Eureka!
Dear Providence, I feel I've hit the jackpot! This night has been such a night of revelations that I fear I won't find sleep until dawn! Or should I say until Shahar appears? But I am getting ahead of myself, dear Rodgers. I'm sorry for such an awkward and misshapen opening, so afford me a moment to rewind time and recollect to you just what's happened so far tonight.
As soon as the sun touched the horizon, I was getting dressed and setting up my rideshare app to pick me up within the next half hour. I then spent the remaining time packing my satchel with various writing utensils, reference books, and notebooks that could prove useful. You know me, Rodgers, never one to meet the ancient text unprepared. I then sat on the steps to my flat watching the road for my driver.
It didn't take long for the driver to arrive and I quickly scampered into the hybrid car and was driven to Manacur's house. Or should I say Manacur's mansion, for the home was no home but a rather impressive estate on the edge of London on the way to Ketterly. I will be honest that in my excitement I wasn't exactly keeping a close eye on where we were travelling, though I do know that a turn was made on or near Harrowden.
I was dropped off by my driver and took in the sight before me. I know now, thanks to your response, that Manacur is a wealthy and well-connected collector of oddities and a strong patron of the arts and history, but to see such an old-fashioned yet opulent living space in person took my breath away. When I'd finally gathered my wits, I approached the gate and rang the bell.
A learned voice came crisply over the intercom speaker. "Yes, may I help you?" In contrast to Vincent's bombastic tone, this one was more subdued and reminded me of that posh professor of Ottoman history during our summer at Oxford. You know the one. Anyway, I held up the card Vincent had given me earlier in the day to the small camera and told the person I'd been invited to look at some artefacts Vincent had recently acquired.
"One moment." The line cut and the gate before me rumbled to life. On slightly creaky wheels, the gate rolled aside and the large oak door at the front of the mansion swung open. I could vaguely make out a thin, middle-aged man standing in the open doorway, waving for me to approach.
I slipped between the gate and walked up the stairs hurriedly to the front door. After a brief exchange with the man at the door, I learned that he was Vincent's live-in attendant, a sort of butler, and he knew to be expecting me. He spoke very little and seemed wholly disinterested in the reason that had brought me to his employer's home, but he was patient all the same as he led me to Vincent's study.
The study was a magnificent room lined with bookshelves and framed posters. Over the bookshelves, I saw a few mounted animal heads and it would not have surprised me if they'd been hunted by Vincent himself. At the centre of the opposite wall was a really rustic brick fireplace with a number of baubles and statuettes standing on the mantle. There was a roaring and warm fire burning in the fireplace and this fire was the only source of light in the whole study. Before the fireplace was a grand desk that seemed to be older than even the home. Next to the desk was a curiously large crate with an old iron padlock that instantly piqued my curiosity.
The butler told me that Vincent would arrive in a few moments and said to make myself at home. So I did. I set my stuff down to the side of one of the simple wooden chairs and started looking through Vincent's collection. Rodgers, I promise I am not joking when I say this man has a collection of esoteric works that may rival even your alma mater's. He'd mentioned my humble few abridged volumes of the Illuminated Collection yet he had the complete works on a shelf attached to his desk! Just the binding alone revealed to me that they weren't abridged, either. These must have been second or third edition!
My eyes skimmed the shelves and I caught sight of many forbidden and lost texts alongside more common scholarly works. Overall, I could only hope to describe Manacur's collection as a sort of blasphemous contradiction. Here is one such example: I saw a faded Hebrew Bible on the shelf published by a company that hadn't been in business since the early 1800s side by side with a leatherbound copy of the Libre Ivonis! I almost laughed at the seemingly careless placement of the two books so often at opposing ends. It was that juxtaposition that kept me intrigued.
Oh, and I mustn't forget this: in a glass display case between two tall bookshelves sat the Codex of the Hearth. I never thought I'd see that elusive work in all my life, but yet here it was, mere inches from me and opened to one of its gloriously undecipherable pages. Of course, I shuffled over to the book with reverence and looked over the two pages on display. It's true what was written about it: the script really is mind-bendingly nonsensical. And yet... in a strange way, Rodgers, when your eyes first land on the page, you get a sense that there's order and meaning behind the writing and you feel as if you can read it, but then it just makes no sense. As if in the initial glance you can understand it, but then your brain gets ahold of the information and obscures it. I'm sorry, I'm rambling again, aren't I... But you don't mind, right?
It was while I inspected the guarded Codex that Vincent entered. He carried in his hand a tray with two teacups, a sugar cube container, and a kettle. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Collins. I just thought some tea would be in order, for the night may turn out a bit long." He carefully set the tray on the desk and gestured for me to take a cup.
I gladly did. I poured myself half a cup from the still steaming kettle and took a careful first sip. It was perfectly brewed.
"Not going to add sugar?" Vincent asked.
I shook my head. "No, I'm not one for sweetened tea. I prefer the water and the spice alone."
Vincent chuckled. "Suit yourself, Mr. Collins. Suit yourself." He began sharing his own portion and dropped two cubes in his own drink. He spoke again as he stirred. "Welcome to my humble abode. The whole house may be mine, but I find myself in this room more than any other. I couldn't help but notice you were drawn to the Codex over there and I know what you're thinking." He paused for dramatic effect. It seemed he absolutely loved sharing his passion with someone as excited. "It is the original."
My eyes drifted back to the Codex, wide. "The... original Codex of the Hearth?" I set my teacup back on the tray carefully and approached the display again. "How did you get it? Where did you find it? Why do you have it?"
"Those are all excellent questions," Vincent admitted. "But they are questions for another time, I'm afraid. I can't share too much and distract you from the reason you are here." He kicked the curious dark chest at the side of his desk with his boot. "After all, there's something else I need you to read; and, unlike that Codex, this one can actually be deciphered." He took another slurp from his tea, then opened a desk drawer and retrieved a sturdy iron key. The type of key you'd more expect to open a dungeon or a treasure chest. Though I suppose, that wasn't too far off.
Vincent crouched and undid the iron padlock and in seconds the crate was creaking open and for the umpteenth time since I'd met the man, my breath was taken away. Within the crate and nestled tightly in thick, dark padding were six large tablets of baked clay. "This is what you're here for," he explained. "These glorious tablets."
Vincent pulled on a pair of gloves and grasped the leftmost tablet. With a grunt, he pulled the tablet from the container and carefully set it down on the desk. It was much larger than the pieces he'd shared with me earlier, even larger than a sheet of paper. Unfortunately, it was also much more damaged. Chunks of the writing were missing and there were also a number of fissures and dents on the side and cracks running through the text. Even so, it was a marvel.
"This is... from the same dig site?" I asked, nearly at a loss for words.
Vincent nodded. "Along with the tablets from earlier, yes." He reached in his pocket and took out the shard he'd shared with me in the afternoon, the second piece I'd translated. With careful fingers, he settled the fragment in one of the crevasses on the tablet and it fit perfectly. As the piece clicked into place, so did Vincent's test earlier.
"That's what you meant as a test. You needed someone who could translate this strange permutation of Ugaritic writing."
He nodded sagely. "There is a lot I have seen, son. Hidden chambers, secret tunnels, long forgotten burial sites. I've read papyrus from all walks of time and translated tablets and carvings off the walls of tombs as if I'd written them in the first place." He patted the slab of history before him. "But I can't read this. That's where you come in." He moved around the desk and patted the chair for me to sit.
I approached and looked at the seat. As much as I wanted to do it out of the kindness of my heart and the curiosity in my mind, I knew it would be foolish to do it for free. I have a job already, Rodgers, and the library isn't exactly turning a profit (yet), so I told him as much. "If I do this for you, what would you do for me?"
Vincent smiled. "Mr. Collins, if you do this for me, I guarantee you will have a patron and financial backer for your little hole in the wall library for life. Just three rules!" He held up three fingers. "First, you must be transparent with me on any and all discoveries. Second, no pictures or external electronics are allowed. I don't want to see images of these tablets appearing on the internet. Not yet. Finally and most importantly, you must translate the tablets in order; one tablet at a time. One tablet per work night."
As odd as his requests were, there were no alarm bells. These rules were easy enough to follow. And I couldn't argue with his offer, Rodgers, I just couldn't turn that funding away. So I agreed. One handshake later and I found myself seated at the dark wooden desk with a tablet before me and a pad of paper on my left with a pencil in my hands. I had already begun taking notes when Vincent headed for the door.
"Well then, I'll leave you to it, Mr. Collins!" He gave me a rather silly but earnest salute and left me alone in his study with the roaring fire at my back, the tablet from early history at my disposal (along with shards and fragments from copies of the texts that were contemporary to the tablets), and the rest of the tea at my fingertips. I've already translated the first few lines of the tablet but I couldn't keep this bottled up anymore, Rodgers. I had to give you an update. I am outside the study drafting this email and now, I will be going back in to finish my task, but I will leave you with a little... tease of just what I've uncovered!
Anat stands in the great Assembly
The Mistress of the Peoples before El's council.
Her face is the face of Anger
Her expression is the expression of Wrath.
Standing before the gods, she speaks her message
In defiance of her kin, she speaks her heart.
By Providence, isn't it grand, Rodgers? The Descent of Anat.
Your anxious friend,
Woodrow Collins