FROM THE DIARY OF WALTER LEPPERTON
13 Messis
Most peculiar visit today. Audrey Camherst, granddaughter of Lord and Lady Trent, came to look at one of my tablets! Same one that pompous ass Gleinleigh tried to buy; I hear she is working on that cache he found. Was somewhat inclined to refuse her access—would serve Gleinleigh right for outbidding me on the head of that monumental dracosphinx back in ’54. I would have loaded it onto a ship that was not destined to sink to the bottom of the Sea of Alsukir. But her letter said she originally heard of it from Elias Eells, and he sent a note asking me to let her see it, as a favour to him. Quite unclear as to why it matters so much to anyone that she be permitted to study it, but Eells is a good chap, and I can’t see what harm it does.
So let the young lady take a look, and she got very excited. Broken bit of clay, hardly the most remarkable thing in my collection—is it really so valuable? Might contact Emmerson’s about arranging an auction. Or—better yet—find translator, publish before G gets his own out. (Mine is much shorter anyway.) Great appetite for Draconean matters these days, what with the congress and all. Not Camherst girl, though; that would only put me in G’s shadow.
At any rate, arranged for Camherst girl to return and study the tablet. In exchange, she has promised her endorsement for me entering the Antiquarian Society. Membership at last! Quite cheaply bought, too; picked up this tablet for a song in a bazaar in Chiavora.
Note to self: ask around tomorrow re: translator for fragment. Surely there are others of skill in Falchester. I recollect hearing something about a fellow, M-something—can’t recall the name.
DOCKSIDE RAID
The Hunt for Smugglers
An Empty Net
“An innocent businessman persecuted”
Yesterday the Royal Investigative Agency’s Port Division raided a shipment unloaded from the Tayralba, a cargo vessel sailing out of Qaemolsar, in response to an anonymous tip that the crates might contain illegally smuggled antiquities. Led by Detective Inspector Timothy Wright, constables stormed the dock and took control of the crates immediately after they were signed over to Joseph Dorak, a noted Falchester antiquities dealer. Despite thoroughly searching the cargo, they found nothing except artifacts legally acquired overseas.
“It’s sheer persecution,” Mr. Dorak said afterward. “I’m an innocent businessman. But certain parties that have political influence right now in our government are determined to prevent Scirling citizens from acquiring Draconean materials, even when they do so through legitimate channels. The protectionism being shown here is frankly worrying.”
This is not the first time Mr. Dorak’s shipments and warehouses have been raided. The Royal Investigative Agency’s personnel have been pursuing him for the better part of a decade, and he has thrice been convicted of trading in smuggled antiquities, paying a fine each time.
Audrey—
Emmerson’s is hosting an auction of Draconean antiquities next Selemer. Do you think you could spare a few hours to attend with me? I would never dream of suggesting that you might buy something and then donate it to the Tomphries, whose budget is never as large as I would wish, but I have taken the liberty of noting the inscribed items from the catalogue.
Of course if any without inscriptions happen to catch your eye, the Tomphries would be happy to give those a good home, too! Though be cautious of what else you bid on. All the ones I have marked here should be aboveboard and traded on the legal market, but I can’t vouch for everything else in the catalogue.
—Simeon
Sale 1228: Draconean Antiquities
LOT 16
PECTORAL CENTERPIECE
Late Period, Haggad
Trapezoidal plate of gold hammered with winged sun motif and vine border, with loops for attachment to adjoining pieces, now lost. Reverse side bears a standard prayer to the sun for protection and wealth.
8 cm. high, 6 cm. wide at base, 4 cm. wide at top
LOT 32
ALABASTER JAR
Middle Period, Seghaye
Calcite alabaster jar with lid. Handles are in the shape of two supporting human nudes, one male, one female. Lid features a lotus flower. Traces of gold foil decoration remain. Inscription along inside rim, a formulaic wish for eternal vigor.
12 cm. high, 8 cm. wide
LOT 55
GAME PIECES
Middle Period, Vidwatha
Three circular disc playing pieces from the game of “dragon chase.”
Two are lapis lazuli inlaid with ivory in a mandala pattern; single ivory inset missing from one piece. The other piece is carnelian inlaid with ivory. Each bears an inscribed sign on the reverse.
1.5 cm. diameter, 4 mm. high
LOT 65
BASALT FRAGMENT
Early Period, Akhia
Presumably from a broken stele. Inscribed on flat side with nine lines of undeciphered text.
20 cm. high, 15 cm. wide, 9 cm. thick
LOT 71
CERAMIC SUN DISC
Early Period, Seghaye
Polychrome fired clay winged sun disc. Inscribed on reverse side with a short prayer.
40 cm. wide, 15 cm. high, 3 cm. thick
Tablet 14118: “The Justice Fragment”
Trans. Audrey Camherst
[. . .] two-faced one, the falsifier of dreams, the one who sought to kill the four.
He hid amid the beasts of the wild, beneath the leaves of the trees, behind the stones of the ground, in any place he could find. The people went out in search. They found him and dragged him back.
She was the first to speak for justice. She said, “You have been the poison at the heart of the people. I have passed through a chamber awash in the salt tears of those who have been betrayed; my sister has passed through a labyrinth of rotting flesh, the place of those whose bodies have rotted and fallen to dust unmourned in the wilderness; my sister has passed by the ghosts of those who have spread malicious gossip and lies. We have seen your work among the dead.”
She said, “We can no longer be defeated by the demon of ignorance. We can no longer be brought low by the ghost of our betrayed mother. We are no longer the eyes that may be open or closed without change. We name you for what you are: the false one, the betrayer, the murderer, the liar. Only [. . .] you now. Will you make amends, or will you suffer for your crimes?”
He stood with his wings spread, with his crest high [. . .] full of poison. He was the liar, the murderer, the betrayer, the treacherous one. He said, “I will do nothing. I regret only that I failed to kill you in the egg, that I failed to kill you in the wilderness.”
She said, “Take his teeth and pull them out. Take his claws and break them. Take his wings and cut them off. Take him to the desert, and there let him die, to rot and fall to dust without rites.”
This was the first judgment spoken, and they did as she said. Then she [. . .] on a stone, in memory of her brother, and [. . .] laws to [. . .]
From: Audrey Camherst
To: Kudshayn
16 Messis
#3 Clarton Square
Dear Kudshayn,
I believe the proper word here is “Eureka!”
And by “eureka,” I mean “traitorous.” That’s the meaning of šiknas —or rather, šikennas, which is how it’s written in Lepperton’s fragment. I think the closest cognate is probably from Arkubb, gansaa. (No, I don’t have an Arkubb dictionary in my back pocket. I raided Grandpapa’s library. He and Grandmama are not here—they’re in Tser-nga, making arrangements for next winter—but Papa has a key to their townhouse.) The cognate means “backward” or “inverted,” so your guess about the root for “reflection” was accurate; we just took that sense in the wrong direction when we speculated that it might be another way of saying he was wise. It’s “reflection” in the sense of being reversed rather than thoughtful. Lepperton’s fragment outright calls Hastu false and a liar, so I’m pretty sure of the general sense of my translation, though you and I can quib
ble later about how exactly we want to render it in Scirling.
The fragment is pretty clearly about our quartet and Hastu. It doesn’t use their names, and the whole thing is in a much later style than the epic—it isn’t a fragment of the same text so much as the same general story—but there are references to their journey through the underworld. Presumably the Anevrai audience wouldn’t have needed those parts explained. There are some lacunae in it, but not any terribly big ones, and it makes so much clear.
You commented to me back when we translated the bit about the rites of passage that it was peculiar to see the poet break his pattern: instead of telling us Hastu’s dream, then repeating it when Hastu told it to the people, we only got the latter repetition. I think that’s because Hastu never had the dream: he made it up out of whole cloth, because he wanted the siblings to die. He tried to get Peli to crush the egg, and then I think he killed Peli, in that bit we couldn’t translate—this fragment doesn’t say it outright, but it calls him a murderer and talks about the siblings’ “betrayed mother,” so it sounds like that to me. I bet you can sort out the difficult line now that you have this to lead you. And it makes sense of how the sisters get defeated in the underworld, by their ignorance and blindness and so forth; all of that was pointing to Hastu.
Isn’t it funny how much clearer things become once you stop telling yourself that surely someone must be good at heart, despite all evidence to the contrary?
Anyway, I will be back at Stokesley soon. Gleinleigh would probably like me to leave tomorrow, but I haven’t told him yet that I’m done with the Lepperton fragment, in part because I want to stay for an auction Simeon has invited me to. There will be some Draconean inscriptions in the catalogue, and while I don’t expect any of them will be of particular scholarly value, I’d like to be sure before I leave. Unless you need me back sooner, of course, in which case I will be on the next available train. I confess I’m more than a little concerned about abandoning you at Stokesley.
Audrey
From: Kudshayn
To: Audrey Camherst
17 Messis
Stokesley, Greffen
Dear Audrey,
I shall be circumspect in what I write to you, not because I fear prying eyes, but because I gave my word to Lord Gleinleigh even as you did, and must respect that.
What you have said regarding the fragment in Mr. Lepperton’s possession makes a great deal of sense. With that in mind, I still struggle with the line at the end of the third tablet, but I think we can agree on its general sense even if the specific wording is subject to debate. It certainly fits with the patterns we saw in the underworld tablets, the sense that a particular thing was unknown to the figures in the tale, and that was what led ultimately to their individual defeats.
I have not been idle in your absence. There is another stylistic shift in this next section, much like the shifts we have seen before; I am glad to report that the text is, to use one of your phrases, easier sailing at the moment. Given that you will be staying a while longer in Falchester, I think it is likely I will have a good portion done by the time you return. There are elements in it I am very eager to discuss with you, as I am not certain what to make of them.
(Please forgive me for the vague wording. I find myself somewhat troubled, and not in the best of health, but as I said, I still feel obliged to be circumspect.)
If you find anything of great significance at the auction, I hope you will consider the Sanctuary as well as the Tomphries Museum. We are not wealthy, but the elders have expressed an interest in beginning to assert our claim upon the past, as circumstances allow.
May the sun keep you warm,
Kudshayn
FROM THE DIARY OF AUDREY CAMHERST
19 Messis
He planned this all from the start, I’m sure of it. I just don’t know how. Or why.
Perhaps if I write it out, I’ll figure out what he’s up to. Other than tormenting me, which I’m sure is just the icing on the cake for him. Aaron Mornett would never do anything for just one reason.
Start at the beginning, Audrey. And breathe.
He can’t have arranged it all. Simeon is the one who invited me to the auction, and he believes me about Mornett; they’d never work together. But it’s predictable enough that I would be there, I suppose, if he knew I was in town. Mornett, I mean. And if there’s something going on between him and Gleinleigh, he probably did.
I went to the Tomphries about an hour before the auction, to see Simeon. He was in his office as usual, buried amid piles of paper and books and half-unpacked crates like a mouse in his burrow. I hadn’t told him I was coming, so he nearly knocked over one of those stacks when he leapt up to greet me and lost his balance in his enthusiasm. I kept him on his feet until he could retrieve his cane—which he had stuck into the straw of one of the crates, straight through the mouth of the clay polychrome mask inside, thus proving that Simeon will change about two days after Kudshayn does. He looked around for a place where I could sit, but there never is one, so we went out to one of the benches in the hall to talk.
He burbled some happy greetings, then said, “You’ve been so quiet! I’ve barely heard a peep out of Stokesley since you went. Tell me that is because you’ve spent your every waking minute racing through the translation and you’re nearly done!”
His enthusiasm made me laugh, which is the first time I’ve felt like doing that since the dreadful fight with Cora. It really has helped, being back among my family; it feels like ages since I’ve seen them, even though I’ve only been gone a few months and I suppose it has—heavens, I’ve been at Stokesley for nearly half a year.
But the urge to laugh didn’t persist for long. I propped my back against the dracosphinx that forms one end of the bench. (It never ceases to amaze me that they just leave antiquities out in the hall for people to sit on, even if the antiquity in question is not very valuable.) Simeon knows me well enough to tell when I am worried; he sobered up very quickly and asked me what was wrong.
I laid it out more efficiently this time, having already subjected my family to the rambling version. Simeon frowned the whole way through, tapping his cane steadily against the floor. He didn’t interrupt me, though. When I was done, his first action was to make certain he had received all the letters I had sent—and that hadn’t even occurred to me until he brought it up, that Cora might have stopped some of them from going out. Whether she would have or not I don’t know, but nothing I wrote to Simeon was liable to provoke that kind of censorship; he got them all.
Then he said, “Well. On the one hand, I am inclined to grave suspicions where Mrs. Kefford and Aaron Mornett are concerned, and if Lord Gleinleigh is indeed conspiring with them, then he is not merely the kind of selfish collector who trawls the markets of Anthiope for illegally excavated antiquities, but a good deal less trustworthy than that.” (And this was Simeon saying it. He isn’t usually the type to attach “merely” to that particular judgment of character.)
I said, “On the other hand?”
He gazed into the middle distance, eyes unfocused. “On the other hand, he came to me last week—I’ve been meaning to write to you, only I’ve been busy arguing with Arnoldson over the rearrangement for next autumn. Did I tell you? The museum will be shifting the Draconean antiquities into Estwin Hall, to accommodate the crowds they expect as we get closer to the congress. Which has put Arnoldson’s nose right out of joint, because—”
“Simeon,” I said. “Lord Gleinleigh?”
He blinked. “Oh, yes. I am sorry; of course you don’t care about internal museum politics. The earl came by to thank me for recommending you to his attention—says you’re doing splendidly, and at a terrific clip—and to tell me that he spoke with Pinfell about offering the tablets to the Tomphries as a permanent loan when you’re done.”
I nearly fell off the bench. “What?”
“That is precisely what I said! He was rather vague about the specifics, but he said that he expected what yo
u publish to be of great enough interest that people should have the opportunity to see the source—which is a leopard changing his spots if I ever saw one.” Simeon leaned closer, conspiratorially. “And then he said, as artfully as if he had only just remembered, that weren’t we going to be moving the Draconean antiquities to a bigger hall? In which case, perhaps we might honour his humble donation with a display case or two.”
“He is greedy for fame,” I muttered. (So am I, you might say—but at least I want to be famous for my intellectual achievements, not for having pots of money and lucking into a tremendous find.)
Simeon pursed his lips. “He may be . . . but generosity of that sort is not what I would expect from any friend of Mrs. Kefford’s. She may be a benefactor of the museum, but she uses her money to buy influence and burnish her husband’s reputation, not to add valuable materials to our collection.” He considered it for a time, then shook his head. “Perhaps he is trying to make amends for what you learned at Lady Plimmer’s. On the third hand—”
“On the third hand,” I said, “he was spying on me. Or rather, having his niece do it.”
“That’s not all.” Simeon folded his hands over the head of his cane, looking troubled again. “I mentioned that he was full of praise for your work. When I brought up publication, he was very energetic in saying that you and Kudshayn would get full honours for the translation—so I don’t think you need fear that he is going to attempt to take credit, or pass it off as Mornett’s effort, or anything in that vein. But have you noticed the hole in what I have said?”
Trust Simeon to turn it into an intellectual puzzle. When I reviewed his words, though, I immediately saw what he meant. “Praise for my work. Not for Kudshayn’s.”
“Indeed. And after we discussed publication, he went right back to talking about you only. That is not, I think, the behaviour of a man who is in the process of overcoming his prejudices, and sincerely striving to do better.”
Turning Darkness into Light Page 18