Wraiths of Time

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Wraiths of Time

Andre Norton

For
Esther Turner, Renee Damone
, and
Carol Cross
,

all of whom have had their own struggles to prove

themselves against odds in a hostile world.

The box was placed in the exact center of the desk. Under the full beam of light Jason Robbins had turned on it, its eighteen inches of age-yellowed ivory glowed as might polished wood. Or was she only imagining that, Tallahassee wondered. This artifact had a quality of—she searched for the right word, then knew it was one she would not use aloud—enchantment, that was it. There was a golden inlay on the lid, as well as four other disks, inlaid with gold, one on each side. She could guess without touching that they had been fashioned of that pure, soft gold used in ancient times.

“Well”—the grey-haired man, apparently in charge here, leaned forward a little—“can you give us any lead, Miss Mitford?”

Tallahassee found difficulty in turning away from the box at which she had stared from the moment Jason had snapped on the desk lamp.

“I don't know.” She spoke the truth. “There are elements of African design, yes. See.” She pointed a finger, nearly as ivory in color as the time-darkened box itself, at the gold inlay on the lid which formed a strip curved like a snake to travel the length of the ivory. Yet the spiral had no real head, rather there was a strip of precious metal bent at right angles—not unlike a stylized hunting knife. “That really combines two known devices of old kingship. This device at the top is the ‘plow' which we believe was carried by the rulers of Meroë. The rest is of a later period, perhaps, a symbolic sword blade in the form of a snake. But these two forms have never, to my knowledge, been found so linked before. The Meroë dynasties borrowed greatly from Egypt, and there the snake was a sign of royalty, usually a part of the crown. These”—her finger moved to the disks at the sides—“are again symbolic. They resemble very closely those gold badges that were worn by the ‘soul-washers' of the Ashanti, the attendants of the king whose duty it was to ward off any danger of contamination from general evil. Yet—though it combines symbols from two, maybe three periods of African history, it is very old—”

“Would you say a museum piece then?” The man Jason had introduced as Roger Nye persisted. His tone was impatient, as if he had expected some instant snap judgment from her. And his tone aroused in Tallahassee her own, sometimes militant, stubbornness.

“Mr. Nye, I am a student of archaeology, employed at present to help catalogue the Lewis Brooke collection. There are many tests that would have to be made to date this artifact, tests for which one needs certain equipment. But I will say that the workmanship …” She paused before she asked a question of her own:

“Have you seen the rod of office in the Brooke collection?”

“What's that got to do with it? Or are you saying that this”—Nye indicated the box—“could be a part of that collection?”

“If it is,” she was careful in her answer, “it was not included in the official customs inventory. However, there is something …” Tallahassee shook her head. “You do not want guesses, you want certainties. Dr. Roman Carey will be here tonight. He is coming to study the collection. I would advise you to let him see this. At present he is the greatest authority on art of the Sudan.”

“You are sure it is Sudanese?” Now it was Jason who asked the question.

Tallahassee made a small gesture. “I told you, I cannot be sure of anything. I would say it is old, very old. As to its general point of origin I would believe Africa. But the combination of symbols I have not seen before. If I may …” She put out a hand toward the box, only to have Nye's hand close tightly about her wrist in a lightning-quick movement.

She looked at him in open amazement and then irritated dislike.

“You don't understand.” Jason broke in again, speaking very swiftly as if he were afraid she could keep no better rein on her temper now than she could when they were children. “The thing is hot!”

“Hot?”

“It radiates some form of energy.” Nye studied her with those measuring eyes. “That was how it was found, really. It was by sheer chance.” He freed her hand, and she jerked it back to her lap. “One of our field men went to put his kit in a locker at the airport. He had a geiger counter with him and it started to register. He was quick to use it and located the source of radiation in a nearby locker. Then he called me. We got the port key for the locker. This was the only thing inside.”

“Radioactive,” Tallahassee murmured. “But how …”

Nye shook his head. “Not atomic, though a counter can pick it up. It's something new, but the lab boys did not want to take it to pieces—”

“I should say not!” Tallahassee was thoroughly aroused at the suggestion of such vandalism. “It may be unique. Has it been opened?”

Nye shook his head. “There is no visible fastening. And it seemed better not to handle it too much until we were sure of what we had. Now what about this rod of office you mentioned, what is it and where was it found?”

“There was a strong belief in the old African kingdoms that the soul of a nation could be enclosed in some precious artifact. The Ashanti war with England a hundred years ago came about because an English governor demanded the King's stool to sit on as a sign of the transferral of rulership. But even the King could not sit on that. Sitting on a floor mat, he might only lean a portion of his arm upon it while making some very important decree or when assuming the kingship. To the Ashanti people the stool contained the power of all the tribal ancestors and was holy; it possessed a deeply religious as well as a political significance—which the English did not attempt to find out before they made their demands.

“Other tribes had similar symbols of divine contact with their ancestors and their gods. Sometimes at the death of a king such symbols were retired to a special house from which they were brought to ‘listen' when there was need for a grave change in some law or the demand for a decision involving the future of the people as a whole. These artifacts were very precious, and among some tribes were never seen at all except by priests or priestesses.

“The rod of office which Lewis Brooke found is believed to be one of these tokens. And because he discovered it in a place that has some very odd legends, it is of double value.”

“He found it in the Sudan then?”

“No, much farther west. It was nearer to Lake Chad. There is an old legend that when the Arab-Ethiopian kingdom of Axum overran Meroë, the royal clan—and they themselves were the descendents of Egyptian Pharaohs and held jealously to much of the very ancient beliefs—fled west and were supposed to have established a refuge near Lake Chad. There has never been any real proof of this, not until Doctor Brooke made his spectacular find—an unplundered tomb containing many artifacts and a sarcophagus, though the latter was empty, and there was evidence that no body had ever been within it. Instead the rod of office rested there.”

“The soul of the nation buried,” Jason said softly.

Tallahassee nodded. “Perhaps. There were inscriptions, but, though they used Egyptian hieroglyphics, the later Meroë tongue has never been translated so they could not be deciphered. Dr. Brooke's unfortunate accidental death last year has delayed the work on the whole project of arranging and identifying the artifacts.”

“I am surprised,” Nye commented, “that he was allowed to take anything out of the country to bring here. The new nations are doubly jealous of losing any of their treasures—especially to us.”

“We were surprised, too,” Tallahassee admitted. “But he had full permission.” She hesitated and then added: “There was something odd about the whole matter, as if they wanted to get rid of all the finds for some reason of their own.”

Jason's eyes narrowed. “A threatened uprising, perhaps, using the old rod of office for a rallying point?”

Nye's attention swung from the girl to the young man. “You believe that?”

Jason shrugged. “Rebellions have been started on lesser excuses. Remember the Ashanti and their stool.”

“But you say yourself that was a hundred years ago!” Nye protested.

“Africa is very old. It has seen the rise and fall of three waves of civilization—maybe more for who has actually identified those who ruled at Zimbabwe or in the intricate fortifications of Iyanga? Men remember well in Africa. The later kings might not have any scribes, but just like the Celtic lords of Europe who had no written language, they had trained memory banks among their own kind—men who could stand up in council and recite facts, genealogies, laws reaching back three and four hundred years. Such skills do not die easily among such people.”

Inwardly Tallahassee was ready to laugh. Jason was drawing on her own knowledge now, though he had often enough in the past shrugged at her comments and conversation as being deadly dull. Who cared what happened two thousand years ago anyway? The best time was here and now.

“Hmmm.” Nye leaned back in the chair behind the desk. He was not focusing on either of the young people, nor even on the box now. Instead his eyes were half-closed as if he were thinking deeply.

Tallahassee broke that moment of silence. “I would suggest—” she said boldly. After all no one had made plain just what this Nye's authority was in the matter (though she judged from Jason's hurried call which had first brought her here that he was some VIP of the type who is never identified publicly, if he can help it). “I would suggest that you put that”—she gestured at the box—“in the museum safe. There is perhaps only one man, Dr. Carey, who can make a true identification if that is what you need.”