“We haven’t got a proper photographer,” Malcolm said as Derwin slogged up the stairs with the heavy bags. “After what we’ve uncovered today, it would be brilliant to have one.”
“We’re happy to stay and help,” I said. “But I didn’t bring—”
Lane kicked my shin.
“Sorry, honey,” he said. “I slipped.” He turned back to Malcolm. “What have you found?”
“An inscribed Pictish stone that has been hidden for centuries,” Malcolm said as he led Lane to the large table. I rubbed my newly bruised shin.
I made my way to the bar and grabbed the Scotch whisky Mr. Black had poured me. This one lacked the flavorful rose-colored flecks, but had its own aromatic punch.
Knox sat down on a stool at the edge of the bar. I took my drink and sat down next to him.
His stomach bulged over the top of his jeans more than looked comfortable.
“You look good,” he said. A sad smile lingered on his face. “It’s good to see you again. Wish it was under other circumstances.”
“I think I’m in denial.”
“Rupert didn’t tell me he’d rung you up.”
“I don’t know why he got in touch. He said it was a surprise.” I should have rehearsed. It was one thing to make up a fictional story while it was a hypothetical exercise. Lying to an old friend was quite another.
“I thought it was an immature attempt to get me back,” I said, “which is why I took him up on it.” I pointed over at Lane. “My new boyfriend. Taller, richer. I wanted to rub it in Rupert’s nose. I figured Rupert’s invitation would give me a chance to surprise him with my successful life. I feel so bad, now that he’s....”
Knox sighed and nodded. He rested his dusty elbows on the bar and took a drink of his beer.
“The sad bastard,” Knox said. “Such a daft thing to have happened.”
“I guess it shouldn’t matter to me anymore,” I said, “but it does. Even though I hadn’t seen him in ages.”
The words were true. When I looked past my anger, which admittedly required digging deep, something was there. I wished I knew what. But I didn’t travel halfway across the world to sort out my confused feelings for an old boyfriend. I was here to find out who had tried to kill him and was now after me and the ruby treasure.
“What happened?” I asked.
“No idea. I never thought of him as a reckless driver, but I guess you never really know what’s going on with someone.”
“I didn’t even know Rupert was studying the Picts,” I said, watching for Knox’s reaction.
Knox squinted at me. “It’s a gig,” he said. “Basic pay for the summer. Not too bad.”
In spite of being caught plagiarizing, Knox wasn’t stupid. He had grand ideas that inspired Rupert and won Fiona as a girlfriend, and he’d gained admission to a good university. I suspected he had simply given up at some point after meeting the even more talented Fiona and Rupert. He couldn’t keep up with them. By the time I met Knox, he had already stopped trying.
“Fiona has a grant for the dig,” Knox said. “She arranged for us to come up.”
He took another long drink of his beer. I inhaled the scent wafting out from behind the bar. I was too hungry to concentrate. I hoped Mrs. Black was making something tasty and filling. Now that I knew Rupert was alive and I wanted to kill him myself, it wasn’t nearly as easy to focus.
“You and Fiona,” I said, “you’re back together?”
“What? Well, you know how it is.”
“Not really.”
Knox chugged some more beer. “We’re young, have to go see the world ‘n all.”
He licked a drop of beer off the rim of his glass. Knox was a puppy dog. Cuddly and with an eye for adventure, but never able to get anywhere without someone there to take care of him.
Douglas Black set down another pint in front of Knox, from which Knox immediately took a long swig. It wasn’t hard to see how he’d gotten into his present shape.
An eruption of laughter echoed from the table behind us. Derwin and Fiona had returned and joined Malcolm and Lane. The fire crackled in the background. Fergus and Angus had their heads together over their table. No one seemed to be paying any attention to me or Knox.
“I didn’t know you were still doing archaeological work,” I said.
“Rupert didn’t tell you?”
“We didn’t keep in touch.”
“No? I thought you two were still tight, from how he talked about you.”
“But he didn’t tell you why he invited me here?”
“Why would he tell me? I was only supposed to be his best mate.” Knox shrugged, his head sagging. “I’m doing as much as I can. I worked at an auction house in London for a while. Appraising is more lucrative than lecturing, you know. It wasn’t such a bad lot that I couldn’t lecture like Rupert. You’re teaching at a university in Los Angeles?”
“San Francisco.”
“San Francisco. Never been to California myself, you know. Fi and I might go on holiday there when we can. You like it there?”
“Never a dull moment.” I thought about nosy Nadia, my nearly-harmless stalker Miles, and Sanjay, who I really needed to call again before he contacted British authorities.
“We had some right fun that year you were here,” Knox said, bringing his hands to watery eyes. “Bloody sad bastard.”
I must have had a sentimental bone somewhere in my body, because I found myself about to confide in Knox. Not a good idea.
“What’s this big discovery here?” I asked.
He gave a start, but then recovered.
“Oh, today, you mean,” he said.
He wasn’t holding up his end of the secret very well. I needed to talk with him away from the others.
“We found one of the stones Professor Alpin was on about,” he said. “Another stone was found nearby. The professor guessed there’d be a cluster.”
“New Pictish standing stones,” I said. “That’s a big deal, isn’t it?”
Knox leaned toward me. His eyes were red.
“The old prof would be thrilled to fill you in,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sure he’ll tell you whatever I told you was wrong, anyway.”
“I don’t really care about the stones, you know. I was just asking to be—”
“I know, I know,” Knox said warily. “Since when are you one for pleasantries, Jaya? This has been a bloody awful week. I don’t want to think about Rupert or anything else anymore. Can’t you leave me to drink my pint in peace?”
Chapter 25
Knox sat with his head bowed over his drink at the bar as I joined the others.
Douglas Black emerged from behind the bar carrying hot plates of food. He served Fergus and Angus first, showing the proper respect for the old regulars, then came back with plates for the rest of us. When a steaming plate of meat pie with a side of carrots and buttery baked potatoes was set down in front of me, I found I was even hungrier than I thought.
Malcolm called over to Knox, “There’s room here at the other end of the table.”
“Ta,” Knox replied. “I’m all right.”
“Cheers, everyone,” Malcolm said, raising his glass.
I poured more than a generous serving of both brown sauce and vinegar onto my potato. Malcolm was too polite to comment. Fiona wrinkled her nose.
“I was explaining,” Malcolm said between bites of food, “that we’re short-staffed this summer. I wasn’t able to acquire as much of a grant as this work deserves. My theories aren’t what you’d call mainstream. Locating this site through the discovery of a first stone wasn’t enough. I have some detractors in high places.”
“He thinks the Picts weren’t Celts,” Lane said, as if this was supposed to mean something to me.
“But the debate is far from settled!” Malcolm’s eyes grew wide as he spoke.
Derwin nodded along with him, his Adam’s apple bulging alarmingly. No wonder the locals were creeped out by this group.
“The professor is being sarcastic,” Derwin said. “The Picts—or ‘picti,’ the painted people, as the Romans described them—aren’t mysterious at all. Not in the most commonly used form of the word. Not like the Druids.”
He laughed at his own joke. At least I think it was a joke.
“The mystery,” he said, ignoring his food, “is because we haven’t yet come to understand their system of communication.”
“Much of the history of the region hasn’t yet been pieced together,” Malcolm said. “In the ninth century, Kenneth MacAlpine united the Picts and the Scots to form Scotland, but before that the details of the Picts have been harder to piece together based on lack of written records. All we have is the stones. But so far, they’ve defied deciphering.”
“Conventional wisdom,” said Derwin, “has the Picts as Celtic peoples, but there isn’t any conclusive evidence to support that claim. It’s purely backwards reasoning: ‘The Picts put Celtic crosses on their stones once they were converted to Christianity in the fifth century, ergo they were originally Celts’.”
I smiled at Derwin. Maybe he was my kind of scholar after all.
“Malcolm already has some evidence to support his theory,” Fiona said, startling Derwin. Her translucent eyes were ghostly in the firelight, commanding the attention of the group.
“The Picts had a matrilineal society,” she said. “The familial line was passed down from the mother instead of the father. But there’s still not nearly enough known to be able to say much.”
Malcolm looked at her fondly. “That’s why discovering more stones is so important,” he said. “Fiona joined my team even after I was slandered by my enemies.”
“The professor,” Derwin said, “has discovered this site of heretofore undiscovered symbol stones. He’s working on a paper on the subject at St. Andrews, which I will be coauthoring after our discoveries this summer.”
The fire flickered as a gust of wind circled the inn and crept into the fireplace. Conversation broke off as we all turned to watch the amber flames dance up into the stone chimney. Everyone except for Fiona. Her gaze was fixed on Lane.
Derwin stood up and stretched his long legs. He walked over to the fire, leaving his nearly untouched dinner behind. He stooped to warm his hands in front of the flames.
“It’s a class-one symbol stone,” he said. “It might even contain some new pictographic classifications—”
“Not likely,” said Fiona.
“These class-one symbol stones,” Derwin continued as if Fiona hadn’t spoken, “are most important to identifying the origins of the Picts. They’re the earliest carvings, and they don’t yet have any Celtic additions to them to confuse things.”
“I’m lucky Derwin turned to Scottish archaeology after studying geology as an undergraduate,” Malcolm said. “He’s been doing some fascinating research for his doctorate on P-Celtic versus Q-Celtic languages.”
My eyes glazed over. I doubted it was from the strong Scotch whisky. I watched Knox’s chubby fingers raise the pint glass to his lips yet again, drowning his sorrows at the bar. It was difficult to imagine him trying to kill his friend.
Unless it wasn’t sorrow that was eating him up. Could it be guilt?
The quiet Angus looked out over his glass and caught my eye. The talkative group didn’t seem to miss my company as I left to sit with the regulars. Angus pulled up a chair for me while Fergus scowled at the crew.
“What is it you don’t approve of?” I asked.
“Who’d give a toss about the Picts,” Fergus said, “when there’s real history to be found.”
“Fairy history?” I asked.
“The Tuatha De Danann,” he whispered.
Angus nodded silently.
“From the clouds they came,” Fergus said, “driven underground by the mortals to the sidh.” He pronounced the word ‘shee.’
“Fayrie mounds,” Angus translated. “Hills where fayries dwell.”
“The lass must know what a sidh is, Angus,” Fergus said, shaking his head in exasperation.
For the time it took them to finish their drinks, they recounted several more fairy stories for me. Then Fergus removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and Angus extracted a pipe. It was time for their walk home, they said.
Lane was no longer in the room. Neither was Fiona. I figured Lane might have been outside smoking, but I didn’t remember Fiona to have been a smoker.
Knox had joined the rest of the crew. He, Malcolm, and Derwin sat around the table with their heads together, debating about how to remove the stone from the earth.
Malcolm got up from the table, pausing by the hearth. He rested his arm against the mantle, near the stone gargoyle.
“Brilliant day,” he said. He tilted his head to me before heading up the stairs.
“Night, Jaya,” Knox mumbled, and followed Malcolm.
“It’s quite late,” Derwin said after Malcolm and Knox were out of sight. “I’m surprised the professor indulged in this late-night merriment.”
Derwin’s vocabulary was from another era. Not to mention his name. I felt a twinge of pity. I imagined he was someone who would have felt more at home had he been born at another time. In the dim light of the fire, his pinched features were full of sorrow. Perhaps he wished he had lived before the grand halls of the nearby Dunnottar Castle had turned to rubble.
“From what you’ve told us about the discovery,” I said, “it sounds like you deserve to celebrate.”
“But the professor takes his digs very seriously,” Derwin said quietly, staring into the fire. Was that fear on his face?
An uneasy feeling entered my mind. Before the thought could fully form, Fiona walked through the door of the pub. She walked up the stairs without pausing to acknowledge me or Derwin.
I was about to ask Derwin if he was all right, when Douglas Black emerged from behind the bar to clean up. He whistled as he began to stack up the chairs.
“Coming up?” I asked Derwin.
He shook his head, still looking at the fire.
“When the fire goes out,” he said.
At the top of the stairs, I opened the door to my room as quietly as I could. I needn’t have bothered. It was empty.
Lane had fixed the rattling window. A towel was snugly fitted along the bottom, and I didn’t hear any rattling. I didn’t hear anything at all.
I put my ear to the door. Something creaked softly. I couldn’t tell if it was a door, let alone which one.
I sat down on the bed and pulled out my phone. Sanjay had left me two voicemail messages and three texts.
“Bad timing,” Sanjay said as soon as he picked up the phone. “I was expecting you to call ages ago. I’m practicing the snake charmer basket now. You know that one requires a lot of concentration.”
“You want me to call you later?” I asked.
“Of course not. Just give me two seconds.”
I heard a hissing that I hoped wasn’t coming from a real snake.
“Okay,” Sanjay said. “I’m all yours.”
“We’re safely in Scotland.”
“We? Who’s we?”
I really needed to start writing down what I was going to say to everyone so I could keep things straight. How would I explain Lane to Sanjay?
“I mean we the crew of the dig,” I said. “What else would I mean?”
“Why didn’t you tell me Nadia didn’t know what was going on?”
“You told Nadia about the ruby? Why were you even at the house?”
“I wasn’t,” Sanjay said. “She called me.”
“But she hates you.”
“She hates me? You told me she hated magicians in general because we deceive people.”
“That’s what I meant.” I hoped I sounded convincing. “Why did she call you?”
“She was worried you were traumatized by the burglary. You didn’t tell me the burglar was violent
and knocked her down.”
I managed to convince Sanjay I wasn’t in imminent danger, and he agreed to go back to practicing his new act.
For once in my life, I couldn’t get to sleep right away. Between the mess I’d left back home, the tension seeping through the walls of the inn, and the wind whistling outside, I didn’t know what to do.
My last waking thought that night was that Lane had still not returned.
Chapter 26
I awoke in the morning to a faint light streaming in through the window. Lane was asleep on the floor next to the bed. His glasses were on the windowsill. I had a completely unobstructed view of his face. His dark blond hair was brushed back, revealing his prominent cheekbones and the deep-set cheeks beneath. He breathed silently through his nose. His long eyelashes were a shade darker than the sandy hair on his head. They fluttered slightly as if he was dreaming. He looked so peaceful that I closed my eyes again.
I woke up for a second time to find Lane standing next to the bed. He was fully dressed, and back to wearing his glasses with his hair tumbling over his face. It took me a moment to remember he had disappeared the night before.
“Where did you go last night?” I asked. “And I’m a photographer now?”
“I was trying to solve this mystery,” he said.
I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair to pull the tangles from my face.
“That’s your excuse for spending the evening off somewhere with Fiona?” I said. “And you didn’t answer my second question.”
“I thought it was obvious. You heard that they need a photographer. I overheard them say as much. Malcolm is serious about his work. He might not have been so keen on letting you tag along on this dig without some function. The rest of them are archaeologists, and I’ve at least had some archaeological training.”
“My camera’s broken.”
“I have one you can use.”
“You—” I stopped myself. It’s too bad I hadn’t stuck with yoga. I really could have used the breathing techniques to keep me calm in the midst of Lane’s vexing ideas.
Artifact (A Jaya Jones Treasure Hunt Mystery) Page 13