Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [68]
I start at the top, careful to line the staff true with each notch. We spot a few letters right away; others take more time and often we’re forced to stop the work as people file through. I grow more uneasy the longer it takes, but Espy works with calm efficiency. The process takes less than half an hour. When finished, we have a series of twenty-five or so letters written down on the notepad.
There is mutual agreement between us to get out of here and go somewhere halfway private before we begin the work of decoding. We’re both breathing heavy as we leave, and it has little to do with exertion. I return the prayer staff to its rightful owner as Espy finds our shoes.
We’re now sitting in a small café in the busiest part of Lalibela, our bags near our feet. I’ve chosen a table in the shadows, which allows me to keep an eye on the traffic passing by the open door. Prudence dictated a discreet checkout from the hotel, followed by the rush to find a place where we could give the painting’s Teutonic letters a serious look.
Espy has her pencil in hand, ready to form the characters into different groupings and orders—a lengthy, medieval anagram. Except that the pencil hovers over the page as a frown creases her forehead. She looks up to make sure I’m watching and then, with careful deliberation, draws a vertical line between two characters, then a second line farther to the right. That done, she slides the notepad across the table.
“Couldn’t you at least make it look difficult?” I ask.
“Do you remember the first patronymic in Reese’s research?”
“Chevrier.”
“And we wondered how Reese got the bones from the cemetery to there?”
“You wondered. I just nodded and hoped you wouldn’t hit me again.”
She taps the notepad, indicating the group of characters on the left. “Chevrier.”
“What about the others?”
“This one on the right,” she says, pointing on the page. “It doesn’t translate as well but it’s also a name. Vuk Stefanovíc.”
“Son of Stephen.” I shake my head. It can get tricky trying to trace names earlier than the thirteenth century.
“This is going backward, Jack. Vuk Stefanovíc transferred the bones to Chevrier. That’s where Reese’s record picks up. And if we keep following it backward, it will become nearly impossible to track them. Relying on patronymics makes it sketchy enough as it is.”
I can feel the frustration building up inside me, yet I refuse to believe the clue we fought so hard to attain is simply a name to add to the list—and one going in the wrong direction. Then I see Espy’s smile, which makes me realize she’s not experiencing the same irritation as me. When I follow her eyes down, her finger has moved to rest on the group of characters connecting the two she’s rendered.
“The best translation is broker,” she says.
“Broker? As in to trade?” It makes sense, and it’s further evidence that a transfer of something valuable took place between these two families. Still, I’m not sure how helpful it is to have the action defined for us.
“It’s a noun.”
Those three words are the aural equivalent of a lightning strike. I hear them, and understand their individual meanings, but don’t discern their thunder until seconds later. When I tear my eyes away from the page and back to Espy, she wears an expression that’s unadulterated satisfaction.
“Here’s your organization,” she says, leaning in. “Arranging the transfer.”
Her body language is all earnestness but, while I’m near dizzy at the possibility, I need time to think. It’s as I’m fumbling for the right words to express both excitement and caution that I see Brown walk past the café door.
“Put it away,” I say to Espy. After a brief, puzzled hesitation, she flips the notepad closed and hides it in her jacket pocket, then fights the urge to turn around to see what has my attention. I continue watching the entrance but do not see my former protégé backtrack. Still, if he’s looking for us, it means Hardy can’t be far away. I motion for Espy to grab her bag just as Brown comes into view. I see him glance into the café, but the only light in the place comes from