Ada Galli worked into the evening despite a lingering dread. Eventually, she pressed a box against the secret passage, so at the very least it would be louder to open while she desperately tried to make up for lost time and productivity. All because she'd been sucked into unavoidable activities with Wexler and Mary Lithgow that afternoon, who'd dragged her into a useless hour-long meeting about the state of museum security and then forced her into a coffee break that dragged on interminably.

If only anyone but Wexler had asked, she might've been able to skip it—but she answered to Wexler—and if she wanted a nice letter of recommendation, she had to be nice.

Mary Lithgow sat at one end of the table, and her intern, Valarie, was a chair distant—what a contrast the two made! A magnetic beam from heaven seemed to be holding Mary up—her cheeks lifted into smiles, her countenance light.

Seemed ready to dance at the first hint of music. Thin shoulders up and youthful beneath bright eyes that made the lines on her face easy to miss. Valarie, however, seemed to be melting into the floor gradually, skin first. A leaden and delicate hand swirled the spoon around her mug even though the coffee was already thoroughly stirred, her hair pulled back in a frayed ginger ponytail.

When Ada had her own mugful of coffee which she found weak—yet everybody complained was too strong—sat on the opposite side of the table from them, so that her eyes would naturally fall on the unoccupied seat between. Wexler sat next to her. His black beard seemed especially thin that day.

Five minutes passed. Silence. Ada screamed internally—this is how every single cazzate coffee break went—a waste of time! "Unlike you!" she mentally berated her co-workers, "I have but months to finish my duties here!"

Wexler opened his mouth to say something multiple times, but Mary's glowing eyes locked onto his in anticipation, and the jaw clicked shut.

MacLeod passed through the room, grabbed a coffee, and then left with it. Wexler nodded at him in an enticing way, but the old army-man merely said "Afternoon," and slipped away.

Finally, Mary gave up on decorum.

"Isn't it fantastic!"

The words were directed at Wexler, but she was saying them to everyone.

"Wonderful," said Wexler, stiffly. "Absolutely."

"Bravo," murmured Ada.

"I'm happy for you," Valarie almost whispered.

Mary's eyes side-glanced between Valarie and Ada, satisfied, and then locked on Wexler again.

"Plenty of research—some of the relics are wonderful. A few of quite a unique type too."

"So, I've heard," said Wexler.

Probably heard it from her ten times already today! Ada sipped her coffee and then glanced Mary—those eyes were searching—hungry almost.

"That black box though!" she gushed. "It's exquisite—and in wonderful condition! Oh—what a pity it's locked. What secrets must lay within—what it might reveal about the age! You know I'm certain it contains a text of some sort?" she sighed and glanced out the window to the hills beyond the town.

"I agree completely," said Wexler. "It must be opened."

"We'd need a specialist however for a lock of that sort... Short term contract..."

Wexler's eyes were sagging, Ada glanced at him—he was being shaken down.

"Next board meeting," said Wexler, half a smile on his face. "See what Lalit can do with the budget then..." Mary didn't seem satisfied, and though smiling, her eyes were working on something totally different. Wexler seemed aware of this too, and said with perfect frankness, "The budget is tight."

"Can we put a price on the past?" said Mary. The smile was gone. "Would you deny the public the right to know what lays within that chest?" she thumbed in the general direction of her office. "That mysterious foo fire burned atop it—when it was found. They'll want to know what it was, and their interest fades fast. But while it burns, they'll pay to find out."

"It's only been a few days," muttered Wexler. "And the other pieces in that reliquary can be researched without contracting more specialists."

Mary blinked at him—her eyes angry—her face crumpled and shoulder sagging. Stood up then and walked out of the room. At the door she paused, threw her eyes back and said, "There is a matter regarding the bad 'M' word—morale. I need to discuss with you too."

"After this," said Wexler.

Valarie watched her go, the magnetic beam depressing her lifted until she almost looked normal. She waited a minute, and then whispered, "She's got it all planned out—oh I'm certain she does!"

"What's that?" said Ada.

Valarie giggled to herself, "I think she's aiming for an article for each piece in that chest. Each in a separate journal of course—and black box the crowning glory—and then once that's done she'll try to get the whole thing in a special issue of NatGeo along with an interview and pictures of her. She'd be standing with the artifacts of course. Probably angling for a BBC special on it too. At least a five-minute news report anyway."

"She didn't even find it though?" said Ada.

"That doesn't matter to her," muttered Valarie. "She's already trying to make it seem like she'd been investigating the site—making it seem like she was about to find it. Fabricating notes—you see she's been searching documents for hints about the area for pre-dated notes she's written to herself. She has no serious archeological competition here, so it'll be remembered as her discovery if she has it her way."

Wexler listened to this with a frown.

"I suppose it must exciting for her," said Ada. "A big discovery."

"All that really matters to her," said Wexler, breaking his silence, "I think anyway—is that it's put on display here as the Lithgow Collection," he paused, and then added, "Or the Lithgow Wing maybe. By the way she wants to have a little party in the next few days."

"Oh, I know," said Valarie.

"To celebrate," added Wexler.

'Celebrate herself'. Valarie mouthed the words to Ada.

Wexler stood then, and moved to the sink to clean his mug, Valarie smiled, and said, "I'm certain she wants that so she'll be like... Remembered with distinction or something of that sort... Kind of a footnote. In what? I don't know."

"Remembered? She's going to quit?"

"Nope," shot Valarie, "It's just in her mind she's already been hired by the British Museum." Valarie peeled herself from the table then and made for the sink once Wexler was finished, and said, "I'd offer to show you the stuff but Mary's hogging it all in her office—door locked—even when she's there."

Ada giggled and said with a smile, "Is she really that bad?"

"She doesn't care about history," said Valarie, with venom. "She wouldn't say 'It belongs in a museum!'' but, 'It belongs in an article written by me!'"

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