The Goddess Legacy

Chapter 30

The next morning Drake and Spencer were up early, the strident protests of vehicles in the street below serving as their alarm clock, the light filtering through the moth-eaten curtains already heating the air. Drake walked down the hall to Allie’s room and knocked on the door, and she called that she would be ready in a few minutes and would meet them in theirs.

Spencer applied another coating of makeup and inspected himself in the hazy mirror as Drake watched TV. He leaned from the bathroom doorway when he was done.

“What do you think? Does it look convincing?”

Drake glanced at him and shrugged. “Sure. Better than nothing, right?”

“That’s very reassuring.”

“It looks fine. Really,” Drake said, his tone glum.

“Dude, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. We’re on the lam, Carson and the professor are dead, we have no way to translate the second half of the script, and we’re that DOD guy’s bitch. Other than that, everything’s awesome-sauce.”

Spencer nodded sagely. “Someone woke up grumpy. Turn that frown upside down, Mr. Downer.”

“Seriously. How much worse could it get?”

“We could be broke.”

“Money’s not really helping, is it?”

Allie’s knock interrupted them, and Spencer pulled his shirt over his head while Drake moved to open the door. When she entered the room, a heady scent of vanilla and flowers preceded her, and Drake almost swooned, it smelled so good. She gave him a peck on the cheek, set her bag on the floor and her purse on the postage-stamp table, and then sat with a bounce on Drake’s bed and beamed a high-wattage smile at them.

“Good morning. Ready to hit the ground running?” she asked.

“Whatever you’re smoking, Drake needs some,” Spencer said.

“I know how to cheer him up,” she said knowingly.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Want me to leave?”

She ignored the innuendo. “I have an idea how to get the script translated.”

“How?” Drake asked.

“The professor isn’t the only linguistics expert in Delhi. He can’t be. We can head over to the university and ask his grad student who else might be able to help us. She should know.”

“What about me?” Spencer asked.

“You can hang out here or find a cyber café and keep researching the mosaic.”

“There are thousands of images of mosaics. Thousands. I only got through a few hundred yesterday.”

“He wouldn’t have had a picture of the thing if it didn’t mean something,” Allie countered.

“Maybe, but that won’t help me locate it.”

“Do you have anything better to do?” Drake asked.

“I’d say sleep in, but it’s a little late for that now.”

They agreed to meet up after Drake and Allie were finished at the university, and within minutes were on the street, which was already clogged with pedestrians and vehicles on their way to work. They found a coffee shop and had breakfast, and then Spencer went in search of an Internet café while Allie and Drake headed to see Divya. Allie convinced Drake to remain outside with her bag while she spoke with the grad student, figuring that two young women would more easily establish rapport without him acting as a third wheel.

When they arrived at the administration building, Allie beelined for the professor’s office, but hesitated at the end of the hall when she saw two uniformed police standing by the door while what looked to Allie like a plainclothes inspector questioned Divya, who paused occasionally to blot tears. Allie turned away and busied herself with her cell phone while watching them, easily blending with the dozens of students and faculty roaming the corridor. After a half hour the police left, and she waited until they’d descended the stairs to the lobby level before approaching Sharma’s office.

Divya was in an obvious state of shock when Allie knocked softly on the doorjamb. She looked up through puffy eyes and took several seconds to register Allie’s presence. Recognition spread across her face and she struggled to compose herself, but ultimately failed and began crying again.

“What’s wrong, Divya?” Allie asked. She had decided to feign ignorance of the professor’s untimely demise.

“Oh, you haven’t heard? It’s Dr. Sharma. He… he’s dead.”

“What? Oh, my God. I just saw him yesterday! What was it?” Allie’s face darkened. “Car accident? Heart attack?”

“No. He was… murdered,” she said, and stifled another sob.

“You’re joking!”

Divya’s shuddering shoulders confirmed that she wasn’t, and Allie gave her time to work through the grief. She took a seat across from the Indian woman and shook her head, and then fished out a packet of tissues and offered her one. Divya took it with a nod, and Allie sat silently, grateful that the police obviously hadn’t connected them with the murder or, if they had, were staying quiet about it. There was no way Divya suspected her; nobody was a good enough actress to pull her response off — it was genuine.

Eventually Divya dried her tears and fixed Allie with a stare over her thick spectacles.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a terrible shock, as you can imagine,” she said. “Is there any way I can help you?”

“Oh, it seems so unimportant now,” Allie said.

“What?”

“Dr. Sharma had helped our colleague with an inscription on an old dagger, and he offered to finish the job if we were ever able to locate an image of the other side.”

“Yes. I remember the script. An archaic substitution cipher. Trickier than many I’ve worked on, but no match for my computer.”

“You worked on it?”

She looked away. “The professor was a very busy man and didn’t have time for the project, so he asked me to translate it. I’ve developed software as part of my doctoral thesis that helps decrypt these types of codes. It took a year to program it, but it’s the only one of its kind I know of for Sanskrit.”

“Really? How does it work?”

Divya brightened slightly to discuss her creation. “It’s simple, really. It identifies frequently recurring symbols first and substitutes others, trying every possibility until something intelligible is produced. If that doesn’t work, it continues until something clicks. It’s CPU intensive, but has yet to fail.”

“That’s amazing.”

Divya blushed and stared at her desktop. “It’s not that much of a leap. Mainly automating what I’d have to do by hand, using basic cracking techniques.”

“Then… you could translate the second piece?”

Divya shrugged. “Certainly. I have the original key for that cipher on my computer. Do you have the picture?”

Allie retrieved her phone and pulled up the photograph she’d taken the prior night. She handed the cell to Divya, who placed it on her desk and turned to her computer. After tapping in some commands and opening a program, she painstakingly typed in the dagger script and, after inspecting her work to verify it was identical to the characters on the blade, moved her mouse to a blue button in the center of the window and clicked.

Another window opened, and she scanned the contents and then sat back. Allie realized she was holding her breath and slowly exhaled.

“It says, ‘In the temple of the destroyer, the sacred mosaic shows the way.’ Actually, ‘sacred’ could also be ‘hallowed.’ It’s not so precise.”

Allie frowned. “That’s as clear as mud, then.”

“Often these things are cryptic, even when decoded.”

“The first part was something about the path of the faithful in or near a cave, and this says the destroyer’s temple has a mosaic that shows the way.”

“I have the original translation here,” Divya said and tapped at the computer. She nosed closer to the screen and nodded as she read. “‘Within the blessed cave of the six-headed fair one, the path of the devout can be seen by the righteous. In the temple of the destroyer, the sacred mosaic shows the way.’” She sat back in her chair, brow creased in concentration. “The reference to ‘the fair one’ is clearly Shiva, who is described as having six heads — only five of which are visible to all but the enlightened — who’s also commonly referred to as the destroyer of the transformer. But that’s very odd. I know of every major temple in northern India, and there’s none devoted to Shiva anywhere near Kashmir that has a mosaic. The closest one is in Kedarnath, one of the twelve Jyotirlinga temples mentioned in the Shiva Purana. Most of the largest ones are in the south — in Andhra Pradesh.”

Allie let Divya think, sensing that she was processing something in her head.

Divya nodded. “I mean, the reference to Shiva’s cave is fairly clear. It’s probably referring to… but that makes no sense.”

“You know where this cave is?” Allie asked softly.

“Perhaps. But… as I said, there is no temple anywhere around there. The cipher on the dagger is consistent with ones used in the Kashmir region in the eighteenth century, and I know the professor thought it was tied to the area, but…” Divya seemed to remember Allie’s presence and turned to her with a sad smile. “I’m sorry, I forget you’re not from here. There is a place called Shiv Khori that this could be referring to.”

“No need to apologize,” Allie said, waiting for the young scholar to get to the point. “What’s Shiv Khori? A temple?”

Divya removed her glasses and cleaned the lenses with a fold of her sari, and then sat forward and spoke quietly.

“Shiv Khori is a sacred cave in the mountains of Kashmir.”