as conversations erupted all around.
Struck with sudden hunger, Elizabeth piled her plate with bacon, eggs and buttery toast. She contemplated leaving room for a round of Nainai’s freshly steamed dumplings.
‘Nín hǎo, Nàinài. Your robe is a lovely colour today, very pretty,’ Elizabeth said.
Nainai looked pleased.
‘What fillings did you put in the jiǎozi this week?’ she continued. ‘They look delicious.’
‘Níhǎo, xiǎo Yīlìshābái. These are pork and chiv
e,’ Nainai said, indicating one of the steamer baskets. ‘These are fennel,’ pointing at the other one. ‘Sam did a good job of folding the skins, don’t you think?’
Sam, looking hungover as usual, seemed pleased with the compliment.
Keeping her expression neutral, Elizabeth nodded at Nainai and turned to talk to Matty, who was slurping on one of his infamous bacon-and-egg sandwiches.
‘Morning, Matty. Recovered from your death in the dungeon last night?’ she asked.
‘Morning, Lizbet. Of course. Same again next week?’
‘Mathieu, your shirt,’ Grandmère Maddie admonished in her soft French accent.
Matty rubbed at the egg yolk and chilli sauce dripping down his front. ‘Sorry, Grandmère.’
She brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. ‘Ensure you soak it straight after breakfast. Now, Elizabeth, please tell us about your important first week at the Library.’
Elizabeth glanced at Taid. He winked reassuringly.
Elizabeth told her family about the other graduates, Monday’s tour, and meeting a woman who seemed to be like Nainai, only she wasn’t. She explained her work in the Maps wing, and told them about Lynton and Nathan, and Andrew the peacock.
Taid interjected with his own memories of working in the Library. As he explained how the historical research area worked, again, Elizabeth noticed that this week’s version of his ‘traditional Welsh breakfast’ was a massive construction, a veritable castle on a plate.
Taid’s breakfast consisted of a foundation of bacon, layers of fried mussels and laverbread, turrets of fried eggs and buttresses of toast. This was accompanied by a small vat of stand-a-spoon-up-in-it tea made with sweetened condensed milk. Elizabeth suspected that Taid’s version of the Welsh breakfast wasn’t entirely traditional. His second course of lime marmalade on inch-thick toast certainly couldn’t be. Limes weren’t widely available in medieval Wales, for one thing.
‘Why did you say that woman at the Library wasn’t like Nainai?’ Matty asked suddenly.
‘Well, she’s Chinese too, and at first she reminded me of Nainai. I thought maybe her family comes from the Harbin area, too.’
Momentary sadness flickered across Nainai’s normally composed features.
Olmec Obituary Page 3