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“Mr. Lawrence. The manner in which we have tested the clay is very new, and as such I must stress that the method is still widely experimental. But according to my scientists, the clay in this vial predates history. In fact, it appears to be impossible to date.”

A thin camber of smoke from the fire leans into the room.

Edward blinks. “Impossible?”

“Indeed.”

“It predates history?”

“That’s what I said, Mr. Lawrence.”

“But... but that’s ridiculous!” Edward cries, looking between Gough and Cornelius as if they were playing some mean trick. “There’s not a mark on it. No cracks, no discoloration. It’s in perfect condition.”

“And yet—”

“Are you mocking me, sir?”

“I assure you I am not.”

It is all Edward can do not to storm out. How dare they laugh at him like this? And Cornelius, of all people! The hurt, the dismay, it is debilitating, but as he angrily begins to rise from the chair Cornelius holds up a placating hand.

“Edward. This is not a jest. We were as disbelieving as you are.”

And all Edward can do is stare.

***

The claret is duly poured. Edward sits slumped in the chair, mentally exhausted, cradling his glass.

“No,” Edward is muttering, again and again, “no. There must be some mistake. You said yourself that the method is experimental.”

“True. But stratigraphy analysis—the measure of grouping and correlating sediments on pedogenic criteria,” Gough explains at Edward’s unresponsive look, “is a very exact science, and my scientists were most thorough. They even tested it against more recent pottery samples, of which the dates are already known, with success. My scientists, Mr. Lawrence, are trained by the Royal Society directly, are masters in their field. No,” Gough says patiently, “I believe there is no mistake here. Your acquaintance, shall we say, is in possession of an artefact of significant historical importance.”

“But—”

Gough waves him into silence. “I would grasp this opportunity, Mr. Lawrence. As I am sure—” and here he shoots Cornelius a querulous look—“you have been informed by now, I am disinclined to look further into antiquities that do not originate from our own shores. Too long have we ignored our British treasures in favor of more exotic glamor. But the fact that this—” Gough gestures at the vial—“is so very old is cause for investigation. Certainly, we have nothing like this on record and I have no recollection of anywhere else documenting something of this age, either. Since you refuse to divulge your sources, I permit you to look into the matter.”

Edward can hardly credit it. And now that the shock has begun to wear off, he feels the first stirrings of excitement, of hope. For the first time in years the Society of Antiquaries is giving him leave to pursue something that seems to have a genuine chance of success. And yet...

He thinks again of the pithos, the other items stored in the basement of Blake’s Emporium. How can he compose a credible report if the pithos has been secured dishonestly? But no. No. He must, he simply must remain optimistic rather than assume the very worst. There is still a chance that Miss Blake’s uncle has genuine reasons for keeping the pithos and those smaller pieces in the basement rather than on the shop floor. They could still have been obtained legally. It is possible. Edward takes an unsteady sip of his claret. Oh, if only he understood more about underhand trading! Edward presses his fingertips against the cut glass, tries to avoid Cornelius’ gaze.

“Mr. Gough. Sir. I also wanted to ask you about...”

“About?”

“The black-market, sir.”

Gough glances up again at Cornelius who now stands ramrod straight, jaw clenched. The director places his glass on the table, looks to Edward once more.

“The black-market,” he echoes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Indeed. Why?”

“I...”

Edward colors. He is in a quandary. To explain why is to admit the pithos might—might—be stolen, and to admit that would mean Gough may rescind his permission to write the paper at all. Edward opens his mouth to attempt another answer but Gough is leaning across the table now and asking in a harsh tone, “Do you mean to tell me our mysterious pithos is of questionable origin?”