Free The Jovian Legacy by Lilla Nicholas-Holt Page A

grandfather
said. “You’ll go places now, won’t you?”
    “I’ve
already been for a ride on it, Gramps. This morning. Me and my mate
Nick…”
    “My
mate Nick and I,” his mother corrects.
    “Nick
and I rode into town. I’m pretty sore now.” Jack knows
he needs to be polite and make small talk so his grandparents will
have a nice afternoon and go home. Then he can get back to his Lucre
Box. He is also aware that he has limited time here, reliving.
    There
is definitely a message here today that will affect my entire life, he reflects.
    It
is two o’clock in the afternoon, and he has until seven o’clock
in the evening to find out what the message means.
    At
last his grandparents make a move to head off. Jack is torn between
the Lucre Box and seeing his grandparents for the last time. His
mother’s parents died when he was eleven, a year before his
parents disappeared.
    He
gives his Nana an extra long hug and she is noticeably taken aback.
“You must have thoroughly liked your present!” she
laughs.
    Jack
composes himself and looks into her eyes; so tired looking now, but
still with a beautiful softness.
    “For
real!” he exclaims. Jack turns to his granddad, a lump forming
in his throat. Always young at heart, his granddad still looks
handsome despite his seventy-eight years. His mother’s father
possesses a wicked sense of humour; no doubt the elixir of his youth,
Jack considers. Gramps even fancies himself as a ladies’ man,
and Jack loves him to bits.
    As
he waves them goodbye his eyes sting with tears. Jack literally
shakes himself to keep his cool. His grandfather’s momentary
look as they drove off was of great mutual understanding. Quickly
wiping his tears away and realising he’s been doing a lot of
that lately , Jack
rips back to his bedroom, grabs the box off the chest of drawers and
sits back on his bed with it. The symbols swim around again with a
beautiful ray of colours oscillating back and forth.
    It
looks Egyptian, he reasons.
With no time to spare, Jack is on his bike and heading down to the
local library to seek out some literature on Egyptology, remembering
that the library is open for a couple of hours on a Saturday
afternoon. With his box firmly fixed on the carrier of his bike,
Jack speeds into town again.
    “Man, I’m going to sleep
well tonight!” he says aloud to himself, his legs starting to
ache for a second time round.
    Jack
feverishly hunts through the row of books on Egyptian Hieroglyphics,
scrambling through the pages trying to find symbols that match the
message. Eventually, he comes across a book with similar pictures,
and takes it over to the counter with his library card which he’d
remembered to slip in his jeans pocket at the last minute. The
librarian looks at him over her glasses that are perched on the end
of her nose.
    “Jack
Dunlop, you already have two library books that are overdue. I can’t
let you have this one out until the other two are returned,”
she scolds, lips pursed.
    “Please,
Mrs Francis,” Jack pleads. “I really need this one for my
homework that’s due in on Monday. I promise I’ll return
all three on Monday afternoon.”
    Audrey
Francis holds her gaze then pulls her lips back. “Well, as long
as you do,” she cautions.
    “Thank
you Mrs Francis!” Jack grins and hurries out the door, feeling
a bit naughty, knowing full well he won’t be anywhere near
there come Monday.
    Back
in his room Jack places the box on his bed and opens the library
book. With ardent determination he begins to decipher the cryptic
message, letter by letter. A half an hour later Jack sits back and
reads his message:
    “You
are the descendant of Pharaoh Siptah.”
    He
falls flat. Must be one of
those trick boxes, he thinks,
disappointed.
    Each
symbol begins to change, one by one, into letters, together forming
into another cryptic message: “Sinestu-ipini-itxaro-ahalguzti.”
    Although
feeling a little annoyed he decides to finish decoding it, and