himself,” I muttered.
“What if he’s trying to revive the Brotherhood?”
“If that were so, he would have encouraged
you to join in his efforts.” At my skeptical look, Griffin sighed.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but your father cares for you.
Perhaps even more importantly, he’s come to respect you.”
“Ha, ha,” I said. “Very
amusing.” Father, respect me? He’d sooner throw all of his money into the
river.
Griffin frowned. “At the very least, he
couldn’t imagine he’d get away with any sorcerous dealings behind
your back. And given we helped destroy the Brotherhood the first
time around, that would be rather foolhardy on his part.”
“I suppose.” I stretched, my back popping
audibly. “It must all be related, though. The standing stones and
Tubbs’s murder, Lambert’s fit and the map, and now Lambert’s
death.”
“Agreed.” Griffin looked pensive. “Perhaps
there is some clue to be found in the background of one of them.
I’ll pursue that possibility. You speak to your father. If he has
nothing useful—or perhaps even if he does—we should consider
summoning Persephone tonight to make sure there’s no ketoi
connection.”
I’d not felt the dweller’s press against my
mind, but Griffin was right. We had to be certain. “Very well,” I
said, peering blearily in the direction of the rising sun. “But
first things first. Do you imagine there’s anywhere we can find a
cup of coffee?”
Chapter 14
Whyborne
Before settling into my desk at work, I sent
word to Father, requesting we meet. His reply was prompt,
suggesting we share lunch at Whyborne House. With nothing else
pressing to occupy my time until then, I turned my attention back
to the Wisborg Codex.
Translating the cryptic letters seemed
imperative, given one attempt at stealing the manuscript had
already been made. If only I had some idea what language it might
be written in. Latin, Greek, or Aklo seemed likeliest, but
likelihood was hardly certainty.
I stared at the illustration of the ketoi.
What if the symbols belonged to whatever system of writing they
used? Did they have a system of writing? I felt a fool for never
having asked Persephone or Mother. But we’d always had other things
to speak of in our infrequent meetings: Mother wanted to hear of my
life, and Persephone wished to learn sorcery. I had been a poor
brother and son indeed, not to have asked more about their lives
beneath the sea.
I worked on the cipher, to no avail, for
several hours. Shortly before lunch, Christine came in. She held a
large envelope in one hand, which she tossed onto my desk.
“Iskander developed the photographs from yesterday,” she said,
taking her usual seat.
I’d fortified myself with cup after cup of
coffee, but my interrupted sleep was making itself known
nonetheless. Perhaps I’d grown immune to the stuff after so many
years of consumption. “Thank you, Christine.”
“You look awful,” she said bluntly.
“How kind of you to say.” I signaled to Miss
Parkhurst. “Could you bring more coffee, please?”
“Of course, Dr. Whyborne, Dr. Putnam.” Once
she’d bustled off, I said, “Detective Tilton came knocking at our
door in the wee hours of the morning.”
Christine’s dark eyes widened in alarm. “Are
you all right? I swear, if the police think they can just—”
“I appreciate your concern, but his visit
concerned Griffin’s case,” I said, before she started threatening
Tilton with bodily harm. I gave her a quick summary of the
details.
“I’m going to have lunch with Father,” I
finished, as Miss Parkhurst brought in our coffee. “Perhaps he’ll
be able to enlighten us on some details.”
Christine frowned at me. “Miss Parkhurst
made our appointment with the florist this afternoon.”
Blast. Had she told me? I couldn’t recall.
“I don’t really know much about flowers...”
“Whyborne,” Christine said
threateningly.
Miss Parkhurst looked up from stirring just
the
“What if he’s trying to revive the Brotherhood?”
“If that were so, he would have encouraged
you to join in his efforts.” At my skeptical look, Griffin sighed.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but your father cares for you.
Perhaps even more importantly, he’s come to respect you.”
“Ha, ha,” I said. “Very
amusing.” Father, respect me? He’d sooner throw all of his money into the
river.
Griffin frowned. “At the very least, he
couldn’t imagine he’d get away with any sorcerous dealings behind
your back. And given we helped destroy the Brotherhood the first
time around, that would be rather foolhardy on his part.”
“I suppose.” I stretched, my back popping
audibly. “It must all be related, though. The standing stones and
Tubbs’s murder, Lambert’s fit and the map, and now Lambert’s
death.”
“Agreed.” Griffin looked pensive. “Perhaps
there is some clue to be found in the background of one of them.
I’ll pursue that possibility. You speak to your father. If he has
nothing useful—or perhaps even if he does—we should consider
summoning Persephone tonight to make sure there’s no ketoi
connection.”
I’d not felt the dweller’s press against my
mind, but Griffin was right. We had to be certain. “Very well,” I
said, peering blearily in the direction of the rising sun. “But
first things first. Do you imagine there’s anywhere we can find a
cup of coffee?”
Chapter 14
Whyborne
Before settling into my desk at work, I sent
word to Father, requesting we meet. His reply was prompt,
suggesting we share lunch at Whyborne House. With nothing else
pressing to occupy my time until then, I turned my attention back
to the Wisborg Codex.
Translating the cryptic letters seemed
imperative, given one attempt at stealing the manuscript had
already been made. If only I had some idea what language it might
be written in. Latin, Greek, or Aklo seemed likeliest, but
likelihood was hardly certainty.
I stared at the illustration of the ketoi.
What if the symbols belonged to whatever system of writing they
used? Did they have a system of writing? I felt a fool for never
having asked Persephone or Mother. But we’d always had other things
to speak of in our infrequent meetings: Mother wanted to hear of my
life, and Persephone wished to learn sorcery. I had been a poor
brother and son indeed, not to have asked more about their lives
beneath the sea.
I worked on the cipher, to no avail, for
several hours. Shortly before lunch, Christine came in. She held a
large envelope in one hand, which she tossed onto my desk.
“Iskander developed the photographs from yesterday,” she said,
taking her usual seat.
I’d fortified myself with cup after cup of
coffee, but my interrupted sleep was making itself known
nonetheless. Perhaps I’d grown immune to the stuff after so many
years of consumption. “Thank you, Christine.”
“You look awful,” she said bluntly.
“How kind of you to say.” I signaled to Miss
Parkhurst. “Could you bring more coffee, please?”
“Of course, Dr. Whyborne, Dr. Putnam.” Once
she’d bustled off, I said, “Detective Tilton came knocking at our
door in the wee hours of the morning.”
Christine’s dark eyes widened in alarm. “Are
you all right? I swear, if the police think they can just—”
“I appreciate your concern, but his visit
concerned Griffin’s case,” I said, before she started threatening
Tilton with bodily harm. I gave her a quick summary of the
details.
“I’m going to have lunch with Father,” I
finished, as Miss Parkhurst brought in our coffee. “Perhaps he’ll
be able to enlighten us on some details.”
Christine frowned at me. “Miss Parkhurst
made our appointment with the florist this afternoon.”
Blast. Had she told me? I couldn’t recall.
“I don’t really know much about flowers...”
“Whyborne,” Christine said
threateningly.
Miss Parkhurst looked up from stirring just
the
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