“People cling stubbornly to their beliefs. We are attempting to set the record straight, but our efforts carry a certain degree of risk. The evidence we are collecting is threatening to those who dedicate themselves to maintaining the prevailing historical fiction.”
“I get your point,” Cassie conceded. “I can see why you’re going to so much trouble to protect a stack of papers.”
Griffin frowned slightly. “We aren’t merely protecting a stack of papers. We are protecting the fragmented memory of the human race itself from those who would like nothing better than to erase everything that is inconsistent with overlord values.”
By this time, they had walked around to the left wall of the vault which contained three doors. The closest one read “Operations Division,” the middle one read “Scrivener’s Office,” and the farthest one “Security Division.” Passing the door marked “Operations Division,” Griffin stopped in front of the one that read “Scrivener’s Office.” He opened the door without knocking.
Cassie hung back. “Should you be going in there? I mean, what if the scrivener catches you?”
“I’m sure he won’t mind.” Griffin sounded unconcerned. “After all, he is me.”
“You’re the scrivener?” Cassie gasped. “What’s a scrivener?”
Her companion chuckled. “It’s an honorary title much like the term ‘pythia.’ It refers to the person who is in charge of all the scribes.” Anticipating Cassie’s next question, he added, “We call all the record-keepers in the vault ‘scribes.’ Obviously, these antiquated names go back to the earliest days of the Arkana.”
“That means you’re in charge of the whole operation?” the girl asked doubtfully.
Griffin nodded. “Of the cataloguing tasks anyway.”
“But aren’t you sort of young?”
“My colleagues didn’t seem to think that mattered when they elected me to this post. Though I am quite new at it. Just over a year now. Please come in and take a seat.”
The scrivener’s office was furnished in simple elegance. Two leather wing chairs faced the Sheraton mahogany desk. The desk was flanked on either side by floor-to-ceiling book cases. Cassie sat down while Griffin began opening and closing drawers, evidently looking for something.
“The scrivener must have a ton of responsibility. Nothing personal, but why would they pick you?”
Griffin didn’t seem offended by the question. He continued turning over the contents of his desk drawers as he spoke. “I think it may have to do with the peculiarities of the way my mind works. I seem to have the ability to recall nearly everything I’ve ever read. It’s called ‘eidetic memory.’”
“That skill must come in handy with everything you have to juggle. I mean, this place is about as big as the Library of Congress, and you’re the head librarian.”
“Scrivener,” he corrected. “Head Scrivener.” He resumed his search, muttering to himself until he finally found what he was searching for. With a triumphant, “Aha! I’ve found you at last,” he dug the object out of the back of a desk drawer and came to sit in the chair next to Cassie. Holding up the article, he said, “Tell me what you think of this.”
Cassie gasped. In his hands, he was holding the stone ruler.
“How did you get it back?”
Griffin smiled. “We didn’t. It’s just a replica that we built here, but I’d like your opinion. Does it look anything like the original?”
Cassie took the ruler from him and examined it for several seconds from every angle. When she looked up, she perceived Griffin with an entirely new level of respect. “You got it exactly right. This is just like the one that was stolen. Same size, same markings. Even the same color. Everything.”
Griffin seemed pleased at her words. “I’m relieved to hear you say that. We want this to be accurate.”
The girl was puzzled. “Why would it matter?”
“If you made a duplicate house key that was a fraction of an inch too big to fit the lock on your door, do you think it would work?”
“I get your point. But it sure doesn’t look like it would unlock anything.”
Griffin took the object back and considered it. “It may not unlock a physical location. It’s far more likely that it unlocks information of some kind.” He hesitated and looked away for a second. “I’m very sorry to have to ask you this, but could you describe to me the encounter Sybil had with her attacker? Precisely what did they say to each other?”
Cassie’s face drained of color. “I don’t want to think about that.”
“But you must,” Griffin’s tone was urgent. “So much depends upon information only you can provide. I know how difficult this must be for you, but please try.”
The girl gave a deep sigh and shut her eyes, reliving the scene. “They didn’t say much. He kept asking her where the key was. She said she didn’t know what he was talking about. They struggled, she fell, and then there was shattered glass everywhere. Sybil didn’t get up.” The girl blinked several times to wipe away the memory and a few fresh tears.
“He wasn’t specific about the name of the key or the language of it?”
Cassie shook her head. “No, he just called it ‘the key.’ That’s why I didn’t make the connection that this stone ruler might be some kind of key when I first saw it.” She sighed. “So, you don’t recognize the language of any of those doodles?”
“Sorry, not yet. Some of the glyphs do appear vaguely familiar though. I know I’ve seen at least a few of these before. I’ll keep searching our records. Something is bound to turn up.”
Cassie felt a sense of foreboding. “I hope you figure it out before the cowboy does. If he didn’t mind leaving a dead body behind to get it, it can’t unlock anything good.”
Chapter 21 – Damnation Motivation
Abraham found himself standing in the middle of a rope bridge. It swayed precariously over a flaming gorge. He could feel the heat from below, roaring upward to bake his skin through his clothing. He imagined he saw a
