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             Chryseis Kent, the dark-haired and very attractive woman who headed the Acquisitions Department at the University Library, knew something was amiss as soon as she entered the Library before its normal Sunday morning hours began. Shelves had been toppled, glass display cases were shattered, and broken furniture was strewn around the entranceway to the Library. Ms. Kent locked the door behind her before she slowly and cautiously moved forward. She followed the trail of destruction through the entranceway, past the circulation and reference desks, and towards the Library’s administration offices. A feeling of dread overcame her when she looked up the corridor and saw that the door to the office of the Library’s mysterious Regional Manager, Ms. Pryor, had been torn from the hinges; the door's splintered remains were on the floor, half in and half out of Ms. Pryor’s sanctum.

            Chrys knew she should call campus security but something deep in her mind kept her from doing so and, instead, she moved up the hallway towards her boss’s office. She peeked her head through the doorway and gasped when she saw Ms. Pryor on the floor of her ransacked office lying near a destroyed flat-screen computer monitor. The strikingly beautiful red-haired Regional Manager had a bruised face and Ms. Kent saw a few drops of blood near Ms. Pryor’s mouth.

            “Oh my God!” exclaimed the dark-haired librarian as she knelt next to the still form of Ms. Pryor and felt for a pulse in her wrist. She sighed with relief when she realized the woman was still alive. “Thank Hera,” she said aloud before correcting herself and saying, “I mean thank heaven.” She wondered briefly about her invocation of a Greek goddess, frowning because mistakes like that and inexplicable deep-rooted feelings of déjà vu had been happening with increasing frequency for the past few weeks. Ms. Kent cast those thoughts aside though and focused her attention on Ms. Pryor, who had begun to stir when she felt Chrys taking her pulse.

            “Don’t move,” urged Ms. Kent as she reached for her cell phone. “I’ll call security and have them send for an ambulance.”

            Ms. Pryor weakly shook her head. “No. Don’t,” she said as she touched the head librarian’s forearm. “I have to call someone else. Let me have your phone.” The injured woman struggled to sit up. Ms. Kent looked at her boss skeptically but nevertheless uprighted the Regional Manager’s desk chair and helped her into the seat. Reluctantly, she passed her cell phone to Ms. Pryor who swiped the screen and dialed a number from memory.

            After the call connected, she spoke with a degree of urgency through her obvious pain. “Matteo . . . it’s me.” She breathed hard. “Never mind me,” she paused and then spoke with some discomfort. “I heal fast so I’ll be fine. . . Now, shut up and listen . . . It’s time . . . Bring them here . . . Yes, both of them . . . The girl and young man . . . They’re at the hotel . . . Now . . . Bring them here right away . . . Come in through the back . . . The Library is closed till further notice,” she added as she looked curiously at Ms. Kent before ending the call.

Three Weeks Earlier
            Ms. Kent was working after hours in her basement office when an unexpected visitor appeared in the doorway. “Ms. Pryor,” said Chrys, who had not seen the Library’s Regional Manager in several months.

            “Ms. Kent,” acknowledged the red-haired woman wearing a custom-made business suit. “I wanted to commend you on your acquisition of that Shakespearean quarto.”
            Ms. Kent smiled as she thought of the rare edition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream on display in the Library’s main hallway. “Thank you. I was just preparing a letter to thank Mr. Fly, the alum from the University who donated the play to our collection, for the generous gift.” Chrys smiled. “He apparently has a collection of rare English literary works and is looking for a repository for them.” Chrys pointed to a series of news articles she had pulled off the Internet that detailed the extent of The Roland S. Fly Collection.
            Ms. Pryor stepped behind Chrys’s desk to view the articles but froze when she spotted a flat gold paper weight on the Head Librarian’s desk.

          “Where did you get this?” she asked as she picked up the item.

            Ms. Kent raised an eyebrow at the question. “I found it on my desk a few days ago.” She looked at the paper weight. “It looks interesting. An emblem of some sort, I think. It looks vaguely familiar. I think that I’ve seen it before but can’t recall where.”

            Ms. Pryor looked at her employee peculiarly and was about to speak when Ms. Kent’s computer chimed and an anonymously sent email automatically opened on the desktop monitor. Both women stared at the display which flashed a single word:

Ἀστυνόμη

            A few seconds later, the word transformed before their eyes into another word:

Astynome

            Ms. Pryor’s eyes were fixed on the screen as the two words flashed back and forth every ten seconds. “Astynome,” said Ms. Kent thoughtfully. “My namesake from The Iliad.” She looked at Ms. Pryor. “You have that relic I saw once, don’t you? The Transcription of Astynome’s Diary I think it was called.”

            Ms. Pryor’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I tell you to never speak of that again, Ms. Kent? Or do I need to remind you of what happened the last time you mentioned it?”

            Ms. Kent blushed as she recalled how Ms. Pryor had disciplined her for failing to keep one of her boss’s secrets. “No, that won’t be necessary,” she said as she subconsciously patted her backside. “I just wonder who sent this email,” she said aloud as she looked from the monitor to the gold paper weight. “And what it means.”

            Ms. Pryor frowned as she watched Chrys deep in thought while staring at the emblem. “Probably a prank. Forget about it and finish your letter. I would love for the Library to have that collection,” said the Regional Manager in an effort to change the subject.

            Chrys nodded and closed the email before returning her attention to the letter she had been working on a few minutes earlier.

******

            Several evenings later, as Ms. Pryor worked behind locked doors in her office in the administrative wing of the Library, she received a call from Ms. Kent. “Can you come down here please?” asked Ms. Kent. “There’s something you need to see.” Ordinarily, Ms. Pryor would exercise her authority and insist that her subordinate come upstairs, but there was something she heard in Ms. Kent’s tone that made Ms. Pryor react differently this time.

            When she stepped into Chrys’s basement office, the dark-haired librarian simply pointed to her computer screen. "It popped open just like the one a few days ago," explained Ms. Kent. Ms. Pryor inhaled sharply as she read the message on the display:

And, last, Chryseis. Her Ulysses led

Toward the altar, gave her to the arms

Of her own father, and him thus address'd.

O Chryses! Agamemnon, King of men,

Hath sent thy daughter home, with whom we bring

A Hecatomb on all our host's behalf

To Phoebus, hoping to appease the God

By whose dread shafts the Argives now expire.

So saying, he gave her to him, who with joy

Received his daughter.

            “It’s from the First Book of The Iliad,” said Chrys, but she could tell that Ms. Pryor already knew the source of the text. Ms. Kent stared at the screen and spoke with a hushed voice. “It seems so familiar to me.”

            “Of course it does,” answered Ms. Pryor. “You’ve read it countless times before during your Homeric studies.”

            Ms. Kent shook her head. She was deep in thought, as if trying to remember something elusive. “It’s more than that,” she said. “It’s almost like a feeling of déjà vu.”

            “That’s ridiculous,” replied the Regional Manager. “This is someone’s idea of a joke. A bad joke too. Let’s get back to work.”

            Chrys nodded and closed the email. As Ms. Pryor left the basement office she paused briefly as she heard Ms. Kent mutter something under her breath that sounded like, “My father . . . ”

******

            A week after Ms. Kent received the email containing the reference to her namesake in The Iliad, an armored truck bearing the name of a well-known fine arts carrier pulled up to the front entrance of the Library and two couriers exited the truck. They walked into the Library. One courier was armed and the other carried a medium-sized specialty crate made of wood and padded on the inside with inert foam. They followed the signs to the Acquisitions Office of the Library in the basement, where they found Ms. Kent. The man carrying the crate carefully set it down on Ms. Kent’s desk and handed her a delivery ticket taken from his back pocket. “Mr. Fly instructed us to leave this with you,” he said simply. “Please sign on the line that says ‘received by’,” he told her.

            Ms. Kent scrutinized the paper briefly, saw that it bore the name of Roland Fly’s business, and signed where the courier had indicated. The man took the signed copy, gave Ms. Kent the customer’s copy, and then the two men left the Library.

            Chrys spent a few minutes contemplating the delivery ticket and the crate, which she knew from past acquisitions had been custom made. Typically, only rare and unique materials were transported in such containers. With a deep sigh, she reached for her telephone and called the Regional Manager. “You should probably come down here,” she said into the receiver. “I just received a delivery from Roland Fly through a fine arts carrier . . . . It’s a company that specializes in packing and transporting works of art or other things of extreme value under very secure circumstances.” Ms. Kent hung up and waited for her boss.

            A short while later, Ms. Pryor watched Ms. Kent open the specialty crate and remove a second container from inside the wooden crate. This container, made of acid-free corrugated board, held several layers of polyethylene foam. Taped to the outside of the topmost piece of the foam packing material was a note that contained two words, one above the other:

Αἰθιοπίς

Aethiopis

            Both Ms. Kent and Ms. Pryor stared at the words before Ms. Kent gingerly lifted the top layer of foam to reveal an aged page of vellum with handwritten ancient Greek lettering in reddish-brown ink. “Impossible!” said Ms. Pryor. “No copies of this exist! None! And I would know!” she said vehemently.

            Ms. Kent removed several more layers of the foam and placed additional pages of the ancient parchment on top of them. When she finished, there were nine vellum pages side by side on her desk. “I agree,” she said. “Aside from just five lines out of five complete books, all of Arctinus’ work has been considered lost.” She looked at Ms. Pryor. “But, if that’s true, then what are we looking at?”

            She paused and thought for a moment. “We need an expert’s opinion.” She opened a drawer in her desk and rummaged through it for a few seconds before taking out a business card. “A few months ago, a woman – Athena Nikos according to her card – stopped in the Library. She had me confused with someone else, but she left her card. She’s an archaeologist who works at the Queen City Museum of Natural History. I’m going to contact her.”

            Ms. Kent reached for her desk phone and dialed the number on the card. As it began ringing, she placed the call on speaker mode. “Athena Nikos,” came the reply on the other end.

            “Ms. Nikos, this is Chryseis Kent. We met a few months ago when you came to the university library where I work.”

            “Chrys! I mean, yes, Ms. Kent. I remember. Are you all right? Has anything happened? Are you in trouble? Do you need help?” Athena asked excitedly as she recalled her earlier in-person meeting with Ms. Kent.

            “Trouble? Why would I be in trouble? Really, Ms. Nikos! I am here with my boss at the Library and we have a research puzzle that we thought you might help with, but maybe we should reach out to some other expert for assistance.” Ms. Kent sounded exasperated.

            Athena paused. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought . . . Never mind. What’s got you so puzzled that you called me?”

            “I received a special delivery today from a fine arts courier, and when we opened the crate, we found what appears to be nine pages from The Aethiopis. At least that’s what a note inside the crate says.”

            “The Aethiopis? That’s just not possible. Aside from five lines, none of that poem exists. We only know that it ever existed from the writings of Proclus in Chrestomathy.”

            “This is Ms. Pryor. I’m the Regional Manager of the Library where Ms. Kent works, and I am very familiar with The Epic Cycle and what does and does not exist. Or what we think does and does not exist. These vellum pages look authentic to me. I’ve seen the Venetus A manuscript of The Iliad and this artifact looks very similar to it, possibly even older.”

            There was a pause before Athena spoke again. “Trust me, Ms. Pryor, if a copy – or even a portion – of The Aethiopis existed, I would have heard about it.”

            Ms. Pryor chuckled. “I thought that I would have heard about it as well, Ms. Nikos. Can you think of any possible scenario under which it could exist to support the idea that what we have here is authentic?”

            Athena thought before answering. “It would be pure speculation on my part, but I do have a theory that could – and I emphasize could – explain it.”

            “Go on,” said Ms. Pryor. “We’re listening.

            “Well, we know that the Venetus A Iliad ended up in Italy, but no one even knows how or when that happened. What we do know as fact is that eventually, Venetus A came into the possession of a Greek immigrant scholar from Constantinople named Basilios Bessarion. Bessarion, who eventually became a Roman Catholic Cardinal, was an avid collector of books. When he realized that Constantinople was going to fall to the Ottomons, he set about to preserve as much Greek literature as possible. He actually managed to collect nearly 800 Greek and Latin manuscripts, which he transported to his home in Florence. Eventually, he donated two complete copies of The Iliad – the Venetus A and the Venetus B – to the Republic of Venice.”

            “What does that have to do with The Aethiopis?” asked Ms. Kent.

            “Here is where it gets into theory and pure conjecture on my part,” answered Athena. “There was another collector of Greek texts in this same time period – Giovanni Aurispa, an Italian historian. He reportedly acquired 238 Greek texts which he brought to Venice in 1423. He listed many but not all of these texts in an index he created for them.” She paused. “Then, in 1424, he wrote a letter to an Italian monk named Traversari. In that letter, Aurispa mentioned that he brought back several volumes from Greece.” Athena paused again; Chrys and Ms. Pryor could hear typing on a keyboard. “I pulled up a translation of the text of that letter from the Internet,” Athena continued. “And it reads, in part, that Aurispa brought back ‘Aristarchus on the Iliad in two volumes, a large and very precious work; another commentary on the Iliad; I think Aristarchus was the author of that.’”

            “I still don’t see how this relates to The Aethiopis,” said Ms. Pryor.

            “Here’s my theory,” said Athena. “The Aethiopis is the seventh part of The Epic Cycle, which was a collection of ancient Greek poems about The Trojan War and its aftermath. The Aethiopis, which you know was written by Arctinus, tells the story of how Achilles killed first an Amazon queen and then a Greek who criticized him. Achilles was subsequently sent to the isle of Lesbos to atone for these actions. What if Aurispa was confused? And instead of bringing back a commentary on The Iliad by Aristarchus, what he actually brought back was a continuation of The Iliad by Arctinus. Their names are similar and can be easily confused, and The Aethiopis took up right where The Iliad ended.”

            No one spoke for several minutes. “That is quite a theory,” said Ms. Pryor. “But, it can’t be proved or disproved.”

            “No, it can’t. And I also don’t know of anyone who can verify or disprove that what you have there is actually from The Aethiopis,” replied the archeologist from Queen City. “I would love to examine the artifact though,” she hinted.

            “Let me think on this a bit and then Ms. Kent can make arrangements for you to see the vellums.” She paused and Chrys could see that Ms. Pryor was deep in thought. “I actually think I do know someone who can verify or disprove what this text purports to be,” she said. “I’m going to have one of my other employees locate a person who can help with that. In the meantime, thank you for your help, Ms. Nikos. We’ll be in touch.” Ms. Pryor ended the call before Athena or Ms. Kent could say another word.

            Ms. Pryor carefully re-stacked the nine pages of the ancient text and foam before putting the package back in the corrugated board container which had been inside the specialty crate. She also took the delivery ticket. “I’m going to put these in the vault upstairs for the time being until I can have it authenticated.”

            Ms. Kent nodded and winced. “What’s wrong?” asked Ms. Pryor.

            Ms. Kent rubbed her temples. “Just a very bad headache. It hit me as Athena was talking about Amazons and Achilles on Lesbos.” She winced again. “Wasn’t Astynome from Lesbos too?” she asked. “I have a vague memory of something relating to Lesbos, but I can’t remember what it is and each time I try, my head hurts even more.”

            “Then stop trying,” said Ms. Pryor a little more sharply than she intended. “Focus on something else." This time her voice was softer.

            Ms. Kent nodded. “I’m going to sit here with my eyes closed for a bit and then get back to work.”

            Ms. Pryor also nodded. “I’ll be in my office,” she said before heading upstairs.

            A few minutes later, Ms. Pryor locked herself inside her office and picked up her cellphone. She called up a number from her address book. “Matteo . . . listen carefully to me . . . I have two jobs for you, one easy and one a little more challenging . . . I need you first to find a girl for me . . . Her name is Becca and she attends the University . . . The other is a young man who will be more difficult to locate, but I will send you an email within the next 30 minutes with what information I have about him . . . Find them both as quickly as you can . . . Have them both stay at the hotel we’ve used before . . . Yes, the one nearest the University . . . Tell them that I will pay them both well for their time and services, but do not take ‘No’ as an answer from either of them . . . Be as persuasive as you have to be but I need them here and I need you to act very quickly . . . Something is happening here and it’s happening fast . . . I’m worried that things might get really out of control . . . Let me know after you make contact with the girl and the man.” She ended the call and stared first at what purported to be a portion of The Aethiopis and then at the delivery ticket.

            What exactly are you up to, Mr. Fly?” she said aloud. She knew he was up to something; just as she knew that the corporate name at the top of the delivery ticket – “Roland S. Fly Co.” – was phony because it was actually an anagram for a very powerful adversary, The Lord of Lycans.

TO BE CONTINUED

************

This three-part story is the result of a comment made by to my Dead On Target story. I had said that I loved writing Librarian Perils stories because I enjoyed doing research before writing. AA replied with, “Maybe you could write something about AA's past growing up on Chrysa in Lesbos during the Trojan War. That might appeal to your interest in research and mythology.” She was right!

Subsequent notes traded with AA after I finally read her amazing Power Quest saga gave me some ideas that developed into this story and also led me to doing a lot of long, detailed and interesting research into topics like The Iliad, the role of women in ancient Troy, the island of Lesbos, lost literary works, copyright law, and more. I also had another conversation with the nice (and very helpful) people at the National Archives Museum in Washington, D.C. about how to transport and store really ancient stuff.
I’ll be posting Part 2 next week!

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             Chryseis Kent, the dark-haired and very attractive woman who headed the Acquisitions Department at the University Library, knew something was amiss as soon as she entered the Library before its normal Sunday morning hours began. Shelves had been toppled, glass display cases were shattered, and broken furniture was strewn around the entranceway to the Library. Ms. Kent locked the door behind her before she slowly and cautiously moved forward. She followed the trail of destruction through the entranceway, past the circulation and reference desks, and towards the Library’s administration offices. A feeling of dread overcame her when she looked up the corridor and saw that the door to the office of the Library’s mysterious Regional Manager, Ms. Pryor, had been torn from the hinges; the door's splintered remains were on the floor, half in and half out of Ms. Pryor’s sanctum.

            Chrys knew she should call campus security but something deep in her mind kept her from doing so and, instead, she moved up the hallway towards her boss’s office. She peeked her head through the doorway and gasped when she saw Ms. Pryor on the floor of her ransacked office lying near a destroyed flat-screen computer monitor. The strikingly beautiful red-haired Regional Manager had a bruised face and Ms. Kent saw a few drops of blood near Ms. Pryor’s mouth.

            “Oh my God!” exclaimed the dark-haired librarian as she knelt next to the still form of Ms. Pryor and felt for a pulse in her wrist. She sighed with relief when she realized the woman was still alive. “Thank Hera,” she said aloud before correcting herself and saying, “I mean thank heaven.” She wondered briefly about her invocation of a Greek goddess, frowning because mistakes like that and inexplicable deep-rooted feelings of déjà vu had been happening with increasing frequency for the past few weeks. Ms. Kent cast those thoughts aside though and focused her attention on Ms. Pryor, who had begun to stir when she felt Chrys taking her pulse.

            “Don’t move,” urged Ms. Kent as she reached for her cell phone. “I’ll call security and have them send for an ambulance.”

            Ms. Pryor weakly shook her head. “No. Don’t,” she said as she touched the head librarian’s forearm. “I have to call someone else. Let me have your phone.” The injured woman struggled to sit up. Ms. Kent looked at her boss skeptically but nevertheless uprighted the Regional Manager’s desk chair and helped her into the seat. Reluctantly, she passed her cell phone to Ms. Pryor who swiped the screen and dialed a number from memory.

            After the call connected, she spoke with a degree of urgency through her obvious pain. “Matteo . . . it’s me.” She breathed hard. “Never mind me,” she paused and then spoke with some discomfort. “I heal fast so I’ll be fine. . . Now, shut up and listen . . . It’s time . . . Bring them here . . . Yes, both of them . . . The girl and young man . . . They’re at the hotel . . . Now . . . Bring them here right away . . . Come in through the back . . . The Library is closed till further notice,” she added as she looked curiously at Ms. Kent before ending the call.

Three Weeks Earlier
            Ms. Kent was working after hours in her basement office when an unexpected visitor appeared in the doorway. “Ms. Pryor,” said Chrys, who had not seen the Library’s Regional Manager in several months.

            “Ms. Kent,” acknowledged the red-haired woman wearing a custom-made business suit. “I wanted to commend you on your acquisition of that Shakespearean quarto.”
            Ms. Kent smiled as she thought of the rare edition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream on display in the Library’s main hallway. “Thank you. I was just preparing a letter to thank Mr. Fly, the alum from the University who donated the play to our collection, for the generous gift.” Chrys smiled. “He apparently has a collection of rare English literary works and is looking for a repository for them.” Chrys pointed to a series of news articles she had pulled off the Internet that detailed the extent of The Roland S. Fly Collection.
            Ms. Pryor stepped behind Chrys’s desk to view the articles but froze when she spotted a flat gold paper weight on the Head Librarian’s desk.

          “Where did you get this?” she asked as she picked up the item.

            Ms. Kent raised an eyebrow at the question. “I found it on my desk a few days ago.” She looked at the paper weight. “It looks interesting. An emblem of some sort, I think. It looks vaguely familiar. I think that I’ve seen it before but can’t recall where.”

            Ms. Pryor looked at her employee peculiarly and was about to speak when Ms. Kent’s computer chimed and an anonymously sent email automatically opened on the desktop monitor. Both women stared at the display which flashed a single word:

Ἀστυνόμη

            A few seconds later, the word transformed before their eyes into another word:

Astynome

            Ms. Pryor’s eyes were fixed on the screen as the two words flashed back and forth every ten seconds. “Astynome,” said Ms. Kent thoughtfully. “My namesake from The Iliad.” She looked at Ms. Pryor. “You have that relic I saw once, don’t you? The Transcription of Astynome’s Diary I think it was called.”

            Ms. Pryor’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I tell you to never speak of that again, Ms. Kent? Or do I need to remind you of what happened the last time you mentioned it?”

            Ms. Kent blushed as she recalled how Ms. Pryor had disciplined her for failing to keep one of her boss’s secrets. “No, that won’t be necessary,” she said as she subconsciously patted her backside. “I just wonder who sent this email,” she said aloud as she looked from the monitor to the gold paper weight. “And what it means.”

            Ms. Pryor frowned as she watched Chrys deep in thought while staring at the emblem. “Probably a prank. Forget about it and finish your letter. I would love for the Library to have that collection,” said the Regional Manager in an effort to change the subject.

            Chrys nodded and closed the email before returning her attention to the letter she had been working on a few minutes earlier.

******

            Several evenings later, as Ms. Pryor worked behind locked doors in her office in the administrative wing of the Library, she received a call from Ms. Kent. “Can you come down here please?” asked Ms. Kent. “There’s something you need to see.” Ordinarily, Ms. Pryor would exercise her authority and insist that her subordinate come upstairs, but there was something she heard in Ms. Kent’s tone that made Ms. Pryor react differently this time.

            When she stepped into Chrys’s basement office, the dark-haired librarian simply pointed to her computer screen. "It popped open just like the one a few days ago," explained Ms. Kent. Ms. Pryor inhaled sharply as she read the message on the display:

And, last, Chryseis. Her Ulysses led

Toward the altar, gave her to the arms

Of her own father, and him thus address'd.

O Chryses! Agamemnon, King of men,

Hath sent thy daughter home, with whom we bring

A Hecatomb on all our host's behalf

To Phoebus, hoping to appease the God

By whose dread shafts the Argives now expire.

So saying, he gave her to him, who with joy

Received his daughter.

            “It’s from the First Book of The Iliad,” said Chrys, but she could tell that Ms. Pryor already knew the source of the text. Ms. Kent stared at the screen and spoke with a hushed voice. “It seems so familiar to me.”

            “Of course it does,” answered Ms. Pryor. “You’ve read it countless times before during your Homeric studies.”

            Ms. Kent shook her head. She was deep in thought, as if trying to remember something elusive. “It’s more than that,” she said. “It’s almost like a feeling of déjà vu.”

            “That’s ridiculous,” replied the Regional Manager. “This is someone’s idea of a joke. A bad joke too. Let’s get back to work.”

            Chrys nodded and closed the email. As Ms. Pryor left the basement office she paused briefly as she heard Ms. Kent mutter something under her breath that sounded like, “My father . . . ”

******

            A week after Ms. Kent received the email containing the reference to her namesake in The Iliad, an armored truck bearing the name of a well-known fine arts carrier pulled up to the front entrance of the Library and two couriers exited the truck. They walked into the Library. One courier was armed and the other carried a medium-sized specialty crate made of wood and padded on the inside with inert foam. They followed the signs to the Acquisitions Office of the Library in the basement, where they found Ms. Kent. The man carrying the crate carefully set it down on Ms. Kent’s desk and handed her a delivery ticket taken from his back pocket. “Mr. Fly instructed us to leave this with you,” he said simply. “Please sign on the line that says ‘received by’,” he told her.

            Ms. Kent scrutinized the paper briefly, saw that it bore the name of Roland Fly’s business, and signed where the courier had indicated. The man took the signed copy, gave Ms. Kent the customer’s copy, and then the two men left the Library.

            Chrys spent a few minutes contemplating the delivery ticket and the crate, which she knew from past acquisitions had been custom made. Typically, only rare and unique materials were transported in such containers. With a deep sigh, she reached for her telephone and called the Regional Manager. “You should probably come down here,” she said into the receiver. “I just received a delivery from Roland Fly through a fine arts carrier . . . . It’s a company that specializes in packing and transporting works of art or other things of extreme value under very secure circumstances.” Ms. Kent hung up and waited for her boss.

            A short while later, Ms. Pryor watched Ms. Kent open the specialty crate and remove a second container from inside the wooden crate. This container, made of acid-free corrugated board, held several layers of polyethylene foam. Taped to the outside of the topmost piece of the foam packing material was a note that contained two words, one above the other:

Αἰθιοπίς

Aethiopis

            Both Ms. Kent and Ms. Pryor stared at the words before Ms. Kent gingerly lifted the top layer of foam to reveal an aged page of vellum with handwritten ancient Greek lettering in reddish-brown ink. “Impossible!” said Ms. Pryor. “No copies of this exist! None! And I would know!” she said vehemently.

            Ms. Kent removed several more layers of the foam and placed additional pages of the ancient parchment on top of them. When she finished, there were nine vellum pages side by side on her desk. “I agree,” she said. “Aside from just five lines out of five complete books, all of Arctinus’ work has been considered lost.” She looked at Ms. Pryor. “But, if that’s true, then what are we looking at?”

            She paused and thought for a moment. “We need an expert’s opinion.” She opened a drawer in her desk and rummaged through it for a few seconds before taking out a business card. “A few months ago, a woman – Athena Nikos according to her card – stopped in the Library. She had me confused with someone else, but she left her card. She’s an archaeologist who works at the Queen City Museum of Natural History. I’m going to contact her.”

            Ms. Kent reached for her desk phone and dialed the number on the card. As it began ringing, she placed the call on speaker mode. “Athena Nikos,” came the reply on the other end.

            “Ms. Nikos, this is Chryseis Kent. We met a few months ago when you came to the university library where I work.”

            “Chrys! I mean, yes, Ms. Kent. I remember. Are you all right? Has anything happened? Are you in trouble? Do you need help?” Athena asked excitedly as she recalled her earlier in-person meeting with Ms. Kent.

            “Trouble? Why would I be in trouble? Really, Ms. Nikos! I am here with my boss at the Library and we have a research puzzle that we thought you might help with, but maybe we should reach out to some other expert for assistance.” Ms. Kent sounded exasperated.

            Athena paused. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought . . . Never mind. What’s got you so puzzled that you called me?”

            “I received a special delivery today from a fine arts courier, and when we opened the crate, we found what appears to be nine pages from The Aethiopis. At least that’s what a note inside the crate says.”

            “The Aethiopis? That’s just not possible. Aside from five lines, none of that poem exists. We only know that it ever existed from the writings of Proclus in Chrestomathy.”

            “This is Ms. Pryor. I’m the Regional Manager of the Library where Ms. Kent works, and I am very familiar with The Epic Cycle and what does and does not exist. Or what we think does and does not exist. These vellum pages look authentic to me. I’ve seen the Venetus A manuscript of The Iliad and this artifact looks very similar to it, possibly even older.”

            There was a pause before Athena spoke again. “Trust me, Ms. Pryor, if a copy – or even a portion – of The Aethiopis existed, I would have heard about it.”

            Ms. Pryor chuckled. “I thought that I would have heard about it as well, Ms. Nikos. Can you think of any possible scenario under which it could exist to support the idea that what we have here is authentic?”

            Athena thought before answering. “It would be pure speculation on my part, but I do have a theory that could – and I emphasize could – explain it.”

            “Go on,” said Ms. Pryor. “We’re listening.

            “Well, we know that the Venetus A Iliad ended up in Italy, but no one even knows how or when that happened. What we do know as fact is that eventually, Venetus A came into the possession of a Greek immigrant scholar from Constantinople named Basilios Bessarion. Bessarion, who eventually became a Roman Catholic Cardinal, was an avid collector of books. When he realized that Constantinople was going to fall to the Ottomons, he set about to preserve as much Greek literature as possible. He actually managed to collect nearly 800 Greek and Latin manuscripts, which he transported to his home in Florence. Eventually, he donated two complete copies of The Iliad – the Venetus A and the Venetus B – to the Republic of Venice.”

            “What does that have to do with The Aethiopis?” asked Ms. Kent.

            “Here is where it gets into theory and pure conjecture on my part,” answered Athena. “There was another collector of Greek texts in this same time period – Giovanni Aurispa, an Italian historian. He reportedly acquired 238 Greek texts which he brought to Venice in 1423. He listed many but not all of these texts in an index he created for them.” She paused. “Then, in 1424, he wrote a letter to an Italian monk named Traversari. In that letter, Aurispa mentioned that he brought back several volumes from Greece.” Athena paused again; Chrys and Ms. Pryor could hear typing on a keyboard. “I pulled up a translation of the text of that letter from the Internet,” Athena continued. “And it reads, in part, that Aurispa brought back ‘Aristarchus on the Iliad in two volumes, a large and very precious work; another commentary on the Iliad; I think Aristarchus was the author of that.’”

            “I still don’t see how this relates to The Aethiopis,” said Ms. Pryor.

            “Here’s my theory,” said Athena. “The Aethiopis is the seventh part of The Epic Cycle, which was a collection of ancient Greek poems about The Trojan War and its aftermath. The Aethiopis, which you know was written by Arctinus, tells the story of how Achilles killed first an Amazon queen and then a Greek who criticized him. Achilles was subsequently sent to the isle of Lesbos to atone for these actions. What if Aurispa was confused? And instead of bringing back a commentary on The Iliad by Aristarchus, what he actually brought back was a continuation of The Iliad by Arctinus. Their names are similar and can be easily confused, and The Aethiopis took up right where The Iliad ended.”

            No one spoke for several minutes. “That is quite a theory,” said Ms. Pryor. “But, it can’t be proved or disproved.”

            “No, it can’t. And I also don’t know of anyone who can verify or disprove that what you have there is actually from The Aethiopis,” replied the archeologist from Queen City. “I would love to examine the artifact though,” she hinted.

            “Let me think on this a bit and then Ms. Kent can make arrangements for you to see the vellums.” She paused and Chrys could see that Ms. Pryor was deep in thought. “I actually think I do know someone who can verify or disprove what this text purports to be,” she said. “I’m going to have one of my other employees locate a person who can help with that. In the meantime, thank you for your help, Ms. Nikos. We’ll be in touch.” Ms. Pryor ended the call before Athena or Ms. Kent could say another word.

            Ms. Pryor carefully re-stacked the nine pages of the ancient text and foam before putting the package back in the corrugated board container which had been inside the specialty crate. She also took the delivery ticket. “I’m going to put these in the vault upstairs for the time being until I can have it authenticated.”

            Ms. Kent nodded and winced. “What’s wrong?” asked Ms. Pryor.

            Ms. Kent rubbed her temples. “Just a very bad headache. It hit me as Athena was talking about Amazons and Achilles on Lesbos.” She winced again. “Wasn’t Astynome from Lesbos too?” she asked. “I have a vague memory of something relating to Lesbos, but I can’t remember what it is and each time I try, my head hurts even more.”

            “Then stop trying,” said Ms. Pryor a little more sharply than she intended. “Focus on something else." This time her voice was softer.

            Ms. Kent nodded. “I’m going to sit here with my eyes closed for a bit and then get back to work.”

            Ms. Pryor also nodded. “I’ll be in my office,” she said before heading upstairs.

            A few minutes later, Ms. Pryor locked herself inside her office and picked up her cellphone. She called up a number from her address book. “Matteo . . . listen carefully to me . . . I have two jobs for you, one easy and one a little more challenging . . . I need you first to find a girl for me . . . Her name is Becca and she attends the University . . . The other is a young man who will be more difficult to locate, but I will send you an email within the next 30 minutes with what information I have about him . . . Find them both as quickly as you can . . . Have them both stay at the hotel we’ve used before . . . Yes, the one nearest the University . . . Tell them that I will pay them both well for their time and services, but do not take ‘No’ as an answer from either of them . . . Be as persuasive as you have to be but I need them here and I need you to act very quickly . . . Something is happening here and it’s happening fast . . . I’m worried that things might get really out of control . . . Let me know after you make contact with the girl and the man.” She ended the call and stared first at what purported to be a portion of The Aethiopis and then at the delivery ticket.

            What exactly are you up to, Mr. Fly?” she said aloud. She knew he was up to something; just as she knew that the corporate name at the top of the delivery ticket – “Roland S. Fly Co.” – was phony because it was actually an anagram for a very powerful adversary, The Lord of Lycans.

TO BE CONTINUED

************

This three-part story is the result of a comment made by to my Dead On Target story. I had said that I loved writing Librarian Perils stories because I enjoyed doing research before writing. AA replied with, “Maybe you could write something about AA's past growing up on Chrysa in Lesbos during the Trojan War. That might appeal to your interest in research and mythology.” She was right!

Subsequent notes traded with AA after I finally read her amazing Power Quest saga gave me some ideas that developed into this story and also led me to doing a lot of long, detailed and interesting research into topics like The Iliad, the role of women in ancient Troy, the island of Lesbos, lost literary works, copyright law, and more. I also had another conversation with the nice (and very helpful) people at the National Archives Museum in Washington, D.C. about how to transport and store really ancient stuff.
I’ll be posting Part 2 next week!