Chapter Sixteen

 

Now

Canberra, Australia

Spring rain fell heavily on the garden below Elizabeth’s balcony, as drifts of undercoat swirled around inside her bedroom. At this time of year, long-haired Paris and Loki often lay in a corner looking exhausted. Even Thoth and Seshet, both shorthairs, needed help with their moulting. Elizabeth and Matty were working together to minimise the annual feline furball distress.

Elizabeth was hoping the afternoon would also lift Matty’s spirits. His depression had become obvious to everyone. He went to school blank-faced, said little over dinner, then did his homework and went to bed. When pushed, he denied worrying about his upcoming leg adjustments. One evening, after he had gone to bed, the family decided all they could do was spend time with him, and keep him involved in regular household routine, while they tried to figure something out.

Matty snipped at dreadlocks that had formed on Loki’s hindquarters while Paris pawed at her tail. Elizabeth was careful to keep her comments to, ‘Please pass the other brush.’ Seeing Matty’s suffering put her own problems in perspective. On Thursday night, after the interview, Elizabeth told Taid just enough of what had happened for him to get the gist: there was no way she would win a tutoring job, and she had been wrong about Carl.

No matter how thwarted she felt, though, her disappointment paled in comparison to what Matty was experiencing.

Taid suggested Elizabeth ask Dr Williams for a re-interview and explain the circumstances. But what could she say? That Carl was running some kind of scam, and fired her to prevent her from exposing him? That sounded crazy. Anyway, if Carl had been in Spain and not in Mexico Elizabeth had been wrong.

Thoth pawed Elizabeth’s hand gently, urging her to keep brushing. Elizabeth smeared a small glob of lubricant onto the cat’s coat, and turned to the waiting Seshet.

Even if Elizabeth was wrong about Carl moving the skeletons, she was right that something at Juluwik didn’t add up. What was it? She would have to think her way through the whole thing again and work out where she had gone wrong.

All right, what did she know for sure?

One: all the people buried at Juluwik were female, apart from the little boy buried with the ballplayer.

Two: the DNA results indicated the women were either mother, aunt, grandmother or great-aunt to some or all of the children, except for the infant girl.

Three: Elizabeth’s dental non-metric analysis showed that the Olmec group sat well within the rest of the Mesoamerican population.

Four: the woman with the ballplayer figurine had injuries consistent with playing the game, but that were unrelated to her death.

Five: the women showed the wear patterns and damage associated with years of grinding corn.

Six: the square-headed children were a set of siblings, and the long-headed children were a set of siblings.

Seven: all seventeen individuals were probably buried close to each other in terms of time, given both their familial relationships and their individual radiocarbon dates. This group could easily be a mass grave, or a short-term cemetery for women and girls, but certainly not a royal cemetery for men, except…

The writing and the grave goods both said male and noble. Moreover, the date in the writing matched the date of the skeletons. How could she explain that?

Okay, start with the grave goods. Apart from the ballplayer figurine that was buried with the ballplayer, each adult and most of the children were buried with a small clay model of a maize child. These had the foetal faces found on carvings and statues throughout Mesoamerica, and the regalia associated with noble men at other sites. And there was no evidence that the grave goods had been added to the burials later: if Carl moved the burials from another site into the cave at Juluwik, the grave goods were already with them.

So, what was her mistake? Had she simply misidentified the timing of when Carl moved the burials? Or was she completely wrong? If everyone had incorrectly assumed that the grave goods represented royal males, would that explain the mismatched information from Juluwik? No, because that still didn’t explain the writing. Arggh! Why couldn’t she figure this out?

Seshet meowed in protest; Elizabeth realised the intensity of her brushing had increased with her frustration. She patted Seshy gently on the back of the head in apology, then groomed her soft underbelly. Seshet batted at the brush like a kitten.

‘Lizbet, Mathieu, afternoon tea,’ Grandmère called.

Gathering tumblefurs from around her room, Elizabeth decided she had to talk this through with Taid again. When her own reasoning abilities failed, she could always rely on his calm, steady logic.

— — —

After a slice of delicious orange and raisin tart, Taid and Elizabeth retired to his courtyard with a pot of Earl Grey tea.

‘So, Carl definitely didn’t do it?’ Taid asked.

‘I don’t know. But he couldn’t have moved the burials when he was in Spain, that’s for sure.’

‘He could have done it some other time, though.’

‘True.’

Taid drew one of his slow, deep breaths. ‘Before we continue, are you sure you want to pursue this? Carl threatened to make your life difficult.’

‘Yes. I’m not going to be bullied.’

‘That’s my girl.’

‘I might have been mistaken about when Carl interfered with the site, but I know something is wrong with the whole thing, and I’m going to figure it out.’

‘Then let’s get started.’

‘Ffwrdd a ni!’

Taid laughed. ‘We need to go back to basics, and reassess what the evidence tells us. Now, what do you have to work with?’

Elizabeth counted on her fingers. ‘One: the data I collected. Two: everything I’ve read or seen and stored in my library.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘And three, my donkey.’

Taid grinned. ‘Our poor little existentially challenged donkey. Time to bring out her shaving kit?’

‘Yep.’

‘Let’s start with Hitchens’ Razor. If the burden of proof lies on the claim-maker, not the defender, then it’s up to you to prove something is wrong at Juluwik. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’

‘Next: Hanlon’s Razor. We already discussed this one. Are you sure this isn’t a simple case of Carl making mistakes?’

‘It just doesn’t ring true. I could understand Juan making mistakes, and telling Carl the wrong thing, but Carl…he’s cunning and manipulative, and seems convinced he’s some kind of hero to the people working at Juluwik. I can’t believe Carl wouldn’t know that something’s off. He has to know.’

‘Okay, next. Comical name aside, do we need Newton’s Flaming Laser Sword? Can you settle this with experimenting?’

‘I don’t see how. I’ve already done the analyses that I can. I don’t have any more information…No, I don’t think it’s an option.’

‘What does that leave us? Occam’s Razor?’

‘Faced with competing hypotheses, when there’s no evidence to back one over another, go with the one that makes the fewest assumptions,’ Elizabeth recited.

‘Which begs the question, what hypotheses do you have? Apart from the idea that Carl moved the bodies?’

‘Ah, none, actually.’

‘There’s your starting point. You need to define more hypotheses, from the most logical to the most absurd, along with their assumptions. Yes?’

Elizabeth nodded.

‘And then we reconvene. Yes?’

‘Yes!’

— — —

After breakfast the following morning, Elizabeth retreated to her bedroom to work on her hypotheses and their assumptions. Thoth helped by settling next to Elizabeth on the bed and thoughtfully kneading her thigh. Right…

Hypothesis one: Carl found the writing, wanted more from the site, found matching skeletons, moved them there, covered it up. This assumes: Carl found the writing. Carl is greedy. Carl searched for and found the skeletons. Carl found people to help him move the skeletons and cover it up. At least four assumptions.

Now, a logical alternative…

‘Ow!’ Elizabeth unhooked Thoth’s claws from her jeans, and diverted the cat’s attention to a nearby pillow.

Hypothesis two: someone else found the writing, wanted more from the site, found matching skeletons, moved them there, and covered it up. This idea definitely involved more assumptions: these included the same assumptions as for hypothesis one, as well as the ‘someone else’ knowing what the writing was and having access to other archaeological sites to search for the skeletons and having the equipment and workers needed and – after all that – being willing to let Carl take the credit. Way less likely than hypothesis one.

Anyway, if it wasn’t Carl, who else could it be? The only other person Elizabeth knew from Juluwik was Juan, and he seemed an unlikely candidate. Perhaps there were other people on the team in Mexico whom she hadn’t heard of?

Wait, you’re assuming it wasn’t Juan. Don’t jump over things like that, woman! Work it through properly.

Could Juan have found the writing? Yes, Juan had been in Mexico for six years, and said he knew many locals. It was just as possible for Juan to have found the writing as it was for Carl.

Would Juan know what the writing was? Yes, absolutely.

Did Juan have access to other sites, equipment and man­power? Well…yes, he was hooked into the local archaeological scene. He could move around, visiting other sites…such as Luke’s. That would explain Juan visiting Luke’s site!

Leaving aside how unlikely it seemed that the lazy Juan would suddenly become Mr Grand Conspiracy Mastermind, why would he give Carl the credit? If Juan orchestrated the whole thing, wouldn’t he ‘find’ Juluwik himself?

Of course, there was at least one more obvious hypothesis. Rolling over to pat a madly purring Thoth, Elizabeth had to acknowledge it was possible she was wrong about everything. And, if she was, that might go part way to explaining Carl’s extreme reactions to her.

What could she do? Perhaps she could talk to Henry again, see if he had found any more clues in the writing. Elizabeth glanced at her wall clock. If she waited till tonight to call she should catch him over breakfast, New York time.

— — —

‘Hello!’

‘Hi down there,’ Henry grinned.

‘How are you?’

‘Great. It’s cooler now. It’ll be fall soon. How’re you?’

‘Okay,’ Elizabeth said, ‘Still working on Juluwik. I was hoping you might have translated more of the writing.’

‘Yeah, in that I’ve identified more of the glyphs.’

‘That’s great.’

Henry waved a printout of Elizabeth’s document in front of the camera. ‘The glyphs in the first column translate to a date around three thousand, two hundred years ago, like you said.’

‘Okay.’

‘And, though I can’t translate ’em all, there’re definitely symbols that look like ballgame, corn, noble, male and fertility.’

‘Hmmm…So, what does that all mean?’

‘Not sure. If it’s someone’s name, we’ll probably never know. I wish I could talk to others about this, but,’ he held up a cautionary finger, ‘I know I have to wait for Dr Schmidt to publish.’

‘For my sake, yes. And please, call him Carl.’

‘Okay. Like I said before, I can’t translate it, but I know what we’re seeing here is exactly right for an emerging writing system. I wonder…’

‘Yes?’

‘You sent me a hand-drawn copy of the writing. Did you copy the glyphs from a photo?’

‘Not exactly. I did it from memory.’

‘That’s some memory! Is it possible you flipped some of the glyphs in your head, though?’

Elizabeth swallowed hard. Here went nothing. ‘I’m sure I copied it out perfectly because I have an eidetic memory. I have a copy of the photos from the site files in my phrenic library.’

‘An eidetic memory? That musta made exams a lot easier!’

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief at Henry’s reaction. ‘Exams, yes. Getting along with other people, not so much.’

‘What d’ya mean?’

‘It was difficult as a kid. During exams I could close my eyes and read the answers from class notes or textbooks. Some of the other kids took offence, thought I was making myself look better than them on purpose, and bullied me for it.’

‘Oh, I didn’t think there’d be a downside to a gift like that.’

‘Yep. I learnt to make little mistakes to seem more normal, so people would leave me alone.’

‘Like me and sports.’

‘Sports?’

‘I’m from the Midwest. Growing up wanting to be a librarian…I was shoved into a lot of lockers.’

‘I’m so sorry, Henry.’

He shrugged. ‘I learnt to fake liking sports pretty darn quick. Even now, my own family makes fun of me. My nephews ask where my pen protector is whenever I’m home.’

‘That’s so mean! You don’t get along with your family?’

‘It’s complicated. I do, and I don’t. But that’s a conversation for another day. What did you mean by phrenic library? A head library?’

Elizabeth pulled a face. ‘I thought you’d let that one slip through.’

Henry hooted. ‘No way! So, what is it?’

‘It’s my grandfather’s fault, actually.’

Henry chuckled.

‘It’s true. When I was little, my grandfather, Taid, told me about an old merchant’s trick. Back in the days before most people were literate, some of the more clever merchants had a storeroom in their mind. They had a symbol for each item of stock, and for money coming in and out.’

‘Oh yeah, I read about that once.’

‘So, I came up with a storeroom of bookshelves in my head, to house all the books I was reading. Then I added items that I saw in museums. Later, I added a fireplace, and slowly the storeroom became a library. I can go there and revisit anything I’ve ever seen.’

‘That’s very cool.’

‘I’m glad you think so. As a librarian, you might also appre­ciate my cataloguing systems. Everything is filed concurrently under both a temporal cataloguing system, the order I read things in, and a multidimensional subject-based classification system.’

‘Fancy!’

‘The only problem is, while I can remember everything I’ve seen and heard, that doesn’t mean I can automatically figure everything out.’

‘Meaning Juluwik?’

‘Exactly. I’m sure something is dodgy, but I can’t figure out what.’

‘Can you explain what you mean?’

Elizabeth walked Henry through the set of information and hypotheses she had been wrestling with. ‘I keep thinking I’m missing something, and that it’s staring me in the face.’

‘Well, there is another assumption you’re making, y’ know.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That the writing came first. What if the graves are original, and someone added the writing later?’

‘How could that be? How could someone have come along later and written down a date that matched the date of the burials so closely?’

‘Y’know, oral traditions can be real strong. Someone from a later Olmec period, or even an early Mayan one, could’ve added the writing. That’d explain why the glyphs are so advanced. And, if the story of who was buried there changed over time, the writing could talk about noble males instead of everyday females.’

‘But then, if someone came along later and added the writing, we’d be left with inexplicably reversed glyphs. You said that having some glyphs face forward and to the left, like later Mayan writing, and some face right, only makes sense if the writing at Juluwik is from early in the development of the writing system, yes?’

‘Yeah, I s’pose so. That doesn’t work, does it?’ Henry looked a little dejected.

‘You’re right about one thing though. I overlooked an assumption. What else have I missed?’

— — —

Elizabeth sat bolt upright in bed that night, dislodging Seshet, who thumped onto the floor with a protesting meow.

She had been in her library again, dreaming, staring at the corkboard. Red wool vibrated between an image of Matty’s fourth birthday cake, her Archaeology 101 textbook, the book on Mesoamerican writing, and the picture of an upside-down donkey in a straw hat. Seth, the Egyptian god of chaos, stood next to her, leaning in to examine the board. An enormous raven jumped from Seth’s shoulder onto a skull resting high on a plinth next to the corkboard. A skull, but not a human one…an orang-utan?

What did it all mean? What did the raven symbolise? Death? Did Seth’s presence mean her emotions were chaotic?

It was too hard to figure out in the middle of the night. Elizabeth sighed, helped Seshet settle back on the bed and rolled over. She had to get some sleep before work in the morning.

— — —

A few weeks later, Elizabeth stood before the mirror in her bedroom securing a thin red belt around her party dress. She owned very few dresses, but was glad Grandmère had persuaded her to buy this one. With its aqua background and white polka dots it was so pretty.

Dressing for her twenty-sixth birthday dinner was tinged with sadness, though. In the past, birthdays had always reminded Elizabeth of her mother, but now there was the added sorrow of her dad not being here either. Gripping her cartouche tightly, Elizabeth brushed welling tears from the corners of her eyes and checked her make-up before heading outside.

Descending the stairs from her balcony to the warm courtyard below, Elizabeth caught her breath. The red-brick walls of the courtyard glowed with a galaxy of fairy lights. A long table draped in white linen sparkled with glassware, candles, and red and aqua bonbons. Matching lanterns hovered above the whole scene.

‘Oh, it’s so beautiful, everyone. Thank you so much,’ Elizabeth said to her family.

Taid popped the cork of Elizabeth’s favourite sparkling rosé and handed her a glass. ‘To you, cariad, from all of us.’

The wine was chilled to perfection. Grandmère Maddie, Taid and Sam preferred true champagne, but Elizabeth found it too tart. ‘Thank you, again.’

‘And how is the birthday girl?’ Taid asked.

‘Tired from a long week at work, but feeling much refreshed now.’

‘Excellent.’

Taid poured drinks for everyone else. Along with the champagne and rosé, there was sparkling lemon mineral water for Nainai and Matty. All three drinks matched the gorgonzola buckenta squares Grandmère served as an amuse-bouche. Yum!

‘So, how’s the new rotation? Do you like working in Preservation?’ Taid asked.

‘Well, I’ve only taken courses on preservation techniques so far, but I’ll get to work on some actual books next week. The people seem nice, though.’

Taking her seat, Elizabeth pulled a thick white linen napkin from its polished silver ring and placed it in her lap.

‘And, for madame’s enjoyment,’ Grandmère joked, ‘we have, as always, the duck and the custard.’

She wasn’t wrong. Elizabeth requested the same thing for every birthday: duck and custard. It might start with tea-smoked duck, or canard à l’orange, or even Peking duck, but her birthday dinner always concluded with a dessert involving custard.

This year, to Taid’s delight, it was the succulent Hwyaden Hallt Cymreig – Welsh salted duck – to be served with crisp bacon-and-leek potatoes, asparagus, and onion sauce. For afters there was apple-and-blackberry pie smothered in brandied custard. Grandmère had even prepared the freshly baked bread rolls Elizabeth loved, as well as a potato and asparagus quiche for Sam. Everyone could eat to his or her heart’s content.

At the end of the meal, over tea and coffee, Taid brought out Elizabeth’s present. By family tradition, each of them received one joint present from the rest of the family for birthdays. This year it was a huge vintage book, leather-bound and gold-lettered. Elizabeth examined it closely, then laughed out loud. It wasn’t a book…It was a box made to look like an antique book. She opened it to reveal a pair of pyjamas and laughed again. The print on the pyjama pants was especially appropriate: bookshelves filled with old books and sleeping cats.

‘Thank you, everyone, I’ll wear them tonight.’

Opening the accompanying card, Elizabeth took her time to read the messages, smiling at each of her family in turn. There were touching quotes and sentiments from Taid, Grandmère and Nainai, and a teenage boy’s ‘Happy Birthday’ from Matty. But nothing from Sam. Elizabeth worked so hard to support the family, including Sam; how could she be so rude? She was so ungrateful!

‘You didn’t have a chance to write in my card?’ Elizabeth kept her voice steady.

‘Honestly,’ Sam sighed, ‘I couldn’t think of anything to write. I didn’t see the point. You don’t actually want me to be your sister. You’d prefer it if I wasn’t here at all, so why bother?’

Elizabeth froze. What could she say? Sam was right, but they simply couldn’t fight in front of Matty. She glanced at him to see his reaction. He was staring at Sam with a look of horror on his face.

‘Ahh, that’s okay,’ Elizabeth stammered. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She looked at Taid for help. He opened his mouth and…

‘No, Elizabeth, really, why should I bother?’ Sam pressed her. ‘Nothing I do is right. You’d be happy if I disappeared altogether. Why not be honest?’

Stay calm, don’t upset Matty. ‘Sam, I don’t want to talk about it. If you don’t want to sign my card, that’s fine, just leave it.’ Elizabeth turned to Grandmère. ‘The dinner was delicious, thank you. Would you like help clearing up?’

‘Don’t you dare do that! Don’t ignore me. I am your sister, whether you like it or not.’

Elizabeth felt her ire rising. She looked at Matty again; he was white in the face. She had to diffuse the situation.

‘Sam, I’m not ignoring you. I’m trying to have a nice birthday with my family. Can we please not fight?’

‘Oh, that would suit you, wouldn’t it. Lady Elizabeth, all her servants bowing and scraping at her birthday party. We mustn’t upset her ladyship!’

That was it. ‘What are you talking about? I work for you, not the other way around! You’re happy enough to live in a house that I pay the bills for, happy enough to suck away my whole life while you go out and get drunk, all to make up for a mistake you made! And you can’t even be bothered to sign my birthday card? If anyone around here is Lady Muck, it’s you.’

‘What mistake?’ Sam looked genuinely confused. ‘You’re talking rubbish, as usual.’

‘Girls, that’s enough,’ said Taid.

‘Are you actually going to make me say it?’ Elizabeth dared Sam.

‘Yes. What are you blaming me for this time?’

‘Girls, I said that’s enough.’

Taid was right, it was enough. Enough, enough, enough! Elizabeth was sick of everyone protecting Sam. ‘The car accident, Samantha, the car accident. You. Killed. Mum.’

‘What?’ Sam looked shocked. ‘You’re insane!’

Elizabeth leapt to her feet. ‘You were playing with the tennis ball. Mum told you not to, but you did it anyway!’ She shook her finger in Sam’s face. ‘You dropped it, it rolled under her foot, she couldn’t hit the brakes…That mistake, Sam. The one that devastated our whole family. The one that means with Dad gone I will have to give up years of my life to look after everyone. And you can’t even be bothered to sign a lousy birthday card.’ She threw both her hands in the air. ‘You’re such a self-centred…monster!’

Elizabeth’s last word echoed around the courtyard. Seconds ticked by.

‘It was me.’

All heads swung to look at Matty.

‘What do you mean?’ Sam demanded.

‘It was me,’ he repeated. ‘I’m the one who killed Mum. It’s my fault. I’m the monster.’ Matty’s voice cracked.

‘No. No, of course you’re not,’ Elizabeth said. She glanced at Sam. ‘Matty, you don’t have to cover for her.’

‘I’m not lying,’ Matty yelled. ‘I played with the tennis ball. It was me. I wanted to be like Sam, but I couldn’t hold onto it. It fell and rolled under the car seat. I didn’t know. I didn’t know!’

Matty’s chair hit the ground as he stumbled away through the gravel, his crutches catching at the flagstones. Matty had to be covering for Sam, but why would he do that? Elizabeth stood to go after him.

Taid pushed his chair back to join her. She waved him back into his seat. ‘No. I’m the one who has to go to him.’

Elizabeth followed Matty inside the house. She heard his bedroom door slam closed. She waited a few moments, then followed him up the stairs. She knocked softly on his door. ‘Matty, it’s me.’

‘Go away, Lizbet. You mustn’t look at me. I am a monster. I killed Mum. I’m the one who ruined your life, not Sam. It’s my fault,’ Matty’s voice rose to a wail. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m the one you should hate, not Sam!’

Elizabeth turned the door handle. It wasn’t locked. Matty was curled into a tight ball on his bed. She sat next to him and tried to put her arm around him. He pushed it away.

‘Matty, sweetheart. You’re not a monster. I don’t understand why you’re saying this. Did Sam put you up to it?’

‘No! You’re not listening. I’m the reason you had to stay in Canberra after Dad died. I’m the reason you can’t be with Luke. I’m the reason you had to give up archaeology, not Sam. It was me!’

‘Matty, where did you hear that? How do you know about…that?’

‘Earlier this year. In Taid’s courtyard. You were talking. Grandmère sent me with another pot of tea for Taid, but then I heard what you said, how you think she killed Mum. But you’re wrong, it was me. I’m the one you should hate.’

Elizabeth’s throat throbbed. He had to be lying, he had to be covering for Sam. ‘Matty, you were only four when Mum died. It couldn’t have been you. How could you even remember back that far?’

‘Because I’m like you,’ he looked at her, his brown eyes filled with self-loathing. ‘I remember!’

Dread cannoned into her stomach; he was telling the truth.

There was a tap at the door. Sam. Prickly heat flooded Elizabeth’s body.

‘I might forgive you, one day,’ Sam said evenly, ‘but always remember, when you thought I made a mistake, you never forgave me.’ Sam looked at Matty. ‘But that’s not important right now.’

Elizabeth bowed her head. She felt Sam’s weight on the bed as her sister sat down. Sam took one of Elizabeth’s hands and put it on top of Matty’s.

The three of them stayed on the bed for hours, each sister holding one of their little brother’s hands, telling him that it would all be okay, somehow.