The Highlander's Touch
Page 7

“But the cloth may disintegrate when handled,” Taylor protested.
“We haven’t come this far to leave without discovering what’s in the chest,” Steinmann snapped. “Move the cloth.”
Lisa battled an urge to pop out from under the desk, curiosity nearly overriding her common sense and instinct for self-preservation.
There was a long pause. “Well? What is it?” Steinmann asked.
“I have no idea,” Taylor said slowly. “I’ve neither translated tales of it nor seen sketches in my research. It doesn’t look quite medieval, does it? It almost looks … why … futuristic,” he said uneasily. “Frankly, I’m baffled. The chest is pristine, yet the fabric is ancient, and this”—he gestured at the flask—“is damned odd.”
“Perhaps you aren’t as much of an expert as you would have me believe, Taylor.”
“No one knows more about the Gaels and Picts than I do,” he replied stiffly. “But some artifacts simply aren’t mentioned in any records. I assure you, I will find the answers.”
“And you’ll have it examined?” Steinmann said.
“I’ll take it with me now—”
“No. I’ll call you when we’re ready to release it.”
There was a pause, then: “You plan to invite someone else to examine it, don’t you?” Taylor said. “You question my ability.”
“I simply need to get it cataloged, photographed, and logged into our files.”
“And logged into someone else’s collection?” Taylor said tightly.
“Put it back, Taylor.” Steinmann closed his fingers around Taylor’s wrist, lowering the flask back to the cloth. He slipped the tongs from Taylor’s hand, closed the chest, and placed the tongs beside it. “I brought you here. I’ll tell you what I need from you and when. And I’d advise you to stay out of my business.”
“Fine,” Taylor snapped. “But when you discover no one else knows what it is, you’ll be calling me. You can’t move an artifact that can’t be identified. I’m the only one who can track this thing down and you know it.”
Steinmann laughed. “I’ll see you out.”
“I can find my own way.”
“But I’ll rest easier knowing I’ve escorted you,” Steinmann said softly. “It wouldn’t do to leave such a passionate antiquity worshiper as yourself wandering the museum on his own.”
The shoes retreated with muffled steps across the carpet. The click of a key in the lock jarred Lisa into action. Damn and double damn! Normally when she left, she depressed the button latch on the door—no lowly maid was entrusted with keys. Steinmann had bypassed the button latch and actually used a key to lock the deadbolt. She jerked upright and banged her head against the underside of the desk. “Ow!” she exclaimed softly. As she clutched the edge and drew herself upright, she paused to look at the chest.
Fascinated, she touched the cool wood. Beautifully engraved, the black wood gleamed in the low light. Bold letters were seared into the top in angry, slanted strokes. What did the chest contain that had perplexed two sophisticated purveyors of antiquities? Despite the fact that she was locked in Steinmann’s office and had no doubt that he would return in moments, she was consumed by curiosity. Futuristic? Gingerly, she ran her fingers over the chest, seeking the square pressure latch they’d mentioned, then paused. The strange letters on the lid seemed almost to … pulse. A shiver of foreboding raced up her spine.
Silly goose—open it! It can’t hurt you. They touched it.
Resolved, she isolated the square and depressed it with her thumb. The lid swung upward with the faint popping sound she’d heard earlier. A flask lay inside, surrounded by dusty tatters of ancient fabric. The flask was fashioned of a silver metal and seemed to shimmer, as if the contents were energized. She cast a nervous glance at the door. She knew she had to get out of the office before Steinmann returned, yet she felt strangely transfixed by the flask. Her eyes drifted from door to flask and back again, but the flask beckoned. It said, Touch me, in the same tone all the artifacts in the museum spoke to Lisa. Touch me while no guards are about, and I will tell you of my history and my legends. I am knowledge. …
Lisa’s fingertips curled around the flask.
The world shifted on its axis beneath her feet. She stumbled, and suddenly she …
Couldn’t …
Stop …
Falling …
DUNNOTTAR, SCOTLAND, 1314