Artifact (18 page)

I didn’t think I had made any noise. Even if I had, the echo of the sea was more powerful than the sound of my rubber-soled footsteps. But there was a problem with my shoes. The heel of my boots wouldn’t even garner a mild yelp when they made contact with the top of a foot. If I was careful, I could back out of the cave without being heard. I fished through my bag, searching for something that could act as a weapon, if it came to that.

I still had Lane’s Swiss army knife. In spite of its many gadgets, I doubted the blade was sharp enough to cut anything firmer than a slice of cheese. At least it was something. I opened the blade, firmly planting the base of the knife in my palm. As quietly as I could, I crept back the way I’d come.

My mind raced as I retraced my steps to the front of the cave. Whoever was in the cave must have taken the path from the dig to beat me there. But how had they gotten away from the rest of the crew?

Even though my heart was pounding and my hand sweating as I gripped the knife, I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t see who was in the cave. I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

I rounded the corner of the cavern with knife in hand. There she was.

Not someone from the dig. Not a mysterious offstage villain who had tried to kill Rupert. Not even a group of drunken teenagers. It was the sea.

A small, second opening in the rock face hadn’t been visible from above or via my approach. It wasn’t as big as the one I had come through, but big enough to allow in natural light. The clouds above were blowing by so quickly that the sun poked out for only moments at a time, creating the effect of flickering light.

This second door-like gap opened up directly onto the ocean. Shoving the knife back into my bag with shaking hands, I stepped onto the rocks.

The view was stunning. The sea crashed before me, filling my nostrils with the scent of salt, and spraying droplets of foam onto my face. Not a soul was in view. I might have stayed there longer had it not been so bitterly cold.

I stepped back into the cavern and spotted the crushed beer cans Derwin had mentioned. They were rusted with age. It didn’t look like any teenagers had been there in years. Why had he been worried?

Patches of dirt and weeds covered the cave floor. The room was damp from ocean spray and rain. I felt a sudden urge to sneeze. I stifled it, still wary of company. Although the sea had tricked me, she had reminded me to stay on guard. Unlike the calm sea of Goa, this was a fierce body of water. If I were to fall—or be thrown—into the deep water, I knew I would not set foot on land again.

The cave consisted of two rooms, if you could call them that. I pulled out my key-ring flashlight and magnifying glass, and examined the walls. It had been worth lugging the piece of glass around.

Passing the beam of light over the wall of the larger room, I saw that part of the rock formed a smooth, bench-like seat. No wonder underage kids liked this place. I looked back at the rusty beer cans strewn opposite the natural bench.

I sat down on the rock seat and leaned back. The vertical part wasn’t as smooth, and a pointy rock kept me from leaning back.

But not before I noticed that the pointy rock moved.

I half expected someone to jump out from behind the rock. They didn’t. The rock had moved under my weight.

I turned and shone my flashlight on the edges of the large boulder. Someone had placed the large rock there. I rolled the rock aside and pointed the beam of my flashlight inside the hole. The opening led upwards. It was impossible to tell how far it stretched, but it was clear that no one could fit into this hole and climb up. I shone the light upward. That’s when I saw the marks.

Someone had been digging in the cave.

Moss covered the rock, making it clear where someone had hacked into it. For the next few minutes I searched the cave carefully with my flashlight and magnifying glass. There was no pattern to the digging except for that the marks were in hidden, out-of-the-way corners. After one last sweep with the beam of my flashlight, I rolled the rock back into place.

As I stepped out onto the sand, a flash of blinding light struck my eyes. The sensation was unnerving, like a camera flash had just gone off. But there wasn’t anyone else around. It must have been my imagination. After all, the cave had been dark compared to the bright sky outside. My eyes adjusted quickly, and I hurried back to the main path. The castle ruins loomed ahead as I ran. I didn’t stop running until I was back on high ground.

I found Fiona and Malcolm in a heated discussion, both too caught up to notice me.

“It’s a beastie,” Fiona was saying.

“No,” Malcolm said, “it’s a fish—”

“Just because we’re on the coast doesn’t mean—”

“Regardless, that’s the least important part,” Malcolm said. “The lines in between the images—they’re new symbolic shapes to supplement the V and the Z rods! It’s an entirely new addition to their alphabet.”

Derwin and Knox were a short distance away, but the discussion pulled them closer. I didn’t see Lane.

“Mmm,” said Derwin. “I see what you mean, professor.”

Fiona squinted at the stone.

“I’m really not sure,” Knox said.

“You aren’t a Pictish scholar,” Derwin said.

“I can spot natural damage to a rock—”

“Jaya!” Malcolm said, noticing me at last. He tipped his hat to me in greeting. “You must document this before we cover it for the day. I know the light isn’t perfect right now, but Fiona won’t have time to make a proper sketch before tomorrow, and I want to be sure to capture this stage. We might even be able to get our best reading of the rocks through the photographs. Sometimes changing the contrast reveals hidden features not visible under natural light.”

I photographed the newly uncovered section of the stone and was able to make out some of the shapes that Malcolm was talking about. In spite of the tarp, dirt had turned to mud in some of the carvings.

“Can someone clear this out?” I asked.

Knox was the closest. I was surprised it hadn’t been Derwin. Knox brought a brush and started sweeping out the mud.

“Not that brush!” a voice bellowed. It was Malcolm, though I wouldn’t have recognized his voice if I hadn’t seen that it came from his mouth.

“You
idiot
, how many times have I gone over the procedure for using the proper instruments!”

“Sorry, professor,” Knox mumbled, looking around for a proper brush.

The color that had flushed Malcolm’s checks returned to normal. “It’s important to never use inappropriate tools for our work,” he explained calmly. “I make sure each of the tools I bring to a project is suited to its task, to preserve our findings.”

Knox cleared the dirt with a brush that looked nearly identical to the previous one. I snapped a few photos. Lane reappeared as I was finishing.

“We have to talk,” I whispered.

“Now?”

“That would be good.”

He slipped his hand around my waist. Suddenly, I felt myself falling.

Together we fell into a sloppy mess of mud created by the afternoon’s rainfall. There was a splash as we hit the ground.

“Nice one,” Knox said. Fiona stood next to him, stifling a laugh.

“You all right?” Malcolm asked, jogging up to us.

“Do you require assistance?” Derwin asked from a distance.

“I’m fine,” I said. I set about disentangling myself from Lane and the weeds.

“I think we need to go back to the inn to change, though,” Lane added. “We’re awfully wet.”

“Did you really have to do that?” I asked.

Lane and I were back in our cramped room. He insisted on waiting until we were here, behind thick walls, to have our big talk.

“It gave us an excuse to disappear together,” he said. “I’ll wash your clothes if you want.”

“Turn around,” I said.

“Why? Oh.”

He turned and faced the window, and I left my clothes in a heap on the floor and pulled on some new ones.

“Couldn’t you have just said you couldn’t resist temptation any longer, and were taking me back to the room to ravish me?” I pulled his arm to turn him back around.

“The thought did occur to me,” he said. He stood so close I could feel his breath. He didn’t have much choice in the few feet of free space.

“Hey,” I said, pulling my gaze from his. “How come only your pants got dirty?”

“Trousers, you mean. These Brits will think you have a filthy mouth if you talk like that in public.”

“Fine, your
trousers
are muddy. How did you manage to spare your jumper?”

“Very nice,” he said, with the hint of a suppressed smile on his lips. “I was the one who planned the fall. Now what was so urgent that I had to get muddy?”

“Someone has been digging up the cave,” I said.

“I thought you must have found something,” Lane said. “You were gone quite a while.”

I swore.

“What?”

“If you knew where I was going, then someone else might’ve noticed as well. Do you think anyone guessed what I was doing?”

“If one of them is our guy, I’m sure he suspected something,” Lane said. “But our guy’s got to be suspicious of us already, regardless of where you went this afternoon.”

“Or girl,” I pointed out. “Although you seem to have forgotten, Fiona is high up on our list of suspects. She knows something.”

“Tell me about the cave.”

I told him about the digging, ending with how I wanted to be back at the bar before the dig crew returned so I could talk with Fergus and Angus alone.

“Good idea,” he said, “but you know you won’t really be alone. Every bar has a bartender, and every bartender has ears and eyes.”

“Mr. Black?” I said, astonished. “You can’t possibly think he…. Can you?”

A smile spread across Lane’s whole face. It lit up the mixture of colors in his hazel eyes, which at the moment picked up the green from his sweater.

“Why are you smiling?”

“The way your mind works,” Lane said in a soft voice. “I didn’t think…. You’re so cynical about your profession and people, but....”

“But what?”

“You’re innocent.”

I stared at him. “Douglas Black is not a murderer. Not because I’m naïve—which I’m not. He has no motive. It’s not in his character. I’m only being sensible. Logically, it doesn’t add up—”

“If you were as hardened by the world as you pretend to be,” he said, “you wouldn’t believe in character. You’d suspect everyone.”

“Right. Whatever. I have to go meet Fergus and Angus. I hope Mr. Black has some bar snacks I can eat before dinner.” I paused in the doorway on my way out. “There’s a travel-size packet of laundry detergent in the front pocket of my backpack. You can wash my clothes in the bathroom sink.”

When I arrived downstairs, the pub was cold and deserted.

“Mr. Black?” I called out.

He emerged from the back, whistling an ethereal tune. I ordered a scotch and a bag of chips. He poured the Scotch and was kind enough to start a fire in the fireplace early. After I assured him I was fine, he left me with my drink and the salty snack.

I felt better once Mr. Black was gone. I didn’t think he was involved in anything sinister, yet I hadn’t completely dismissed what Lane had said.

I tapped out a raga with my fingers on the wooden bar. Not quite the same as my drums, but I do love the way different materials feel to my fingertips and the varied sounds they create. This bar here wasn’t as resonant as the skins of my tabla, but I liked the gentle, earthy patter I heard when I closed my eyes. I was much calmer when Fergus and Angus came through the door shortly after five o’clock.

“The wee lass,” Fergus said, stopping as soon as he came through the door.

“Miss Jones,” said Angus. He scratched his beard and sauntered over to the bar.

“It’s my turn to buy you a drink,” I said.

“Ach, no,” Angus said.

“Why not, Angus?” Fergus said. “She’s nae the
bean nighe
. I looked it up.”

“You looked it up?” I asked.

“On the
In-ter-net
,” he said, enunciating the syllables. “Angus was right. She’ll nae be appearin’ at half five.”

Douglas Black appeared at the bar. “Right on time.” He chuckled and poured them drinks without waiting for an order.

I followed Fergus and Angus to a table, and waited until Mr. Black disappeared to the back before I spoke.

“I wanted to ask you about some of those local legends you mentioned,” I said.

“Ach, my fayrie ring, Angus, she wants to hear. Ye’ve got to look fer the thorn trees—”

“You’d be meaning the Tuatha De?” Angus asked.

“You said the archaeologists were digging for the wrong thing,” I said.

“You dunnae want to be stealin’ the treasure o’ the fayries,” Fergus said. “They’ll curse ye.”

“I don’t want to steal it,” I said. “I want to know about it.”

“She’s a trustworthy one, Fergus.”

“Ach, Angus, ye’d be blabbin’ treasures to all the lasses if I’d let ye. Never keepin’ yer yap shut. I suppose there’s no harm in telling ye, as ye will nae find it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Fayrie treasure must reveal itself to ye,” Angus explained. “Ye cannae see what they dunnae want ye to see.”

“Unless I’m one of them.”

“Ach, did ye hear, Angus?” Fergus’s gray eyes grew large and his eyebrows shot up.

“I was joking,” I said, laughing. “I didn’t think you still thought I was a fairy.”

Angus was already chuckling.

“I dunnae ken,” Fergus said, shaking his head.

“I can tell the lass,” Angus said.

“I suspected it,” Fergus grumbled. “First opportunity ye goes ‘n blabs it.”

“We told ye about the Tuatha de Danann,” Angus said, “who came from the clouds before the Picts ‘n all the rest o’ the inhabitants o’ Scotland ‘n Ireland.”

I nodded.

“Lug’s Spear is buried ‘round these parts.”

“Lug’s Spear?”

“He who held it could not be defeated in battle.”

“Ye left out the bits about the battle,” Fergus said, his eyes widening wildly under his bushy eyebrows as if he was about to go into battle himself.

“Doesnae matter, Fergus.”

“Ach.”

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Ye cannae see it!” Fergus cried out in exasperation. “Only a fayrie—”

“If I could.”

“If ye could,” Fergus said, “ye wouldnae need to ask. But I’ll tell ye, because ye cannae.”

The ragged skin on his nose gave a twitch. His wild eyes darted around the room. Satisfied that we were alone, he spoke three words: “In the sea.”

Out of nowhere, a burst of cold sea air whipped around us. Safely tucked inside the cozy pub, it was as if the phantom wind had appeared in response to the revelation. The fire flared up and crackled violently.

Angus was the only one who kept his head. Fergus’ large white brows raised higher on his forehead in horror than when he first saw me. His wrinkled hands gripped the arms of his chair. I jumped in my seat, wondering if I might see anything appear out of the angrily hissing fire. Angus turned his head calmly toward the door.

“Ach,” he said, shaking his head. “They dunnae ken to wait until the wind has passed before openin’ the door.”

“Sorry about that,” Malcolm called out from the doorway. “I didn’t expect such a big gust to follow me in.”