“It is so difficult to get good help,” he added. “Most frustrating. They simply do not understand the incredible importance of our exhibits and the artifacts we have collected.”
He turned to me then. “Yes, quite. You have a question about a manuscript?”
Sir Reginald studied several pages, his lips mouthing the words in Latin, the best that I had been able to determine, using the opposite end of his pen to lift the pages so not to touch with his fingers and soil them.
“Hmmm. Yes, Egyptian to be certain…” he turned another page. “But which dialect? That is the question. See here, it is not what one of your experience might expect. There are not the usual characters that we are most familiar with from our explorations.”
He pointed to a glass encased jar nearby that was covered with hand-painted images of a bird and cat.
“See there, that is a perfect example of hieroglyphics, however…” He continued to study several more pages of text.
“Perhaps Demotic script, or possibly Coptic. I would say, by the structure of this, similar to others I have seen, that this could possibly be from around the eleventh century— B.C. that is. See here, obviously Greek letters as well, and the words are run together.
“And this sort of script is seen primarily in administrative or official documents and treatises that have been discovered— most interesting, and the Latin text refers to it. It seems to describe some sorts of procedures.”
Procedures? That caught my attention.
“Most unusual, and rare. How did you come by it?” he then asked.
That was a conversation for another time, that didn’t include discussion about murder.
“Might you be able to translate it?” I inquired. “It’s important.”
“Most interesting,” he went on. “Of course it will take some time…”
I pointed out that it was regarding a most urgent matter.
“I could have something for you…” He was once more distracted by the manuscript.
“Sir Reginald?” I reminded him.
“Oh yes, quite. I could have something for you perhaps tomorrow, if you will contact the museum in the morning…”
That would have to do. In the meantime, I wanted very much to read Dr. Bennett’s book as well as those notes he had been making for his next book.
I made arrangements to contact Sir Reginald the following morning, then turned to gather my bag. It was quitecumbersome with the book, the notes, and the revolver I usually carried at Brodie’s insistence.
The bag tumbled to the floor of the hall, Dr. Bennett’s notes scattering about as Lily arrived, quite excited. She stooped down to help retrieve the notes.
“One of the attendants said as how some of those staffs are over two thousand years old. Two thousand years! I canna imagine. The ‘Church,’ in Old Town, was only three hundred years old. The ladies were always complainin’ that there was no plumbing after they finished with their customers. Did they have plumbing two thousand years ago?”
She managed to shuffle the loose notes together. We did need to have a conversation about the things she shared in public places.
“Wot’s this, Miss Mikaela?” She held up one of the pieces of paper that had been in my bag.
It was the copy of that note the Agency had intercepted and had been unable to decipher. She seemed particularly fascinated by it.
“It looks like some sort of code with all those letters and numbers.” She handed it back to me. “Is it part of the inquiry ye’re makin’?”
I distracted her with a reminder of swords that were displayed in another part of the great hall.
That took us to the Medieval Hall where there were several displayed, including several from France after various campaigns— we never did seem to get along, although the Conqueror, an ancestor, had been French. Norman actually according to my aunt. There was also a particularly well-preserved Crusader sword.
“The knife Mr. Munro gave ye is more practical,” Lily commented.
“I believe, in the past, the object was to engage one’s opponent at a greater distance than that of a knife to get an advantage and strike a fatal blow,” I explained.
She nodded. “Slice off an arm or the head, I s’pose.”
