Gene of Isis

us.

We were both startled to find a waiting carriage, and some of the house staff in attendance to load my trunks —which I lowered to the ground promptly. Nanny Beat was by the carriage door and was dressed for travelling.

‘Dear Nanny.’ I really appreciated her sentiment, but I quickly made my way to her side to decline. ‘I fear my journey will be perilous—’

‘All the more reason for me to come,’ she replied surely.

She was as strong as an ox and as stubborn as a mule, so there seemed little point in debating the issue.

‘Write and tell me everything,’ Susan said urgently, as I was hurried to my transport.

‘I will.’ I kissed her and hugged her close—the gods only knew when I’d be in the company of my dearest friend again. ‘I left a note for Devere that might enlighten you to a few of my worries.’ I climbed into the carriage after Nanny and the door was closed behind us. ‘Love life, be happy, stay healthy. Until we meet again.’

‘You have not left my sight, and I miss you already.’ Susan blew me a kiss as the carriage began to move off.

When I could no longer see her, I leant back in my seat and drew a deep breath. I was actually doing it, pursuing the great adventure I’d always dreamed of. I took hold of Nanny’s hand and smiled. I was so thankful to have her with me, and Albray, too, of course.

That wasn’t difficult now, was it? he commented from the empty seat opposing us.

I was at odds about the question—my heart was shattered by my failed romance, but also exulting to be on the run, free of everyone and everything that had ever held authority over me.

PART 2

MIA

21^ST CENTURY

AUSTRALIA

LESSON 7

INHERITANCE

The phone ringing disturbed my reading.

Let the machine take a message, I decided, because I did not want to budge. The journal of my great-great- grandmother was proving to be much more intriguing than I had first imagined. It seemed very racy for a nineteenth century written account, and I wondered why Ashlee had included the intimate details of her seduction. Perhaps she had never meant the journal to be read and the book had become an heirloom by accident?

The ringing of the phone persisted. Clearly I’d forgotten to switch it over to the answering machine, and the thought occurred that the call could be work related.

No, I’m taking a holiday! I was determined to stay put with the journal. But then, it could be an interesting job.

Mind you, ancient linguistics and archaeology had not proven to be quite as enlightening and adventure-filled as I had fantasised when a student.

To date, every ancient text I had been employed to decipher usually read something like ‘3 pigs and 2 goats paid to so-and-so by so-and-so’, or ‘dedicated to the god whoever-it-may-be’, or ‘the Emperor of wherever’. Of course, such lists and their language assist in pinpointing the age of certain relics and give researchers lots of wonderful information, but still, some gossip from the past would be nice, too.

My passion for ancient languages had been inspired by my grandmother, who had inherited the obsession from her grand-aunt, Charlotte. Grandmother had certainly sparked my interest in Eastern languages when I was five and she began teaching me Hebrew. I went on to study Greek, French and Latin in high school.

I began a degree in ancient languages and archaeology at the University of Sydney, and then transferred to New York University. I wanted to major in ancient Semitic languages and studied under a prominent professor who had gained invaluable field experience with Sir Leonard Woolley on his famous excavation of the royal tombs of Ur. Originally discovered by Mr J.E. Taylor in 1956, Ur interested me greatly because of the large number of ancient Sumerian tablets that had been uncovered there.

I eventually returned to the University of Sydney to pursue my own field experience on an Australian expedition in Pella, Jordan. They were investigating the occupation of the site from earliest times down to the Islamic period. During the course of the many archaeological digs I have been employed on since, I have rarely been presented with the opportunity to use my knowledge of Semitic languages. There are locally-born historians in the Eastern lands who, unfortunately for me, will always be greater authorities on these languages.

However, there was not one of my peers, mentors or professional associates to date who would deny that I had a natural aptitude for learning and deciphering ancient script. Sooner or later my hard work and good reputation were bound to reach the attention of some project director in the Middle East and I would finally score myself a stint on a groundbreaking, career-making, expedition.

My ancestor’s tale had made me itch to decipher some mysterious ancient code full of mystery and legendary tales. I finally made a dash for the phone, fearing that my complacency might cost me my dream gig.

‘Hello, Montrose speaking,’ I hastily said, feeling sure my caller would have, at that moment, decided to hang up!

‘Bonsoir, Mia, you are there. Fantastic!’

I recognised the voice at once—the French accent gave him away. ‘Bonjour, Andre.’ I managed to keep the apprehension out of my voice, although I rolled my eyes.

I had met Andre five years ago on Project Troad—an excavation of the ancient city of Troy in northwest Turkey. He was the man everyone called when they needed heavy machinery at certain stages of excavation or at certain types of sites—if Andre could not get the job done without damaging the site, then the excavation would be an impossibility or far too labour intensive and expensive.