Page 15 of Aleko
Sergio gave her little shooing motions, urging her forward, and Lia took a deep breath and stepped up. The conversation flowed quickly. Lia was ninety percent sure that both the woman and the sheik spoke English and at least a little Italian. They both responded before she was entirely through translating for Sergio. There was nothing complicated about the meeting. They were intent on purchasing the clay tablets, and Sergio wanted their money. The woman was there to validate their authenticity. Lia could see she hadn’t taken her eyes off the chests since arriving.
When Sergio, through Lia, gave permission to examine them, the woman stepped forward eagerly, pulling out a pair of latex gloves from her purse. Traveling with gloves wasn’t unusual these days, but the way she snapped them on spoke of long practice. She picked up the most prominent piece and held it up to the light, examining the writing.
“There was nothing else with the tablets?” asked the Sheik.
“No,” said Sergio after she translated. “Nothing else.”
Lia replied with that information, but she noticed how he kept his hand clenched in his pocket.
The sheik also came forward to have a look. He pointedeagerly at a cartouche at the top of one of the tablets.
“This is the symbol,” he said in Arabic, nodding. “This is good. This is the symbol of the original sample.”
“Yes,” said the woman. “I’m not blind. The council will be pleased.”
“What does it say?” asked the Sheik to the woman. “Are those the original tablets? Are they authentic?”
“Hic mihi servitium video dominamque paratum,”the woman replied, reading from the tablet.
Lia’s familiarity with Latin was from a vintage Latin text book she’d found in the attic, and the words tumbled slowly into sense as the woman read.
Here I see enslavement and mistress ready for me.
Lia took an unconscious step backward. There was something wrong—a buzzing in her bones.
“The text is correct,” said the woman with a tight, smug smile. She went back to the tablet.“Iam mihi, libertas illa paterna, vale.”
Now farewell freedom, which was my family’s right, farewell.
The world seemed to swim in front of her eyes, and Lia felt sick to her stomach. Something was very, very wrong.
Episode 12
Underwater
Alex
Alex found his heart was beating like a jackhammer, and he felt sick to his stomach. The leather on the pommel had long since disintegrated, but the knife was still recognizable for what it was—a US Navy Utility Knife, Mark 2, more commonly known as the Ka-Bar. The Navy had adopted them first, and Alex had sent his to Howell, who had spent a large portion of his previous letter complaining about the Mark 1, which had been a piece of shit that no Marine had ever wanted. Alex had carved anAin the handle before sending it. Later, when he’d been stuck on the atoll, he wished he hadn’t sent it. With a gut-twisting wrench, he pulled the knife out of the door frame and tucked it into his belt.
It was the first sign he’d seen that confirmed without a doubt that Howell had been here.
Alex pushed the door open and held up his glowstick to the darkened interior of the bridge. Colin popped his own glowstick and swam into the bridge, heading down into the cabins. Annoyed at Colin’s rush, Alex went after him. Any of the soft surfaces on the inside had long ago disintegrated or been eaten. The remaining framework of metal structures looked skeletal and harsh.
Alex looked at the helm. He’d been assigned to the Pacific Theater. The German technology didn’t look familiar to him. But as he examined under the desk, he saw that one of the drawers had rotted away, leaving the contents precariously perched on the metal crossbeams. He reached out and pulled what looked like a canvas bag free. He recognized that, at least. It was a waterproof bag and usually contained the ship’s log. He tossed itinto a net bag and secured it to his belt.
Cabins opened to the left and right of the bridge, but the room on the right had clearly seen the most action. The metal door had been blasted off its hinges, and even seventy years later, scorch marks scarred the metal on either side of the door. Alex could see the crack in the ship’s hull and the water beyond through the open door. Colin hesitated as Trevor, still in seal form, nosed around the door. Alex swam slowly into the cabin. He could feel the pulse of something malevolent inside, but whether it was residual or active, he couldn’t tell. The room inside was dark. No sea life was growing, and the walls looked blackened as if by fire.
The room made the hair on Alex’s body lift as if a predator were nearby, and he could feel a dark sort of horror as he looked around. There wasn’t much in the room—a desk, a bunk, and a footlocker—but in the center of the room, resting gently on the floor as if it had been placed there, was a jar with a sculpture of a human head for the stopper. The jar was about a foot tall, and the lid had the flaking remnants of red and black pigments on the face, but the rest of the jar had been washed to a bone white. Gingerly, Alex lifted the jar. Unlike the rest of the room, it didn’t feel like anything. No evil vibes, no residue. It just felt like a piece of pottery. Alex carefully put it in another bag and added it to the collection on his belt.
Whatever else had been in the room was long gone. The footlocker at the foot of the bed had been broken into, and the lid floated slightly open. Colin pulled the top up, and they all looked inside. Alex wasn’t expecting anything and stared in consternation at what he saw. A series of metal boxes, each incised with a different series of hieroglyphics, were neatly strapped in place. Trevor did a little twerk and flipped around, swimming back through the door. Colin and Alex exchanged looks. Colin swam after his brother. Out in the main bridge, Trevor was attempting to grasp something with his mouth—another metal box with a marking on the top. Colin swam over and picked it up. Alex pointed at the box and then the footlocker and pointed up. Colin nodded. Together they hoisted the footlocker and swam toward the surface.
When they finally reached the surface, Pellos helped them haul it aboard.
“What’s in the bag?” asked Sebastian poking at the waterproof fabric cover object that Alex had retrieved.
“I’m hoping it’s the ship’s log,” said Alex. “I doubt it will have details of the final moments, but it might shed some insight. We’re going to have to dry it out, though. World War II level waterproofing only goes so far.”
“You realize it’s going to be in German, right?” asked Sebastian.
