Chapter 2: Whispers in the Archives

Rain hammered the windowpanes, a chaotic, urgent drumming like a swarm of furious sparrows pecking at a tin roof. Harriet pressed the tip of her red pen hard against the line of pencil script, forcing the nib into the paper. The red ink bled out rapidly, swallowing the final stroke of the word "extinguish."

At the same time, the phone screen flared to life in the damp, cold air, the stark white glow forcing her to squint. The sender field clearly displayed the name Charles Ashworth, accompanied by a high-resolution attachment.

In the photo, the bottom-right corner of the ancient Star Chart, where a distinct dent had once been, was now filled flush by a smooth-edged, black sliver. The glossy, jet-black material reflected the overhead lights, looking cold and jarringly out of place.

Harriet felt a chill seep into her fingertips, the coldness crawling up her knuckles and wrapping around her wrist. William Keane was crouched in the corner, his cloudy eyes fixed on the repaired gap, his brows knotted in a complex tangle. He reached out and nudged the waterproof case slightly away from her, his rough fingers tapping twice against the lid with a dull, rhythmic thud-thud.

"This thing vanished from the Royal Aeronautics Bureau archives back in 1974. Nobody said a word then; it was just written off as a loss," William whispered, speaking slowly, each word sounding like stone grinding against stone. "Don't buy the Gallery's story. It was part of a batch of missing items involving early satellite Navigation Codes. The Missing Corner holds coordinates."

"Why is Ashworth only emailing now?" Edward Ellis stood by the window, rain dripping from his coat cuffs onto the floor, forming dark halos. He turned, the frayed tension in his face replaced by a rigid control. "I'm checking the wiring in this room right now. If they're listening in, we need to move immediately."

"Leave the lines alone. Check your cell signal strength." Katharine Mortimer's voice came from the doorway. She wore a deep gray cashmere coat, raindrops still clinging to the brim of her hat.

She stepped forward and pulled out an old flip phone from her pocket, aiming the camera at Harriet's smartphone screen. "Ashworth's email was sent two minutes ago. If his team is watching us from the surveillance room next door right now, that photo is meant to convince us the puzzle is complete."

Harriet stared at the black sliver on the screen, a thought flashing through her mind: the edges of that piece were too perfect. Genuine fragments of old charts didn't have that kind of industrial cutting precision. She swiped the screen gently, zooming in on the details. There was a hairline scratch in the bottom-right corner of the black sliver, a wear pattern specific to a fingerprint scanner area.

"This isn't a repair. It's a substitution." Harriet looked up, her voice clear and bright. "They're covering the original gap with a fake Black Glass panel. The goal isn't to fix it; it's to obscure it. If the gap really has Navigation Codes etched into it, Ashworth needs to ensure those codes are covered by his material. That way, even if someone gets the original chart, they can't read the real information."

William rummaged through his kit and pulled out an old magnifying loupe; the rim of the lens was already worn and frayed. He leaned in close to the photo, his breathing becoming heavy.

"1970s space race. Back then, codes were hand-carved into copper plates or stamped onto special alloy sheets."

William's voice trembled slightly, as if recalling a forgotten memory. "If Ashworth covered it with a smooth, black material, it's to trick people into thinking there's nothing there at all. He's laundering it. He's telling black-market buyers that this piece is complete, pure decoration, with zero technical value."

"That doesn't add up," Edward frowned, flipping his notebook to a fresh page and scribbling notes rapidly. "If he's selling it to buyers as pure decoration, the price takes a massive hit. Unless... he has another complete set of fragments. And that set is the real deal."

"Or, he plans to destroy the original chart." Katharine cut in, her tone sharp, carrying that ruthless precision unique to Oxford scholars. "Harriet, look at that scratch again. It's the fingerprint reflection from a modern smartphone. When Ashworth took this photo, he was using a backup phone in his pocket. And he was in our vicinity."

"This email wasn't sent to you as a gift. It was sent to prove a point: he is monitoring your every move. Including which pen you use, and which desk you're standing at."

Harriet placed the phone on the archival desk. The screen automatically went dark. The lights in the room flickered erratically, the electrical hum turning sharp and grating. She stood up quickly and walked toward the metal storage cabinet in the corner, piled high with municipal newspapers from Liverpool spanning the 1950s to the 1970s, the paper yellowed and brittle.

"I need to check the 1975 issue of the Liverpool Echo," Harriet said, her fingers brushing against the cold metal cabinet door. "If the Star Chart went missing then, there must have been coverage. Ashworth's current exhibition is called 'Stardust and Dust.' If he's displaying a replica of this chart in the show, it means he primed the public through the media long ago to confuse the issue."

William nodded, pulling a roll of clear tape and a box of old archival index cards from his bag. He began flipping through the indices with practiced ease, dust gathering on his fingertips.

"Check Ashworth's background in the seventies." William didn't look up, his voice muffled. "I remember the Ashworth family funded a private lunar exploration project in 1976, which later went bankrupt due to financial fraud. He’s likely been eyeing this kind of relic for years, trying to fill the hole that left in his ledger."

Harriet pulled out the stack of newspapers from March 1975, the pages rustling against each other. She flipped through them quickly, her brow furrowed.

"Found it." Harriet pointed to a small report, the edge of the page already curled. "Page three, local news. 'Ashworth Gallery announces the acquisition of a batch of post-WWII aerospace relics of unknown origin, including a fragment of a Star Chart claimed to come from the Soviet Moon program.' Note that: Soviet."

Katharine walked over, bending down to bring her face close to the paper, her nose nearly touching the page. Her expression froze for a second, then a cold smirk spread across her face.

"Harriet, you're looking at this the wrong way. The Soviet lunar program was cancelled in the late 1960s. Where would a new fragment come from in 1975? This is fake. Ashworth was already forging history in 1975. He's been manufacturing these 'lost histories' to fool buyers. This chart probably isn't even Soviet; the dating itself might be fabricated."

"But what about the Navigation Code?" Edward interjected, his voice urgent. "William said the gap has the code. If the chart is fake, is the code fake too?"

"The code is real; the chart might be a patchwork." Katharine stood up, brushing dust from her skirt. "Ashworth specializes in this technique. He collects loose, untraceable metal scraps and assembles them into a decorative painting that looks like a Star Chart."

"The code in the gap might just be scrap he stole from some abandoned lab, or even from a defunct navigation equipment factory. He exploits the academic community's ignorance, packaging industrial garbage as a historical artifact."

Harriet felt a wave of dizziness. It wasn't just about the value of one chart; it was about the integrity of the entire academic record. If she followed standard logic and classified this chart as a 1970s space race relic, it would be the biggest stain on her career.

And Ashworth clearly wanted her to make that mistake. Or better yet, he wanted her to never find definitive proof, so he could sell this piece as a "unique item" at a premium price.

"Your phone is tapped, right?" Harriet asked, her gaze cool.

Edward pulled a black magnetic sticker from his pocket and quickly slapped it over the phone's speaker, then pulled out the SIM card.

"From now on, we use voice and pen only," Edward said, his tone serious. "The footage I requested hasn't arrived yet, but I can guess. Ashworth's people are out there. He doesn't want to use force because if he does, this chart dies legally."

"He needs you to 'legitimize' it, or for you to admit it's a counterfeit. That way, he can buy back the fragments cheaply and sell another complete set for a high price."

"So we just admit it's a fake?" Harriet retorted, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"No. We admit it's an Unclassified Artifact." Katharine picked up the thread, her eyes sharp as a blade. "Unclassified means it requires further appraisal. It means it can't immediately enter the transaction process. This will hold Ashworth off for at least three months."

"And we need those three months to track down that abandoned lab from 1975, to see where that 'Navigation Code' actually came from."

William pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. A simple symbol was drawn on it, looking like a Broken Chain.

"I saw this in the old logbooks in the archive room." William pointed to the note. "The 1974 disappearance report mentioned, besides the Star Chart, a set of Lead Seals used for calibration. The seals had similar symbols etched into them. If Ashworth has the seals, he holds proof of the 'originals.' If not, he's just pulling a con job on empty air."

The rain had died down to a fine, steady drizzle. Harriet picked up the red backup pen and sketched the Broken Chain symbol in the blank space on the newspaper.

"Katharine, check if there was a factory in the Liverpool suburbs called Apollo Power in 1975, and if it went bankrupt that year due to fraud." Harriet's voice was steady, but the rapid tapping of her fingers on the pen barrel betrayed her nervousness.

"Already checking." Katharine nodded, efficiently rummaging through her bag to pull out a laptop. "Apollo Power's founder was Jeremy Ashworth. Charles's uncle. Looks like family tradition ran deep."

Harriet took a deep breath and deleted the photo of the black gap from her phone, her movements firm and slow. Watching the image disappear, a complex sense of relief washed over her. She had lost a map, but she had found the direction of the truth.

"Edward, when you inspect the warehouse tonight, bring your baton. Leave the phone." Harriet clicked the red pen into its cap with a crisp snap. "If he tries to stop you, tell him Ashworth's uncle owes the tax office money. You can add that clause to your search warrant."

William let out a low chuckle, which sounded particularly dry in the damp archive room. He stood up and walked to the window, pushing a crack of air in. Cold rain mixed with the smell of wet earth rushed in, fluttering the yellowed newspaper on the corner of the desk.

"The lights in Warehouse 17 are still on." William pointed to a faint, yellow glow in the distant darkness. "Ashworth hasn't left. He's waiting."

Harriet picked up the old flip phone and dialed Katharine's number. No key tones, just the steady sound of breathing from the receiver.

"Katharine, did you find anything?"

"Yes. 'Apollo Power' filed for bankruptcy on March 14, 1975. The same day, the Royal Aeronautics Bureau reported the Star Chart missing. The timing is terrifyingly precise. And in their patent archives, there was an application for a 'Star Chart-style navigation coding' that was rejected. The reason: 'lack of astronomical basis.'"

Katharine's voice was cold as ice. "Harriet, the complete set Ashworth has might have been built using that rejected patent. He isn't selling history; he's selling the technical debt his uncle left behind. The code in that gap might not be for navigation at all. It could be an encrypted payment voucher."

Harriet gripped the phone, her knuckles white. The sound of the rain outside suddenly swelled, as if something were running across the roof. She looked at William, who was staring at that lit window, his eyes showing a weary alertness.

"Ellis, check who opened the safe at the Apollo Power factory on March 14, 1975."