In Pursuit of Atlantis
The heat in the tunnel was oppressive. More than oppressive, really. Sweat was dripping freely from my chin. I wanted to be out in the fresh air, even if that meant in the sun. At least then I could take a dip in the Mediterranean water, even if modesty would forbid me from doing so in front of the men. I held the lamp up to the bas-relief one more time.
Khaldoun shook his head. "Some of these symbols are Minoan," he explained, "But the rest are a mix of Mycenaean Greek, Egyptian hieroglyphs and nonsense."
"A fake?" I asked. My tone must have betrayed my disappointment.
"I'm afraid so," he said.
"That can't be right," I muttered, and fished my journal out of the satchel. The Red Scroll had been authenticated and it led us straight here. The chances that we'd head directly to a fake site after following its directions wrong were slim. I didn't want to consider the possibility that the scroll was merely a very good fake, part of the same hoax as this tunnel. My fingers were damp and the journal slipped out of them. I tried to catch it but, one-handed, I could not.
Khaldoun bent down to pick up the scattered pages, then stopped. He pointed, wordlessly.
My sketch of the Red Scroll was stuck to the side of the lamp. The light shone through the cheap paper and onto the bas-relief. The thick charcoal marks on the paper were just about visible in the pattern of shadow on the wall. The crown motif in the middle of one aligned with the crown motif in the middle of the other.
Leaving my journal in the dust, I adjusted the lamp's position until the correspondence was exact. Khaldoun used a piece of chalk to mark which symbols on the wall were circled or underlined by the other pictorial elements of my copy. He delved into his own notes to translate them out of their respective dead languages.
"Third four four legs twice finger door," I read over his shoulder. We kept silent as we thought.
"The relief includes horses - four legs - in rows of four," I said, eventually, "The third of those?"
"Right-to-left," Khaldoun said, "And we must push it two times - twice finger." He did so.
"And here is our door!" I exclaimed, as a section of rock swung inwards by an inch or so.
Khaldoun pushed it until it revealed a low passage leading further into the hill.
"I will summon the others," he said, and headed back outside.
While I waited, I found the heaviest rock I could lift and jammed the door open with it. I wasn't about to let us make the same mistake we made in Cairo.
Khaldoun shook his head. "Some of these symbols are Minoan," he explained, "But the rest are a mix of Mycenaean Greek, Egyptian hieroglyphs and nonsense."
"A fake?" I asked. My tone must have betrayed my disappointment.
"I'm afraid so," he said.
"That can't be right," I muttered, and fished my journal out of the satchel. The Red Scroll had been authenticated and it led us straight here. The chances that we'd head directly to a fake site after following its directions wrong were slim. I didn't want to consider the possibility that the scroll was merely a very good fake, part of the same hoax as this tunnel. My fingers were damp and the journal slipped out of them. I tried to catch it but, one-handed, I could not.
Khaldoun bent down to pick up the scattered pages, then stopped. He pointed, wordlessly.
My sketch of the Red Scroll was stuck to the side of the lamp. The light shone through the cheap paper and onto the bas-relief. The thick charcoal marks on the paper were just about visible in the pattern of shadow on the wall. The crown motif in the middle of one aligned with the crown motif in the middle of the other.
Leaving my journal in the dust, I adjusted the lamp's position until the correspondence was exact. Khaldoun used a piece of chalk to mark which symbols on the wall were circled or underlined by the other pictorial elements of my copy. He delved into his own notes to translate them out of their respective dead languages.
"Third four four legs twice finger door," I read over his shoulder. We kept silent as we thought.
"The relief includes horses - four legs - in rows of four," I said, eventually, "The third of those?"
"Right-to-left," Khaldoun said, "And we must push it two times - twice finger." He did so.
"And here is our door!" I exclaimed, as a section of rock swung inwards by an inch or so.
Khaldoun pushed it until it revealed a low passage leading further into the hill.
"I will summon the others," he said, and headed back outside.
While I waited, I found the heaviest rock I could lift and jammed the door open with it. I wasn't about to let us make the same mistake we made in Cairo.