Semele sat back and let out a long breath, glad she had a moment alone to process. Those results were staggering. Ionna really had known about Gundeshapur, a city founded over two hundred years after she had written the manuscript. What else had she known? Semele was barely halfway through Ionna’s story.
She could hear Cabe and Raina talking quietly in the hallway. Then Cabe came back alone, looking irritated.
Semele glanced toward the door. “What happened?”
“She had an emergency pop up and could only stop by for a minute.”
That sounded unlikely. “Who shows up for two minutes and leaves?” Semele could tell by the look on Cabe’s face that she was the reason Raina had bailed on dinner. “Was it because of me?”
“No, not at all.”
She could tell he was lying. “Cabe, seriously. Who gets jealous like that?” she asked, feeling disturbed.
“She wasn’t jealous.” Cabe sounded peeved. “It’s just dinner.”
Semele nodded and tried to eat. But she couldn’t help feeling that Raina was driving a wedge between them. She might as well have still been in the room.
Cabe was completely distracted and most likely wishing Raina was there enjoying his culinary efforts, not her. For the first time, Semele felt like an intruder and the feeling didn’t sit well. But she had come here for help. She needed to confide in him.
“Cabe, I’m in the middle of something serious. I think the manuscript I’m reading … is special.”
That got his attention. “What do you mean?”
“The person who wrote it talks about history that hasn’t happened, like a prophecy.”
“Like Nostradamus or something?”
“Kind of.” Except unlike Nostradamus’ predictions, Ionna had recorded facts and names without codes, quatrains, or rhymes that needed to be deciphered. Semele didn’t want to get into the details right now. “Someone knows I’m reading it. I think I’m being followed.”
“What?” Now Cabe was completely with her. “Hold on. Back up. From the beginning.”
“I found a manuscript that Marcel Bossard had kept secret, and I made a copy in Switzerland. The night before I flew out someone broke into my hotel room, but they didn’t take anything. They opened the file on my computer.” She hurried to explain, feeling her anxiety returning. “Then today I went to the library and caught a guy watching me—and he was on my flight from Geneva. I know the Rose Room is a serious tourist destination, but what are the odds? He was on my flight.” And he had shown up in the Rose Room right when Ionna had said Semele was being watched.
Semele didn’t feel comfortable sharing that part of the story. But if she couldn’t tell Cabe, who could she tell? If her father were still alive she would have taken the first train to New Haven and shown him the manuscript. He would have known what to do.
“That’s why I called,” she confessed. “I was scared to go home. I didn’t want him to know where I lived.”
“Jesus, Sem, you should have told me.”
“I’m telling you now.” They stared at each other. “What do I do?” she asked. Her fear was threatening to overwhelm her again.
Cabe rubbed his chin, looking equally worried. “Well, for starters, if some guy is following you, you’re staying here tonight. We’ll walk over to your place in the morning and check things out.”
Semele felt her body droop with relief. Tomorrow was Saturday. Soon it would be Monday and she’d be back at work prepping for Beijing. Suddenly putting six thousand miles between her and a stalker didn’t seem like such a bad call.
They went back to eating in silence. “You know, maybe you shouldn’t read any more of it,” Cabe said.
Semele didn’t answer right away. If Ionna was predicting the future, did she really want to know the rest?
A strange sense of inevitability took hold of her. Yes. Yes, she did.
Message from VS—
The missing pages?
Message to VS—
Still searching.
From VS—
Find them.
Anything else u r not handling?
Message to VS—
Manuscript being translated this week.
From VS—
Do not let that happen.
The Hermit
The next morning Cabe and Semele strolled to her place with coffees and pastries from a nearby café in hand. As they walked, Semele watched all the pedestrians around her, on alert for the man at the library.
She looked over at Cabe. “Do you think a person can predict the future?”
Cabe considered the question. “Well, it seems impossible when you grant that reality is just a complex web of particles colliding with each other all the time.”
Semele snorted. “It was a yes-or-no question.”
“Then no. Life is based on the uncertainty principle. If we can’t even measure a particle’s velocity and position at the same time, how can we know where anything will be in the future?”
“Let’s pretend I haven’t seen every Star Trek episode like you. What about people who have premonitions that come true? How do you explain that?”
Cabe hesitated. “Okay. There are at least ten dimensions that we know of so far. Maybe psychics—I’m talking real ones—if they exist, have the ability to see an interdimensional spectrum of space-time that we can’t access.”
“Interdimensional space-time?” That didn’t help.
“The thing that’s always bothered me about the idea of seeing the future is that it negates free will. If the future is already set, what’s all this?” He motioned to the street. “Was it set in stone that I was going to eat this blueberry scone for breakfast, or could I have gotten a chocolate croissant?” He took a bite of the scone from the bag he was carrying. “Can we change the future, or does it unfold by cosmic design?”
“Quit spitting crumbs on me,” she said. “Those are all good questions. I don’t disagree, but then how do you explain the manuscript?”
For a second he looked stumped. “Is it really a prophecy?”
“Cabe, she knew about a city that hadn’t been created yet.”
The more Semele thought about it, the more mystified she became. Semele knew the history of Gundeshapur. The city had been a pivotal force in the ancient world and flourished for hundreds of years. When Justinian all but closed Plato’s academy in Athens, the Greek philosophers moved to Gundeshapur. So did the Nestorian Assyrians, when they were seeking refuge from religious persecution in the Byzantine Empire.
After the fall of the Roman Empire, so many of antiquity’s greatest works were lost. It was only because of cities like Gundeshapur that they survived at all. The Persians and their Arab inheritors studied Euclid, Pythagoras, Aristotle, Plato, and countless others before those writings found their way back to the West centuries later, heralding the dawn of the Renaissance. Semele had studied this path of knowledge; one only had to track the great libraries of the ancient world to do so. When one library perished, another was born, and the river of knowledge rushed to the new source. Her father had taught her that.
“I’ll give you a copy of the translation when I’m done.” She hooked her arm in Cabe’s and gave it a squeeze, suddenly not feeling so alone. “I’m going to need your help on this.”
“Abso-freaking-lutely.” He squeezed back.