get Chambers off White’s back, Cissy won’t have any connection with it.” She picked up a sheaf of lavender and brushed it across her lips, enjoying the scent. “You might as well know right away. If Chambers won’t settle, which means Cissy’s still exposed to Caldecott, we’re going to turn down Martin’s case.”
Lavinia pulled her woolly sweater a little closer around her thin frame.
“I can’t be the only celestial advocate out there,” Bree said, as if Lavinia had raised an objection. “Schofield Martin has to find somebody else. I’m worn out. I need a break. Just a short one. I’m going to take some time off. I’m going away for the weekend.”
Lavinia pursed her lips. She didn’t actually say the words “whiner, whiner, whiner,” and maybe she didn’t even think them, but Bree felt guilty anyway. “Which weekend would that be, child? Your aunt’s wedding is comin’ along in a few days.”
“The next available weekend. Guess what?”
“What, child?”
Bree dropped her voice to a delighted whisper. “I’m not going alone.”
“Mercy,” Lavinia said without surprise.
“I woke up as cross as two cats and went for a run along the river. The farther I ran, the worse this case looked. I refuse to get swamped by this job, Lavinia. I absolutely refuse. There’s no reason why I can’t turn this over to somebody else, is there? I’ll prepare a summary for the next advocate. Then I’ll take it to Goldstein and ask for a referral. The temporal system has a process for case referral. The celestial system must, too. Doesn’t it?”
“What is time to the souls in the Sphere?” Lavinia asked rhetorically. She answered herself: “It don’t exist, that’s what. So I suppose Mr. Martin can wait for the next advocate to come along.”
“Exactly,” Bree said, although, since she was still confused about the metaphysics of the Spheres, she felt her confidence might be misplaced. “So I called Lieutenant Hunter and told him about my availability. For a weekend.”
Lavinia’s eyes were calm, deep, and expressionless. “That was a happy man you called, I think.”
Bree blushed. Hunter had been very happy.
“You tole the others yet?”
“I will now.”
Petru stumped into the conference room, a messy manila folder in one hand. Ron followed him, his iPad tucked under one arm.
“So,” Bree said, as they settled themselves around the table. “What have we got?”
“I was not able to find a great deal of information about the artifact itself, as yet,” Petru said ponderously. “But there is an account of an archeological dig thirty years ago near Constantinople.”
“Istanbul,” Ron said a little crossly. “It hasn’t been Constantinople for years.”
“Thirty years ago?” Bree said. “Hm. That’s what Chambers must have meant when he said ‘again.’ He found the Cross once, and then lost it?”
“It appears so.” Petru turned over the pages of the file one at a time and pulled a single sheet out. “Here is a newspaper story. It is primarily an account of Mr. Martin’s death.”
The story carried a photograph of a trawler. The name Indies Queen was just barely visible on the prow. A bright-white arrow was superimposed near the afterdeck.
GRADUATE STUDENT DROWNS ON DIG
Professors Claim Valuable Artifact Lost
A dig for Roman antiquities ended in tragedy yesterday when a young graduate student fell to his death from the Indonesian trawler Indies Queen . Schofield Martin, a PhD candidate from the University of Georgia in the United States, apparently drowned while conducting routine duties. Archeologists Allard and Jillian Chambers, joint directors of the project, told authorities that Martin was in the midst of transferring a valuable Roman cross to the hold of the ship when he apparently slipped on deck and fell overboard. (See arrow for death site.) Rescue efforts were mounted immediately, but neither body nor artifact has as yet been recovered.
“Not
Lavinia pulled her woolly sweater a little closer around her thin frame.
“I can’t be the only celestial advocate out there,” Bree said, as if Lavinia had raised an objection. “Schofield Martin has to find somebody else. I’m worn out. I need a break. Just a short one. I’m going to take some time off. I’m going away for the weekend.”
Lavinia pursed her lips. She didn’t actually say the words “whiner, whiner, whiner,” and maybe she didn’t even think them, but Bree felt guilty anyway. “Which weekend would that be, child? Your aunt’s wedding is comin’ along in a few days.”
“The next available weekend. Guess what?”
“What, child?”
Bree dropped her voice to a delighted whisper. “I’m not going alone.”
“Mercy,” Lavinia said without surprise.
“I woke up as cross as two cats and went for a run along the river. The farther I ran, the worse this case looked. I refuse to get swamped by this job, Lavinia. I absolutely refuse. There’s no reason why I can’t turn this over to somebody else, is there? I’ll prepare a summary for the next advocate. Then I’ll take it to Goldstein and ask for a referral. The temporal system has a process for case referral. The celestial system must, too. Doesn’t it?”
“What is time to the souls in the Sphere?” Lavinia asked rhetorically. She answered herself: “It don’t exist, that’s what. So I suppose Mr. Martin can wait for the next advocate to come along.”
“Exactly,” Bree said, although, since she was still confused about the metaphysics of the Spheres, she felt her confidence might be misplaced. “So I called Lieutenant Hunter and told him about my availability. For a weekend.”
Lavinia’s eyes were calm, deep, and expressionless. “That was a happy man you called, I think.”
Bree blushed. Hunter had been very happy.
“You tole the others yet?”
“I will now.”
Petru stumped into the conference room, a messy manila folder in one hand. Ron followed him, his iPad tucked under one arm.
“So,” Bree said, as they settled themselves around the table. “What have we got?”
“I was not able to find a great deal of information about the artifact itself, as yet,” Petru said ponderously. “But there is an account of an archeological dig thirty years ago near Constantinople.”
“Istanbul,” Ron said a little crossly. “It hasn’t been Constantinople for years.”
“Thirty years ago?” Bree said. “Hm. That’s what Chambers must have meant when he said ‘again.’ He found the Cross once, and then lost it?”
“It appears so.” Petru turned over the pages of the file one at a time and pulled a single sheet out. “Here is a newspaper story. It is primarily an account of Mr. Martin’s death.”
The story carried a photograph of a trawler. The name Indies Queen was just barely visible on the prow. A bright-white arrow was superimposed near the afterdeck.
GRADUATE STUDENT DROWNS ON DIG
Professors Claim Valuable Artifact Lost
A dig for Roman antiquities ended in tragedy yesterday when a young graduate student fell to his death from the Indonesian trawler Indies Queen . Schofield Martin, a PhD candidate from the University of Georgia in the United States, apparently drowned while conducting routine duties. Archeologists Allard and Jillian Chambers, joint directors of the project, told authorities that Martin was in the midst of transferring a valuable Roman cross to the hold of the ship when he apparently slipped on deck and fell overboard. (See arrow for death site.) Rescue efforts were mounted immediately, but neither body nor artifact has as yet been recovered.
“Not
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