Sphinx by T.S. Learner

Author:T.S. Learner [Learner, T.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780748115006
Amazon: 0748115005
Barnesnoble: 0748115005
Goodreads: 34136757
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

By the time I reached the Turkish baths it was almost six o’clock. The locker room was full of day workers finishing their evening workouts - amateur bodybuilders, city businessmen looking for a way to unwind. I went straight to my locker and collected the astrarium, abandoning all vigilance.

I ran up the stairs to my flat without looking right or left, thinking only of Gareth. Once inside, I hurriedly unpacked the astrarium and set it on the kitchen table, the key beside it. I felt as if it was coaxing me, calling me in some insidious way. I took the key between my trembling fingers and studied the mechanism.

In the oilfields I had witnessed the potential of belief; it amazed me how many oilmen were susceptible to superstition. I’d even known geophysicists who performed their own special rituals before the final test to separate the oil from the porous rock cuttings - the test that would decide whether they’d hit black gold or not. Men with IQs of well over 150 would cross themselves, kiss a good-luck charm, rub a lucky talisman, before leaning over the UV box to watch whether the dripping perchloroethylene would change the colour of the sandstone chips from milky white to shimmering blue. The more spectacular the hue, the better the quality of oil detected - many described it as the colour of heaven. Was I succumbing to the same irrationality? Despite my inherent scepticism I could feel my own belief system changing, shifting into the realms of the extraordinary. Was this sheer desperation, the overwhelming drive to help my brother survive? There was no time for analysis; I knew I had to act, not think.

Despite Professor Silvio’s tutelage, I barely recognised the hieroglyphs on the astrarium, and the Babylonian numbers were completely incomprehensible. I searched the shelves for a reference book that I’d seen Isabella use in her translation work. It contained a graph correlating the Ancient Egyptian calendar with the Christian calendar, with a projection forward that Isabella had boasted was accurate to the day.

I calculated the day, month and year of Gareth’s birth according to the ancient calendar then turned on the lamp and directed its beam onto the astrarium’s dials. The tiny etched symbols danced under the bright light. Holding my breath, I turned the outer dial so that the marker was aligned with my brother’s zodiac sign: the two twisting fish, Pisces. Then I turned the other dials to the corresponding year, month and day of his birth. To my mortification, I found myself muttering the Lord’s Prayer and my hand was trembling as I lifted the Was.

I inserted it into the machine and turned it.

I waited. Nothing had happened. Scepticism swept through me; I teetered between disappointment and vindication as the scientist fought the romantic. I couldn’t believe I’d let myself be swayed by the power of a mere legend. Then, just as I was about to give up, a faint ticking sounded somewhere within the ancient jumble of cogs.

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