Artifact

by Gigi Pandian

  Lane was facing me, his sleeves rolled up and a trowel nestled confidently in his hand, but it was Malcolm who spotted me first. He set down a brush and walked up to me while Lane and Fiona spoke together over a pile of dirt.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said.

  “I trust you’re feeling better?”

  “Much. Mrs. Black gave me a wonderfully restorative tea.”

  Malcolm burst into a broad smile.

  “Scottish drink takes a bit of getting used to, I’m afraid,” he said.

  I smiled meekly. At least I hoped my smile resembled meekness.

  “You’ve brought your camera with you. Brilliant. You might want to borrow a hat as well. The chill is from the wind, but the sun will still do damage.”

  I don’t usually sunburn, but I knew about the strength of the northern sun, so I accepted his offer. Malcolm led me over to the solitary tree, under which sat a large backpack with rain slickers sticking out of the open top. Clipped to the side of the pack was a fedora that matched the one Malcolm was wearing.

  With my new hat, we proceeded to the pit where Lane and Fiona were working. Fiona drew broad strokes in a sketch pad while Lane cleared away debris. They were speaking quietly to each other but stopped as we approached.

  “Nice hat, Dr. Jones,” Lane said.

  Fiona paused to glare at me, then went back to drawing.

  “Here she is,” Malcolm said.

  It took me a moment to realize that “she” didn’t mean Fiona. She was a rock. A two-foot-wide slab of gray stone, the edges rough but not quite jagged. Circling the rock, I could see that only about a foot of the rock poked out of the earth thus far. It looked solid, and I imagined it continued quite a bit further down into the ground.

  “Well?” Malcolm said to me.

  “Shall I get started taking photographs?”

  “I can be out of the way in a few more minutes, Malcolm,” Fiona said without looking up from her sketch.

  “I think the light will be better for photos a little later anyway,” I said. “Once the sun has passed overhead.”

  Malcolm nodded happily. At least I sounded like I knew what I was talking about. That’s me, Jaya Jones. Undercover sleuth and bogus photographer. I hoped this whole thing would be settled before they had a chance to study my photographs.

  I stepped back and took a better look at the rock, trying to guess what made it a Pictish stone. I noticed a few faint scratches, but they looked more like marks made by the trowel than deliberate writing.

  As I examined the rock further, Knox and Derwin came into view, appearing out of thin air from behind the tree. They must have come up from a steep path down to the shore like the one I had passed earlier. Derwin carried a bag of equipment over his shoulder and a notebook in his breast pocket. A few steps behind Derwin, Knox was empty-handed but wheezing.

  “It looks as if some kids have been down in the alcove cave drinking,” Derwin said. “We should board up the entrance so they’ll go elsewhere.”

  “They’ll be harmless enough,” said Knox, having caught his breath enough to speak.

  Derwin shot him a dirty look. “Our nightly tarp,” he said, “is a big welcome sign to a hooligan.”

  “That lot don’t give a toss,” Knox insisted. “It’s not yobs round here. We don’t need to take time away from our work—”

  “Professor,” Derwin said over Knox, “the cave full of beer cans is almost directly below us. This is of potential serious concern—”

  “It’s not like they’d come through this way,” Fiona cut in. “How steep was that path you two walked down? You can’t see our site from down there. Like you said, it’s directly below us.”

  “Fiona is our voice of reason, as always,” Malcolm said. “Good of you to realize the possible concern though, Derwin.”

  “It’s not only that they might see our site,” Derwin said.

  “What’s the problem?” Knox asked.

  “Never mind,” Derwin said, his thin cheeks flushing. He flung down the bag he was carrying and walked past us at a brisk pace. He nearly knocked into me, not seeming to care where he was going.

  To get a better view of the cave they were talking about, I walked over to the tree that stood next to where Derwin and Knox had appeared. I stepped over the tree’s imposing roots and walked around to the other side, which I had originally thought was the edge of the cliff. Instead, the tree roots grew into a slope of grass, with a steep, irregular dirt path zigzagging down to the shore.

  “Why is she wearing those daft shoes?” Fiona said, not bothering to whisper. “Doesn’t she realize this is a dig?”

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw Lane grin at her. The rat. I looked down at my thick platform shoes. There was nothing wrong with my shoes. Didn’t anyone understand what it was like to be short?

  I could see the small alcove below, including something that appeared to be a rocky opening. This, I assumed, led to the cave where Knox and Derwin had found beer bottles or some other evidence of teenage fun. It looked like a perfect spot for a secret teenage rendezvous. It also looked like the perfect secret spot for something else. I took a step forward, trying to get a better look.

  What if I had been wrong about Rupert and Knox’s motive for joining the Pictish dig? What if they hadn’t been either hiding out or after something at the Gregor Estate? What if the dig itself was their destination?

  I had assumed the “treasure” Rupert was referring to was related to the Indian bracelet he sent me. That assumption was based on the fact that Lane knew the bracelet was part of a larger Mughal treasure, and that Rupert had mentioned “my research.” What if that was the wrong assumption?

  Just like all of those scholars I had berated, I had no proof. Only assumptions. I had no real evidence of what Rupert was up to, and he had been infuriatingly vague. What if the bracelet was related to an earlier scheme of Rupert and Knox’s? All I really knew for sure was that there was a treasure out there. Somewhere.

  A crazy idea hit me. As I thought it through, it didn’t seem crazy at all.

  Rupert had always said how pixie-like I was. Fergus was visibly shaken by how fairy-like he thought I looked. It wouldn’t be a leap to assume that an old man wary of strangers would open up more to me than to Rupert or any of the others. The two old Scots knew about all of the local legends, including whatever fairy treasures were buried in the hills. Fiona was one of the original participants of the legitimate dig, and made it possible for Knox and Rupert to be there. She would have told Knox about Fergus and Angus during their phone conversations, and Knox would have told his good old friend and co-conspirator Rupert about the folklore that might be more than just stories. They didn’t think they would need outside help at first, until Rupert thought of a clever way I could be of assistance. He needed to get me here to use me.

  I didn’t think Rupert was gullible or superstitious enough to believe in fairy treasure, but he would realize that most legends are based in fact. As students of history and archaeology know, lore about fairy treasures is often based on true stories of real ancient treasures. Treasures buried in hiding places such as the rocky cave in the alcove. It was all conjecture at this point, but it was possible things were finally starting to make sense.

  I was so caught up in this thought that until a voice startled me out of my reverie, I didn’t realize I was standing so close to the edge of the cliff.

  Chapter 29

  “Hey,” Lane said directly in my ear. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He stepped up beside me, a fine layer of dust covering his clothing. He looked even taller than usual. He stood on a fat root of the tree, resting his hand on the trunk next to me.

  “You’re awfully close to the edge,” he said. “Be careful, it looked like you were daydreaming or something. I don’t need to remind you about other ‘accidents’ that hav
e happened on these cliffs.”

  When I didn’t answer immediately, he studied my face.

  “What is it?”

  “Not here,” I said quietly.

  “We’re on a break now,” he whispered. “We can go talk somewhere.”

  “It’s not lunchtime yet, is it? It’s only around eleven.”

  “We’re in Britain. I thought you knew this place.”

  I looked over and saw Knox pouring tea out of a thermos.

  “Honey,” Lane said loudly, “let’s go look around.”

  He took my hand in his and pulled me away from the edge of the precipice. His hand was warm and strong. He led me south of the dig. We walked in silence until we found a flat, wide-open space. We’d be sure to see anyone approaching long before they were within earshot. I realized my hand was still in Lane’s even after we were long past the crew’s field of view. Oddly, it felt so natural that I hadn’t given it a second thought. I let go of his hand as we sat down on two relatively dry rocks. Lane looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

  I opened my mouth, and then realized I had no idea where to start.

  “You know how fictional detectives on TV always have their ‘ah-ha!’ moments,” I blurted out, “where everything clicks into place?”

  Lane waited for me to go on.

  “Where the detective does something like dipping her spoon into the sugar tray,” I said, “and the sugar sticks to the wet spoon, so she looks at the spoon and says ‘Ah ha! Of course!’ Because her subconscious has realized the fundamentally different way that things fit together when you do something differently.”

  “Jones,” he said. “I hate to break it to you, but those moments are there to create a neat and tidy solution for the viewer.”

  “I’m trying to explain something important. Didn’t you used to be a good listener? Just pretend I’m Fiona.”

  He was silent.

  I took a breath. “We’ve been looking at this whole thing in the wrong way.”

  “Oh!” Lane said, sounding interested for the first time during the conversation. “You found a clue in someone’s room?”

  “What? Oh! Yes. I mean no. I mean, I thought so. Knox had a Gregor Estate pamphlet in his room.”

  “So you were right after all,” Lane said. “I should have paid more attention while we were there. But we can go back—”

  “No, let me finish. He had a lot of random items. No one had any dastardly plans tacked up on their walls. My idea doesn’t have anything to do with something I found.”

  “Really? Then wouldn’t a better analogy be that the detective looked at a clock through a water glass and the time was backwards? That way it’s not a physical thing that has changed. Only her perception changed. The way she was looking at something.”

  “That’s quite clever,” I said through gritted teeth, “but right now I need you to be a little less pedantic. What I’m trying to say is that we’ve been assuming that the treasure Rupert is after is the same one you know about. But what if we misinterpreted his note? Or if he purposefully misled me to entice me here? It wasn’t as if there was much to go on. Remember, even though he’d been at the British Library for days, he hadn’t requested any information about the Mughals and their treasure. He was doing something else.

  “I don’t know what he’s been up to for the past year. For all I know, he could have been involved in all sorts of crazy schemes with Knox—the bracelet having been just one of them. What if his motive wasn’t to help him find some far-off Indian treasure? He wanted me to help him here. On this dig. When I saw him he kept talking about a treasure, but he didn’t say which treasure.

  “Think about what I told you he said to me on the train. He carefully omitted all references to what the treasure was. You weren’t there for the whole evening last night, so you didn’t see how Fergus and Angus reacted to me—”

  “I saw enough.”

  “Then you understand my point. The way Fergus reacted to me was especially spooky. He seriously believed I was a fairy, one they called a bean nighe, who brings death. At least for a little while. But even after that he told me all sorts of fairy legends. They seemed wary of the other members of the dig, though. Remember when you entered the pub, they scurried off to their own separate table?”

  “You think your ex wanted you to get Fergus and Angus to tell you the local legends that only they remember, leading him to a treasure.”

  “Exactly. Knox and Rupert had to have something specific to go on, something that would make them think there was real treasure here. Fiona was on this dig from the beginning, and she and Knox are going out. At least they were until you came along. Anyway, she could easily have told him about something that turned up at the dig. Looking down at the cave made me put it together. The cave would be a perfect place to bury a treasure. A folklore one and a real one. And did you notice how protective Knox was about not blocking off the cave?”

  I pulled my knees against my body. The wind was getting crisper.

  “That’s a compelling idea,” Lane said, “except that it’s so far-fetched that it doesn’t make sense.”

  “I knew it!” I said, standing up and jumping around to keep warm. “I knew you wouldn’t want to let go of your apocryphal Indian treasure that will make your career.”

  “This has to be about the Rajasthan Rubies.”

  I stopped jumping and stared at him across the heather. “What did you say?”

  “I was talking about the treasure.”

  My head spun as I realized what he was saying.

  “You lied to me!” I yelled. “You’ve known what it was this whole time. What else have you lied to me about?”

  Chapter 30

  “I didn’t lie to you,” Lane said.

  “You called the treasure the Rajasthan Rubies.” My voice shook as I spoke.

  “I’ve been thinking about the treasure so much that I had to start calling it something.”

  “You make up pet names for all the mysterious treasures you come across?” I tried to raise an eyebrow skeptically. It looked so easy when he did it. I found I wasn’t nearly as good. Especially when I was upset.

  “This isn’t just any treasure,” Lane said. “The state of Rajasthan has a lot of Mughal jewelry of Persian influence like this. It has a nice ring to it.”

  “The Rajasthan Rubies,” I repeated into the wind as I watched Lane. Did I believe him?

  “Your ruby artifact and this bigger ruby treasure have to be what this is about,” he said. “Your ex sent you a piece from the treasure that was clandestinely removed from a great Mughal court and hasn’t been seen in centuries.”

  “It sounds to me like you need to get a life,” I said, not quite sure I believed him, but not knowing what else to think. “You’re starting to use words like ‘clandestinely’ in conversation. How did a Mughal treasure end up here? It makes much more sense for Rupert to be after a Scottish treasure, since we’re in Scotland. But until we see Rupert again, we can’t confirm anything. It’s not like we can ask Knox outright, since not even Rupert trusted him. I need to find another way to talk to Knox.”

  “Even if I grant you your premise,” Lane said, “if Fergus and Angus knew the details of some local treasure, why wouldn’t they get it themselves?”

  “Maybe they don’t know some critical piece of information,” I suggested.

  “That your ex or Knox happened to stumble upon?”

  I paced briskly around the heather. It wasn’t nearly as bouncy as I had been led to believe.

  “I didn’t say I had everything figured out,” I said.

  “It’s possible,” Lane said, “but only in the grand sense that anything is possible, which renders any such assumption meaningless. More importantly, it doesn’t help us figure out who would want to kill your ex, or where any treasure is. You’re making me nervous, hoppi
ng around like that. Do you want my sweater?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  We stood there in silence for a few moments. Trust no one, Rupert had said.

  “There’s one more thing,” Lane said. “Even if the other holes in your theory don’t turn out to be actual problems, why would Knox and your ex risk their plan to excavate some part of the cave while a legitimate dig is going on nearby? This is only a summertime stint. Later they’d have the place to themselves and not have to work on the dig at the same time.”

  “Impatience?”

  Lane raised an eyebrow.

  “What?” I said. “It’s the start of a theory. I know there’s more to figure out. I’m going to try to talk to Fergus and Angus again this evening. We need to look at the alcove and cave as well.”

  “Not until nightfall, we don’t. We don’t know who will be suspicious if we do it during the day. You okay?”

  “I thought things were finally starting to make sense. Don’t you get the feeling that there’s something strange going on here? Mr. and Mrs. Black sense it. Fergus and Angus do, too. God, the atmosphere is even getting to me. I don’t want to tell you what I thought I saw on my walk over here.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

  The sun was almost overhead when we returned. I walked to the standing stone, careful with my steps around the sifted dirt. Now that some direct light was hitting the rock face, I could make out some of the carvings. They were definitely man-made, intentional markings.

  Derwin knelt next to me and spoke. “Remarkable, isn’t it?” His breath smelled sweet from the lingering aroma of a clove cigarette. He looked almost happy. “My research was key in helping Malcolm make this discovery.”

  “I’ll be sure to get good photos,” I said. “I liked what you said last night about making sure the easiest theory isn’t the accepted one just because it’s easy.”

  “Thank you,” he said stiffly.

  “Oh good,” Malcolm said, coming up behind me. “You’re showing her what she needs to photograph. The faded lines right here, with the arrows at the ends.”