The roiling sea was like molten jade in the foggy dawn light, with cryptic messages written in the foam of the ever shifting wave caps. Barbara ran her thumb along the cold metal in her pocket. Its rounded edge creased her fingerprint, just as worry lines creased her forehead.

The wind loosened a tress from the tightly wrapped bun she wore and whipped it across her cheek. Before she could tug it back into place, the odor of smoke, wood, and tar filled her nostrils from the acrid strand of hair.

It had been more than twenty-four hour since she slept. Barbara was reminded of her residency years, when all she needed was a good breath of the fresh dawn air and winter's chill on her cheeks to refocus. Even now, years later, she felt her energy being restored as she watched the sun crest the ocean fog. All she needed now was a sign—some omen that would direct her forward, just as one had directed her to this remote crag in Maine.

When she had arrived at The Benbow Inn, they found the archaeologists in a small side room past the lobby. The narrow porch had been turned into a dining room, while the hotel's main room was crammed with work tables and equipment. Its original purpose wasn't clear, but as its only warmth came from the number of bodies packed so closely together, it was likely intended merely for summer lounging.

The windows rattled in their casements as the wind attacked them mercilessly. Somewhere beyond, the sea cliff with the endless Atlantic was hidden by a starless night.

"Dr. Frieden," Palmer leaned over the man's shoulder and interrupted his conversation. The white haired, bespectacled man stopped midsentence and his animated smile shriveled.

"Sorry to disturb you, but I wonder if you had a moment," Palmer said.

Frieden craned his neck around and it seemed as though his next words would be: go to hell. But then, his eye caught Barbara standing by the door, her overcoat still buttoned tight from the unaccustomed cold weather. A gentle hesitation invaded his expression, as though his mind was racing to interpret this new data.

Barbara gave him an encouraging nod and Frieden apologized to his companions and rose from the table discarding his napkin over his half eaten food.

Palmer ushered him to the door. "Mr. Jorgenson was very interested in your latest report. Unfortunately he was too busy to come himself, but he sent us to get a full debriefing. May I introduce Dr. Barbara Gracie."

Frieden shook her hand while looking her over as though she were dessert. "Doctor? Are you a specialist on Norse artifacts?"

"Yes." She said it simply and pretended not to notice the shock on Palmer's face, while she led them all back into the lobby away from the eager ears of the others. The loud dinner chatter had hushed to an expectant silence during the introductions.

Frieden muttered her name over a few times. "I'm not familiar with your work. Where are you published? Who are you with?"

"I'm with Jorgenson." Barbara spoke directly and left him no room for further questions about her credentials. "Do you think you're the only expert on his payroll? He sent me here to authenticate it."

"I assure you it's authentic." The man bristled with defensiveness.

Barbara sensed she had misstepped. Her harsh tone was only making Frieden entrench himself against her.

She said with as much warmth as she could muster, "I have no doubt. But I have my orders, and I'm sure you know how demanding Mr. Jorgenson is."

Barbara then feigned a flush of heat from the dank, cavernous room, which stank of damp wood and fresh earth. She fluttered her hand fanning her face and took off her coat, being sure to turn toward Frieden as she arched her back thrusting her chest forward, while slipping it over her arms.

The foolish little archaeologist made an audible breath before saying, "Of course. Of course, I understand perfectly. And I would welcome independent verification."

Palmer suggested that he show them his latest discovery and Frieden took them past the long rows of tables to the second to the back wall. He pressed a switch on a powerbar and a series of lamps hummed into life, brightly lighting the white sheet and the objects covering the table.

"Grid 147," he explained striding down the aisle. "We didn't notice anything unusual about it at first so we set all of the relics aside for further investigation, during our winter down time."

"Down time?" Barbara asked.

"The ground here gets too hard to continue the excavation."

"I see."

"During cataloging, the vase came under scrutiny." He stopped and pointed out a small rounded piece of pottery, letting his hand come close to it but careful never to actually touch it. The relic was an unremarkable piece of clay with a wide mouth and a simple knot work design along the rim. "When it was weighed, we discovered it was eight hundred and seventy-three grams, nearly twice the weight of similar objects pulled from the site. That's when we had it x-rayed." Frieden opened a folder and held out a sheet of black and white x-ray film to Barbara.

She had handled thousands of similar plates in her life but never one with images of a clay pot.

Four separate exposures filled each quarter of the sheet, examining the vase from different angles. The pottery showed up as a dark gray but there was a bright white disk at the bottom of the bowl.

"As you can see, it contains a piece of metal. Our testing shows that it's nonferrous and considering the weight, I suspected it must be lead or gold. But more likely gold."

"Why more likely?"

"Because of the gemstone." He held up a magnifying glass and directed her to the third image. "See in the center? There is a rounded element of a slightly less dense material—a jewel of some sort, most likely. This would indicate a pendant or a brooch, which suggests gold."

Barbara glanced over at the vase. There was no indication that any object was lying at its bottom. "And where is it now?"

"Still in there. It's baked directly into the clay. There is no way to remove it without damaging the vase. Which was why I requested instruction from Mr. Jorgenson." Frieden replaced the x-ray into the file and began walking back, away from the discovery. "In my report, I mentioned that I could think of no reason why anything of value would be incorporated into pottery, especially such an unadorned piece. Perhaps as an expert, you might have some insight?"

Barbara couldn't tell if he was being earnest or trying to trip her up, but the practical answer seemed obvious. "It was to hide it and keep it out of the hands of thieves."

"I suppose there is some sense to that. A pot this crude would have been overlooked in a raid. Have you seen this stratagem employed at other sites? Perhaps in more traditional locations in Europe?" Frieden now seemed intrigued and eager to discuss Barbara's theory. But Barbara was done with him.

"Forgive me, Doctor, but it has been a very long day. Could we discuss this in the morning? I think I'm going to call it an early night."

"Yes, of course. Do you need me to show you to a room?"

"No. Palmer can handle that."

Frieden seemed disappointed to be dismissed but shook Barbara's hand again and made sure she knew what time breakfast was served. Palmer followed her upstairs sullenly.

When they were alone, he asked, "So now what?"

"Tell me again, exactly what Jorgenson ordered you to do?"

Palmer sighed like a child exasperated by having to repeat a parent's instructions. "Kill everyone in the inn. Burn it to the ground. And ensure that the medallion was completely destroyed. His words were: use an acetylene torch to melt it down to slag and fling it into the sea."

"So?" Palmer's confusion as to what to do baffled her. Wasn't everything crystal clear? "Wait until they're all in bed and follow the plan—with one small modification."

"You still want me to kill Frieden and all the others?" Palmer said incredulously.

"Do you expect me to do it for you?"

Imbecile.

Jorgenson would immediately question Palmer's loyalty if he left with the archaeology team still alive.

Now with The Benbow Inn turning into a smoldering pile of timber behind her, their tracks were covered. And Palmer could return to his master as the faithful lackey.

Barbara continued staring out at the sea, her hand tracing out the contours of the medallion in her pocket.

Smashing the little pot had revealed a golden disk with a stone mounted like bullseye. The gem was crystal clear containing a shimmering, almost mercurial, blue light in its center.  The importance of this pendant was a mystery. Someone had gone to lengths to hide it hundreds of years ago and Walt had gone to even greater lengths to make sure that no one would ever have it. Walt was a packrat, encumbered with several lifetimes of material possessions. If he didn't want this for his collection, then he must have felt it was too dangerous to risk its continued existence. Why anyone would fear an inert object, she couldn't fathom. But Walt was full of superstitious nonsense about prophecies. Maybe he thought it was magical?

"We should go," Palmer yelled from a few feet behind her.

Barbara wondered if Palmer had contemplated the odds of pushing her off the cliff before speaking up. She stood far enough from the edge that it would be impossible to throw her over without a struggle, so perhaps he was biding his time for a more opportune moment. That's what she would have done. But he didn't seem terribly bright, so maybe it just never crossed his mind.

Barbara headed back to the rental car with Palmer tagging along beside her like a loyal dog.

"Are you returning to Arizona?" he asked.

"Where's Jorgenson now?"

"New York."

"Then that's where we're going."

With Amy gone, the Music Box was over. Let the Agency come after her, if they wanted to. Barbara was on a mission now and she wasn't going to wait around for permission to leave.  She still didn't know what to do next but, she was betting Walt did.

***

Author's Note (Dec. 24th, 2015): I wasn't particularly satisfiedwith this scene. I originally conceived this taking place over several days butjust couldn't develop events to justify that length. Then there is the hugesimilarity between this and Horus's last scene—it felt horribly repetitive  but I was feeling unimaginative and couldn't come up with an alternative.But it's done. Barbara has the medallion and the story moves forward.  

I hope all my readers have a safe and happy holidays!