Journey Through the Mirrors (21 page)

“It’s down here,” Anita said, as she descended the spiral staircase.

Britney followed. “You have the wickedest home. And I mean that in a good way. Where are we going?”

“To the Alexandria Room.”

“See, that’s what I mean. Who names the rooms in their house? Or should I say their castle?” Britney laughed.

They reached the bottom and stepped onto the marble floor of Peel Castle’s master library.

“Are you kidding me?” Britney said in astonishment.

Anita laughed at her reaction. The Alexandria Room was named after the library of Alexandria, of course, one of the largest and most significant libraries of the ancient world until Julius Caesar burned it down. The twenty-five-square-meter room boasted a translucent white marble table below an illuminated domed ceiling. Lighting installed underneath caused its surface to glow, and thirty high-back chairs with blue velvet cushions were placed around it. The room’s walls were
lined, floor to ceiling, with bookshelves. Multiple rolling ladders were mounted on each of the four walls. At the north end of the room were rows of glass cases containing precious documents dating back to the Middle Ages.

“How do you find anything in here?” Britney asked.

“Hypatia can help us,” said Halima, popping up from one of the thirty armchairs that faced away from the library’s entrance.

“What are you doing here?” Anita asked, walking over to her.

“My homework,” the younger girl replied. “Mr. Quinn gave me a few things to read before he left on his trip. What does
benediction
mean?”

“It means blessing,” Anita answered, glancing at the book. It was titled
Enuntiatio de Tutela
.

“Who is Hypatia?” Britney asked.

“She’s the librarian down here,” Halima said.

Britney spun around, looking for her.

Anita laughed. Halima jumped out of the chair and walked over to a nearby control pad. “You can type in what you’re looking for, or you can just say it. Find
A Christmas Carol
.”

A soothing female voice seemed to come out of nowhere. “Searching for
A Christmas Carol
.” One of the ladders along the west wall began to move. A red laser originating from the domed ceiling pointed to a particular book on the fourth shelf from the bottom. “
A Christmas Carol,
written by Charles Dickens in 1843.”

“Hypatia can find almost anything you are looking for,” Halima said. “Simple.”

“What if you want information about horses?” Britney asked.

“Find
horses
,” Halima said into the control panel.

“Searching for
horses
,” Hypatia said. All twelve ladders began to move. A hundred laser lights activated and pointed to a hundred books on the shelves. “Multiple results,” the voice said.

“You have a lot of climbing to do,” Halima said with a giggle.

“You get back to work,” Anita said. “Britney and I have to look for something.”

“What? Maybe I can help. I’m really good with Hypatia.”

“No,” Anita said. “You keep reading those assignments Mr. Quinn gave you.”

Disappointed, Halima walked back to the armchair with her book.

Anita stood at the control panel, with Britney beside her. “We need to figure out what’s so important about that painting Mr. Quinn sent off to someone,” she said, as she typed in “
The Scream
, Edvard Munch.” Ladders on all four walls moved; forty-four laser lights activated and pointed to books scattered throughout the library. “Too many.”

“Did Mr. Quinn say anything else about your headaches before he left?” Britney asked.

“No.” Anita tried to recall exactly what had happened the night of the vernal equinox. “I remember Bukya rubbing his ears, and I remember telling Mr. Quinn and my father that my violin was out of tune. Mr. Quinn told me that it was actually me that was out of tune. He turned to my father and said something about a masterpiece.”

“He said that a masterpiece needed to find a new home,” Halima said, poking her head around the side of her chair. “And he said something else, too. But since I’m not helping . . .”

Anita sighed. “OK, you can help us.”

Halima gave them a big smile. “He said that the voice of the earth was disturbed.”

“What does that mean?” Britney asked.

Anita worked the control panel and brought up a projected image of the picture by Edvard Munch.

Halima jumped out of the chair and joined them. “Is that the picture you were looking for? That man doesn’t look happy.”

“Let’s see if we can translate the writing on the black plaque on the frame,” Anita said. She pressed a few buttons and read it out loud.

I was walking along the road with two friends—the sun was setting—suddenly the sky turned blood red—I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence—there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city—my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety—and I sensed an infinite scream passing through nature.

“Well, that just brightens your day, doesn’t it?” Britney said. “Makes me want to rush out and run through Farmer Bigelow’s field of daisies.”

“An infinite scream passing through nature, the earth’s voice being disturbed,” Anita repeated. “That can’t be a coincidence. Whatever Mr. Quinn sensed that evening prompted him to send this picture somewhere.”

“How can nature scream?” Britney asked. “I’ve never heard it say a word.”

“It is speaking to us all the time,” Anita said.

Halima’s eyes widened. “Sarvagita!” she hollered, rushing back to the armchair. Anita followed her.

“Sarva . . . what?” Britney stammered.

Halima flipped through the book she was reading. “Here it is, Sarvagita,” she said, showing a page of the
Enuntiatio de Tutela
to Anita. “Do you remember reading about the Song of the Universe?”

“I do,” Anita said. “But it’s been a long time since I read it.”

“You’ll remember once you hear it again,” said Halima. She read a passage out loud.

Sarvagita is the voice of the universe. It is a vibration that passes through all things great and small, all things high and low, all thing moving and still. It is the voice that urges you to wake up early and gaze upon the rising of Ra. It is the voice that puts you to sleep, urging forth your dreams and gently asking you to forget the worries of the day. It is the voice that promises a tomorrow.

Be still and listen, can you hear its call? Can you feel something familiar whispering in your ears?

In a realm where nothing stirred, came a voice that nothing heard.

Behold, it said, I have arrived. I have a call so all will thrive.

Hear my name and speak it well,

For in my rhyme all can dwell.

My voice will echo to and fro,

Through all of life it will flow.

Look high and low, and you will see

My greatest song in your story.

Sarvagita will usher in,

A new world for all my kin.

“That’s beautiful,” Britney said. “Not that I understood a word of it. What’s the book?”

“It is called the
Enuntiatio de Tutela
.” A male voice suddenly echoed through the Alexandria Room.

The three girls turned and saw Lawrence coming down the spiral staircase, carrying a tray. “It’s a very rare book. In fact, that might be the only original copy in existence.” Halima took a cookie off the tray as Lawrence approached and set the tray on the table. He looked at the image of the picture that was projected. “Now, what are the three of you doing down here? And why the sudden interest in Munch’s masterpiece?”

“We’re solving a mystery,” Halima said, as she chewed a cookie. A stern look from Lawrence reminded her of her manners, and she swallowed instead of continuing to speak.

“Do you know what happened to Mr. Quinn’s version of this picture?” Anita asked, deciding to take a direct approach. “It used to be hanging in the Tapestry Room.”

“He sent it to Logan Ford,” Lawrence answered, matching his daughter’s directness.

“There you have it,” Britney proclaimed. “Mystery solved, next topic.”

Anita put her hand over Britney’s mouth, silencing her. Halima giggled. “Why?” Anita asked. “Why Logan Ford? And what does it have to do with Sarvagita and my sudden struggles with my violin?”

“Those are questions that only Mr. Quinn can answer,” Lawrence said.

“Did Mr. Quinn say that the voice of the earth has been disturbed?” Anita asked, persisting with her questioning.

“Yes,” Lawrence said.

“Told you,” Halima said, as she grabbed another cookie.

“A proper discussion of Sarvagita can run deep and long,” Lawrence said. “The poem that Halima just read points out that everything in the universe has a sound, a song, a frequency.”

“A voice,” Anita said, and then she recited: “ ‘My voice will echo to and fro, through all of life it will flow.’ ”

“Exactly,” Lawrence said. “Everything, from a grain of sand on the beach to an eagle soaring high in the sky, has a vibration or a voice.”

“We just learned that in my physics class,” Britney said. “A scientist by the name of Max Planck said that all physical matter is composed of vibrations.” Anita looked at her, impressed. Britney grinned. “I pay attention . . . occasionally.”

Lawrence nodded. “At about the same time as Planck, the scientist Nikola Tesla also identified that phenomenon. But it wasn’t until the early 1950s that Winfried Otto Schumann postulated mathematically that the earth emitted a vibration that the human ear could not hear. Schumann’s theory was later confirmed in the 1960s, when the vibration was actually measured. That is why the frequency of the earth’s vibration came to be known as the Schumann resonance.”

“The voice of the earth,” Anita said in a low voice.

“So the Schumann resonance is what Mr. Quinn said was disturbed?” Britney asked.

“Yes,” Lawrence said. “And if you read further into
Enuntiatio de Tutela
, you will learn that the individual vibration of every living thing on this planet combines to form the voice of the earth. Now, imagine if the vibration of every star, planet, asteroid, and dust particle in the universe were combined. What would that voice sound like?”

“Sarvagita,” Halima answered. “The Song of the Universe
.”

Even Britney was captivated. “What more can you tell us?”

“As I said before, one could become immersed in the study of Sarvagita for a long period of time,” Lawrence said. “How the Schumann resonance relates to that work of art and its relationship to Anita’s
violin are beyond my current understanding. Those are questions best left to someone more knowledgeable.”

“When is Mr. Quinn coming home?” Anita asked.

Her father shrugged his shoulders.

“Well,” Halima said, closing her book, “while we wait for Mr. Quinn and Bukya to return, how about if all of you help me with my own investigation?”

“And what investigation would that be?” Lawrence asked.

“Remember that necklace I found the other day? Mr. Quinn took it with him when he left.”

“Why would he take that old dog tag?” Anita asked.

“He didn’t say,” Halima said. “But I copied down the name, and I need some help finding out who the owner was.”

“That tag was probably there since before the Great Disruption,” Anita said. “It’s impossible to find out anything about people from that far back. All the records were destroyed.”

Halima was not happy with the lack of encouragement. “Come on, Anita. I need you to help me find Sumsari Baltik!”

“Finding Sumsari Baltik,” Hypatia said. Everyone turned and watched as a single ladder on the western wall began to move. It stopped near the northwest corner of the room. A solitary red laser emerged from the dome and pointed to a book on the top shelf. “
The Unexpected Life,
written by Felix and Maria Quinn in 2029.”

“Why would his name be in a book in here?” Halima asked.

“And one written by Felix and Maria?” Anita added.

“Those are excellent questions,” Lawrence said, before turning to Halima. “
The Unexpected Life,
all twenty volumes of it, contains the writings of Mr. Quinn’s parents in which they recount their extraordinary adventures.” He smiled. “It would seem, my dear, that your innocent search is about to become a very interesting investigation.”

There was a big grin on Halima’s face as she walked across the library and started climbing the ladder.

22

Has everything that can be done been done? If so, why are you here?

We assure you, there is much more to do.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

NEW CHICAGO, 9:20 A.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 22, 2070

“They did a brain scan, and there are no signs of tumors or edema or cellular damage due to the fall,” Logan said to Valerie on his PCD. “They’re going to do a couple more tests. I’ll call you when we get the results.”

He ended his call and smiled at Jamie, who was reclining in an examination chair and had a neuro cap with numerous electrodes on her head.

“You look like you’re heading into outer space,” he joked.

When Jamie had complained about another severe headache last night, Logan decided not to take any more chances. After dropping Jordan off at school, he’d brought Jamie back to the neurologist who had examined her yesterday. The doctor had recommended that Jamie undergo further testing with his colleague, Dr. Timothy Zepher. Logan remained concerned about her, the images he had seen in the mirror the night before still fresh in his mind. The last time he had had such a vivid vision was in July, when he’d seen Valerie’s funeral. That hadn’t
happened, but still, Logan wondered who the man in his vision was and what his daughter’s face appearing in the Munch picture meant. And worse still to think, what else had he seen that he didn’t remember?