January 20, 2013. 11:00 a.m. Paris time.
Salon-de-Provence, France. Beneath l’Eglise de St. Michel
Professor John Morse shined his flashlight into the Nostradamus Vault. The only things in the stone room were two walnut chests. Could these be the famous chests Nostradamus willed to his eldest daughter Madeleine in his codicil? The wood appeared very old and was covered in dust. Morse took out a rag and wiped the dust from the top of both chests. Each had a painted lid which read in black ink “M. Nostradamus.” A key stuck out from the keyhole on each chest.
“Pops! This is tight! Can I open them?” asked Zach.
“No,” said Morse. “Zach, these are artifacts, centuries old. We have to be very delicate with them. You two kids stay back a little bit. Father du Bois watched on with the teenagers as Morse gingerly turned the key on the chest on the left and opened the lid. Inside, wrapped in black velvet, were stacks and stacks of vellum paper. Each page contained handwriting. Morse inspected the papers. There were ten neat, banded stacks of paper. It did not take Morse long to figure out what the papers were.
“These are the original Nostradamus ‘Propheties!’ If these are genuine, this will be one of the greatest anthropological finds of the century!” Careful not to damage the paper, Morse gently removed some of the bands.
“This is very interesting. I notice that Centuries I through IX have 100 quatrains each, and the last century, Century X, only has 42 quatrains. But in all the published versions we have on file, the century with 42 quatrains is Century VII, not X. It is possible that Nostradamus intended his final 58 quatrains to be the final chapter of his book, ending his work on a high dramatic note, but when the 58 verses could not be produced by Nostradamus before his death, the publisher made an editorial decision to bury the ‘defective’ century into the middle of the text, so it would be less obvious to the reader. It makes us wonder more about those missing 58.”
“This is lame,” said Zoey. “We go through all this and the only treasure is a bunch of stupid books. I thought there was going to be gold or jewels or something.” Zoey strummed her guitar. “Lame-o, lame-o,” she sang. “This trip is Lame-o.”
“What’s in the other box, Pops?” asked Zach.
Morse lifted up the lid of the second chest. There was one small item in the bottom of the chest. Morse removed the black velvet case. Inside was a rectangular piece of red wax, about an inch thick. As Morse examined the side of the wax tablet, he could see there was a piece of metal in between two rectangular slabs of wax. He took out of his black nylon bag of tools a small chisel and hammer, and making very delicate strikes, managed to separate the top piece of wax from the metal. Removing the wax, he peered at the rectangular piece of metal underneath. Buried just beneath the metal was a handwritten letter, signed “Michel de Nostradame.” The document read:
Aux bonnes gens de la Terre et aux futures générations de croyants:
En écrivant cette lettre, je suis à quelques jours de la morgue. Le temps que vous lisiez ceci, je serai mort et enterré depuis lontemps. Mais pendant mes derniers jours, comme je réfléchis à mon séjour sur la Terre, j’aime penser que j’ai fait une contribution sérieuse pour améliorer l’humanité. A partir de mon début à la Faculté de Médecine à l’Université de Montpellier, à ma formation chez Julius Scaliger à Agen, à ma réussite à guérir les pestiférés d’Aix-en-Provence, jusqu’à ma construction des canaux de Salon, j’ai toujours placé les intérêts de mes semblables avant les miens. J’ai fait aussi un effort pour aider le monde en utilisant mes divins talents mystiques. Les plumes blanches dans mon bureau sont couvertes d’encre noir, suites de mes écrits prolifiques des dix dernières années. J’ai donné des tuyaux au Roi lui-même aussi bienqu’à beaucoup de gens de la cour. J’ai publié des Almanachs annuels pour les citoyens de la France pour les aider à se débrouiller et à faire des projets pour l’année qui vient. Et, bien sûr, j’ai écrit mes Prophéties. Sans aucun doute vous avez vu maintes prédictions dans mes Prophéties qui se sont réalisées au cours des siècles. Pourtant je crois que je dois donner un dernier petit tuyau, un avertissement terrible auquel tous ceux qui cherchent la bonté et la bienveillance dans le monde devraient faire attention.
Le vent du changement souffle sur nous. Le monde et l’Eglise catholique se trouvent devant de véritables forces du mal, et moi, Michel de Nostradamus, je vais les arrêter court. Comme vous savez peut-être, il manquait dans mes Prophéties, la plus grande prédiction d’événements futurs qu’un seul homme ait jamais assemblée, 58 sur les 1000 quatrains originaux. Ces 58 derniers quatrains que j’ai présagés par la pitié de Dieu se sont perdus mais se sont retrouvés juste avant ma mort. Ces 58 strophes que j’ai écrites sont contenues à l’intérieur d’une minuscule Bible, que j’ai écrite, inspiré par Dieu Lui-même. Tenir ces 58 strophes est dangereux, car de sinistres forces cherchent à empêcher l’humanité de faire un changement en mieux pour l’avenir. Pourtant, comme deux boeufs rétifs tirant une charrue à travers un champ rocailleux, vous devez persévérer pour trouver ces 58 dernières strophes.
J’ai établi un chemin d’indices pour vous, les vrais croyants, pour que vous puissiez trouver la Bible. Le chemin ne va pas être facile, mais il faut être inébranlables. Car ces 58 derniers quatrains sont mon chef d’oeuvre,et font connaître en détail incroyable le mal qui attend la terre et ses peuples. J’ai attendu jusqu’à présent pour révéler ces 58 strophes de peur d’être persécutés, moi et ma famille. Et bien que je ne sois qu’une seule et frêle voix humaine, je serai ici à travers les âges pour m’assurer qu’on tient compte de mes mots prophétiques afin de sauver le monde.
Beaucoup d’entre vous vont peut-être vous demander pourquoi j’ai créé ce grand jeu, au lieu de vous expliquer plus précisément où se trouve la Bible. La réponse c’est que le mal a beaucoup d’oreilles, et ces mots doivent être cryptés pour vous protéger et pour protéger l’humanité. Mais dépêchez-vous! Il reste peu de temps au monde. Comme toujours, laissez-vous guider par la sagesse.
Par rapport à la compensation pour mes efforts pour sauver l’humanité, je ne fais qu’une demande modeste, celle-ci - au moment donné où mes mots ont aidé l’humanité à échapper à l’heure la plus noire, publiez mes oeuvres s’il vous plaît pour que tout le monde puisse savoir que c’était moi, Michel de Nostradamus, qui a protégé toute l’humanité de la déstruction.
Michel de Nostradamus
Salon-de-Provence
le 18 juin, 1556
Professor Morse quickly made an English translation onto his notebook:
To the good people of the Earth and future generations of believers:
As I write this letter, I am only days away from the morgue. By the time you read this, I will be long dead and buried. But in my last dying days, as I reflect upon my time on this Earth, I would like to think that I have made an earnest contribution toward the betterment of mankind. From my start at the University of Montpellier Medical School, to my training with Julius Scaliger in Agen, to my curing of the plague in Aix-en-Provence, to my building of the canals of Salon, I have always put the interests of my fellow man before my own. So, too, have I endeavored to help the world with my God-given mystical gifts. The white quills in my study are covered in black ink from my prolific writing over the last ten years. I have provided advice to the King himself as well as many members of the royal court. I have published yearly Almanacs for the citizens of France to help them cope and plan for the calamities of the coming year. And, of course, I have written my Propheties. No doubt you have seen the many predictions in my Propheties which have come true over the centuries of time. Yet I feel I must provide one last small piece of advice, one dire warning to be heeded by all those who strive for goodness and kindness in the world.
The wind of change is upon us. The world and the Catholic Church face true evil ahead and I, Michel de Nostradame, will put a stop to it. As you may be aware, my Propheties, the greatest prediction of future events ever assembled by one man, was missing 58 quatrains from the original 1000. These last 58 quatrains which I have divined through God’s mercy were lost to me until shortly before my death. These 58 verses which I have written are contained on the interior of a miniscule Bible, written by me with inspiration from God Himself. To hold these 58 verses is dangerous, for sinister forces seek to prevent mankind from changing the future for the better. Yet, like two oxen stubbornly pulling a plow through a rocky field, you must persevere and find these lost 58 verses.
I have set up a path of clues for you, the true believers, to find the Bible. The path will not be easy, but you must be steadfast. For these last 58 quatrains are my masterpiece, and set forth in astonishing detail the evil which awaits the earth and its peoples. I have waited until now to reveal these 58 verses for fear of persecution of myself and my family. And even though I am only one frail human voice, I will be here through the ages to ensure that my prophetic words are heeded so the world may be saved.
Many of you may wonder why I have created this big game, instead of speaking to you more directly about the Bible's whereabouts. The answer is that evil has many ears, and these words must be encrypted for your protection and the protection of humanity. But be quick about it! The world does not have much time left. As always, let wisdom be your guide. My only modest request of compensation for my labors to save humanity is this--when the time comes, and my words have helped humanity avoid its darkest hour, please publish my works so that all the world may know it was I, Michel de Nostradame, who hath protected all of humanity from destruction.
Michel de Nostradame
Salon-de-Provence
June 18, 1556
“Fascinating,” said Morse.
“More dumb letters,” said Zoey. “Yeah, this is a real funhouse.”
“What do you make of it?” asked Father du Bois.
“I don’t know,” said Morse. “Nostradamus clearly wants us to go on this treasure hunt to find the missing Bible, but he has not given us the clues. Perhaps there is a hidden compartment in the chests.”
Morse, the teenagers, and the priest searched both chests for any sign of a hidden compartment, and could find none.
“The clues must come from the letter itself,” suggested Father du Bois.
“Yes, I think you are correct,” said Morse, puzzling. “But if this treasure was so important to mankind, why hide it away to begin with? Why not give us the Bible now? It does not make sense.”
“Perhaps Nostradamus believes that only the truly worthy may inherit his prophecies, Professor. Why create this ridiculous door to the vault? He obviously wants to test our wits. The reason is clear—only the worthy can learn the wisdom Nostradamus wishes to give us.”
“Let’s start with words that look out of place,” suggested Professor Morse. “If a word does not look like it is a part of normal conversation, then it was probably put there for a reason. For example, this business about the white quills seems out of place to me, as well as the part about oxen pulling a plow.” Professor Morse wrote down “white quills” followed by “oxen/plow.” “The business about building canals seems a far stretch to go to make a point,” said the professor, writing down “canal.”
“Frail human voice,” said the priest. “That seemed out of place to me when I read it.”
“I agree,” said the Professor, writing down “frail human voice.”
Meanwhile, Zoey found the red wax tablet very interesting. It reminded her of the time she and Zach had taken one of their mother’s candles and made wax castles. They had made a big mess on the kitchen table and scratched the table getting the wax off. Their mother had been really mad that day. Zoey thought about her mother again. She missed her so much. Zoey returned her thoughts to the wax. She thought she could cut a little message into the wax like “Zach stinks” and show it to her brother. As she pressed her hands into the wax, a circular hole inadvertently popped out. Uh oh. Her dad would be mad. She probably wasn’t supposed to be playing with the wax tablet. She looked over at her father. He wasn’t paying attention. Maybe if she just popped the oval piece back in, no one would notice. As she prepared to put the piece back in, she looked at the tablet closer. There appeared to be little lines in the wax, barely visible unless you looked really closely. She traced the outline of another oval and then pushed her finger. Just as before, a little oval of wax popped out of the tablet.
“Dad, I think I found something,” said Zoey. “I was looking at this wax tablet, and if you look closely, there’s like these little lines and if you put your finger on there, a little piece of wax pops out.”
Morse was frustrated. Couldn’t his daughter keep her hands off the artifacts? He took the wax tablet from his daughter and looked at the hole. It was perfectly oval. He noticed similar cookie-cutter cuts at different places on the tablet. The light quickly dawned on him. He pushed his finger through the places where the little cuts formed perforated ovals in the wax until he had a tablet with numerous cut out oval holes. He returned the wax tablet to the letter of Nostradamus and, sure enough, the holes pointed to particular words in the text:
Aux bonnes gens de la Terre et aux futures générations de croyants:
En écrivant cette lettre, je suis à quelques jours de la morgue. Le temps que vous lisiez ceci, je serai mort et enterré depuis lontemps. Mais pendant mes derniers jours, comme je réfléchis à mon séjour sur la Terre, j’aime penser que j’ai fait une contribution sérieuse pour améliorer l’humanité. A partir de mon début à la Faculté de Médecine à l’Université de Montpellier, à ma formation chez Julius Scaliger à Agen, à ma réussite à guérir les pestiférés d’Aix-en-Provence, jusqu’à ma construction des canaux de Salon, j’ai toujours placé les intérêts de mes semblables avant les miens. J’ai fait aussi un effort pour aider le monde en utilisant mes divins talents mystiques. Les plumes blanches dans mon bureau sont couvertes d’encre noir, suites de mes écrits prolifiques des dix dernières années. J’ai donné des tuyaux au Roi lui-même aussi bienqu’à beaucoup de gens de la cour. J’ai publié des Almanachs annuels pour les citoyens de la France pour les aider à se débrouiller et à faire des projets pour l’année qui vient. Et, bien sûr, j’ai écrit mes Prophéties. Sans aucun doute vous avez vu maintes prédictions dans mes Prophéties qui se sont réalisées au cours des siècles. Pourtant je crois que je dois donner un dernier petit tuyau, un avertissement terrible auquel tous ceux qui cherchent la bonté et la bienveillance dans le monde devraient faire attention.
Le vent du changement souffle sur nous. Le monde et l’Eglise catholique se trouvent devant de véritables forces du mal, et moi, Michel de Nostradamus, je vais les arrêter court. Comme vous savez peut-être, il manquait dans mes Prophéties, la plus grande prédiction d’événements futurs qu’un seul homme ait jamais assemblée, 58 sur les 1000 quatrains originaux. Ces 58 derniers quatrains que j’ai présagés par la pitié de Dieu se sont perdus mais se sont retrouvés juste avant ma mort. Ces 58 strophes que j’ai écrites sont contenues à l’intérieur d’une minuscule Bible, que j’ai écrite, inspiré par Dieu Lui-même. Tenir ces 58 strophes est dangereux, car de sinistres forces cherchent à empêcher l’humanité de faire un changement en mieux pour l’avenir. Pourtant, comme deux boeufs rétifs tirant une charrue à travers un champ rocailleux,
vous devez persévérer pour trouver ces 58 dernières strophes.
J’ai établi un chemin d’indices pour vous, les vrais croyants, pour que vous puissiez trouver la Bible. Le chemin ne va pas être facile, mais il faut être inébranlables. Car ces 58 derniers quatrains sont mon chef d’oeuvre,et font connaître en détail incroyable le mal qui attend la terre et ses peuples. J’ai attendu jusqu’à présent pour révéler ces 58 strophes de peur d’être persécutés, moi et ma famille. Et bien que je ne sois qu’une seule et frêle voix humaine, je serai ici à travers les âges pour m’assurer qu’on tient compte de mes mots prophétiques afin de sauver le monde.
Beaucoup d’entre vous vont peut-être vous demander pourquoi j’ai créé ce grand jeu, au lieu de vous expliquer plus précisément où se trouve la Bible. La réponse c’est que le mal a beaucoup d’oreilles, et ces mots doivent être cryptés pour vous protéger et pour protéger l’humanité. Mais dépêchez-vous! Il reste peu de temps au monde. Comme toujours, laissez-vous guider par la sagesse.
Par rapport à la compensation pour mes efforts pour sauver l’humanité, je ne fais qu’une demande modeste, celle-ci - au moment donné où mes mots ont aidé l’humanité à échapper à l’heure la plus noire, publiez mes oeuvres s’il vous plaît pour que tout le monde puisse savoir que c’était moi, Michel de Nostradame, qui a protégé toute l’humanité de la déstruction.
Michel de Nostradame
Salon-de-Provence
le 18 juin, 1556
“Zoey, you’ve done it!”
“See, Pops,” said Zach. “Without us, you would have never figured out this thing.”
“You are right, Zach. You guys have been a great help to me. Thank you!”Morse rearranged the French words on his notepad:
Agen-------------Agen
Morgue---------- morgue
Tirant------------pulling
Intérieur---------interior
Voix humaine---human voice
Petit--------------small
Vent--------------wind
Blanches--------- white
Minuscule--------miniscule
Tuyau-------------piece of advice; tip
Grand jeu---------big game
Eglise-------------church
Tenir--------------to hold
Morse was pleased with daughter. “Now what do these words all mean?”
The group of four studied the notepad, trying to make sense of the words.
“Perhaps there is something hidden in the morgue in Agen,” suggested Morse, although he doubted his own words. “But all these other words do not seem to follow.”
“Well, we do have a city,” suggested the priest. “Whatever we are looking for is probably in Agen.”
“That’s true,” said Morse.
“Maybe it is something in one of the churches in Agen,” said Zach. “They do have the word ‘church’ in there.
“Yes,” said Zach’s father. “But what is this business about something white in the morgue?”
Zoey was still looking at the words through the wax holes.
“Dad, where do you see ‘morgue?’ I don’t see that on here.”
Morse looked at the letter again through the wax holes. “Why, it’s right here, pointing to the hole.” But then Morse studied the hole again. The wax tablet had cut off the “M” in “Morgue.” The word which actually showed through was “ORGUE.”
“Oh, good heavens! I missed it again. You are quite right, Zoey. The ‘M’ has been cut off. The word is not ‘MORGUE,’ it is ‘ORGUE,’ which means a musical organ, like the one in a church! And this word down here ‘BLANCHES,’ the feminine plural for the English word ‘white,’ actually has the ‘B’ and ‘L’ chopped off, leaving the word ‘ANCHES.’ And that word means a reed pipe or reed instrument in music.” Morse sketched out the new word list on his pad:
Agen-------------------Agen
Orgue------------------organ (music)
Tirant------------------ pulling
Intérieur--------------- interior
Voix humaine----------human voice
Petit---------------------small
Vent---------------------wind
Anches------------------reeds (music)
Minuscule--------------miniscule
Tuyau-------------------piece of advice; tip
Grand jeu---------------big game
Eglise-------------------church
Tenir-------------------- to hold
For Zoey, the musician in the group, it seemed pretty obvious.
“Dad, it has something to do with music. You have ‘organ’ and ‘reeds’ and ‘Church.’ That means the reed pipes of an organ in a Church.”
“Yes,” said Father du Bois, catching on. “And if I recall correctly, the reed pipes are the smaller ones, so that takes care of ‘small’ and ‘miniscule.’”
Morse agreed. “‘VENT’ or ‘wind’ refers to the air that is constantly being pumped into the organ, which allows for the sound to come out through the opening in the pipes. ‘AGEN’ obviously means the city of Agen, so the Church in Agen probably means the Cathedral of Saint-Caprais in Agen. So Nostradamus is telling us that the clue lies in the ‘interior’ of one of the ‘small’ ‘reed pipes’ of the pipe ‘organ’ in the cathedral! That’s it!”
“Yes, Dad,” said Zach. “But what does the ‘big game’ mean? And what does ‘pulling’ mean? And what does the ‘human voice’ mean? And I still do not see how the ‘piece of advice’ means anything.”
“Well, I think I have the answer to one of those,” said Morse. “The word ‘TUYAU’ in French can mean a piece of advice or a tip, but it can also mean a pipe, like a water pipe, or the pipe of a musical instrument, like a pipe on a pipe organ. So in this context, ‘tuyau’ must mean ‘pipe.’”
“And what about ‘to hold?’” asked Zach.
“Now that I see this all relates to music, I do not think the word really means ‘to hold’ in this context. The word ‘TENIR’ can mean ‘to hold’ but in this context I think it means ‘to play,’ as in ‘to play a musical instrument.’”
“Well, that solves most of it,” said the priest.
“Yes,” said Morse, “I do not know what the rest means, but I suspect we shall find out when we get to Agen! This is very exciting! But first, we must photograph everything we have found here with the correct photography equipment and then make arrangements for the artifacts to be catalogued, preserved, and dated. I can have a team here in a day or two, Father, to make all the arrangements, if that is satisfactory to you.”
“No, Professor, that will not be necessary.”
“Pardon me?”
“I said, that will not be necessary.”
“What do you mean?”
Father du Bois pulled out a revolver with a silencer and pointed at the Professor.
“I regret to say, Professor, that this is the end of the line, as you say, for you and your family.”
“Wait! Before you shoot,” said Morse. “You should know that Zach here has already alerted the French authorities on his phone.”
“I sincerely doubt that, Professor.”
“You may recall when I sent him out to the wine cellar to do our research, claiming that we could not get a signal here. Do you think I would honestly do scientific research over a child’s telephone? I have a laptop right in my bag with a state-of-the-art 5G Microwave Repeater. I have obtained a signal inside the Pyramids at Giza and in a Indian copper mine 2,000 feet beneath the earth.”
“I don’t believe you, Professor,” said the priest. “If you had called the authorities, they would be here by now.”
“Sir, it was readily apparent to me that you were not a Catholic priest the moment we passed the altar upstairs. Any good Catholic priest genuflects when passing in front of the altar, and you did not. In addition, I told you that the three wise men were Balthazar, Gaspar and Abednego, and you did not correct me. The third wise man was Melchior, not Abednego, as any good Catholic priest celebrating the Epiphany two weeks ago would know. So that is why I sent my son outside, to call the police without raising your suspicion. Zach was supposed to leave the church and run outside, but he was too worried about me and came back.”
Father du Bois turned his gun and pointed it at Zach’s head. “Is that true, Zach? Is your father telling the truth? Why, you don’t even speak French. What would you say if the police answered?” Zach racked his brain to remember anything from his French class.
“Aide!” said Zach.
The gunman considered. “That was pretty fast thinking, kid. That was pretty close. Tell me, what numbers did you call for the police?”
“Uhh, my dad had the number programmed in. I just hit Send.”
“Really? Then why don’t you pull out your iPhone and let’s check who you’ve called.” Zach looked at the gun pointed at his forehead and, for the first time on this trip, couldn’t speak.
Zoey, who was standing to the side and behind the priest, looked in her father’s eyes. She could see a flash of panic. He was lying about the phone. When the priest pulled out the phone, he would know. In a wave of desperation and adrenaline, Zoey took her acoustic guitar and, with a strength she was unaware she had until now, slammed the instrument as hard as she could into the back of the gunman’s head. The gunman went to the floor and Zoey stood over him, violently pounding the guitar into his face again and again. When the gun hit the floor, Zach grabbed it and, without the slightest hesitation, shot the gunman once in the chest. Zoey stopped her assault with the guitar, staring at the fallen priest. Then Zach stood over the priest’s body and pointed the gun downward.
“No, Zach!” said Morse. “That’s enough, son. You did great. Just give me the gun.” Morse was petrified and thankful for the quick action of his children but nevertheless surprised at their rage.
“It’s over, guys. You are safe now.” Zach was shaking and catatonic, the smoke from the revolver wafting upward from the silencer.
Zach handed his father the gun, who put it in his bag. Morse put his arms around his children.
“Daddy?” said Zoey, hugging her father tight. “Will you buy me a new guitar?”
“Sure,” said Morse. “Whatever kind of guitar you want.”
Morse considered his next move. The killer had been right. He had not given Zach instruction to call the authorities. He thought the priest might have been a conman, but he never thought in a million years he would try to kill them. If Morse called the authorities now, they would find a murder weapon with his fingerprints, his son’s fingerprints, a dead body, gun powder residue on his son’s hands, a bloody guitar, and the victim’s blood all over their clothes. How could he possibly explain all this? And what were the criminal laws for juveniles in France? Could his son go to jail? He had no idea. It was highly unlikely that the priest impostor had told French authorities about the presence of the vault. That would mean that if they left the body here and closed the vault, the only ones who might find the body would be the killer’s employer. But they would require time to realize that the killer had failed in his mission. And even if they sent someone new to search the church, they would not be able to open the vault door as easily as he had. Morse put the writings of Nostradamus, Nostradamus’ ring and astrolabe, the wax tablets, and a wooden piece of one of the walnut chests into his nylon bag. He hated to take antiquities, but he could not leave them here with whoever was following Father du Bois. He took out a cotton rag he used for dusting off archaeological artifacts and wiped down the pieces of the guitar, the revolver and silencer, and the walnut chests. Then he closed the vault door with the priest assassin inside. He took the rag and wiped down the vault handle, the vault door, and the stand where the astrolabe had stood. Then he took the letters on the doo