Chapter 11: A Storm Brewing
Kate drove her car cautiously, keeping a close eye on the taxi just a few meters ahead. “Where’s he headed?” she muttered to herself as she turned onto a side road. Ever since she spotted the boy in the cafeteria, staring intently at the torn scrap of the Rubaiyat, her intuition had been on high alert. There was something about the way he looked at the cryptic note while Aussie translated it that seemed off. His tense expression and anxious eyes raised questions in Kate’s mind. Why did he seem so uneasy, as if he’d witnessed something shocking?
After bidding farewell to Aussie, Kate wasted no time and set off to follow the boy. He emerged from the university and, instead of boarding a bus or tram, quickly hailed a taxi and climbed inside. Kate settled into her car and trailed the taxi closely. Ten minutes later, the taxi pulled into a bustling local market in Adelaide and came to a stop. The boy got out, paid the driver, and briskly walked ahead, leaving Kate to observe his every move.
She parked her car and stepped out, quickly disguising herself with a cap and sunglasses. Wrapping a scarf around her neck, she concealed her identity. Blending in was crucial; she couldn’t risk being spotted and losing him in the crowd. With her disguise in place, Kate seamlessly merged into the throng of people, ready to uncover the boy’s motives.
Watching as the boy crossed the road and disappeared into a pawn shop, Kate followed, crossing the street and approaching the shop cautiously. Peering through the glass door, she saw a few customers milling about while the boy stood silently in a corner. “Why is he lingering there if he came to buy or sell something?” she wondered.
Minutes passed, and the shop gradually emptied until only one customer remained. Kate noticed the boy’s anxious gaze fixed on the aged shopkeeper, as if he had something urgent to communicate. She needed to enter the shop without drawing the boy’s attention. Spotting a group of foreign tourists entering, she swiftly merged with them, slipping inside unnoticed. Hiding behind a medium-sized cupboard for sale, she waited, listening intently.
Once the tourists left, the boy approached the counter, frustration clear in his tone. “I came here to talk to you, and you were ignoring me as if I wasn’t even here,” he exclaimed.
“Clark, had you come here as a customer, I would have attended to you immediately. But since you came to talk to me, I couldn’t do so in front of other customers,” the old shopkeeper, Jim, explained sternly.
“Huh, so the boy’s name is Clark,” Kate murmured, her curiosity piqued as she continued to eavesdrop.
“Now, tell me, why did you come here?” Jim pressed, his gaze locked on Clark’s tense expression.
“Jim…” Clark began, pausing to gather his courage. “You have to send a message to The Watchers and inform them that the lost original copy of the Rubaiyat has resurfaced.”
Jim went pale, his disbelief evident. “Wait, this can’t be… the original copy of the Rubaiyat has been lost for decades! It’s impossible.”
“I’m telling you what I saw,” Clark asserted firmly.
“It’s not possible,” Jim replied weakly.
“Tell The Watchers that the original Rubaiyat, penned by Omar Khayyam himself, has emerged from the depths of time,” Clark continued. “I’ve seen a torn page adorned with five quatrains and cryptic symbols. Those symbols signify that the brutal cycle of death has commenced and will not cease until the book’s new owner fulfills his sinister purpose.”
Every word cast a shadow of fear on Jim’s face. This was the last thing he wanted to hear, yet fate had chosen this moment to confront him with grim reality. Imagining the relentless cycle of death unfolding, Jim’s heart sank.
“Who’s got the Rubaiyat, Clark?” Jim asked in a hushed tone, already bracing for the answer.
“I don’t know… and even if I did, you think I’d still be breathing?” Clark replied, meeting Jim’s expectations. “True,” Jim conceded, exhaling deeply. “Get in touch with The Watchers right away.”
“If you don’t know who has the original Rubaiyat, how did you find out it’s resurfaced?” Jim inquired.
“I couldn’t identify who had the original copy. But earlier today in the university cafeteria, I spotted a woman sitting with Professor Aussie. She was showing him a torn page that seemed to be a printed version of the Rubaiyat. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a photocopy of the original. The lady appeared distressed, urgently asking Professor Aussie to translate the Persian quatrains into English.”
“Do you recognize that woman?” Jim asked.
“No, but if I see her again, I’ll remember,” Clark replied.
“Alright, let me reach out to The Watchers first, then I’ll get back to you,” Jim said. “Wait for my call.”
“Okay,” Clark agreed.
“Stay vigilant, and don’t tell anyone else about the original Rubaiyat. It could jeopardize your safety,” Jim cautioned.
“Yes, I understand,” Clark acknowledged before promptly exiting the shop.
Meanwhile, Kate had overheard every word. Now she just needed to wait for Jim to move away from the counter so she could slip out unnoticed. “Who are The Watchers?” she pondered. “Why did Clark and Jim seem so frightened? What’s the story behind the original Rubaiyat penned by Omar Khayyam, and why did it vanish decades ago only to resurface now?”
And more importantly, she thought, “What connection does the Rubaiyat have with the unidentified body found at Somerton Beach?” The mystery surrounding the man’s murder seemed to deepen with each question, leaving Kate with a growing sense of complexity and confusion.