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“I wonder if he used the bell because it’s durable, unlike paper. I also wonder if he used it because of its shape.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“The first line of his poem—‘In my love’s heart I pen my devotion’—he’s got to be talking about his wife, about Ophelia, which is what he renamed the El Majidi.”
Remi caught on. “And a ship’s bell could be considered the heart of the ship.”
“Right. Now, the second line, ‘On Engai’s gyrare I trust my feet.’ In Swahili, Engai is one of the spellings for the Maasai’s version of ‘God,’ and gyrare is Latin for ‘gyre’; it’s a synonym for vortex or spiral.”
“As in the Fibonacci spiral. God’s pattern in nature.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Blaylock was using the spiral to guide himself. Put the lines together and maybe you’ve got Blaylock inscribing the bell with the source of his devotion—his obsession—and using the Fibonacci spiral as some kind of encoding technique.”
“And since by the time he made the inscriptions his wife was dead and he’d found the Shenandoah, his ‘devotion’ was something else altogether,” said Remi. “What about the gyre? How exactly would that fit in?”
“Picture a golden spiral.”
“Okay.”
“Now picture it superimposed on the interior of the bell, starting at the crown and spiraling downward and outward toward the mouth.”
Remi was nodding. “And wherever the spiral intersects a symbol it means . . .” She shrugged. “What?”
“I don’t know. Something to do with the last three lines of the poem, maybe. I’m still working on that. All I know is that two of the most frequently repeated items in his journal are the Fibonacci spiral and Aztec symbols. If he’s hiding something, they’re probably involved.”
THEY GOT UP, made a carafe of coffee, and headed down to the workroom. Selma was asleep on a cot in the corner. The overhead ha
logen lights were dimmed. Pete and Wendy sat at the worktable, laptops open, the screens’ glow illuminating their faces.
“Coffee, guys?” Sam whispered.
Wendy smiled, shook her head, and nodded toward the collection of Red Bull cans on the table.
“We’re almost done,” Pete said. “Those Ziploc bags must have done the trick. It’s just a guess, but I’d say the letters have been protected in one way or another for most of their life.”
“You got them all?” Remi asked.
Wendy nodded. “Aside from some illegible spots here and there. We’ll have everything uploaded and sorted in a couple hours.”
“Sam’s got a hunch he wants to play,” Remi said.
“We’re all ears,” replied Wendy.
Sam explained his theory. Pete and Wendy considered it for a few moments, then nodded in unison. “Plausible,” Pete said.
“Ditto,” Wendy added. “Blaylock was a mathematician. Those guys love order within chaos.”
From across the room Selma’s scratchy voice said, “Buy what?”
“Go back to sleep,” Remi said.
“Too late. I’m up. Buy what?”
She got off the cot and shuffled to the worktable. Remi poured her a cup of coffee and slid the mug down the table. Selma palmed it, took a sip. Sam reexplained his spiral/bell/symbol theory.
“It’s worth a shot,” Selma agreed. “The crown of the bell would be the likely place to start the spiral, but how do we know how big it is? And you’re assuming it would unravel and end at the bell’s mouth. What if it doesn’t?”
Sam smiled wearily. “Killjoy.”