The Medusa Stone (Order of the Black Sun Book 12)

by P. W. Child

  Suddenly, the woman in black reared her head like a cobra, awaiting Heidmann’s response. It started his sensibilities somewhat that she seemed adamant on learning the location of his collection. Maybe he was just intimidated by her obviously superior resources.

  ‘Stop being so bloody paranoid, you idiot,’ he told himself. ‘They do not know where you got it from. For all they know, you bought the pieces over the course of your career. This is no time to falter.’

  “I hope to bring some of the lesser-known statues and plaques from my warehouse in Cornwall,” Dr. Heidmann smiled. He was stoked to be able to show the remarkable pieces in his possession to the world and get exclusive coverage via the public relations office of Prof. Barry’s department.

  “That can be done,” Purdue affirmed.

  Dr. Heidmann liked Dave Purdue’s positive expression. Funding looked good for his exhibit, but he was not one to count his chickens. Both women were looking through his proposals and pictures of the obscure statues he spoke of. It was uncanny how they differed in appearance. One was of Greek origin, the other British. One wore black clothes and had dark, hard features against the other’s fair complexion, light green eyes and light brown hair, wearing an impeccably neat red suit.

  Purdue noticed the way in which Dr. Heidmann regarded the two ladies.

  “Stark contrast, are they not?” he sniggered, thoroughly enjoying the bewildered Dr. Heidmann’s reaction.

  “Uh, yes,” he jumped. “It is just so…”

  “Obvious, impossible to miss, I’d say,” the billionaire agreed.

  Soula looked up from the high definition pictures, once more staring Dr. Heidmann into an uncomfortable state. She waited a few moments before addressing him, just to watch him squirm under her scrutiny. He was very anxious, one thing she did not like about him, but she was not in charge here.

  “Dr. Heidmann,” she said in her authoritarian tone. “Do you have authentication…provenances…for these unknown pieces?” she finally asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. Fidikos. For those that do not have provenances already, there are certified authenticity records based on isotopic analyses performed to determine their age and origin,” he answered, interlocking his fingers in a restful gesture upon the desk.

  It denoted an aura of professionalism, not to mention a welcome tranquility he realized was much needed to persuade them. Purdue noticed that Soula was unusually enthralled by the photographs, almost as if she was not familiar with them. The latter was virtually impossible as Soula Fidikos was one of the world’s leading traders in antiquity, an expert of the highest order. There was hardly ever any piece, prominent artist, era or method she had no knowledge of, especially in Greek art. After all, she was predominantly Greek, with an unbroken bloodline rooted in many of the Mediterranean countries.

  Purdue pulled her aside when Dr. Barry and Dr. Heidmann went to replenish their beverages.

  “You look off kilter, dear Soula,” Purdue said under his breath. “Pray tell?”

  She took her time in responding, first looking up at Purdue with a twinge of defeated confusion. Scowling, she sighed in frustration.

  “I am not sure, Dave. Something bothers me about those sculptures – the unknown ones,” she started, but her thoughts seemed to dwell away from her mouth.

  “Do you think they are frauds?” he asked.

  “I have no idea,” she replied. It was clear that she was uncertain about their authenticity. “I am not saying they are not legitimate antiques, but…”

  “But what? You have me holding my breath here, old girl,” he urged her. “If there is even the slightest chance that he is playing us then I am not financing this exhibition, even knowing how desperately you want your heritage and history resurrected. You know that.”

  “I know, Dave,” she moaned. “Look, if he had records of authenticity, we cannot fault him. All I am saying is that I usually question works I have personally never heard of.” Soula shrugged, “It could just be my pride getting in the way because I pride myself on being the authority on Greek Art and here comes an unknown academic who knows of, and owns, precious artifacts I had no knowledge of.”

  “It is not that ludicrous that you would feel that way,” Purdue agreed. “I mean, I would feel the same way if someone suddenly introduced me to next level technology, devised from methods I had never employed myself. But apart from that, I need to know if I am at risk of donating to a lost cause, Soula.”

  “No, I think it is absolutely lucrative. I am just taken aback that I do not know these pieces. Nonetheless, you know that is no reason to simply refute their authenticity. I can assure you, the paperwork is genuine,” she confirmed, and that was all Dave Purdue needed to hear.

  Returning to the meeting, all four parties discussed the details of setting up the exhibit deadline and clarified all the dates to facilitate the upcoming showing. Dr. Heidmann was ecstatic. For too long, had he waited and wished he could share the beauty of his own collection, now coming to fruition. He just prayed that nobody would ever discover where he had procured his precious artifacts from.

  Chapter 3

  Basking in the soothing security of the bright Edinburgh morning, a still unnerved Abbie dragged two of her college friends to the place where she had her unsettling experience in the early hours of Sunday. The reluctant pair trailed Abbie’s uncharacteristically quiet lead. Typically she would be babbling on and on like a stuck record about everything and everyone, but now she was focused and apprehensive.

  “Abs, we believe you. We do not have to go all the way there, you know? You don’t have to prove anything to us,” Jessica assured her friend. She was secretly ashamed that she had abandoned Abbie’s hunting party and left her friend to her own defenses. Had she stayed, at least she would have known what could possibly have pushed Abbie into such a frenzied state by the time she made it back to the hostel.

  “I am not doing this to prove anything, really, Jess. I just need to see if I was mistaken about what I saw,” Abbie explained.

  “Mistaken about what?” Sarah asked. She was a mutual friend who found herself in the unfortunate position of being free for the day and was subsequently trapped into accompanying them.

  “About what I saw,” Abbie snapped impatiently.

  “So we are looking for a statue?” Jessica asked while looking to Sarah for reinforcement.

  “I am telling you; there were just four bloody gravestones when I got there. Well, before I hid. After the shit had stricken the fan I came out…” she hesitated from the memory that still frightened her to death, “…I came out…and there was a life-sized cement statue of a man in unbelievable detail. I swear to God!”

  “Wait,” Sarah frowned, “he just appeared there from nowhere? That’s fucking ridiculous by any standards.”

  Abbie turned before Jessica could gesture to Sarah not to pick that scab, staring her dead in the eyes. “I know, idiot. That is precisely what freaked me the fuck out and why I have to go and see what really happened. I was not that drunk!”

  Sarah cringed at Abbie’s harsh words, but she had promised Jessica that she would come. They crossed the street to the entrance of Greyfriars graveyard. Abbie could not jog fast enough to the site.

  “Are you sure you know where exactly it was?” Jessica asked as she tried to keep up. “God, I always wear the worst shoes.”

  “Aye, I remember the precise spot. That tree over there,” she cried, pointing to the big oak just short of the four plain headstones. As she approached with a thundering heart, she quickly realized that the effigy was missing. Its 5”10’ stature would have stood out prominently among the stones, none higher than four ft. in height.

  Abbie stopped abruptly. With her arms hanging limply by her sides, she scanned the place, looking utterly distraught. Her friends caught up with her shortly after, panting and planting their hands on their hips where that despicable sting reminded them that they were far from fit anymore. When they caught their breath, they also looked abo
ut for what Abbie had described, but by the lack of evidence, they had to concede that she must have imagined it in her intoxicated condition.

  “This is impossible,” she gasped, cheeks flushed. “It was standing right there in the middle of that section. I was standing right here!” She persisted in her tale, even though there was no proof. Her friends knew that nothing had ever had the power to capture Abbie’s attention for longer than five minutes, let alone have her hanging on like a pit-bull on a burglar’s nuts.

  “Alright, look, this place is huge. Let’s just keep walking and see if we can see it further on,” Sarah suggested, trying to sound helpful and hoping to sound like she was interested. Abbie gave her a hard look.

  “I was right fucking here, Sarah!” she yelled now. “It was right there! Right there!”

  Jessica was slowly pacing the area just to make her friend feel better. But where Abbie was pointing her resolute hand Jessica stopped. Her face was fraught with amazement.

  “Babe, you might want to see this,” she told Abbie. Her face revealed what her mouth did not disclose, prompting Abbie to sprint to her side.

  “Holy shit! I told you! I told you!” she squealed. The three girls stood around the patch of bruised grass, flattened by something extremely heavy that was now gone, fashioned in the perfect shape of two footprints. At the edges, the dark soil penetrated the dying green stalks where the massive stone dug into the earth.

  “No way,” Sarah whispered. “So where did it go?”

  It was a question none of them had contemplated yet, but now that they had settled the mystery of whether Abbie had really seen what she thought they could concentrate on the next puzzle.

  “Someone must have collected it sometime after I left?” Abbie speculated.

  Sarah had trouble with that theory. “So, they just came and loaded a granite or whatever stone statue on a truck? What did they lift it with? And if they brought a truck in here, where are the tracks? The whole lawn is still undisturbed.”

  “So glad you brought ‘Slutlock Holmes’ with us, Jess,” Abbie jested, nudging her friend. She was already beginning to sound like herself, now that they believed her about the whole affair.

  “Knew she would be able to unravel the mystery,” Jessica laughed. “Let’s see if she can solve more than the mystery of the vanishing salami, shall we?”

  “Oh piss off, you two,” she retorted as she sank to her haunches to get a better look at the crushed grass. She was looking for any signs of abduction, but there were no imprints, tire tracks, footprints, or any indication that the statue had been removed in conventional ways.

  With baited breath the other two watched Sarah examine the soil with the palm of her hand to see if it was wetter than ground zero. Eventually, she looked up and shook her head. “I have to admit, guys. It’s an X-file, this one.”

  Leaving Greyfriars, although with nothing but speculation, at least Abbie had proven that she was not insane for what she had reported she had seen. Now she had two witnesses to what was very real and not some drunken hallucination. Sarah, for one, was totally taken with the mystery and could not stop running theories by the other two. Jessica, on the other hand, had had her fill of the whole thing and just wanted to get away from the ancient bone yard and go for a cup of coffee.

  “Could you shut it already?” Jessica moaned at Sarah during one of her suppositions, but Abbie was all for it.

  “Come on, babe; it is something we should think about, right? I’m not saying we should break our heads over it, but…but…don’t you think it is just a little freaky?” Sarah asked.

  “I think it is,” Abbie mentioned as she popped more gum into her mouth.

  Jessica passed her a hard look, “Oh, of course, you do! I get it. I get that it is weird, and all but I would just like to talk about something else for a few minutes, for Christ’s sake! Can we just talk about something normal for a bit?”

  “Okay,” Abbie replied with the same indifference as before while Sarah decided to turn off the tap on her investigation of the strangeness in the graveyard. They elected to troll along through George Square to kill the time before the following week’s pre-examination insanity.

  By the next Tuesday, things were relatively normal again for the three students. Thoughts of the adventurous weekend had now faded in favor of academics and preparation for tests, not to mention some new branches of their subjects being probed by visiting lecturers from all over the globe. Several professors and academic doctors from other countries came to the institution to keep the students interested in excelling, a psychological ploy the Dean thought might keep them motivated.

  Besides, with the new exhibitions at various museums and art galleries in Britain in the next month, it was a good way in which to kick-start interest in the myriad of subjects covered. At the University of Edinburgh, the popular courses and lectures were more of the modern variety – sciences and business related vocations leading with a short head in front of the trailing journalism interest – but Abbie and Sarah found one lecture that triggered their interest in particular.

  Sarah and Abbie tried to convince Jessica to join them for the session, but she had decided to take a break from their incessant discussions. After all, she was an economical analyst and business major, having no real interest in the remnants of the old world.

  “It is tonight at 8 pm, Jess. Come on, just for fun,” Abbie pressed as she entered Jessica’s bedroom.

  “No, not interested,” Jessica replied. “Look, I don’t want to sound like a drip…”

  “Well, you do,” Abbie interrupted.

  “…but I am really not into this spooky, old museum relic shit like you and Sarah, alright? I mean, how would you like it if I dragged you to a study on Macroeconomics and fiscal policies that affect national employment…” Jessica rambled.

  That was enough boring words for Abbie.

  “Alright! Okay, you have made your point,” she rolled her eyes. “Really, you have. I get it. I just can’t believe you don’t find this stuff as fascinating as we do. It’s like spending Samhain as yourself. It’s so dull.”

  Jessica scowled, throwing down her books on her desk, “There you go! I am dull.”

  Abbie groaned. She had just opened the sluices to the Jessica Penny Pity Party.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Abbie sighed. Refusing to play into Jessica’s game, she went for a different exit technique. Time was running out to the lecture anyway, and she still had to meet up with Sarah. “Look, you’re right. You are not dull, especially on Hogmanay, hey?” she winked and giggled to distract Jessica from the subject at hand.

  “Aye, as long as you remember that!” Jessica smiled reluctantly. She was satisfied that her friend was at least trying to cheer her up, but secretly she hated Abbie and Sarah for the wonderment they still possessed for the more arcane things of the world. She wished she could be like them; she really did, but she simply was not. Her interests fell among the more mundane, orderly things that made up the systematic protocols of the world’s functioning monetary and social systems. Jessica needed rules, specific doctrines and formulas to survive and she could not help it. Unlike her friends, she did not thrive on chaos and chance, no matter how she wanted to embrace their free thinking, reckless mantles.

  “So go and enjoy your ridiculous lecture on…what was it again?” she asked.

  Abbie was positively glowing with excitement. “Ooh, it’s called ‘The Lost Pantheon: The Omnipotence of Corrupted Power’ and it’s all about how the darker side of mythologies have been played weaker than they are. It is presented by some professor from Athens.”

  “Were,” Jessica corrected her.

  “What do you mean?” Abbie asked, surprised that Jess showed enough interest in the conversation to find her error.

  “You said the darker deities are shown as weaker than they are. These things were never real, honey. Not then, and certainly not now,” Jessica informed her plainly.

  “Semantics,” Abbie retorted as a si
gn off on an argument she was not going to entertain unless she wanted to miss her lecture. “Anyway, I will see you later, alright? Are we still doing the pub thing tonight?”

  “I don’t think so, Abs. I am exhausted from back to back tests and another one coming up the day after tomorrow. I’ll catch up with you later in the week, hey?” Jessica smiled.

  “Done!” Abbie grinned and got up to leave. “Don’t study too hard now! I will need a drinking buddy this Friday!”

  Her voice disappeared behind the closing door, leaving Jessica feeling utterly alone, contrary to her expertly delivered charade.

  Chapter 4

  Dr. Helen Barry smiled contentedly as she walked through the mass of visitors at the British Museum. Since the new exhibition of Antique Greek Art had been on display in the museum, there had been an influx of not only local but global attendants. Most of the attention garnered from the academic community, though, came from the three life- sized sculptures featured at the beginning of the exhibit. Like Soula Fidikos, one of the two sponsors lending their own private collections to the British Museum for the next three weeks, Prof. Barry found the unknown pieces alien and eerie.

  Then again, with the interest shown in the works, she was not about to complain. Ticket sales rocketed for the private lecture Dr. Heidmann offered to collectors once a day. Public donations peaked and new benefactors came to the fore from various countries never before involved with the arts in Britain. Most of the latter was apparently due to the direct influence of Dr. Heidmann through his own ex-colleagues or via sponsors previously assisting him in procuring some of his unique items.

  “Don’t look so serious, Helen,” a female voice reprimanded, starting the poor curator. Helen slammed her hand on her chest and caught her breath, “Jesus, Soula! Don’t do that!”