Andy McDermott - The Tomb Of Hercules

“Good morning, Dr. Wilde,” said Popadopoulos.

“Mr. Popadopoulos.” Practice had made perfect. “What is this place?”

“One of the Brotherhood’s properties-a safe house, you could say. We have a number of them around the city.”

Nina regarded him coldly. “Like the place where Jason Starkman planned on killing me a year and a half ago?”

Popadopoulos shifted uncomfortably. “I never met Mr. Starkman. My role within the Brotherhood is concerned only with the archives. Now, come, come, you wanted to see something, no? Well, I have brought it. At considerable inconvenience, I might add.” The other man placed the case on the large old oak desk in the center of the room and opened it. Popadopoulos carefully lifted out the object inside.

It was a book, in dimensions an inch or two larger than a sheet of typing paper, but as thick as a dictionary. The cover was bound in dark red leather and reinforced by a brass frame, held shut by a heavy clasp. The “pages” were also framed in metal, each about half a centimeter thick. The whole thing seemed extremely heavy.

Popadopoulos spoke in Italian, and the other man took out a key and unlocked the cuff linking him to the book. To Nina’s surprise, Popadopoulos then fastened it around his own bony wrist. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I told you that I will remain with the text at all times,” he said, sitting at the desk. The chain connecting him to the book was about eighteen inches long.

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“People have stolen items from the Brotherhood before. I know you met Yuri Volgan, for one.”

“You think I’m going to steal it? Oh, come on!” She tipped her head towards the other man. “You’ve got Rocky here and God knows how many other guys guarding the building, and we’re five stories up! I’m hardly going to jump out the window with it.”

“That is the arrangement you agreed to, Dr. Wilde,” Popadopoulos said curtly. “Accept it, or leave.”

Annoyed, she sat opposite the historian and brought out her laptop and notepad. The other man left the room, taking up a position outside the door.

Popadopoulos unfastened the clasp. “So, Dr. Wilde,” he said as he opened the book, “here is the original text of Hermocrates.”

Despite having seen many photographs of the parchments, Nina couldn’t help but be awed at the sight of the real thing. Each page of the ancient work was pressed between two sheets of glass. The parchments were discolored and mottled, but they were still far more intact than any other documents from the same era that she had ever seen. The Brotherhood clearly took great care even of items it had stolen.

She looked more closely at the first page. The handwriting stood out clearly, the ink mostly a reddish brown but with darker impurities mixed in. There were even mistakes: inkblots, scratches, words crossed out. In a couple of places another hand had added annotations. Her heart beat faster. Plato had disapproved of written text, preferring the oral tradition of rote memorization… but that didn’t mean he never used it. Were these the notes of the great philosopher himself, passing comment on the students who transcribed his words?

Popadopoulos coughed slightly. Nina looked up at him, belatedly becoming aware that she was grinning like a fool. “You are impressed, Dr. Wilde?”

“Oh, God, yes!” she replied, nodding. For a moment, Popadopoulos looked amused rather than irate. “This is incredible! You’ve actually had these for over two thousand years?”

“In different locations, preserved in different ways, but yes. This book was bound in the nineteenth century. You are the first person from outside the Brotherhood ever to see it.”

“I’m honored,” she said, meaning it. Popadopoulos nodded.

“But,” he said, “I still do not believe you will find anything in person that you could not have got from photographs, no, no. There is nothing more to discover.”

Nina turned the page, finding with surprise that the back of the parchment was blank. “I disagree-I’ve already discovered something I didn’t know.” She tapped the glass. “The photos never suggested that only one side of the page had been written on. Parchment was expensive-it’s kind of unusual not to use both sides, don’t you think?”

“Unusual, yes, but not unknown,” Popadopoulos said dismissively. “I assure you, you will find nothing else.”

Nina gave him a crooked grin. “I like a challenge. Okay-let’s get started.”

But three hours later, reluctant as she was to admit it, Popadopoulos was right. Having already read the text from photographs and in translations many times over the past months, Nina was able to work through it quickly, turning each heavy page with the hope of discovering something new… and always being disappointed.

There were no hidden clues to the location of the Tomb of Hercules, no additional paragraphs completing the tale. Plenty about Atlantis, yes, and about the wars between the Atlanteans and the ancient Greeks, a splendid treasure trove of knowledge for historians… but nothing new about her current obsession.

“Dammit,” she muttered, defeated.

Popadopoulos sounded almost sympathetic. “As I told you, Dr. Wilde, there is nothing. Either the text was never fully transcribed, or Plato had no more knowledge of the Tomb.”

“He wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place if he didn’t mean to discuss it,” Nina objected. “Critias says he’ll tell Hermocrates and the others where it is, how he was told its location by Solon, who got it from the records of the Egyptian priests. Just like Atlantis. There are phrases in the text that seem to be clues, like this one-’For even a man who cannot see may know the path when he turns his empty face to the warmth of the sun.’ It doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of the dialogue around it.” She turned back through the pages, their frames clanking against each other. “There has to be something more.”

Popadopoulos stood. “It will have to wait. Now would be a good time to take a break, no?”

“I don’t need a break,” said Nina impatiently.

“But I do! I am an old man, and I had a very large meal last night.” He clucked disapprovingly. “American food, such huge portions. No wonder you are all so fat.”

“Wait, I know I agreed that I could only see it for a limited time,” protested Nina, ignoring the crack at her countrymen, “but now you’re going to take it away while you go to the john?” An idea came to her.

“Look, handcuff it to me if you’re worried. I can hardly just stroll out with it without anyone noticing, especially with a guy right outside the door. It must weigh twenty pounds, at least! And I’m not going to damage it-I want to preserve it every bit as much as you do.”

Popadopoulos narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, considering it. “I… suppose that could be done. But…” He unlocked the cuff, then looped the chain around one leg of the heavy table, making a steel knot.

“Are you serious?” Nina asked.

“I will not be gone long, perhaps twenty minutes.”

“Wow, I guess you really did have a big meal.”

He scowled. “This is my condition, Dr. Wilde. Either accept it, or I will take the text away with me.”

Nina relented. It was only for a short while, after all… “Oh…okay.” Popadopoulos held up the cuff. “But on my left hand. I want to be able to take notes.” She pulled her chair to the end of the table.

The handcuff closed around her wrist, the steel teeth clicking ominously. Nina felt a chill. The last time she’d been handcuffed, she’d been a prisoner, on her way to be executed. She raised her arm. With the chain wound around the table’s thick leg, it only had a few inches of movement.