“Jebel Barkal,” Erik read the caption on the screen.
“It was called the ‘Pure Mountain’ in ancient times perhaps because of its solitary position. There are no other mountains for miles in that stretch of desert. More importantly, it was a famous landmark for caravans travelling southward. It marked the spot where the current of the Nile was slow enough to make for an easy crossing.”
“But what has that got to do with our riddle?” the pythia asked.
“Everything,” Griffin replied mysteriously.
“It’s way too late in the evening for cryptic.” Cassie moaned. “I can’t handle cryptic right now.”
“As you wish.” The scrivener laughed. “It isn’t the mountain per se that’s important but a very peculiar rock formation on its southern face.” He pointed to an outcrop rising off the side of the mountain.
“To the ancients, that rock formation appeared as a rearing cobra. The cobra was the symbol of Wadjet, sometimes spelled Ua Zit, the principal goddess of pre-dynastic lower Egypt. Her patronage was considered essential in establishing a claim to the throne. That is why the overlord pharaohs incorporated the uraeus, or rearing cobra, into the design of the imperial crown. Of course, by the time the town of Napata was founded, the Egyptians had demoted Wadjet and instead worshipped the overlord god Amun. Nevertheless, the uraeus was still part of the crown, and the rock formation on Jebel Barkal must have seemed to the Egyptians as a divine mandate. It was proof of their right to rule not only lower Egypt but upper Egypt as well.”
“And this has what to do with Canopus?” Cassie still didn’t see the connection.
“I get it,” Erik nodded. “The course he sets reveals his fate. If Canopus is leading us to Jebel Barkal, he’s leading us right to the thing that killed him. A poisonous snake.”
“Dude, I would have gotten there eventually,” Cassie protested though she was smiling.
Griffin leaned back from his keyboard and laced his fingers behind his head. “My friends, I believe we’ll find our artifact hidden somewhere on that pinnacle of rock.”
Cassie nodded in agreement. Nudging Erik in the ribs, she said, “By Wadjet, I think he’s got it.”
Chapter 34—Starry-Eyed
“I got here as fast as I could,” Daniel panted. He was out of breath from running up the escalator.
The minute he spoke, Chris put a warning finger to his lips. “Shhh!”
Libby, the other research librarian, shot them both a suspicious look.
Chris slipped a notebook computer under his arm. “Come with me,” he whispered.
Daniel followed eagerly. He knew that Chris had made some kind of breakthrough in understanding the Minoan riddles. The librarian had called him that morning and told him to come downtown immediately. The scion asked no questions. He would have grasped at any excuse to spend time with his friend.
The two young men took the elevator up to the Rare Book Exhibit on the top floor. It had become their usual rendezvous spot ever since Daniel had explained the confidential nature of his research. There was no other space in the building that could afford them the same privacy.
They settled themselves on the circular bench in the center of the room and waited for Chris’s computer to power up.
“I think I figured it out,” the librarian announced. His eyes were sparkling with excitement. “Wait til I show you!”
Daniel inched closer on the bench, so he could look at the screen over Chris’s shoulder.
“The Minoans were a clever bunch,” the librarian began. “They used celestial navigation to drop those hints for you. The bit about ‘set your course’ was a dead giveaway.”
“What’s celestial navigation?” Daniel asked. He had never heard the term before.
“Minoan mariners figured out how to pilot a ship by using the position of the stars, especially the pole star because it hovers over the North Pole and doesn’t move during the night. Here, look at this illustration.” Chris pulled up an image of a man in medieval dress standing on board a sailing vessel. He was holding two sticks hinged together at one end and attached to one another at the other end by a string. The man was looking toward the horizon.
The librarian continued. “This is a crude way to determine latitude. If you were to measure the distance between the pole star and the horizon, you would know how far north of the equator you were. Sailors used to run a string between the top stick and the bottom stick. They would put a series of knots in the string, and each knot would represent a different latitude. As long as the distance between the horizon and the North Star matched the distance from a particular knot to the top of the stick, they knew they were holding to the same latitude.”
“Set your course four bees from the dragon’s wing to the sea,” Daniel murmured under his breath.
“I never did figure out that dragon’s wing business,” Chris admitted. “But if I were to guess, I’d say it’s a reference to the North Star.” He turned his attention to Daniel. “Do you know what the bees are about?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” Daniel agreed with growing excitement. “The first artifact I retrieved was a golden bee, a few inches high.”
A slow grin spread over Chris’s face. “Four bees. That’s it! The Minoans were telling you to use your artifact as a measuring device. If you used the sticks in the diagram and pointed one at the North Star and the other at the horizon, the distance between would have been four bees. That would have been the latitude of the place where you were supposed to end up.”
“And I stumbled on the location almost by accident,” Daniel muttered in embarrassment.
“You still found it, so kudos to you.”
The scion blushed.
“Just out of curiosity, where did you end up?”
“In northern Spain. The Basque region, close to Durango.”
Chris was silent for a
