Page 51 of The Black Table
“Of course it is,” he murmurs. And darts a look at the front of the room.
I lean forward, the excitement of discovery bubbling in my veins. Because it’s soclever. “Here.” I pull back my paper, scribble out my nonsense Latin, and redo the letters I’ve identified as Greek.
Kingston reaches over and adds the Latin from his own paper, transferring it to mine, his broad hand so close to mine and yet not touching, his muscle movements controlled even at that fine level.
And soon, we’ve filled it. A few wonky places, a few uncertainties, but it’s…
“In the beginning was the Word,” I read, “and the Word was with God, and the WordwasGod.”
I wait for Kingston to smile. Toreact, in any way, at all, to be even the least bit pleased that he—we—cracked the little code of it all.
But all he does is raise his hand.
“Professor?” he says. “We’ve finished.”
I don’t know why, but I’m…disappointed.
Dr. Emrys comes over, eyebrows raised with interest. “Have you now?” He inclines his head, looks down at the paper, traceswith his finger, nods. “Very clever,” he says. “Very, very clever.” But he looks not at Kingston, but at me. “I don’t suppose those were some magic almonds, were they, Ms. Vale?” His lips are quirked up, but the tone of his voice makes it sound like he’s almost serious.
I shake my head. “Just good old-fashioned scholarship,” I respond.
Dr. Emrys’s narrow face breaks into a broad smile. “That’s what I like to hear,” he says, giving our table a little tap. “Well done, Ms. Vale. And your accomplice,” he adds, nodding at Kingston. He gives his hands a single clap. “All right, then. We do have a winner in our little competition here.” He smiles at our table as heads rise slightly and pens lower. “Our very own Heloise D’Argenteuil here has cracked the code.”
“What code?” someone else says.
“This isn’t anything. It’s just letters.”
“Ah, yes, but…” Dr. Emrys looks to me.
So, too, does Kingston. And the intensity of that stare, that focus, almost robs me of speech.
“It’s…macaronic,” I manage. “I mean. It’s written in Latin and Greek. Two languages. And once you figure that out, you can see that it’s?—”
“The Gospel of John,” Kingston finishes for me. Everyone falls silent. Everyonestaresat me, and not with jealousy.
“A valuable lesson here,” Dr. Emrys says, folding his hands at the small of his back as he wanders around the classroom. “You go in with a preconception of what you’ll be reading, you come out with only with what you expect to find. But we mustn’t think like that. We must be open to all possibilities and broaden our knowledge, constant in our quest and pure in our spirit.” He taps the side of his nose, and throws a sidelong glance at Kingston.
“That’s all for today, I’m afraid,” he says. “Next time we start a conversation in earnest.” The class comes to life, the rest of thestudents packing up and leaving. I sit there looking at Kingston and my joint efforts—a mess, really and mostly due to me. My stomach hurts less, though, and that much I suppose I can credit him for. I look up, turn to say thank you, but he’s already gone.
The only record he was ever here just some neat calligraphy letters on a page.
FOURTEEN
KINGSTON
After class,I don’t waste time.
My destination is a quick walk across campus, the opposite direction of Camlann House, but equidistant from the Classics building. When I get there, it’s quiet, dark, yet somehow not calm.
The receptionist nods as I stride in, not bothering to ask me for an ID or anything to prove who I am. She knows who I am—so does everybody—and she knows exactly why I’m coming here. I wouldn’t be surprised if evenshe’sheard about what happened this weekend.
I get to the paneled wood door at the back of the hallway and pause, rock back on my heels, breathe out. I want to use my key, unlock the door, storm in, be self-righteous, indignant. But it’s unbecoming. The very fact that that’s what Iwantrather than what Ithink I should dois an indication that it’s wrong.
He won’t listen if I come in like that, anyway. It’s never worked for Kai. It certainly wouldn’t work for me.
So I swallow my pride and knock on the door.
“Come in,” comes my father’s voice.
