The Compass and the Code

Gravel scraped my knees as I  scrambled to my feet.  My breath came in heavy gasps, and I looked over my shoulder.  The faceless figure was tall and clothed in black.  I could hear my heart thumping like a hammer on wood.  It seemed like an eternity since the figure started chasing after me, and it kept getting closer. Suddenly, strange symbols appeared on the ground and wavered. I was at full speed, but it felt like slow motion.  A strangling sensation wrapped around my throat, and I reached up as though to free myself from the hands that tried to rob my life.  But there was nothing.  I couldn't breathe, I couldn’t move.  It was like someone was holding me down.  But there was nothing.  Then, my vision started going black.  His face was all I saw, his wicked smile leering down at me; he whispered an indecipherable word that I thought I recognized but then forgot.  I screamed, and everything went black.

I sat up and looked around, my mind reeling as I took in the surroundings. The covers for my bed were thrown back, and the sheets wrapped around my legs.  Outside my window, the rain was a torrential downpour that would probably continue into tomorrow.  I ran a hand through my damp, russet hair.  My body was drenched in sweat, and my hands still trembled. 

I got up from the floor and walked into the bathroom. I switched on the light and stood in front of the mirror. My hair was tousled, and my skin was pale. Due to sectoral heterochromia, my eyes are blue and brown. 

 I’ve had nightmares ever since I was 20.  and they’re always akin in some way or another, but this was the worst one I've had in years.  There’s never a pattern in when they come; It’s always erotic. 

For the fifth time, I told myself not to worry and that I'd be all right.  I looked at my watch and saw it was 2 a.m. I knew I wouldn't fall asleep again.  I never did, so I ventured my way to my study room. 

The study room was my haven, my safe place.  Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the wall to my left, and a rolling ladder allowed me access to the highest shelves.  On the right, I had my desk and computers.  In the center of the room was a large table where I did my mapping.  Beyond the table were built-in wooden cubbies where I stored my maps.

I walked over to the desk and sat down.  The computer turned on with a soft whoosh.  I typed in the password and clicked on a file.  After I put in the access code, three pictures came up on the screen.  They were maps—old maps kept under lock and key with 24/7 surveillance systems and security alarms.  They were also my subsequent acquisitions. 

My name is Amira Shannon.  I’m a well-trained cartographer collecting rare maps and an archaic linguist. 

LATER THAT DAY…

I strutted down the marble hall of Merlin Global Company in the city of Riverfalls with a leather satchel under my arm. 

“Miss Amira, Miss Amira, wait!” I stopped in my tracks and groaned inwardly.  Slowly, I turned around and had not the person running towards me been the most talkative woman in the city, I would have laughed at the scene.  Ruby, a sales representative for another company, scurried toward me, her high heels clicking and clacking on the marble floor as the giant hoop earrings in her earlobes bounced.  Her blond curls and bright red lipstick accentuated her doll-like features.

I glanced around in search of an escape but saw nothing.  Once she reached me, she jutted her hip and placed a manicured hand on it.  “Now, dear, what are you in such a rush for   No one’s chasing you.”  

Yeah, right.  You’re the predator, and I’m the prey, I thought, but kept my face neutral.

“I’ve got someone I need to meet.”

“Ooo, darling, don’t hold out on me.  Who is this person?  Is he handsome?  Oh, pray tell!” Ruby clutched my wrist and smiled at me. 

I rolled my eyes and said: “It’s no one important.” 

“Oh, goodie.  Then you won’t mind if I steal you for a minute.  Let’s go out for coffee.”

I mentally kicked myself.  Good job. You walked right into that.

“Sorry, but I really must go. Maybe another time?”

“Of course, sugarbug! Oh, but let me tell you about my trip to England—”

I managed to slip away as she chattered, but I was now running late.

Hurrying around a corner, I slammed straight into someone.

“Whoa, there!”

My satchel flew from my arms, and papers scattered across the floor.

Heat rushed to my face as I looked up into hazel eyes. He wore a detective’s uniform, a gun holstered at his hip. His dirty blond crew cut gave him a sharp, no-nonsense look.

“I-I’m so sorry,” I stammered, backing up quickly.

I knelt to gather my papers, but he crouched down beside me. “No worries. Let me help.”

“No, no. I-I can manage.” My hands shook as I reached for the documents. Not only was this man a stranger, but he was a police officer—someone who could ask too many questions.

I stood and mumbled my thanks once I had everything back in my satchel.

“Where are you headed in such a hurry?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

Before I could respond, a suited man appeared from a nearby office. “Miss Shannon? Mr. Hendrix is waiting for you.”

I nodded at the man before turning back to the detective. “I have to go…”

His hazel eyes studied me, but he simply nodded.  I’ve encountered some people before, but never someone like this guy.

I walked into the office and greeted Mr. Hendrix.  He was a fit man with graying hair and wore reading glasses. 

“Have a seat.” He indicated a brown leather swivel chair.

“You have the map?” I asked

“Yes, yes.  No need to worry.”

I held my hand out and waited. He looked at me strangely and then opened a drawer in his desk and brought out a briefcase. “It’s in there, " he said, putting it on the table. 

I opened it and quickly scanned the small map in the glass case. In return, I handed him a flash drive. “It’s all in there.”  

Mr. Hendrix smiled. “Then it seems our meeting has come to a close.” I stood up and walked to the door, then paused. “Why do you need all that information?”  

“A friend of mine is opening a museum exhibit dealing with ancient languages and civilizations. This information will be very helpful for him.” 

I smiled. “Glad I could be of help to you both.”

 “Have a good day, Miss Shannon.”

With that, I exited the room and walked quickly out the front doors to my car. 

At home again, I grabbed a tray of snacks and went to my study room.  I took a few maps from the cubby holes and laid them on the table.  I sat down as the rain pounded on the small window.

After a few hours of researching and studying, I heard the doorbell ring.  Groaning, I got up and stretched. 

I opened the door to see a man standing before me, clad in a black trench coat, a gray shirt, jeans, and sunglasses.

“Uh… can I help you?”

He smirked. “I think you can. I’m looking for a young lady with red hair and brown eyes, about your height. I ran into her earlier this morning—she dropped some papers. She missed one, and I wanted to return it. Do you know her?”

I felt a flush of embarrassment creep into my cheeks.

Amira Shannon

Cartographer of Ancient Maps

and

Archaic Linguist

182 Lakeweed Ave.

River Falls City

If found, please return to the rightful owner.

Note: These documents are the property of Amira Shannon.  Unauthorized use or distribution is prohibited.  ~L.K.

“Yes, this is me.  Thank you for returning it.” There was an awkward silence.  “And your name is?”

“I’m Mason Kingsford. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Another pause…

“So… Cartography, huh?  Do you like it?” he inquired.

I shrugged, not wanting to reveal too much.  “It’s my job.  Do you want to come in?  It's pretty wet out.”

“Sure.  Thank you,”  I took his coat and hung it on the coat rack.  I led him into the small living room.  “Please, have a seat while I get tea.”

The fire crackled merrily in the living room, casting a warm, dancing light across the room.    An L-shaped grey sofa, draped with a chunky knit throw the color of warm sand, invited anyone to sink into its plush embrace.  Soft, muted pillows in shades of blush pink and dove grey scattered across the cushions added to the inviting ambiance.

The large window, stretching almost from floor to ceiling, offered a view of a dark, rainy landscape.  The scene outside, though dark, only served to enhance the cozy feeling within.  String lights, twinkling like captured stars, were draped across a small floating shelf laden with books.  A round paper lantern-style light fixture hung from the ceiling, casting a gentle, diffused light that complemented the flickering flames in the fireplace and the softly glowing candles on the coffee table.

I returned from the kitchen with some tea and a plate of salami, cheese, and crackers.  Mr. Kingsford, with a ravenous look in his eyes, helped himself.

“Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Kingsford?”

He shook his head.  “No, thank you.  And call me Mason.”

I smiled and sat on the floor opposite him in front of the warm fire. 

Shortly thereafter, we started talking about our professions.

“Yeah, a friend of mine gave this old compass to me. He said he got it from an antique dealer. I noticed it has some strange inscriptions on the back.  I was wondering if you might know what it means.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a plastic bag with a brass compass. 

“Why me?”

“Someone I know spoke very highly of your skills in archaic languages and maps.  And I thought maybe you could help.” He handed the bag to me.  

I reached into the bag and pulled out the compass about five inches in diameter.  Turning it over in my hands, I examined it closely.  My eyes were drawn to the tiny symbols engraved on the back of its surface.  “I think I can give it a try… May I keep this with me today to try to decipher it?  It'll probably only take me a day to understand what it says and another day to figure out what it does.”

“Thank you, that’d be great,” Mason said, rising to his feet.  “Well, I’d best be on my way.  It was nice meeting you.”  

 “Thank you for stopping by,” I said and smiled, putting the compass back into the bag. 

In the early morning darkness, I padded down the hall to the study room, once again unable to sleep.  I decided to get started on the compass.  I took out all my bilingual books of the different languages I've studied.  I know seven languages:

Chinese, German, Old Norse, Sanskrit, Samurian, French, and Aramaic.  Knowing these ancient languages allows me to read and decipher old maps.

Taking the compass out of the bag, I held it at eye level.  The aged brass compass gleamed under dim light.  Its deep teal face featured a slender golden needle pointing north, surrounded by intricate golden detailing.  The brass ring encircled the face, marked with cardinal directions and degrees.  The ornate brass casing hinted at lost craftsmanship, making the compass a relic of past explorations and a symbol of guidance.

I turned it over, and on its smooth back, I could barely make out the tiny Old Norse symbols.  After some studying, I recognized the letters.  They spelled out: “ᚼᚱᛁᛁᚠᚦᚢ ᛋᛁᚴ ᛁᚾᚾ Á ᛚᛁᛁᚾᛏᛅᚱᛏÓᛘᛅ,” which translated to: Move within the mysteries.

I sat back and frowned.  “Move within the mysteries,” I repeated to myself.  “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

As I pondered, I noticed the compass used to have a glass case, but now it didn't.  It seemed like it had been removed some time ago for some reason.  There was also a date underneath the inscription: 1825.  I guessed that would be the date the compass was manufactured.

I ran my finger gently along the needle, and something clicked when I accidentally pushed too hard.  The dial shifted!  I stared, dumbfounded, as the pieces fell into place.  I thought back over the inscription.  “Move within the mysteries.” The dial, though only slightly, had moved, and there was no glass covering! 

I leaped into the air with a loud shout and scrambled for my phone.  On the second ring, he answered. 

“Hello?” He said.

“Mason!  I figured it out!” I exclaimed so fast I wasn’t sure he would understand me.

“Figured out what?”

“The compass!  I need you to come over and see for yourself!” 

“Uh, now?”

“Yes!  I mean, yes, please.  Right now.”  I face-palmed my forehead.  I can’t believe you did that.  He’s a detective, for Pete’s sake!  Don’t make yourself look like a fool.  Silly girl.  My inner monologue mocked me.

I heard Mason’s rumbling laugh on the other end.  “I’ll be right over.”

We hung up, and about ten minutes later, I heard a car pull up.

 I rushed to the door and opened it just as he raised his hand to knock.  “Good you’re here; come on in!” I said and saw the amused look in his eyes. 

“So what did you discover in that ‘mysterious’ compass?”

I told him how I translated the inscription and accidentally moved the dial.

“What did the inscription say?” he wondered.

“ It said, ‘Move within the mysteries.’ As I was trying to figure out why it said that, I accidentally pushed on the needle.  It clicked, and the dial moved.  What’s more, and I didn’t think much of it till now, there’s no protective glass covering, making it possible to reach inside and move the dial!”

“So, you’re saying?” Mason asked.

“What I’m saying is that there’s probably a secret compartment in the compass and that the maker of it was trying to hide something in it!”

“Really?  You think that's possible?” The excitement in his voice was palpable.  Picking up the compass, I replied, “I think if we move the dial in line with the inscription on the back, then maybe, just maybe, we could open it up.”

I carefully turned the dial with my index finger and thumb as I spoke. “Mason, when it clicks, write down the direction I tell you.” It clicked eight times in the following pattern: North to South, South to East, East to West, West to South, South to North, North to West, West to East, and finally East to South.

On the eighth click, a slit appeared on the side of the compass.  Something protruded slightly from the slit, but it was too small to grasp with my fingers.  “Tweezers,” I mumbled, rushing to the bathroom to retrieve them.  Returning, I pinched the tiny object with the tweezers and carefully pulled out a slip of paper with numbers and letters on it.

“What are these?” I murmured almost to myself.

Mason looked over my shoulder at the paper.  “Wait.  The only letters here are N and W. Don’t those look like coordinates?” 

25.0000°N and 71.0000° W 

Fredrich Taylor

“You’re right!  What else would they be?” 

We looked up the coordinates on Google Maps.  Mason gave a long, slow whistle.

“The Bermuda Triangle!”   The Bermuda Triangle is a vaguely delineated region in the North Atlantic Ocean, roughly outlined by the points of Bermuda, Florida, and Puerto Rico.  Over the years, many ships and planes have reportedly vanished under mysterious circumstances within this area, sparking numerous theories and speculations about the unusual and unexplained phenomena that may occur within its boundaries.

I gasped. “No wonder Fredrich Taylor was never found!”

Mason frowned. “Who?”

“Fredrich Taylor was an English explorer who vanished from England. It was during the year 1825 when the stock markets crashed.  The Panic of 1825 is considered the first ‘modern’ economic crisis that wasn't caused by an event like war.  It was unexpected and lasted only a few months, but it caused many banks to close.  It was told that Fredrich left on a ship to look for a better life for his family. The last time he was seen was when he sailed from the dock.”

“But what about the compass?” Mason asked.

“It could have been custom-made for him before he left on his voyage.  Maybe he was writing down where he’d been, and his most recent coordinates happened to be this.”

“Well, I'm glad that’s figured out.”

“Yeah. That's the most excitement I've had for years.” I chuckled. 

“Thank you for your help, Miss Amira Shannon.”

“It was my pleasure.” I smiled up at him.  A slight pause.

“Would you want to go out for coffee?  I'd like to get to know you better.” 

Me?  My inner voice squealed.  He's asking ME?  “I would love that,”  I replied. 

For the first time in an eternity, I felt like I could be a normal girl. My nightmares were in the past. I had my whole life in front of me, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

Sometimes, the end of one mystery is the beginning of another.