Touchstone

19

The morning sun was already promising cruel heat as the last of the wagons pulled into the work area. All about the walls of Ft. Julien the labor party of local peasants worked to remove the hard, sun-baked stone that jutted from the base of the aging rampart. A French officer of engineers stood watching as three men strained against a long iron bar wedged in the rock. From the early hours of the morning, the men had been clearing the base of the wall, hauling the smaller stone away to be mortared on to the higher sections above.

There was an urgency and sense of haste in their movements. A large Turkish force had landed at Aboukir bay, days ago, and quickly overcome the French garrison there. Now the threat to both Alexandria and Rosetta was quite real. At Rosetta, the French found the ruined walls of an old fort, eighty meters on a side. The wall towers had four movable turrets for the mounting of artillery, but the French officers quickly noted that they would not be fit to mount even one of their smaller guns, an eight-pound cannon. The crenellations on the ramparts connecting the turrets were in decay, and the tower keep at the centre of the fortress still harbored a small mosque.

Living quarters, a hospital, ovens, guard units and ammunition dumps were quickly established at the site by a battalion of engineers. They were ably assisted by a dedicated Lieutenant, one Pierre François Xavier Bouchard, and Robert spied him at once as he turned to squint at the labor detail.

Bouchard was a tall man, still young at the age of twenty-eight, and well suited to the task. He had first come to Egypt, not as a soldier, but as one of the many savants that had accompanied the expedition. With an interest in the ancient carvings and archeology, Bouchard realized he might best serve his own curiosity, along with the French interests, by joining the corps of engineers. He had only lately been assigned to the Rosetta work detail, and now, Robert knew, he was about to make the single most important discovery of his life—The Rosetta Stone; it was lying somewhere in the dry, cracked soil of the embankment at the base of the wall, waiting to emerge from centuries of silence and darkness, and enlighten the whole Western understanding of the ancient Egyptian culture. It was the key to deciphering the hieroglyphics, for it would bear a message in each of three languages, and serve as a primer for scholars in decades to come.

Nordhausen watched the men work, a feeling of rising excitement and anxiety in his chest. Now they were struggling to pry loose a particularly stubborn rock that was wedged into the supporting foundation of the wall. The officer, Bouchard, gestured to two other men, indicating that they should lend their weight to the lever and, even as they rushed forward to the task, LeGrand appeared in a billow of dust, riding in on the same covered coach that Robert and Maeve had arrived in the previous day.

The two travelers had come to the scene an hour earlier, escorted by their guide, Khalid. He was especially gracious, bringing them cool water and a plate of sweetened bread and dates when he arrived at their room that morning. They ate, and then were eager to reach the site of the impending discovery, though they did not share their real intent with their host. Nordhausen carried on about his interest in the old Egyptian carvings in the region, and Khalid was only too happy to banter with him about the improvements the Arabs had made to the architecture in centuries past.

Now they were standing in the lee of a high tower on the wall, watching with keen interest as the work parties cleared the rubble away by slow, tedious labor.

Though Maeve wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible, it was hard for the other Westerners at the scene not to notice them. A few French infantry were eyeing her from a distance, though Khalid played his role of the cordial host well, and made it seem that he was entertaining guests, or trading partners in some long planned exchange of commerce. It was a ruse that seemed to be working, for no one bothered them until LeGrand arrived in his coach and fixed his grey eyes upon them with a squint of suspicion.

Khalid was quick to notice. He turned to Robert and leaned in close, as Arabs are accustomed, as if confiding some intensely personal matter.

“He is here.”

“I beg your pardon?” Robert was not quite in tune.

“You know the man of whom I speak. The grey one in the coach, near the gate by the west wall. You must be very cautious now, my friends. This man is dangerous.”

“You know him?” Robert expressed his natural curiosity, hoping to ferret out the relationship between the two that he was already suspicious of himself.

“Let us say that I have had dealings with the man. He is not to be trusted.”

“Ah… Then he is another trader?” There was something in Robert’s voice that was not lost on his host. Khalid smiled, his dark eyes narrowing under their heavy brows.

“He trades in things that most men would be wise to leave in peace,” said Khalid. “But, then again, the commerce of the hour brings us all here to some end or another, does it not?”

Robert nodded agreeably, though the insinuation was not lost on Maeve, who regarded the Arab with a knowing gaze. She was keen to observe the obvious tension in the man’s face and deportment now that LeGrand had arrived. The interloper was down from his coach and making his way boldly across the courtyard, intent on trio by the tower.

“Bonjour, Madame,” LeGrand said politely, bowing as he stepped into the shade of the tower. “Monsieur.” He said to Nordhausen, and then proffered a wan smile in Khalid’s direction, nodding his head in a mock bow.

Khalid touched his heart with his hand, and made a shallow head bow in return. “You are very punctual, LeGrand,” he said in English, with just a hint of annoyance.

“Oh?” said LeGrand. “And just what brings you into the company of these good people, Sheik? Are you working some trade for the Sultan?”

“The Sultan? His army is very close at hand, but I do not think he has trade on his mind. The Pasha is here to throw out the French, as you well know.” He lowered his voice, covering the remark with a strained smile.

“Not something you want to lord on about,” said LeGrand. “Particularly in English—not with the British fleet about in these waters. Rumor has it that the French are becoming more and more suspicious of local traders. Information passes in whispers, even as coinage moves from one purse to another. They wonder how Nelson and his fleet managed to make such a good accounting of the French Army’s movements when they were in Palestine.”

“Do they?” Khalid was still smiling, though his eyes were smoldering with restrained hostility. “They are a curious lot, are they not?”

“Curious, indeed,” LeGrand returned. “As you seem to be. Pray tell me, what business do you have here today? Are you hoping to win a contract for the repair of these walls?” He gestured at the tawny fortifications.

“Nothing so enterprising,” said Khalid. “I was merely extending the hospitality of my people to these strangers, and seeing to their comfort. The professor here has an interest in ancient stone carvings, and I thought we might tour the fortifications.”

“Ah,” said LeGrand. “Good day, professor. Ready for the revelation?” he rubbed his palms together. “In spite of what my friend says, I think we can all safely acknowledge why we are here, yes? Now then…” he squinted at the sun. “You may wish to move this way in a moment.” LeGrand gestured to his right, where a low pile of loosened stone provided them a slight rise in elevation and a better view of the digging party. The low baritone of the French officer of engineers could be heard, exhorting the laborers to strain a bit harder at the iron lever they had wedged into the base of the large, half-exposed rock they were working.

“Come, professor, Madame… It is almost time.” There was just a trace of urgency in LeGrand’s voice, and Maeve could see that Khalid had been edging closer to the work crews, trying to appear uninterested, but keenly aware of their steady progress.

Robert turned, and then heard a loud chink as the iron lever slipped. A hard crack followed, and the large rock fell suddenly away from the base of the wall in a cloud of silt and dust. LeGrand rocked on his heels, a smile of anticipation on his face. There was an audible gasp as the dust settled around a dark squarish shape that had been exposed in the side of the wall. The officer had immediately taken note of it, and was leaning in, intent on some discovery in the rubble.

Two of the workmen rushed from the scene, as though frightened by what they had uncovered. The officer shouted after them, then barked loudly at the two French soldiers standing the watch, and the men came running in response.

Now Nordhausen saw that the two laborers had gone to fetch a sturdy rope and tackle. The officer was giving orders, his riding crop pointing this way and that, and he soon eyed the coach that LeGrand had arrived in, pointing at the horse. It was clear that he wanted to utilize the animal to help haul something out of the rubble. LeGrand, still beaming with a smug, self-satisfied expression, strode forward to offer his services. He gestured to Nordhausen with his hand, beckoning him to follow.

Robert and Maeve needed no encouragement. They were inching closer, trying to remain discreet, but keenly interested in the find. Khalid was right on their heels.

LeGrand stepped up, bowed to the French officer, and then gestured magnanimously at his horse and tackle, where the soldiers were already loosening the carriage harness and hitch to free the beast for their purposes, whether LeGrand approved or not. Dust clouded the scene, obscuring the find, but LeGrand acted as though he was playing out a well rehearsed part.

“Be my guest,” Nordhausen heard LeGrand say in French. “But what is it you have discovered, monsieur?”

LeGrand turned, expectantly, his face still molded in a jovial smile, and then he froze, as though struck by the officer’s riding crop. His eyes widened, bright ovals above the doughy cheeks of his face, and his jaw gaped open with a look of complete astonishment.

“Mon dieu!” the invocation escaped his lips as he gazed, and Nordhausen hurried forward to see what he was looking at, tripping on a pile of loosened rock. As he rose, Khalid strode boldly forward, a look of great satisfaction blooming on his face when he saw LeGrand’s reaction. He started to laugh, pointing a long thin finger at LeGrand as he spoke.

“Not what you expected, monsieur?” His eyes glittered. “Something to put a little fire in your next courier dispatch?” Now his laughter could not be restrained.

Nordhausen gaped at him, struggling to his feet. Maeve came up to lend him a hand, and they started down the gentle incline to approach the dig site. LeGrand had cupped his ears with his palms, as if to shut out the laughter of his adversary, but the gesture seemed more one of amazement. It was then that they saw Khalid turn to look upon the discovery that was obviously the source of his elation.

“Do I work some mischief for the Sultan, he wonders? More than you could possibly know, my friend.” But then his words were cut short and, like LeGrand before him, his eyes opened with surprise and shock. “Ahliah! He exclaimed, the mirth driven from his face and a look of profound distress in its place.

Nordhausen ran the last few steps. Pushing his way through the gathering crown until he reached the edge of the site. Maeve called after him the moment he ran forward, obviously perturbed.

“Come back here, Robert!” She had seen the spark of irrepressible curiosity in his eyes and was worried that he would do something—say something—that would cause some grave complication. There were many French soldiers at the scene now, and she was certain Robert would draw unwanted attention to himself the moment he opened his mouth.

She looked and saw him come up short at the lip of the dig, then heard him take in a sudden breath, as though startled by what he saw. His hand shot up to the top of his head, an involuntary gesture of bewilderment. She saw him scratch and then, to her great dismay, he pulled off his wig, thoughtlessly, carelessly, as though he was totally unaware of what he had just done.

She pressed closer, finally reaching the place where the others stood, clearly dumbfounded by the moment of discovery. The soldiers were pointing and speaking rapidly to one another in French. She saw the officer of engineers lean in, eyes squinting at the find now that the dust had settled. What in the world could have caused such commotion?

Then she saw it, the great black shape jutting from the side of the embankment below the wall, and now she understood, at last, the marvel of all those who looked on. A silence fell on the scene as the French officer of engineers stooped and extended his arm to touch the thing they had unearthed. He reached out, as though afraid that he might be scalded by the stone. She saw his hand play lightly over the smooth, polished surface of the find, one finger tracing a delicate path over the carved lettering. Then the hush resolved into a rush of whispers. People were turning to one another, nodding wide eyed conclusions, and she saw Khalid staring at LeGrand as if he expected to have the same berating laughter thrown at him by the man.

The look on LeGrand’s face was plain to see, however, and it was clear that neither man could lay claim to any victory in the find.

Robert turned, remembering her at last, and gestured wildly for her to take the final step forward and look upon the scene. She passed a moment of hesitation and great anxiety. Something was wrong. She could see it on everyone’s face, though many seemed to glow with joy at the find. Yet for LeGrand and Khalid, the discovery seemed to promise great trouble. It was clear to her now that one man or the other expected to come out the better when the shape of the ancient stone was finally unearthed.

Now she knew that both were secret adversaries in the struggle that had begun on that first stormy night in Berkeley—the night they resolved to spin up the Arch for the very first time and breach the womb of time. She turned her head, slowly, deliberately, and looked upon the shape that had been unearthed.

Robert gaped at her, waiting to see the same look of astonishment sweep across her features. Instead he saw the tightening of her jaw, and the tension in her eyes, set tighter now, and reflecting some unalterable inner conclusion as she took in the scene. There was wonder there, to be sure, but it was ruthlessly suppressed. In its place he saw the glimmer of anger kindled like a growing fire, and he knew at last, in the wake of his own confusion and surprise, a moment of great doubt and fear.

20

It had taken them the better part of three hours, and nearly fifty men with levers and ropes, but they had it up on the wooden truss now, freed from the long embrace of the dry earthen embankment where it had slept for so many centuries.

Robert watched them work for a time, his excitement and curiosity keeping him at the edge of the dig site. He could not help himself, and took hold of a rope when the laborers had hitched it about the great carved shape of black basalt. It was Maeve’s insistent tugging at his arm that eventually brought him back to his senses.

“Robert!” she hissed in his ear, hoping no one else would hear. “The time… we’ve got to get back!”

The retraction scheme wasn’t scheduled to kick in until tomorrow. What was she worried about? Still, the urgency in her voice finally penetrated the excitement that had possessed him earlier.

As she pulled him away, he took one last look at it. There it was, the famous stone that had proved a key to an entire culture and history buried in a thousand tombs, hidden away in the barren deserts of Egypt. There it was, a marvelously polished slab of black basalt, looking a bit like finely grained granite, and carved with hundreds of Egyptian glyphs. He had come here to determine its condition, to see if the damage he had discovered in the London Museum was something he might have caused with his own headstrong curiosity. His every hope was to find the stone fully intact, not broken as he had seen it in the dark, dusty cellars of the museum where it was no more than another forgotten curiosity. Now, when he looked upon it one last time, the full implications of what he was seeing finally began to register in his mind.

Fully intact… The stone was not broken. It bore no sign of damage of any kind, save the inevitable wear of the ages, with intermittent chinks and abrasions marring the smooth, polished surface. It was not broken… no damage at all, but the amazing thing was that this was not the familiar shape of the Rosetta Stone that he had studied all his life! It was fully twice the size of the stone he knew. The stone he was familiar with could have only been the lower portion of this great monolith. If lifted up on its end, this stone would tower over his head. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. This was something altogether different.

At the very top, the image of a vulture’s wings were extended across the whole of the stone. At the heart of the bird was an image of Ra as the sun, and two cobras dangled down from either side, turning at the bottom and rearing up in a classic pose of regal threat. These carvings arched over a gathering of lords in two columns, facing each other, and marching in from opposite sides of the stone. There were seven lords facing each direction, all wearing regal head gear and bearing scepters of authority and power. The professor recognized the elongated ovals of cartouche symbols above their heads, naming each member of the assemblage as they gathered.

Directly below this were long rows of hieroglyphics as they appeared on the upper portion of the old stone, but they extended down the whole face of this artifact, even to the base! Where was the Greek Text? Where was the Demotic rendition of the messages carved by the glyphs?

As Maeve pulled on his arm with increasing urgency, he fixed his last gaze on the writing, realizing he could still read it. His mind immediately translated what he saw: “Through the ages now he comes to a mystery: one death gives birth, a great wind upon the face of the sea, in a place forever hidden where the lions roar: ‘mine is yesterday, and I know tomorrow.”

Maeve prevailed at last and managed to pull him away. LeGrand turned as the two travelers started away, but his attention was soon drawn to the stone again, and the growing effort to recover it from the rubble. Khalid saw them leaving as well, Nordhausen pulled along by Maeve as they fled through a low arch in the walls, seeking a way back to the inn where they had spent the night.

“I can’t believe it!” Nordhausen breathed as they went. “It’s not the stone—but yet it was the stone. It has to be. Yet it was something entirely new! There was no Greek writing on it, and not a single word of Demotic script that I could see. The whole thing was—”

“Later, Robert. We have to get out of sight! I’m feeling very strange.” She paused briefly, struggling with her skirts and looking about her to see if anyone had noticed them. They had reached the edge of a grove of palms interspersed with a few banana trees cultivated in the fields before a small adobe farmstead. There was no one around, the commotion of the discovery acting like a magnet and pulling in all the locals to the frenzied activity at the dig site.

“How is this supposed to work?” asked Maeve. She pulled hard on Robert’s arm when he did not answer her, shaking him from his reverie.

“What?”

“How does it work, Robert? Do we have to get back to the breaching point? Do we have to go all that way? When will it happen? How much time do you think we have left?”

Robert realized she was talking about the retraction. “How much time? The retraction is scheduled for tomorrow morning!”

“Perhaps so… but I’m feeling… quite odd just now. I think my integrity is slipping.”

“Really? Well its probably just the sun, and all this excitement, and the dust. But, to answer your other question, I don’t think we need be anywhere close to the breaching point. Paul and I wandered very far during that first mission, and I took the train from London to—well, never mind that. The point is: it could happen anywhere… at any moment, I suppose.” Now he was looking around, realizing that it would be best to find some secluded spot where they could wait out the remaining hours.

“Over there,” he pointed to a cart path that led along the fringes of the thick palm grove. “That way looks promising.”

As they started toward it they heard a voice calling after them and turned about. Khalid was rushing over the parched ground, his lavender fringed robes flowing behind him.

“That’s done it,” Robert exclaimed. “Come on, we’ve got to give him the slip!” But Khalid was fast upon them, hastening up and calling for them to wait.

“It’s no use,” said Maeve. “He’s seen us, and he can follow us easily from this point if we make a run for it. Besides, the heat is appalling, and these skirts are a nuisance.”

“Friends, wait!” Khalid came up, breathless, but smiling with relief. “Oh, what a day!” He beamed at them. “Did you see it? Did you see it?” His hands trembled as he spoke, and he seemed to gaze at the sky as he praised Allah aloud, tears watering the corners of his eyes.

Robert did not know what to make of him, or his reaction, but Khalid was quick to explain. “It is wondrous, a miracle beyond my wildest hopes! We thought to find it broken—that is the middle way, the path of struggle and many hard years of strife and woe. Yes, I know you had hopes here as well. You came for the discovery, of course, for the stone. Forgive my deception earlier, but we all walk behind a veil, do we not? Believe me now when I tell you that there is sorrow in my heart at what you have witnessed. Forgive me—forgive us all, but there was no other way. We worked it, day and night, and the best we could achieve was a hundred years of enmity. But something has changed! Yes! A great transformation has occurred. It is all made new again, even as it was on the day our sword was first drawn in anger. Imagine my surprise! I was sent to keep watch, and now I must go to bring this news to my people. Oh, day of days! Allah be praised. We worked it, and now we may walk this world redeemed, with shining eyes and heads held high.”

“What in the world are you talking about?“ said Robert.

“Of what do I speak? Of a great day… but yet, more of a little thing that works the miracle. A’athreh ib dafra.”

“Look here, you have been very gracious, but we simply must be on our way.”

“Forgive me,” Khalid held up a hand. “A’athreh ib dafra. It is a saying among Arabs. It means: with a stumble and a kick. Such is the way of it. Small things, a stumble and a kick, but the harvest is great. Still, I am sorry for you, I will weep for you—you must believe me. Tonight I will pray to Allah that he will take you in the palm of his hand, and preserve your lives. Yes, you must go now. No one will be the wiser. Take that trail and you will find a barn behind this farm. There you may rest until the time of recovery. And may Allah go with you through all the days that remain.”

What was he talking about? Nordhausen kept running Khalid’s words over and over in his mind. He seemed possessed, like a man enraptured, but buoyant, alive, exhilarated by the discovery that so baffled the professor now. The lines of the script still burned in his recollection. What did they mean?

He looked at Maeve, hoping to find support for his confused state of mind in her unshakable logic. If anyone would know what to make of this, it would be Maeve. She was watching Khalid go now, hastening away, back toward the site of the discovery. Already the word had begun to spread that something extraordinary had been unearthed at the base of the wall. The French soldiers could be heard shouting in the distance, and Nordhausen, with the history in mind, knew that they would be dragging the Rosetta Stone to the tent of General Menou, where the slab would be carefully cleaned and examined before being transported, by river barge, to Cairo.

He remembered how Maeve first wagered that, if the stone were intact, the trip from Rosetta to Cairo would have been the ideal time for someone to inflict the damage. But that whole line of argument was meaningless now. The original Rosetta Stone inscribed the same message in each of three different languages. This stone held only one language—it was completely covered by the ancient hieroglyphics… no Demotic… No Greek… It was completely useless as a key to translating the glyphs… completely useless…

His attention was shaken when Maeve suddenly swayed, as though overcome by the heat, and fell. Robert stooped to help but, as he did so, an unaccountable chill shook his frame. He knew at once why he was becoming so light headed. Maeve looked at him, her features frozen with an expression of panic. He reached for her hand as the haze of a blue frost materialized about them, transforming into the shimmer of a multi-colored aurora. There was a sensation of falling, and he felt Maeve’s hand tighten. The retraction scheme was kicking in! Kelly and Paul were pulling them back through the Arch at Lawrence Berkeley Labs. But why now? They still had a hours to wait—unless something had moved his friends to retrieve them at once, with an untimely urgency that added yet another chill to the moment at hand.

21

“I just don’t see how this could be possible,” said Paul. “The haze in trying to alter the stone prior to its discovery would be intense. How would they know where to look for the damn thing?”

It was four o’clock on a gray September afternoon in Berkeley, and the growl of the generator turbines had finally subsided as the system reduced power. Paul was still keeping the Arch active on standby, with the generators running at 70% until the retraction was complete. Then he would take them down to 50%, just enough to maintain the electromagnetic field the Arch would create—enough to sustain the thin, protective boundaries of the Nexus Point it welled in the flow of Time.

The four primary team members were assembled in the lab. Nordhausen had taken off his wig and was still scratching the back of his head. Maeve had recovered from the retraction shift, a bit nauseous and disoriented, but feeling better by the minute. Kelly had a pot of hot coffee at the ready, and he was stirring a bit of cream into Maeve’s cup, hovering over her where she sat by the history console looking pale and tired.

After the elation of their safe return, and hugs all around, Robert was quick to break the news. He began talking about the discovery of the stone, trying to describe the new artifact that had been unearthed as best he could. He soon found words inadequate to the task and dragged Paul over to the Touchstone RAM bank where he retrieved an image of the stone from the data files and printed it out. Then he began to draw, carefully sketching from the his memory of the new find.

He presented Paul the drawing. “There,” he said, “Except all the Demotic and Greek in the image was covered with ancient hieroglyphics!” The two men hunched over the drawing, as if the answer to the dilemma might be found in the picture.

“You’re certain it looked like this?”

“Absolutely! Maeve will vouch for that.”

“How could this be?” Paul was still trying to see a clear line of reasoning to explain the change. “They would have to go back to the time the stone was originally made and then convince the makers to alter it by leaving out the Demotic and Greek script. Do you realize how difficult that intervention would be?”

“Yes,” said Nordhausen. “It was an established convention to display these proclamations in all three languages. The discovery of similar stones at Bubastis confirmed that in 2004. Perhaps they replaced the stone with another,” he suggested. “They knew exactly where to find it. Suppose they simply went back on some lonesome night and dug the original stone up.”

“You say it was twice the size of the original? That would mean they had to bring in an artifact weighing fifteen hundred kilos! I don’t think so. And what would they do with the original? You can’t transport an object of that size easily in the physical world, let alone through Time.”

”Why not? I went back and retrieved Lawrence’s manuscript of the Seven Pillars.” Robert caught himself too late. Paul looked at him, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

Maeve was suddenly making a remarkable recovery from the stupor of her Time shift. “You did what?” She was up off her chair, parasol still in hand, and advancing on the professor with bad intent. “When did this happen?”

Nordhausen looked from Paul to Maeve as she advanced, edging behind Paul’s chair to seek protection. “Alright… alright now. If you must know everything, I did it on that mission last July. You know, when I went to visit Reading Station. I wasn’t just sightseeing as I told you.”

“Damn you, Robert!” Maeve took a quick swipe at him with her parasol, scoring a glancing blow on his shoulder. He ducked behind Paul, flustered and embarrassed.

“It was the lost manuscript,” Nordhausen pleaded, “not the original. It was stolen on the train ride Lawrence took—”

“I knew that was what you were up to,” Maeve’s eyes narrowed, and she swiped at Robert again, the parasol rapping hard on the back of Paul’s chair as he dodged.

“Hey, take it easy,” Paul protested, but Maeve was angling for a better chance at getting the professor on the head.

“Kelly!” Robert yelled. “Do something! Stop that crazy woman before she runs me through with that thing.”

Kelly had a big grin on his face, and he simply folded his arms and smiled, leaning back in his chair as he struggled to suppress his laughter.

“I’ll show you who’s crazy,” Maeve lunged forward with the parasol, plugging the professor right in the belly with a hard jab. He yelped in protest, but then simply held up his hands in surrender.

“Alright, I give in. I did it, and I’ll never live down the shame. I was just a selfish man, hoping to rescue something from trash heap of history, and it all came down around me, to no good.”

Maeve was ready to give him one last jab, but she relented, plunking the parasol down on the floor with a hard thump and leaning on it heavily. There was a moment of strained silence, then Kelly burst out laughing.

“We knew you were after something,” he said. “Maeve did the follow-up research and narrowed things down. The only event that was even remotely significant was the loss of the manuscript. So, you actually found the darn thing, did you? And you mean to say you still have it?”

“Yes, yes, I confess. It’s stored in a vault in my study. I know—the consequences could be devastating. Suppose it was meant to be discovered by someone else—years from now—when we are all gone. I’ve had that in my belly ever since.”

“And you’ll get a lot more in your belly if you so much as think of another stunt like that again,” Maeve vented. “Next time I will run you through with this—or worse!”

Nordhausen passed a brief moment of terror, imagining the full brunt of Maeve’s anger unleashed upon him for his misadventures, though he knew he would deserve every agonizing second. He had been headstrong, and foolish, and he deceived his dearest friends at the same time. The whole weight of time seemed to fall on him now and he slumped against the console behind Paul’s chair, deflated and clearly upset with himself.

Maeve saw the expression on his face, but a gleam of mischief came to her eye as she looked at him.

“Do you know he tried to shoot Napoleon just now,” she said to Paul.

“What?” Paul looked at Robert, aghast.

“Now, see here, Maeve. I did no such thing!” The professor was trying to defend himself, his eye still fixed on the parasol.

“Oh, yes,” said Maeve, having her fun now. “Just after we manifested—before you moved us back on target. He waltzed right over, picked up a rifle, and he was aiming the damn thing out the window at Napoleon.”

“I was not!”

“I barely got to him in time.” Now Maeve smiled, unable to keep up the front of her anger, and satisfied that she had made her point with the professor.

Paul looked from one to the other, and Kelly was still laughing, holding his stomach as he rocked back in his swivel chair.

“Alright,” Nordhausen protested as he realized Maeve was playing out the moment for all it was worth. “Enough of this. You can think up some horror for me later, and I promise you I will submit to any punishment you decide to mete out. But the stone! We’ve got to figure this out! How could they pull off a switch like that? Could they have carved it elsewhere, at the target time, and then floated it to the site on the river?” The professor was trying to conceive the operation himself as he went along, filling in the gray with wild assumptions.

“Again,” said Paul, “what would they do with the original? It weighed 720 Kilos. You might get away with carrying some small object back on your person, like our literary thief here, but not an object the size of the Rosetta Stone. No… this is worse than we think,” he said.

Nordhausen waited, hanging on the unspoken conclusion that was evident in Paul’s voice. “Well?” he was unable to contain himself.

It was Maeve who spoke up now, her eyes fixed on Paul this time. “There’s been a transformation,” she said, matter of factly. “That’s why you pulled us out early; that’s why you won’t let the Arch spin down, isn’t it, Paul? You’re keeping the Nexus Point open for us here, because you know things have changed. Has anyone been outside this room since we returned? Does anyone have the slightest notion of what the world looks like out there?” There was an urgency in her voice, and an edge of fear.

Kelly wasn’t laughing any longer, and the four team members stood in silence, listening to the distant thrum of the generator turbines. Paul spoke next, his voice laden with the weight of Maeve’s deduction.

“I’m afraid she’s correct,” he said. “The alteration to the stone is too pronounced, too radical. If what you are saying is true, and it bore no inscription in Demotic or Greek, then our adversaries have managed to pull off a major coup while we were dallying about with this Rosetta business. God only knows what they’ve done.”

“What do you mean?” Robert looked at him, slipping out from behind the chair.

“What I mean is this: you say you think the Assassins were using the glyphs as a code, correct? Then this whole affair has been aimed at preserving the secrecy of that language. Now, I don’t know how they accomplished it, but they’ve managed to permanently do away with the Touchstone that led to the decipherment of the Egyptian hieroglyphics. That means their code is secure, and all the messages they’ve been sending back and forth through time will remain a secret. Who knows what advantage that has given them in the Time war—perhaps it was enough to swing things in their favor again.”

“Yes!” Nordhausen put in loudly. “Khalid said something about a transformation—do you remember it Maeve? He said there was a miracle. They worked it, day and night, and the best they could achieve was a hundred years of enmity. But now something has changed! Khalid said it was all made new again!”

“Khalid?”

“Someone we met at Rosetta. In fact, we met two agents in place. One man, a fellow named LeGrand, was clearly an operative of the Order. I was a bit obtuse on that point, but Maeve saw right through him. Then we were approached by a second man, an Arab. Later, at the dig site, the two men spoke, and it was clear that they knew one another—as adversaries.”

He gave Paul the details of their mission, and angled back to those final moments before the retraction pulled them out. “Can you imagine,” he began, “the man actually apologized. He asked forgiveness and said he would pray for us. I wonder what he meant by that?”

Maeve looked at Kelly, who was rocking back and forth in his chair, a steady squeak punctuating each move.

“What about the Golems, Kelly? I thought they were supposed to warn us of any variation in the Meridians.”

“Good point,” said Kelly, getting up quickly. He went over to the history module, leaning in to inspect the console. “We haven’t heard a peep from the Golems.” He settled into a chair and began entering commands.

“Is there a radio handy?” Nordhausen asked.

“Radio? Yes we have a shortwave built into the history console there.” Kelly pointed and Paul spun his chair around, fixing his eyes on the communications module.

He reached out, his hand hovering over the dial as if it might burn him. Then he switched on the radio and they all hushed to listen. The speaker played a steady wash of static, which seemed to surprise Kelly at once.

“I had that set to KPFA talk radio—94.1 FM. Has someone moved the dial?”

Paul looked at the digital readout. The numbers were still set to 94.1. He checked to be certain the radio was receiving the FM band. Then he pressed the search feature and watched the numbers scroll. Static rippled through the speaker, until the signal strength located something and locked on. A man was singing in another language. The first thing that came to Paul’s mind was that he had stumbled across a Spanish broadcast channel, then the realization of what he was hearing struck him, and the color faded from his cheeks.

One by one the same awareness came to each of them as they listened. They were hearing the chant of the muezzin as he sung the call to prayer from the minaret of some distant, unseen mosque. His voice rose and fell, filling the silence of the room with a haunting chorus that deepened to a feeling of impending calamity. The lingering echo of the singer’s voice seemed to taunt them now, rising and falling through the intermittent static of the radio. Then the signal faded, unable to penetrate the magnetic aura of the Arch that surrounded them, and was gone.