‘What about you, Mr More?’
‘Once. When I suffered an injury. I did not enjoy the experience.’
‘I see. Now, Mr Chang. You base your conclusion on one solitary line of print, is that correct?’
Alex nodded. ‘In an article written by a man called Henry Lytten, who lived in Oxford. He was born in 1910, died in 1979. I now have a copy of the document, if you wish to look at it. As I said, it was published in 1960.’
‘There is no other evidence?’
‘You must bear in mind that quite a lot of documentation from that period was lost. Finding this was remarkably good fortune.’
‘So it would seem,’ Hanslip said drily. ‘What was the article?’
‘I haven’t read it yet. It was called “Rosalind as the Universal Ideaclass="underline" As You Like It in the Wider World”.’
Hanslip looked at him blankly.
‘I have no idea either,’ Chang said. ‘However, Shakespeare was quite well known.’
Hanslip cut him off. ‘Then we must investigate your lead, must we not? We are hardly spoiled for other options.’
‘Certainly. I thought that if I went to the Depository...’
‘Mr More can do that. But only visual confirmation will settle the matter conclusively.’
There was a long silence after this, as both men tried to figure out what he was saying.
‘Solid proof,’ Hanslip explained. ‘Someone must go and check.’
‘What? Who?’
‘You, of course. Who else?’
‘Me?’ Chang said, his voice louder and with a touch of panic in it. ‘How?’
‘The same method you seem to imply she used. The machine. Or do you now want to withdraw your findings?’
‘Well, no. I mean, the reference is there.’
‘Good. I like a man who stands by his opinion, whatever the consequences.’
‘Making a suggestion is one thing —’
‘Besides, I’m not asking. I have decided and I have the authority to dispose of you as I see fit. You worked with her, she may well trust you. If indeed this reference is to her, then you are the best person to find and approach her.’
Chang scarcely reacted; Jack studied him carefully as Hanslip talked. He was not frightened, although that, surely, would have been justified. He seemed more alarmed at having to talk to Hanslip than he was at the prospect of being used in such a way. He said nothing, so Hanslip, the matter settled as far as he was concerned, passed on to the next topic. ‘You have an appointment in implants in an hour. We will make sure you are properly equipped. Don’t worry about that.’
After the meeting, Jack continued his investigations into Angela’s disappearance and spent the afternoon in his little office, going through old files and records. It was dull and profitless work, and in the evening he took a break and went to find Alex Chang once more. He found him in implant maintenance, sitting on a table looking delirious.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
Chang had an asinine smile on his face from the anaesthetics used when they drilled a tiny hole in his skull. ‘Assez bien, mais j’ai pas dormi,’ he began, then stopped.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Jack asked as a look of alarm passed over the man’s face. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.
‘New additions,’ a technician standing behind him whispered. ‘Not properly absorbed yet.’
‘Oh. I see. Do you have a sort of buzzing in your head? I remember that from when I had my legal codes updated.’
‘Ja, es ist sehr ärgerlich.’
‘That’s the briefings, probably,’ the technician continued. ‘We loaded everything we had. Bit of a rush job, though. It may give you a few headaches until it settles in,’ he said in a loud voice in Chang’s ear. ‘We gave you a full set of European languages, and you’ll have to learn to control them. Try to speak in English. Otherwise you’ll just hop from one language to another at random.’
‘That’s what’s wrong, is it?’
‘We’ve given you news reports, maps, guidebooks, various technical manuals. Not a comprehensive selection, I’m afraid, but there should be enough to help you out. All put into your memory so it can be recalled at will. Just think of a question, and the answer will appear. I think. We didn’t have time to test it properly.’
Chang shook his head. ‘I’m all confused,’ he said. ‘It’s a very odd feeling, this. What was it? It was important.’
‘Well?’
‘Give me an hour. It may be my head will clear by then. I needed to talk to — what’s his name? The man in charge.’
‘Hanslip?’
‘That’s the one.’ Chang pursed his lips in determination. ‘That’s right. I need to see him. I found something else. It’s important. I mean, this whole idea...’
‘One more thing,’ the technician said. ‘When we send you, you are likely to be disoriented. At least, the bluebottles we’ve experimented on went completely crazy for a while, and simulations suggest a high likelihood of memory loss, confusion, even temporary madness. So we have linked some of your more important memories to another part of your brain to ensure you can remember who you are and why you are there. All you have to do is find them. The memories are associated with food. So when you arrive, the first thing you will need to do is eat something. All right?’
Two hours later, Chang got his third meeting with Hanslip in twenty-four hours and launched immediately into his final argument. ‘The thing is,’ he said with an air of desperation, ‘that I got hold of as many of this man Lytten’s publications as I could find, to see if there were any other references to Angela Meerson. I thought that if I could find something, then you would see that I wasn’t trying to deceive you.’
‘Were there?’ Hanslip asked.
‘Ah, no. There weren’t.’
‘What a surprise.’
‘What there was, however, was an article entitled “The Devil’s Handwriting”, published in 1959. It’s about an ancient manuscript, supposedly medieval although the author, this man Lytten, decided it was a fake. The story is that a man named Ludovico Spoletano summoned the devil and asked him to respond, in writing, to a question. The pen was taken by “an invisible power which suspended it in air”.’
Hanslip gazed balefully at him, so Chang hurried on before his patience was exhausted. ‘This manuscript was impossible to read, hence the attribution. Various people suggested that it was an Old Iberic script.’
‘Mr Chang?’ Hanslip prompted. ‘You are beginning to weary me.’
‘The point is that there’s an illustration.’
Chang fumbled in the folder he was gripping tightly in his hand, pulled out a few sheets and handed them nervously to Hanslip, who glanced at them, then bowed his head and studied them much more closely.
‘How fascinating,’ Hanslip said softly when he finished.
‘May I?’ Jack interrupted.
Hanslip handed over the papers. ‘The script,’ he explained. ‘You may not recognise it, but it is three lines of mathematics in the Tsou notation.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A method of compressing information, not unlike the way Chinese characters managed to squeeze multi-syllabic words into a couple of strokes. Each symbol is made up of many different elements, and can be unbundled to produce more orthodox notation.’
‘That’s interesting.’
‘The point that Mr Chang is trying to make, I am sure, is that Tsou was only developed sixty years ago. The article in which this illustration was published supposedly dates back more than two hundred.’ Hanslip peered at Chang. ‘Is that correct?’
‘Yes. The reference to Angela appeared in 1960; the article including the Tsou notation was published in 1959.’