Chapter 36 - Revelations

Image by Raychan from Unsplash

As she passed the lifts on her way back to her room, Ike fingered the battered murder mystery stuffed into the front pocket of her sweatshirt together with an equally dog-eared business card. Her mind drifted back to the hotel room and the three ladies she had just left.

"Call us anytime," Jhanvi had said just before Ike left. "Best if you memorise the number and chuck it afterwards. We prefer to stay hidden. But there are so many things we can teach you. You might even want to join us."

"So, membership isn't mandatory?"

"No. We want to keep a tab of all Sibyls. We might be a secret organisation, however, recruiting people against their will is not our style."

"They tried in the past." Beatriz smiled like the Cheshire cat. The whole woman was cat-like, fluffy, cuddly, with lethal claws sheathed underneath. Not that she had shown them. Ike just knew they were there. Her comment proved it.

Wordlessly, Delia pushed a soiled book at Ike, its panels flopping on the spine, pages missing.

"What's that?"

"A first edition Miss Marple. Murder on the Orient Express. Get as many firsts as you can. They do a much better job."

Ike was touched. She hadn't expected the lemon to care. "I can't accept that. It must be invaluable."

"Not in that state. Anyway, even if it were falling apart, a first will always do the trick."

Ike's fingers closed around the mauled panels, glided over the rough surface of the linen cover that felt like a friend already.

"Does it matter if they are literature? Or old? Like Shakespeare, for example. Or Cervantes?"

Beatriz tapped her lips. "The older the book, the better. And as you found out today, it doesn't have to be literature at all. Any odd message will do. As long as it's written down somewhere. Or painted. Or whatever. You need to touch it. And it has to be as close to the original as you can make it. The K'ung guards our collection of historical documents. Papyri, clay tablets, Chinese letters written on silk. She's even got a cave painting."

"We're not sure if that one works," the lemon said. "You can't place it on people's chests. Way too heavy."

"True," Beatriz said. "Nobody's dared to search it either. Though that could be because of the language issue."

"Well, yes, I didn't understand much of what Cecilia was saying."

Jhanvi pointed a painted finger at Ike. "Exactly! That's the next problem. If you don't speak the lingo or if you aren't familiar with a certain culture, it's hard to work out what is going on. The further you go back in time, the worse it gets. Okay, I suspect you've had a good dose of weirdness for one day. Lie down, mull things over. We'll get ourselves another rubbing of that message and see if we can find a Latin speaker to search the scene some more. You can return the other copy to that friend of yours. Or the expert. Let's see what they come up with. We'll take any help we'll get."

Hope stirred in Ike's chest. "You're sure the scrolls might still around? I thought they burned when the lava flattened the town?"

Jhanvi opened the door to the suite. "Funnily enough that lava flow also conserved things that would otherwise be long gone. Google the Herculaneum papyri, and you'll see what I mean. I give you a hint—a load of charbroiled scrolls which a posse of scientists are deciphering as we speak."

Delia produced a sour grin. "The challenge will be to work out which library that priestess had in mind. Private book collections were a status symbol for Roman citizens, many had them, which means the prophecies could be anywhere in the town. Unless she said 'bibliotheca publica'?

Ike stopped on the threshold and turned around. "I assure you, she did not."

Jhanvi nodded. "If they still exist, we will find them, no matter how long it takes. Now go, we've made contact, so we'll be leaving here tomorrow, but we will stay in touch. You've been of great help, and I can see you are dead on your feet."

She was so right, but one final question weighed too heavy on Ike's mind to let go. "Just a second. Were you on the Aventine the day we had that trouble with our coach?"

"What do you mean by 'trouble'? We shadowed you because we wanted a chat. But you were surrounded by hordes of people the whole time. Or with that Frenchwoman," the lemon said. "You're difficult to get hold of. All that buzzing around would stress me out."

No way to sugarcoat things. Ike drew a deep breath. "And you didn't by any chance cut the brake lines of our coach?"

The lemon's lips did that trap thing again. "No," hissed from between clenched teeth.

"Why would we?" asked Beatriz.

I'm not saying you did. Just checking. My colleague spotted you in the coach parking that day that's why I'm asking. I'm trying to work out who might be behind all this . . . trouble we keep having."

"Like the murder, you mean?" Jhanvi asked, her hand on the doorknob.

Ike threw a glance over her shoulder into the corridor, realising she should have checked earlier. Theirs wasn't the sort of conversation she needed witnesses too. But they seemed to be on their own.

"Yes."

"Well, we're not a bunch of assassins, that's not the purpose of the sisterhood."

What is?

That question would have to wait for another day; Jhanvi was right about Ike feeling dead on her feet. And being drained, troubled and jittery all at once, the result of an overdose of caffeine, life-threatening incidents and mind-boggling revelations.

For a moment, the three Sibyls stood facing her, dark silhouettes of different shapes and sizes, outlined by the soft light of the evening sun.

Then the door softly closed in her face.

###

All hopes for a quiet time out, a blessed hour to be spent lounging on the bed were blown to smithereens when Ike rounded the corner and stumbled on a heated exchange. A small furry shape detached itself from the melee and dashed towards her, barking as it came.

"Boris, shut up!"

To her surprise, the dog obeyed though he continued to dance around her legs, his stubby tail waggling and the silly pink tongue lolling adorably.

She kneeled down and caressed the oversized ears and got her cheeks licked for her troubles. At least the little monster's tongue wasn't as raspy as a cat's would have been.

She stood up and faced the music. "Afternoon, all."

"Chérie, where have you been? We were worried?"

"I—met with a few friends. A surprise visit."

Gary's icicle eyes glittered. "So much of a surprise you leave your handbag behind? And your room key? Without locking anything? Not advisable, if you ask me."

Ike no longer possessed the energy to engage. The man was blocking the entrance and access to her bed. Caffeine and timeworn documents could only do so much when one was so bone-tired, one could cry.

"Permission to enter my own room? I feel a tad ropey. Not my day."

He moved aside silently without a twitch of his facial muscles and still managed to radiate disapproval from every pore of his body.

She brushed past him, breathed in that spicy scent of his. And something else. Sweeter, more solid. Like an olfactory uppercut but not delivered by Gary. She sniffed the air. "Don't tell me Ben's been around."

Brigitte clapped languidly. The pretty young chambermaid next to her giggled. Was she now part of the team?

A quick grin slipped over his lordship's face, like a sun-glint on steely Northern waters. "What is that stuff he uses? Does he bathe in it? Anyway, I figure we can guess what he wanted. Money, I dare say. Which tends to be in short supply, so let's not worry about it. We're not so sure about your other visitor."

"Visitors plural. I told you some friends got in touch."

At some point, she would have to explain that the so-called friends and their mysterious gang of ladies were the same and most likely harmless, at least as far as the local crime wave was concerned. But not now.

Do let me know if you have questions or comments on my novel. Constructive suggestions and feedback are always welcome! And thank you for reading. In doing so, you give my writing a purpose.