Artifact (16 page)

Another sound followed from the hallway. Someone was definitely right outside the room. I must have taken longer than I meant to. Time flies when breaking and entering.

I scanned the room for a place to hide. In these small rooms, the only place remotely big enough was under the bed. A quick look told me the area was filthy enough that I would have needed a tetanus shot after hiding there. Although that presumably meant Mrs. Black wouldn’t be cleaning under the bed, I didn’t have the desire to give myself tetanus.

I looked under the bed one last time before it occurred to me that I was looking at this all wrong. Mrs. Black wouldn’t be looking at Fiona’s door as she cleaned the bathroom. I could simply step out into the hallway. I only had to act as if I was coming out of my own room.

I slipped out quickly and closed the door loudly. I waited a few seconds, then walked down the hall.

“Good morning dear,” Mrs. Black said cheerily as I walked by. “Let me make you some breakfast.”

In spite of my protests, she insisted on stopping her work and bringing me down to the kitchen. She wanted to give me a full breakfast, but I insisted that eggs and toast would be fine. She put a hot cup of tea in my hands. I took a sip, and the liquid nearly came out my nose.

“What the—?”

“It’s thistle,” Mrs. Black said. “It’s good for the body.”

“This is what you regularly serve since you’re the Fog & Thistle Inn?” I looked into the cup. Sure enough, it was a real thistle, not a flower-infused tea bag.

“Oh, no.” She laughed. “I’ve got a box of Tetley’s. Thistle rejuvenates the body. Your gent said you were feeling unwell.”

I put my nose over the steaming cup and breathed in. It smelled more potent than black tea. Never one to turn down anything potent, I tried another sip. It wasn’t half bad when you were expecting it. Maybe this was what kept her and her husband young. Like her husband, Mrs. Black didn’t look nearly as old as she must have been. Her round shape made her hobble slightly when she walked, but her face was youthful. Deep, dark blue eyes similar to Angus’ dominated her face.

“This stuff is really good,” I said after taking another sip. It was bitter and sweet and sour and salty all at the same time. This was my kind of drink.

“I know, dear. Drink up.”

Mrs. Black placed a plate of runny fried eggs and a rack of toast in front of me and sat down on the chair across from mine.

“That’s a nice gent you’ve got there,” she said, as I scooped up some eggs. “I’m not sure about the others.”

I stopped in mid-scoop.

“This group,” Mrs. Black said. “They’re not like guests we’ve had before.”

“Have some of them been doing something disturbing? Something secretive?”

“I didnae mean to speak ill of the lot of them,” Mrs. Black said, straightening her skirt even though it was already perfectly straight.

“It’s all right. We’re not close.”

“Well….”

“Yes?”

“You’ll not be knowin’ about the local parts, but…” She paused and looked around, poking her head out of the kitchen before continuing. “My husband Dougie is none too pleased when I think there’s something to the history o’ these parts. ‘Round the bend, right off the path to where those archaeologists are working, you’ll be passing a fairy mound.”

She looked at me expectantly.

“
Dunnae ye see
? That could explain the lot of it! The strange behavior. The creaking during the night.”

“You saw a crew member sneaking around at night?” I asked. “Who—”

“The lot of ‘em. They all went by the mound. It’s close to Lammastide, when the fayrie power is strongest. It can drive ye mad.”

“Something happened?”

“I’ll tell ye,” she said, her dark eyes boring into mine, “somethin’ isnae right. Ach! Yer eggs’ll get cold if you don’t eat up.”

“But you were saying—”

“Aye. I was sayin’ ye’ll want to take the long way round to the stones. Ye dunnae want to be settin’ foot on a fairy mound.”

I couldn’t see the ocean as I set out on the path, but I could smell it. It was different from the smell of the Pacific Ocean in San Francisco, with the thick salty sensation blowing by with the fog, or the Arabian Sea along the coast of Goa, with its fruity scents wafting by in the warm breeze. Here along these remote cliffs was the crisp scent of untouched northern wind.

I wasn’t sure exactly what I had expected—rolling fields of heather, dramatic Celtic crosses atop each hill, sheep running up to greet me—but none of those movie-studio realities came to pass. The winding dirt path led through a plain grassy field that was adjoined by numerous other grassy fields like the ones I passed on the train. Up close, the field had more mud and weeds than the far-off green fields the speeding train had suggested. I came upon a fence in the midst of the path, which had steps to assist people climbing over the barrier meant to keep animals in their place. A solitary sheep wandered along beside the fence, methodically chewing some weeds and looking singularly uninterested in my presence.

Past the sheep, the grassy land rose into a small hill. The fairy mound Mrs. Black had mentioned.

I walked around the sheep toward the mound. Enough people had warned me against it. What else could I do?

As I walked closer to the small hill, the sheep started baa-ing loudly. The sound was much louder than I expected. It stopped me in my tracks.

I took another step and the bleating grew louder again. Surely it was a coincidence. Or perhaps the sheep was domesticated and wanted some company. I turned and looked at it. The sheep stared back at me, calmly chewing some grass. I continued walking. The sheep’s bleats began again. I didn’t look back, but the sound followed me up the gentle incline.

I circled the mound more quickly than I might otherwise have done. It was a small, grassy hill. Nothing much distinctive about it.

Nothing except for a lone thorn tree at the top.

Back on the path, a burst of wind from the sea hit me as I reached the edge of the land. I stood high above the water, watching the frothy waves crash. The coastline below ran straight for a ways before curving outwards a mile or so to the north. I took out the camera and looked through its zoom lens. Small buildings in the distance came into focus. The landmass poking out into the sea held the ruins of Dunnottar castle. In the opposite direction, the inn was already out of sight, obscured by a slight slope in the land beyond a fence I had passed.

The path continued north toward the castle, but I turned south, following my directions. The wind was strong. If not for the fact that the current of air came from the sea rather than toward it, this coastal hike would have been a much more dangerous endeavor. With the natural curves and drops in the land it was necessary to pay close attention or risk spraining an ankle. Mr. Black’s warning wasn’t for naught.

Though the walkable grassy land ended abruptly, the drop-off to the sea wasn’t sheer at all points. I passed a steep path heading down to a small alcove, next to some rocks stretching back up to high ground. Mixed with the sound of crashing waves, I heard faint voices. Following the voices, I spotted the top of another lone tree in the barren landscape. As its gnarled trunk came into view, so did the dig and crew.

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.