The sole glimmer in that dust-clogged tomb is the steady torchlight, encapsulated within the ruby held between Dr. Droll's fingers. He gently pushes the gem into a tiny slot on the ancient, carved-stone wall, and a smile is drawn across his face as a satisfying click echoes down the corridor. His men watch, transfixed, as the ruby is pulled into the wall, which becomes a door. The circular slab of rock rolls to one side, disappearing into the edifice of the subterranian structure. A suck of air, the flicker of excited torches, and the interior chamber of the Tomb of Boor is revealed.
The linguist, Dr. Harding, shares a gasp with Dr. Droll and his men. The legend of this place has melded a vision of it to their minds. They expected the warm glow of endless gold to greet them, or a dazzling show from mounds of gems. But, at first glance, the antediluvuan Tomb of Boor appears empty.
After a few minutes of anxious searching for hidden doors or secret caches, all the expedition finds for its efforts is the stone plinth in the centre of the room and the singular roll of parchment upon it.
Dr. Droll and Dr. Harding slowly ease back the brittle, yellowed page to reveal three printed symbols scrawled across its centre. A spark of hope lights up Dr. Droll's eyes.
'This is a strange style of writing,' says Dr. Harding. 'It's been used before in addresses from the Prince Hogg to the great King Boor.'
A grin erupts onto Dr. Droll's aging face. 'This is the true treasure of King Boor! What is it? Secrets of ages past? Knowledge of the future? Oh- perhaps it is a clue to a greater, unknown wealth! Please, Dr. Harding, tell me what it says.'
Dr. Harding squints at the three symbols.
'I-O-U.'
Paddy Dobson
21st August 2020