answer.’
‘Why the limit?’ asked Hunter.
Smithies cast a look in Miss Tandari’s direction. ‘There’s a season for everything,’ said Smithies. ‘And this will be our way of checking we’re on task.’
‘And when the candle burns down, sir. After twenty-five days. What then?’
Smithies’ face showed he was thinking. ‘We’ll decide when that happens. Until then we work in secret as the candle burns.’
‘About that, sir,’ said Brodie. ‘Why is it so important no one knows what we’re doing?’
‘Bletchley has a history of secrecy. Workers in the war went to their graves never telling their families they were part of the Black Chamber.’
‘And that’s the only reason?’ pressed Brodie.
Smithies looked again at Miss Tandari. Then he tossed the spent match into the bin. ‘Let’s get on with our lessons, Miss Bray. It would be a shame to waste time now the candle has started to burn.’
Brodie watched the flame. The light cast grotesque shadows on the walls of the hut and they unnerved her.
‘You know a little about the Station X Study Group Veritas,’ went on Smithies, ‘and how it was initially formed way back in the 1960s. You must remember it was referred to as the Second Study Group as a First Study Group had existed years before over the sea in the United States. It was the code-cracking partnership of Mr and Mrs Friedman who brought the quest to England and formed the Second Study Group. And it’s our special honour to carry on their work.’
Brodie jotted down the name ‘Friedman’ and ‘1960s’ in her notebook.
‘Now the group’s sole intention was to translate an encoded document which you’ve all seen now, although in copied form. The real manuscript is kept in another museum of sorts in America. The Friedmans and their team believed they’d be able to translate MS 408. Yet after two years of unrelenting work and failure, they abandoned their task. They pledged if ever new evidence came to light about the manuscript, the group would re-form. I’m here to tell you,’ his voice was casual but two pink circles bloomed on his cheeks, ‘such evidence has been found.’
Brodie felt a twinge of excitement.
‘We believe by using this new evidence we may force MS 408 to offer up its secrets. So …’ Smithies paused dramatically, ‘you’ve seen the manuscript. Now it’s time for the new evidence.’
Brodie sat herself up straight in her chair and turned the page in her notebook. With a deliberate flourish of her pen she wrote the title, ‘MS 408’, then underlined it. She’d just reached the point of deciding whether to draw a small picture of a daisy next to the title when she realised Smithies had begun to talk again.
‘The new evidence comes to us from a long-dead university professor.’
Brodie decided against the daisy picture.
‘This,’ went on Smithies, tapping the blackboard behind him and jabbing at a yellowed photograph of a tall man with a rather crooked nose, ‘is a photograph of Professor Leo Van der Essen.’
‘Leo,’ muttered Hunter. ‘That name’s worse than Hunter.’
‘Professor Van der Essen lived in Belgium. He worked in the university in a town called Louvain and was there during the time of the First World War. He was a specialist in myths and legends, you know, old traditional stories.’
‘Oh, she knows,’ laughed Hunter, jabbing Brodie in the ribs. ‘That’s just your meal of the day, isn’t it? Stories about King Arthur and dragons and stuff. Just your thing.’
Brodie agreed enthusiastically as Smithies continued to explain. ‘During that war the library was attacked and every book and document, folio and manuscript stored in the library was lost. The burning of Louvain was a terrible war crime. It enraged the world. Thousands have lost their lives in war, but when stories and books are destroyed, the memories and the cultures of those people die too.’ Smithies paused again, as if allowing a moment for the
‘Why the limit?’ asked Hunter.
Smithies cast a look in Miss Tandari’s direction. ‘There’s a season for everything,’ said Smithies. ‘And this will be our way of checking we’re on task.’
‘And when the candle burns down, sir. After twenty-five days. What then?’
Smithies’ face showed he was thinking. ‘We’ll decide when that happens. Until then we work in secret as the candle burns.’
‘About that, sir,’ said Brodie. ‘Why is it so important no one knows what we’re doing?’
‘Bletchley has a history of secrecy. Workers in the war went to their graves never telling their families they were part of the Black Chamber.’
‘And that’s the only reason?’ pressed Brodie.
Smithies looked again at Miss Tandari. Then he tossed the spent match into the bin. ‘Let’s get on with our lessons, Miss Bray. It would be a shame to waste time now the candle has started to burn.’
Brodie watched the flame. The light cast grotesque shadows on the walls of the hut and they unnerved her.
‘You know a little about the Station X Study Group Veritas,’ went on Smithies, ‘and how it was initially formed way back in the 1960s. You must remember it was referred to as the Second Study Group as a First Study Group had existed years before over the sea in the United States. It was the code-cracking partnership of Mr and Mrs Friedman who brought the quest to England and formed the Second Study Group. And it’s our special honour to carry on their work.’
Brodie jotted down the name ‘Friedman’ and ‘1960s’ in her notebook.
‘Now the group’s sole intention was to translate an encoded document which you’ve all seen now, although in copied form. The real manuscript is kept in another museum of sorts in America. The Friedmans and their team believed they’d be able to translate MS 408. Yet after two years of unrelenting work and failure, they abandoned their task. They pledged if ever new evidence came to light about the manuscript, the group would re-form. I’m here to tell you,’ his voice was casual but two pink circles bloomed on his cheeks, ‘such evidence has been found.’
Brodie felt a twinge of excitement.
‘We believe by using this new evidence we may force MS 408 to offer up its secrets. So …’ Smithies paused dramatically, ‘you’ve seen the manuscript. Now it’s time for the new evidence.’
Brodie sat herself up straight in her chair and turned the page in her notebook. With a deliberate flourish of her pen she wrote the title, ‘MS 408’, then underlined it. She’d just reached the point of deciding whether to draw a small picture of a daisy next to the title when she realised Smithies had begun to talk again.
‘The new evidence comes to us from a long-dead university professor.’
Brodie decided against the daisy picture.
‘This,’ went on Smithies, tapping the blackboard behind him and jabbing at a yellowed photograph of a tall man with a rather crooked nose, ‘is a photograph of Professor Leo Van der Essen.’
‘Leo,’ muttered Hunter. ‘That name’s worse than Hunter.’
‘Professor Van der Essen lived in Belgium. He worked in the university in a town called Louvain and was there during the time of the First World War. He was a specialist in myths and legends, you know, old traditional stories.’
‘Oh, she knows,’ laughed Hunter, jabbing Brodie in the ribs. ‘That’s just your meal of the day, isn’t it? Stories about King Arthur and dragons and stuff. Just your thing.’
Brodie agreed enthusiastically as Smithies continued to explain. ‘During that war the library was attacked and every book and document, folio and manuscript stored in the library was lost. The burning of Louvain was a terrible war crime. It enraged the world. Thousands have lost their lives in war, but when stories and books are destroyed, the memories and the cultures of those people die too.’ Smithies paused again, as if allowing a moment for the
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