Paradigms Lost by Ryk E Spoor Page B

be.”
    He inclined his own. “Can’t be . . . what?”
    “Ahkenaten. That’s the Aten, and it’s all over here. And I’ve seen a couple of busts supposedly of him. But I thought they found his mummy.”
    He smiled faintly. “I did hear that someone had found something they believed to be Akhenaten’s mummy. Since this has never been out of my, or my people’s, possession since shortly after finding out that the Sun Pharaoh’s tomb was being looted, I must incline to doubt that what they found was indeed Akhenaten.”
    It was then that the idea finally crystallized. “Good God, Verne, I’ve got it.”
    He looked at me. “What is it?”
    “Art, of course!” I waved my hands around at the treasures that surrounded us. “The art world can be tolerant of strange hours and stranger habits. You’ve already got stuff to sell or donate—no, wait, hear me out. You speak many languages, you certainly have various connections around the world, and, well, you appear to have taste and style which I don’t have. You could deal in rare artworks, maybe be a patron to newer artists, and so on.”
    Verne looked thoughtful. “True. I have in fact been a student of the arts, off and on through the centuries; I could determine authenticity in many ways, not the least being first-hand experience of how many things were actually done. Even though I would not, of course, wish to reveal the source of that information, simply knowing the correct from the incorrect is something that I could justify with the proper scholarly logic.”
    “Yep. It’s always easier to write the impeccable logical chain to prove your point if you already know where you’re going.”
    “But selling these masterworks . . . I have kept them safe for thousands of years, Jason. Do not speak lightly of this.”
    “I’m not speaking lightly, not at all,” I said earnestly. “Verne, these things would rock the archaeological world—and I haven’t even looked in the rest of this vault; to be honest, I’m almost afraid of what I’ll find. Stuff of this historical and cultural value should be out there for other people to appreciate. Hell, just the aesthetic value would justify putting it out there on the proper market. Okay, it’s impolite at the least to go around breaking into someone’s tomb and ripping off their stuff, but since it was done long ago, shouldn’t the work of those ancient artists at least have the chance to be fully appreciated?”
    Verne’s expression was pained; a man listening to someone trying to tell him to give up his children wouldn’t have looked much more upset. Then Morgan spoke:
    “Begging your pardon, sir, but I think Master Jason is correct.”
    Verne just looked at him, silent but questioning.
    “If you truly wish to open yourself up, as you once were, sir, I think this means not keeping everything locked away. Not just your feelings, sir, but those things of beauty which we treasure. We have guarded them long enough, sir.” He gave another look that I had trouble interpreting; it seemed filled with more meaning than I could easily interpret, something from their past. “We already know of someone whose love of beauty and fear for its fate transformed him . . . in ways that I would not wish to see happen to you.”
    Those last words got through to Verne; he gave a momentary shiver, as of a man doused with cold water. “Yes . . . yes, Morgan. Perhaps you are right.” He turned back to me, speaking in a more normal tone. “Your idea certainly has merit, Jason. I shall consider it carefully, and discuss it with my household. I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to examine the best ways for me to begin on such a course of action.”
    “Sure,” I said, wondering if I’d ever quite know what was going on there. “I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then.”
    I cast a last, incredulous glance over my shoulder at that vault of wonders, then headed up the stairs.

CHAPTER 12
    Mystery of a