Dinara smiled slightly.
"That sounds like my grandfather. He always had a special sense for ancient things. He said they 'spoke' to him."
The kettle clicked off. Dinara stood to prepare the tea. Her movements were fluid and precise, like someone accustomed to working with fragile artifacts.
"Did you open it?" she asked without turning around.
"Yes," Alexei replied. "Inside was a parchment with an inscription in Latin and something like a fragment of a map. 'Lux in aqua, aqua in luce. Clavis Salomonis aperiet viam.' Light in water, water in light. Solomon's key will open the way."
Dinara froze for a moment, then slowly turned to him. Her face had become serious.
"Solomon's key," she repeated. "That's interesting. In our region, there are legends about sacred artifacts hidden in the waters of Issyk-Kul. Some of them are connected to the Nestorians who fled from the Mongols in the 13th century." She placed a cup of tea in front of Alexei. "But I've never heard of a 'Solomon's Key' in this context."
Alexei sipped the hot tea—strong and sweet, as is customary in Central Asia.
"I studied this matter before my trip. The 'Key of Solomon' in Western tradition is a grimoire, a book of spells attributed to King Solomon. But judging by the context, this refers to some physical object."
"Perhaps it's a metaphor," Dinara suggested. "Or…" she fell silent, as if contemplating something.
"Or?" Alexei prompted.
"Or it's indeed some artifact, so valuable that our grandfathers chose to conceal its existence from the authorities."
She finally took the medallion and began to study it carefully, turning it in her hands.
"Undoubtedly Nestorian work. The cross is of a characteristic shape, and the ornament is also typical of their art. But the symbols on the reverse side…" she frowned. "They resemble Syriac script, but with elements I cannot identify. Possibly some secret code or font known only to initiates."
She placed the medallion back on the table.
"I need to show this to my uncle Ermek. He's the custodian of the nature reserve on the northern shore of Issyk-Kul, right where the excavations took place in 1954. And he's a great specialist in local folklore and history."
"That would be great," Alexei nodded. "When can we meet him?"
Dinara glanced at her watch.
"I can call him right now. If everything works out, we could head to the lake tomorrow morning. It's about a four-hour drive from Bishkek."
She took out her phone and stepped into the corridor to talk. Alexei remained alone in the office. He looked around, examining the books on the shelves and the photographs on the walls. In one of them, Dinara stood next to a tall middle-aged man with the characteristic appearance of local residents—presumably the uncle Ermek.
Alexei's gaze fell on a stack of documents on Dinara's desk. On top lay some printout in Kyrgyz with a logo resembling a coat of arms or emblem. He couldn't read the text but noticed that several lines had been highlighted with a marker.
Next to the computer lay a small voice recorder. The red indicator on it was blinking, showing that it was recording. Alexei frowned. Why was Dinara recording their conversation? And why hadn't she told him about it?
He quietly approached the desk and turned off the recorder, then returned to the sofa just as the door opened and Dinara re-entered the office.
