The Oracle (Fargo Adventures #11) - Clive Cussler Page 0,111

so stole the treasured scroll from the Moors, then threatened its destruction if the city didn’t surrender.”

“The scroll?” Sam asked, intrigued. “Was it biblical?”

“No, philosophical. Meant to bring peace and harmony to the world. Beyond that, I have no idea.”

“Parmenides,” Lazlo said. “I knew it rang a bell. The child, Nasha, was chanting bits of it back at the school.”

“Philosophy?” Remi’s brows rose. “I never expected that of you.”

“You’re correct in that respect. It, and the professor who taught it, have haunted me since university. To think I might be rewarded for sitting in that torturous class day after day . . .”

“Back up a bit,” Sam said. “Who or what is Parmenides?”

“Parmenides,” Remi replied, “was an early sixth century B.C. pre-Socratic philosopher. He’s considered to be the founder of metaphysics, ontology. You know, existence, being—that sort of thing.”

“Eleatic philosopher.” Lazlo rubbed his forehead. “I have a vague recollection of my professor telling me there’d be no Plato if not for Parmenides. Some even suggest the chap contributed to our knowledge of atomic theory.”

Sam was about to comment when Remi said, “But what Parmenides is known for in particular is a poem, ‘On Nature.’ Only fragments of the work have survived.”

“A poem?” Sam said. “You’re trying to tell me that Warren was killed for a poem?”

“Not a poem in the true sense,” Remi said. “Early teachings were done in verse to help with memorization.”

Lazlo looked at Sam in disbelief. “If this missing scroll is this poem ‘On Nature,’ it might well be the complete poem. And if the complete poem has somehow survived the millennia, it’s quite likely to be the only existing copy. I daresay, it explains the inordinate interest in what would normally be a bog-standard archeological dig in the midst of other bog-standard archeological digs.”

“True,” Remi said. “What little is known about Parmenides’ works are from surviving fragments.”

“Quite right. No scholar has ever seen the poem in its entirety,” Lazlo continued. “Fragments alone—should they consist of the missing verses—would be worth a lot of dosh. The entire poem? On the black market? I’d say ten, fifteen million at least. And that’s a modest estimate. Anyone who might get his hands on the complete poem would be playing a blinder, in cricket terms.”

“A home run,” Sam said. Which meant those thefts and break-ins had less to do with any curse or random bits of antiquities to sell on the black market and more to do with the value of the Parmenides Scroll. It certainly explained the tenacity of whoever was behind all of this. And possibly why Warren was killed. Sam took his fork and cut one of the banatages in half, watching the steam rise up from the meaty filling. “One question,” he said to Amal. “Is there any chance that Dr. LaBelle knew of any of this?”

“The curse, a scroll, and the map—yes. But Parmenides? It’s the first I’ve even heard of it. And I’m supposed to be the Keeper of the Map.”

“You?” Lazlo said.

“If you believe old wives’ tales, that is.”

“Indeed, I do. Exactly what do you know about this map and curse attached to it?”

“The curse was cast by the High Priestess after King Genseric hid the scroll. Sadly, that’s all I know about it, the part my grandmother taught me, where only one who is of royal blood can return the scroll to its rightful home.”

“What happens,” he asked, “if it’s a non-royal who finds the scroll?”

“Anyone not worthy dies a violent death.”

Remi grinned. “Guess it’s up to you, Fargo.” She gave a conspiratorial wink to Amal. “He’s distantly related to the British Crown.”

Sam laughed. “Far enough down the line we’d need a computer to calculate. Especially with this new bunch of royal grandkids being born.”

“Royal is royal,” Remi replied. She helped herself to one of the appetizers, then passed the plate to Amal. “Where were we?”

“She’s the Keeper of the Map,” Sam reminded her.

“It’s not just the map,” Amal said. “Again, and only if you believe those old legends, I’m the direct descendant of the Priestess/witch who cast that curse.”

Lazlo’s eyes practically gleamed at her announcement. “I’m ready to hear every one of those old legends.”

Before she could launch into one, Sam asked, “Did Warren know about this connection?”

“It wasn’t really a secret. He was one of the first people I told. I have to admit, he was very keen on the idea of looking for it.”

Remi and Sam exchanged glances. Sam knew Remi was thinking exactly the same thing that had