by C T Cassana
“A cross, a woman, a river, three crosses and a woman. The symbol they used to refer to Nefertiti on the papyrus scroll... It can’t just be a coincidence!” she said, her conviction growing by the second. “Darling, I need you to explain everything to your brother again, from the beginning.”
. . .
After confirming her daughter’s explanations, Maggie took her cell phone out of her bag, found a number she had stored in her directory and went into the kitchen to make a call. The children watched her pacing nervously from one end of the room to the other while she waited for someone to answer.
“Monsieur Chartier?” she said at last. “It’s Margaret Wilford. I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a new hypothesis about the papyrus scroll of Nefertiti, and I need your help.”
. . .
Max Wellington had returned to his office in New York to continue with his work while waiting for news from the nurse Sally Michaels at St. Thomas’ Hospital.
Although he considered himself an even-tempered man, he had to admit that on this occasion his impatience was getting the better of him. The mere idea that a Palatine was in the hands of an eleven-year-old boy was rather terrifying. But most tragic of all was the fact that neither the child nor anyone around him seemed to realize that the power of that cape was as formidable as it was irresistible, and that he had no qualms about showing it to anyone, with an absurd recklessness that put him in great danger.
Max had barely needed a few weeks to detect him and he sensed that he was very close to uncovering his identity. And although he was one of the most experienced hunters in the Order, with greater resources and talent than his adversaries, he knew that he could not afford to underestimate the others or lower his guard.
The boy seemed to have left a long trail of clues in his wake, some of which his rivals might also have come across. If they had, they would already be stalking him and the hunt would be as merciless as ever, because there was only one prize: a prize that would go to the one who got there first. And in this case it was a most valuable and extraordinary prize, the key that would open up the possibility of becoming the next Grand Master of the Order of the Knights of Time. There were some who would do anything to get a hold of the cape, and although he had no proof, Max knew that his fiercest opponents had absolutely no scruples and did not always keep the code of honor they had sworn to uphold.
The cell phone he had bought in London interrupted his ruminations. The identity of the caller did not appear, but there was only one person in the whole world that Max had given the number to.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Walker,” said a voice with an exaggeratedly friendly tone. “It’s Nurse Michaels from St. Thomas’ Hospital.”
“Oh yes, Sally!” replied Max, feigning surprise. “What can I do for you?”
“Dr. Price has called. His father has fractured his left fibula. He’s alright, although as you know, at that age everything is a big deal.”
“Of course.”
“Dr. Price has asked for a few days’ leave. He’ll be back at work on Thursday afternoon at four p.m.,” she informed him.
“Thank you for letting me know, Sally. I’ll try to adjust my schedule to come see him Thursday. But don’t mention it to him, just in case I’m not able to make it.”
“Alright, doctor.”
“Oh! And one more thing, Sally,” added Max. “Has anyone else from my office tried to contact Dr. Price, or anyone from any other health organization or a pharmaceutical lab?”
“No, Doctor. Nobody else has called for him.”
“I see,” said Max, feigning indifference. “If anyone does, could you take down their name and let me know? And I would need you to use the utmost discretion; as you know, these institutional matters require great prudence to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes.”
“Don’t worry, Doctor. I’ll let you know of any news.”
. . .
Maggie arrived at Malmaison together with Monsieur Chartier, the General Director of the Louvre, and Monsieur Armand, the Director of the Department of Egyptian Antiquities at the same museum. They were welcomed with great ceremony by André Guillou, Head Curator of the Château Malmaison and their guide for the visit.
The château had undergone numerous restoration processes in recent years for the purposes of completing some extensive preservation and maintenance work, but also to present the rooms, Empress Joséphine’s furniture and belongings as closely as possible to their original state. The visitors began their tour in the main entrance, where they listened attentively to the lengthy explanations of Monsieur Guillou.
Maggie scrutinized everything she saw, without knowing exactly where she should be looking. She had come following a hunch, and had even dragged along a man as important and busy as Monsieur Chartier. And this wasn’t the first time she’d done it. Another wild goose chase could seriously damage the reputation that it had taken her years of hard work to build.
From the entrance hall they went onto the billiard room, from there to the lavish, golden drawing room, and finally to the music room.
“On your right you can see Empress Joséphine’s harp,” explained Monsieur Guillou, “carved out of mahogany wood and exquisitely decorated with gilded bronze and allegorical motifs of the god Apollo and the goddess Minerva... The rest of the furniture is also made of mahogany. The couches are upholstered in red woolen cloth with black velvet trim...”
“Excuse me, Monsieur Guillou,” interrupted Maggie. “What is that small statue there on that shelf?”
“That statue?” repeated the man, looking slightly confused. “It belongs to the personal collection of the empress, who was very fond of collecting antiquities, artworks and other curiosities from the campaigns of Emperor Bonaparte.”
“And you wouldn’t happen to know whether there is some record of its origins, would you?” asked Maggie, moving over to the statue to look at it more closely.
The men followed her.
“Well, after the empress’ death, an inventory was made of all her possessions. That might be of help to you,” replied Monsieur Guillou.
“May I?” Maggie asked him, showing him a pair of latex gloves to indicate her desire to examine the statue more closely.
The curator looked to Monsieur Chartier, as if he needed his consent to allow someone from outside the museum to touch a piece of the collection. The director of the Louvre nodded.
“Certainly,” said the curator.
“Perhaps we can confirm it with the file on the object, and if necessary, with a more exhaustive analysis,” said Maggie, “but I believe this is an authentic statuette of the god Amun. Look at the crown with two feathers, each one divided into seven parts. And he’s holding the Ankh symbol in one of his hands.”
“Yes, I believe you are right,” confirmed Monsieur Armand, who was the Louvre’s greatest expert in Egyptology.
“According to Costaz’s diary, Vivant Denon acquired three statues in Thebes, along with two papyrus scrolls,” explained Maggie. “One of those scrolls was confiscated by Hutchinson and ended up in the British Museum, where it is today. Two statuettes were brought to Paris by the French scholars and deposited with the Louvre.”
“That’s right,” agreed Monsieur Chartier.
“But we haven’t been able to locate the third statuette, although from the detailed descriptions in Costaz’s diary, we know that it depicted the god Amun,” explained Maggie. “We also know that Denon and Empress Joséphine were close friends, and that thanks to her influence, he was allowed to accompany Bonaparte to Egypt.”
The men all nodded, intuiting the conclusion that Maggie was drawing, although none of them wanted to interrupt her.
“My theory, gentlemen, is that Denon gave Joséphine this statuette, and the missing papyrus scroll as well,” Maggie stated flatly. “That is why we haven’t been able to find it either in the Louvre or in the British Museum. I know it seems rather coincidental and unlikely, but if you think about it, it’s perfectly plausi
ble.”
“Yes, it could be as you say,” responded Monsieur Guillou, “but there is no evidence to support it. How can you be so sure?”
Maggie looked to Monsieur Chartier, who already knew the details of her hypothesis. He nodded to signal that she could share it now with the curator of the château.
“Look at these photos,” said Maggie, showing him a copy of the same pictures that Lisa had shown her. “Napoleon Bonaparte’s Egyptian dinner service. These symbols enlarged here are the same ones on the papyrus scroll in the British Museum, and we believe they refer to Queen Nefertiti.”
The curator took the photo to look at it more closely. Maggie went on with her explanations, her fervor increasing, making the others feel that they were about to take part in a great discovery.
“Now look at this fresco in Villa San Martino,” she went on, showing him more of the photographs. “We know that Napoleon ordered it to be painted after Joséphine had died, but the symbols are here in the exact same order, making it clear that he knew them. And this desk, Empress Joséphine’s personal desk, also has these same symbols.”
“Yes, it’s true,” confirmed the curator. “That desk is in the empress’ antechamber. I will take you to see it.”
He led them up the stairs, and through rooms and corridors at a sprightly pace, until they were all gathered around the desk in question.
“The cross, the woman, the river, three crosses and another woman,” said Maggie, involuntarily stroking the inlay of hieroglyphics in the wood, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“This desk was made at the same time as the desk that Emperor Bonaparte had made for his study in the Tuileries,” explained the curator, “and which, as it happens, is on display in the library here in our château.”
“And tell me, do you know whether it has a secret compartment?” asked Maggie, hardly even realizing she had asked the question while she studied the desk closely. Charlie had been right: it seemed that somebody had forgotten to put the border of laurel leaves on the molding on the top.
“These two here,” replied the curator, pushing two little drawers hidden in the top edge of the desk. “Although perhaps they are too visible to be considered secret, no?”
Maggie didn’t even look at him, or smile politely at her host’s remark as the other two visitors did. She couldn’t take her eyes off that molding. There was something strange about it; it seemed to be slightly out of place on one side. Without saying a word or requesting the obligatory permission, she pulled at it, much to the astonishment of the curator and the excitement of the other two men, until the compartment it concealed came right out.
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Monsieur Guillou.
Maggie held the secret compartment in her hands without knowing what to do with it.
“Forgive my boldness, Monsieur Guillou, I beg you,” said Maggie apologetically, as if she had just woken up from a hypnotic state. “I would like... I would be deeply grateful if you would allow me to examine this.”
The Curator of Malmaison consented with a nod, and immediately began looking around to find a suitable spot where the drawer could be put down. Finally, the Director of the Louvre offered a solution, removing his jacket and covering the desk with it to protect it.
“Allow me,” said Monsieur Chartier solemnly, while he placed the narrow drawer on top of the jacket.
Maggie put on her latex gloves and out of her capacious bag she took a large magnifying glass with a built-in light, which she used to examine the inside of the compartment.
“Did you see those notches?” asked Monsieur Chartier, pointing to the marks that Lisa had made a couple of nights earlier.
“Yes,” replied Maggie, handing him the magnifying glass so that he could examine them. “Do you think...? Do you think it could be a false bottom?”
“Yes, Maggie. I do,” answered the Director of the Louvre. “But we will know for certain in a moment. Do you have something we could use to prise it open?”
Maggie nodded, and searched at once in her bag. Seconds later she took out a small case, from which she removed a fine, narrow metal tool, which she handed to Monsieur Chartier. He took it and gave it at once to the curator of Malmaison.
“Mon ami, would you kindly do the honors?” he asked him.
Monsieur Guillou took the small tool, trying to control the trembling of his hands. With the utmost care, he stuck the point into the slit between one of the walls and the bottom of the compartment. He barely had to force it at all to prise the wooden bottom from its place. He continued raising it slowly until Monsieur Chartier couldn’t resist coming to his aid, taking hold of the wood in both hands and pulling it upwards. Once it was up, the real bottom of the compartment was revealed. Resting upon it, carefully positioned, was a sheet of papyrus protected by a simple piece of white cambric, which Monsieur Guillou lifted off.
Maggie’s eyes moved swiftly over all the symbols on the papyrus, as if trying to solve a primeval crossword puzzle.
“A cross, a woman, a river, three crosses and a woman,” she said, pointing to the symbols as she named them.
Maggie lifted her eyes to Monsieur Chartier, fighting to hold back the tears, and she smiled at him in gratitude for his faith in her and his help. Then, without a word, she took out her mobile to inform her family.
They had found the second papyrus scroll of the Great Queen Nefertiti.
. . .
Max Wellington approached the counter to the nurse Sally Michaels, who this time attended to him at once.
“Dr. Walker!” she greeted him warmly. “I’ll let Dr. Price know he has a visitor.”
She made the call and then left the counter to look for a suitable place for Max to wait.
“Come with me, please,” she told him. “You can see him in the nurses’ station. I’ll bring you both some tea and give instructions for nobody to disturb you.”
“Thank you kindly, Sally,” replied Max.
Minutes later, he was sitting with a cup of tea when Dr. Price arrived.
“Good afternoon, I am Dr. Walker,” said Max. “Director of the Epidemic and Pandemic Alert and Response Area of the WHO.”
“It’s a pleasure. I’m Dr. Andrew Price.”
“I heard about your father’s unfortunate accident,” said Max. “I hope he’s recovering well without further complications.”
“Yes, thank you. As you know, everything is more difficult once you reach a certain age. But he’s progressing well,” replied Dr. Price, grateful for this stranger’s kind words.
“So, the reason for my visit is simply to have a chance to talk with you about a few details of the Yersinia pestis case you detected here a few weeks ago,” explained Max. “First of all, I’d like to congratulate you on your swift and accurate diagnosis, which helped prevent an outbreak.”
“It was nothing, really,” replied Dr. Price modestly.
“I wouldn’t say that. Very few physicians would have suspected a diagnosis like that one.”
“When you work in the emergency ward in one of the world’s biggest cities, you have to be prepared for anything. And you also need a little good luck...”
“Have you had any follow-up with patient A95LT...?” asked Max, opening a folder to pretend to be consulting some documents. “Damn these alphanumeric codes! They’re useful in situations where full confidentiality is needed, but whenever we use them we sound more like machines than human beings. Allow me to use the patient’s real name. Here it is, E Milford.”
“Of course, but it’s Wilford. Elisabeth Wilford,” clarified Dr. Price. “There was a mix-up with her surname when she was admitted, and I suppose it wasn’t corrected on the files once it was decided to use a code name to refer to her.”
“I see,” said Max, privately ruing all his wasted time investigating all the people on the Milford List, which never could have contained the time traveler he was looking for.
It was obvious that the skinny boy described by the security guar
d could not have been called Elisabeth, although the Wilford surname did match up with the “W” engraved on the compass. Perhaps this Elisabeth was his grandmother and the boy’s name began with a “C”.
“After she was discharged I saw the patient once more, just to make sure she had recovered fully,” continued Dr. Price, interrupting Max’s ruminations. “Her condition was good; I would even say excellent. It’s incredible how quickly children can bounce back.”
“Children? How old was the patient?”
“Fourteen,” replied the physician.
Max felt a stab in his stomach and began hoping that this whole thing was just a red herring. If Elisabeth Wilford was in any way related to the boy he was looking for, she was as doomed as he was.
“And after this case no further cases were detected, right?” he asked Dr. Price.
“No, not one.”
“Not even in the patient’s environment.”
“No, the disease was in its initial phase, so there was no possibility of contagion from one person to another,” explained the doctor. “And it seems that she was the only person who had been in contact with the cat, or at least that’s what she told us and her brother corroborated it.”
“Her brother?” asked Max.
“Yes. We ran some tests on him to make sure, but they came up negative, so we didn’t even have to hospitalize him.”
“Was he younger than the patient? Do you recall his age?”
“He was eleven years old. I don’t recall his name, but I do remember that he was the skinniest boy I’d ever seen. The nightmare of any doctor. His tests were all perfect, and I was truly relieved that he hadn’t been infected,” said Dr. Price, shaking his head.
Max rose to his feet, indicating his visit was over. For better or for worse, he had all the information he needed.
“Very well, Doctor, I can see you have everything here under control. I congratulate you again on your exceptional work,” he said, shaking his hand firmly.
“Thank you, Dr. Walker.”
“Oh! By the way,” added Max before he left. “I just wanted you to know... it seems there has been a leak about this case, and there are some journalists trying to get information on it by posing as doctors, lab personnel, researchers...”