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“That poor boy,” Guan-yin said. “But why would he draw such a strange picture?”
“It had to be significant for Stoepker to seal it up in his box,” Gray said. “Unless he just wanted to preserve the boy’s artistry—in which case, it’s meaningless. But I don’t think so.”
Seichan frowned. “Why?”
“From their account, Crawfurd and Raffles did not strike me as sentimental. They’re coldly scientific, which is fitting for members of the Batavian Society. If Stoepker had merely kept it as a memorial to the boy, the others would not have saved it.”
“Then what does it mean?” Guan-yin asked.
“I can only guess.”
Seichan narrowed her eyes. “Guess or hunch?”
“A bit of both, I suppose. While en route to Jakarta, I only had a short time with the papers, but even then, I had suspected that the drawing was done by Matthew.” He tapped the detailed sketches of a meeting at an island. “Maybe the indigenous people shown here are Aboriginal, too.”
Zhuang picked up the page and squinted at the figures.
Gray tried to explain his reasoning. “Before landing here, I did an internet search forsnakeandrainbowandAboriginal people. It was a long shot, but something intriguing did pop up.”
Zhuang lowered the drawing. “What?”
Gray reached to an e-tablet where he had stored his research. “According to Aboriginal mythology, one story persists across the hundreds of communities of the Australian First Nations. It’s the myth of the Rainbow Serpent. A snake god that went by many names.Yurlunggur,Tulloun,Kanmare,Goorialla, and others. Yet, its story remains remarkably consistent. In fact, the myth is considered to be one of the oldest continuing religious beliefs in the world.”
“What’s the story behind this snake god?” Seichan asked.
Gray stared down at the sketch. “According to Australia’s First Nations peoples, the Rainbow Serpent is said to be the creator of humankind. It’s a great snake that lives in the water. And while it’s considered to be a creator of humanity, it’s also said to be a destroyer. It travels the watery pathways beneath the world, popping up here or there and exacting punishment or offering protection.”
Zhuang shifted the sketch closer. “Could the boy have drawn the snake as a means to seek his god’s help?”
“I don’t know. But if this page was some form of an Aboriginal prayer, why did Crawfurd and Raffles—both Christians—preserve it with their records?” Gray stared around the group. “It must be significant.”
Seichan crossed her arms, still unconvinced.
Gray pulled free the last page of the handwritten account and read from it. “Here is what Sir Stamford Raffles writes at the end.‘Alas, we have learned how very little we know of our world. And now we must protect a secret that could lead to its ruination if abused by the wrong hand. Perhaps it would be better if we carried it to our grave, but we know it must not be lost. For it equally holds the promise of salvation. A method to appease the gods of the underworld if they should ever grow angry again, which they surely will.’”
A thunderous boom outside ended his words, as if the gods werepunctuating this centuries-old testament. Past the windows, flames fountained high over the crown of Mount Salak.
“The gods are certainly furious now,” Seichan mumbled.
“Then we must find a way to appease them,” Gray said.
“How?” Zhuang asked.
“By seeking out the rest of Stamford and Crawfurd’s account.”
“Where do we even begin to look?” Guan-yin asked.
Gray stood up and stared beyond the balcony to the raging skies. “By breaking into another museum.”
He reached to his e-tablet and scrolled past the many legends of the Rainbow Serpent—a god of creation and destruction. He brought up an advertisement for a current exhibit: MARITIMETRAILS:PEOPLE,PLACES, ANDOBJECTS.
“This is a current exhibition funded by the Australia-Indonesia Museum Project. It’s an exploration of the long historical connection between Indonesia and Australia’s Aboriginal tribes. Which seems fortuitous, but in fact it has been an ongoing pursuit at this particular museum.”
“Which museum?” Seichan asked.
“It’s right here in the city’s Old Town. The Jakarta History Museum.”
Seichan frowned. “I get why that topic might help with your research, but why do you think it has any connection to Stamford’s missing pages? Did the guy found this museum, too?”
