SEVEN

CHLORINE AND RHODIUM

Alec looked at his watch. It was six o’clock local time. Two hours till dinner with his father. After talking with Will at the Lido Café earlier that evening, Alec went back to the suite and tried to find another way to pass the time. He didn’t want to linger in the suite for too long, though; he knew his father would be back shortly and probably get ready for dinner, or something like that. Out of ideas, Alec decided to return to the pool.

Alec remembered his mother once telling him not to swim for at least an hour after eating – stomach cramps, and all that – and he made sure that enough digestion time had elapsed since finishing his raspberry croissant. Not that he was planning on doing anything strenuous like laps in the pool, but it was sound advice – advice from his mother, no less, whom he missed very much.

Donning green swim trunks and a pair of loudly-slapping rubber sandals, Alec headed back to the pool area.

Will headed back to the suite at roughly the same time Alec left it, missing his son by only a minute or so. Will needed to pick out the right suit to wear: nothing too formal, as he didn’t want to make his son feel as if he were taking part in some stodgy ceremony; and nothing too casual, for he wanted his son to know that he was serious about his wanting to meet him.

Kirjava paced back and forth across the top of the sofa as Will laid out a few clothing selections on the suite’s coffee table.

“You’re giving this too much thought, Will,” Kirjava said. “It’s what you say that will matter. He won’t care if whether you’re wearing tweed or nylon blend, now will he?”

Will smirked. “I just want to be thorough, Kirjava. Everything, including appearance, helps when making an impression on someone.”

“You sound as if you’re meeting him for the first time,” his daemon said.

“In a way, I guess I am.”

He looked at the three suits he’d laid out with indifference. “I did tell Alec that we don’t need to be too dressed up. Maybe you’re right.” Will stood for a moment, unable to take his eyes off of the selections.

“The blue one, Will,” Kirjava offered. “It exudes confidence, and doesn’t seem one bit intimidating.” She was teasing him now, and Will knew it. Still, he chose the blue one.

Will picked up the other two suits and put them away. “Can you blame me for wanting this to go well, Kirjava? I can’t help it if I feel keyed up about telling him everything.”

“Your massage didn’t seem to work, I take it? You should go again before dinner if you still feel that way.”

Will noticed that the tension in his back had returned. He tried not to thinking about what the reknotting of his back portended.

“Think I’ll take a walk on the sun deck,” Will said. “I am on vacation, after all. Care to join me?”

Kirjava leapt down from the sofa and landed at his feet. “As long as you promise to refrain from brooding or fussing in any way.”

Will opened the door. “I’ll try,” he said, and he and his daemon began their stroll.

Alec was growing bored with the pool. He was swimming virtually alone; an older couple quietly waded in the shallow end, and a middle-aged Greek man, curiously, did modest water calisthenics in the deep end with nary a ripple. Alec floated for a bit, performed the backstroke, and improvised a few other aquatic maneuvers. He may have enjoyed himself were he able to see underwater; Alec’s eyes had always been sensitive to chlorine, and, what’s more, didn’t have a pair goggles to wear. Whenever he’d gone swimming in one of the local pools, he’d always needed to use goggles – and on some occasions, when none were available at the pool, he would have to resort to wearing a bulky swimming mask, much to his chagrin. Often, though, the mask would be too big for his head and the chlorinated water would leak in. For him, it was goggles or nothing else.

Giving up, Alec pulled himself out of the pool and toweled off. He laid down in a nearby lounge chair and tried to fall asleep. Maybe I can sleep through dinner, he thought. No, I ought to go. Who knows how Dad will act if I don’t.

A few minutes passed, and Alec was comfortably drowsy. He’d applied a healthy dose of waterproof sun block before swimming, and worried little about burning as he drifted off to sleep.

Alec’s bid for slumber came to an abrupt end when a large, unopened bottle of mineral water fell directly onto his stomach.

He made a pained, guttural oof as the air was forced out of his lungs by the pressure on his midsection. Dazed by the impact, Alec could barely follow the apologies of the bottle’s owner.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! Are you alright? You’re not hurt are you? I am so sorry…”

The apologist was a girl in a one-piece blue and yellow swimsuit. She looked to be only a few years older than Alec, and spoke without a British accent. A beige carry-all hung from her right shoulder, and her long brown hair was put back in a ponytail. A pair of wide-framed sunglasses rested on her forehead. Alec couldn’t help but stare.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? I can be clumsy sometimes.”

Alec touched his stomach and looked at it. No, he was just fine. The red spot where the bottle had struck him was nearly gone.

“No worries,” Alec said. “I’ve had worse.” He reached down to his side and picked the bottle off of the pool deck. “Here’s your water.”

“Thanks,” the girl said, retrieving the bottle from Alec. “Must’ve fallen out of my bag. I’m Jeanine. What’s your name?”

“Alec,” he said. “Alec Parry.”

“Jeanine Babcock,” she elaborated. “Funny way to meet someone, right?”

Alec laughed a little. “At least it didn’t hit me in the nose or something.” She laughed back. Another girl joined Jeanine and Alec. She appeared older than Jeanine by several years.

“This is my cousin Patricia,” Jeanine said to Alec.

“Patty,” the older girl said. “You’re not causing too much trouble here, are you, Neener?”

Jeanine scowled at her cousin. It was clear to Alec that Neener was not a nickname Jeanine much cared for.

“Jeanine,” she repeated to Patty and Alec. “I just nearly injured him, but he’s alright.”

Alec laughed. “Might need to go the medical office,” he joked to the girls, “you never know.”

Patty rolled her eyes. “Think I’ll work on my tan now, Neener. Behave yourself.” Jeanine’s cousin deposited herself on a lounge chair near the deep end.

Behave yourself? Alec thought. Now he knew he had to get to know this Jeanine better.

“Please, if you know what’s good for you, do not call me Neener. Or else you will need to visit the medical office.” Alec could usually tell the difference between sarcasm and genuine threats, but was having a time trying to determine whether she was serious or not. It only made her more intriguing.

“Jeanine, then. Alright.”

Alec tried something.

“But, um, if you can think of a good nickname for me, I’ll let you call me by it.”

Jeanine laughed. She couldn’t pass up an offer like that. “OK, Alec, let’s see what we can come up with. ‘Alec.’ ‘Alec.’” She tapped her index finger to her lips, deep in thought. “Alright. How about Allie?”

Alec shrugged. “If you want to. But I’ve been called that before plenty of times. Besides, I said you had to think of a good one.”

Oops. Should I have said that? I hope she knows I’m only having fun here.

Jeanine narrowed her eyes, but remained smiling. “So. Allie it is.” She coyly reached into her carry-all and removed a swimming cap and pair of goggles.

“I’ll be swimming laps, Allie, if you want to join me.” Suddenly, laps in the pool didn’t seem such an appalling thought to Alec anymore. Still, he was a bit flummoxed. Now he had her calling him by that ridiculous nickname, but she’d also just invited him to join her in the pool, which he wanted badly to, and there was, of course, the whole chlorine irritation issue… He would have to give her his answer carefully.

“Yeah, I could do that,” he said, “but, well, the chlorine really hurts my eyes. So, unless you have another pair of goggles…”

Please, have another pair of goggles.

Before he finished his thought and sentence, Jeanine had produced another pair of goggles.

“Here you go,” she said, and handed him a white-grey pair. He slipped them onto his head and over his eyes as Jeanine did the same with her pair.

“The chlorine bothers my eyes too,” said Jeanine. “I wish they’d find a way to use bromine instead.” Jeanine pulled on her bathing cap, continuing. “They use bromine in spas and Jacuzzis, but not in swimming pools. Not even in indoor pools. Did you know that? But chlorine’s cheaper and easier to use, and it’s good for outdoor pools because it reacts better with the UV rays from the sun.”

Alec wouldn’t have cared in the least about the pros and cons of chlorine and bromine had he been told by anyone other than Jeanine Babcock, at that exact moment.

“Screwy, that chlorine,” was the best response Alec could come up with.

Jeanine grinned. “I’m a bit of a swimming nerd, in case you hadn’t guessed already. I hope to be an swimmer in the Olympics someday. I thought I should probably know all that kind of stuff.”

Alec stared at her, grinning back. Even with the goggles and cap on, he still found her to be rather cute.

She felt him staring at her in her swimming gear and grimaced a little. “Do I look funny with these on?” she said.

Alec turned from her and dove headfirst into the pool. The goggles felt great, and the freedom from the sting of the chlorine was a relief. He popped his head up above the water.

“Come on in, Neener,” he said. “Let’s swim some laps.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Will hadn’t done much with the subtle knife since saying good-bye to Lyra. He’d shattered the knife by thinking of Lyra while attempting to cut into space with it. And, without the ability to forge the shards back into their original unified form, the threat of the subtle knife’s power no longer existed – nor did, of course, any chance of seeing Lyra again in his lifetime. Will, one or two occasions, fancifully considered trying to find some means by which the pieces could be reassembled successfully, just to give him the chance to catch even a glimpse of Lyra – perhaps on Midsummer’s Day, perhaps, at their bench? – but knew no metal smiths could, or should, ever do such a thing.

Despite the uselessness of the shards of the knife, Will couldn’t part with them. He decided to keep the pieces in a safe place, out of view but somewhere he’d know to find them. He rolled them up in a thick, unmatched wool sock he’d not worn in years, and put them away in his bottom dresser drawer, hoping he’d have no reason at them again. Knowing where they were kept was enough for him.

It was Mary who asked to see the pieces of the knife.

She’d finished working out the calculations for how much money she and Will would need to fund not only their studies and research but the continued long-term care for Will’s mother Elaine. Mary estimated that, to cover all project expenses over the next five years (an arbitrary number, but a fair estimate nonetheless), she and Will would somehow need to drum up at least £500,000. Her estimate, she feared, was a conservative one.

“And that’s assuming I find enough cheap working parts,” she added. “Bearing in mind, also, that you’d need to apply for, and receive, at least two scholarships…”

Will interrupted her. “I hope you’ve got a plan for raising the money, Mary, and not just the total we’ll need for all of this.” He chewed his fingernails as he spoke her, a new habit he’d recently picked up from nowhere.

“I do,” Mary said. She took a breath, not for dramatic effect, but because her plan was lofty in both ambition and possibility. And, because she didn’t know how Will would react to it.

“I think we’ll need to try to sell the subtle knife.”

The words struck Will’s ears like hard glancing blows. He lost his balance momentarily, steadying himself against a nearby chair. He hadn’t expected Mary to make that suggestion, and he was equally surprised at how he’d reacted to it. Mary’s alpine chough daemon Cicero hopped nervously on her shoulder.

“Go on,” Will said, still gripping the back of the chair.

Mary put her hands together. “Well, first, I’ll be needing to take a very close look at the shards. And now, if you’ve got them handy.”

Quizzically, he fetched the wrapped pieces from his dresser and brought them to the living room. He was hesitant to show the pieces to her, but did as she requested. Mary, thoughtfully, didn’t make Will wait for an explanation of her plan.

She started by telling him that the composition of the metal of the subtle knife existed nowhere in their own world, and could therefore, arguably, be considered a precious metal – the most precious metal of all, in theory. Thus, the shards were astonishingly valuable.

To the untrained eye, the shards resembled a type of steel, or even platinum, but Mary knew further analysis would reveal it to be something entirely unique. She then explained that if anyone – say, metallurgists or industrial scientists – were to in fact observe the composition of the metal themselves, their reaction to such a find would be unpredictable. They’d want to know the metal’s origin, or how it was alloyed or processed, and either tell the world of their find or take drastic measures to keep the knowledge of the metal to themselves. The difficult task would be to attempt to attain the necessary monetary compensation they needed, and all without creating an public, or private, melee.

“When did you learn so much about metals?” Will questioned. “I can’t imagine you spent too much time on this stuff while at Oxford, or back when you were a student.” Will was feeling particularly suspicious of Mary. He held Kirjava for support as he asked her.

“You have me there, Will.” She told him she’d been studying up on metal sciences for the last couple of months, without his knowledge, thinking that if he’d known what she was planning, he’d have intervened and tried convincing her not to.

“You’re probably right,” Will said. “I don’t like to think so, but I probably would have tried stopping you.”

“I know,” Mary said. “But I would have continued regardless, and I wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Not while I’d be doing something I knew upset you so.”

Mary intended to determine what existing earth metals the subtle knife most closely shared properties with. After telling Will of her plan, Mary managed to gain limited access to some metallurgical analysis equipment through an old friend from her college days. Thankfully, not everyone in England yet knew of her renegade status at Oxford, but she reasoned they probably would in time. She had to act quickly.

“These are uncharted waters we’re sailing through,” Mary said to her alpine chough daemon, Cicero, as she worked quietly and alone on the analysis. “I’m so afraid for Will, and Elaine, and myself.”

“You’ve come up with the best option so far,” her daemon said. “Will can’t argue with that. And he’ll thank you for it. Don’t give up hope.”

Once Mary had generated a molecular profile of the shards, and thoroughly erased all traces of her use of the equipment, she concluded that the knife could be convincingly presented as a newly formed rhodium-platinum alloy.

Will asked Mary about the significance of this information. In essence, she told him, an alloy with the strength and density of the subtle knife shards – say, for example, a naturally occurring rhodium-platinum alloy – not only didn’t occur naturally, but would require an astronomically expensive and as-yet-non-existent alloying process to come anywhere close to producing a material matching the properties of the subtle knife. The price per ounce, if it actually existed, would be several times more than that of either platinum or rhodium.

“Platinum and rhodium are used for all sorts of things, Will. I’ve read that the two metals, in their raw form, are extracted from one another and then alloyed together for use in engine turbines and high-performance machine parts. This process makes platinum and rhodium all the more valuable. And while platinum is very valuable on its own, rhodium is more difficult to extract and use – in fact, it’s often of more value per ounce than platinum is. What we would be presenting is a new kind of rhodium-platinum alloy.” Mary had studied the metals thoroughly, both on a elemental and financial level, and hoped that her theories would pan out.

“And if we did this,” Will said, “people would think we’d figured out a way to make some kind of supermetal, right?”

“That’s the trick,” she said, holding up one of the shards. “I think we’re better off acting like we know less about our little friends here than we’re letting on. We’d need to act as if we didn’t know where it came from, or even how valuable it would be…I wouldn’t want to present these shards to a group of scientists and investors from some manufacturing plant with scads and scads of my own data. The questions they’d ask…well, no telling where that would lead, is there?”

“What do you have in mind then?” Will asked.

“I’ll need to perform for a much smaller audience,” she said, “And, I’ll very likely need to play dumb. At least, a little dumber than I’ve already proven myself to be.”

She and Will discussed the ethical implications of what she was planning to do. She would lying about the origin of the knife, potentially opening Will and herself up to any number of questions from outsiders. But they were thinking short-term, and the Republic of Heaven was the very definition of a long-term project. The ends, they felt, would more than justify the means. Mary would simply need to exercise the utmost tact and caution. There was, of course, the sentimental value Will felt for the knife.

“Selling it…I don’t know. I mean, even if it worked, Mary…it feels…well, not wrong, but not right, either. If that makes sense.” He rubbed the stubs where he’d lost his finger and thumb to the subtle knife. The knife had made him who he was today, but he knew that didn’t mean he had to hang on to it forever.

“It is a peculiar idea, I’ll be the first to admit it. But I don’t know what else to do.”

Will looked to his mother, who sat silently in the room while he spoke with Mary. “We don’t need to sell all the pieces, do we?”

“Not if this works out, we won’t.” Mary reasoned she’d only need a few of the larger shards for any presentation she’d give.

Elaine Parry looked up at Will slowly, as if she’d just then realized he was in the room with her. She reached out to him. He walked over to her and held her hands in his. He sighed.

“Do your worst,” he said to Mary.

After much persistence on her part, Mary was finally granted a meeting with Francis Bradley, the president and chairman of Britannia Steel in London. Ordinarily the man could not be bothered for an interview with just anyone, but Mary’s scientific credentials, though not precisely within the realm of metal sciences, helped get her five minutes with him.

Mr. Bradley stared at the cumbersome, wheeled metal case Mary rolled into his office with her, briefly considering what was inside it but just as suddenly not caring.

“You say you’re something of a scientist? Dark matter theory, quantum physics and whatnot?”

“That’s partially true,” she said, telling Mr. Bradley the first of several half-truths and fabrications she’d prepared to give him. “I may have puffed up my credentials a bit. I’m only just a student, you see. I ain’t what you’d call a scientist, but sort of a…oh, I don’t know. A science enthusiast?”

Too big a word, Mary. Keep it simple. Mary needed her background to get her to see the man; she’d have to walk a fine line to convince him she was also not the brightest bulb in the light fixture; she’d hoped he’d see her as a whimsical soul who took up a science major as something fun to do, and not much more. The success of her plan hinged on his perception of her.

“Yes sir,” she went on, “I just love atoms and black holes and things. All very keen. So I thought, why not study that?”

Bradley stroked his mustache with disdain, and looked at his watch. “My secretary says you’ve discovered…” he checked a memorandum on his desk – “a new kind of metal? I don’t entertain hoaxes, Ms. Malone. Please don’t waste your five minutes.”

“Well, I think it’s a new sort of metal. It’s very strong.” She had the idea that Mr. Bradley was only humoring her before he took off for lunch, so she got right to the heart of the matter. “Here it is.”

She opened the case, pulled out a few of the larger, stronger shards of the knife, and laid them on his desk. Bradley leaned over and adjusted his glasses as he took a closer look.

“Looks like regular steel,” he said, reaching for it.

“Be very careful, sir,” Mary said. “It’s much, much sharper than you might think.”

“Noted,” he said, grabbing carefully at the flat points of the largest shard. He noticed that one side was dull and grey, and the other seemed to reflect several colors all at once.

“What is this side of the metal treated with?” he asked Mary. He was no longer dismissing the importance of her presentation.

“Beats me, sir,” she said, playing ignorant. “But I think you should see what this metal can do.”

Mary pulled two more objects from her wheeled case and set them beside to the shards on Mr. Bradley’s desk. One was an iron mallet; the other was a 50cc moped engine.

“What’s all this?” Bradley barked. “This isn’t an auto garage, Ms. Malone.” He pressed the intercom button on his phone, nearly ready to make a request for security, when Mary held up the mallet and cut effortlessly through the head with a shard of the subtle knife.

Mr. Bradley’s secretary heard the page from her boss’ office, but heard no answer. He let up on the button.

The man watched in awe. “How did you…”

A moment later, Mary drew the shard sideways through the moped engine, cleanly severing it and all its internal parts, leaving two flawlessly neat cross-sections.

Francis Bradley stood up from his chair and stepped backward until he ran into the wall, cupping his hand to his mouth. He didn’t take a breath for ten seconds.

“These shards have always been able to do that.” Mary said to Francis Bradley. “You see, my grandfather – he was a bit of a scientist himself, and much better one than I’ll probably ever be, I’ll tell you that right now – he and my grandmother were visiting the Giant’s Causeway. You know, in Ireland, of course. With all them funny basalt columns, and all that. Strange looking things, ain’t they? As I was saying, he was having a good look at them years ago…I think was in the 50’s…1953, maybe? And he was studying them or somethin’ – he was always studyin’ things, even when he was on holiday! – and he noticed a big mound of rock or somethin’ between them columns of basalt. He wrote it all down here.”

Mary produced a weathered notebook from her case. She’d done a fine job of making the book appear to be decades old, and had filled it with, allegedly, speculations of the metal’s composition made by her grandfather. Everything Mary had placed in the notebook was designed to point Francis Bradley in a particular direction.

“Anyway, this mound of rock he found – well, it was odd, since there ain’t any other mounds like it at Giant’s Causeway, is my understandin’. Sorta hidden from view, it was, and he figured…oh, what did he jot down…” She leafed through the notebook to one of the middle pages. “Ah. Yes. He said it mighta been part of some meteor or rock from space that crashed there, back when them basalt columns was lava or somethin’. That’s all I know, anyhow. I can’t make head or tail of the rest o’ what he wrote. I was hopin’ maybe you could? Best leave it to the professionals, I figured.”

Mr. Bradley began pouring over the notebook. There were crudely drawn graphs and scribblings, and even a few sketches of random faces and trees, just to make it seem more authentic.

After a few pages, Francis Bradley’s eyes locked onto a particular phrase.

“Pre-alloyed rhodium?” he asked. “Your grandfather thought he’d found…some sort of…pre-alloyed rhodium?” Mary shrugged and let him explain to her what she already knew.

“According to this, your grandfather – what was his name, by the way?”

“Clifford,” Mary invented on the spot.

“It seems your grandfather, Clifford, had the idea that this metal was some sort of exotic alloy of rhodium, blended with traces of platinum and titanium, he says…” He looked again at the shards again and their two contrasting surfaces. He picked up the pieces of the cleaved mallet head and engine, checking for signs of fraud. He found none.

“Truly remarkable,” he said, as the sound of ringing cash registers populated his thoughts. “There’s nothing we have today that could replicate this! Well, not yet, of course. The composition appears to be so smooth…almost as if it’s been hammered out or flattened…”

The shape of the shards made him even more curious. “As if it had been formed deliberately into some sort of shape…” He didn’t have all the pieces to the knife, but if he fit them together just the right way…they almost looked like…

“Are you sure this is how it came from the meteor?”

Mary swallowed but remained calm. “Like I said, my grandfather found it that way. Why?”
No, that couldn’t be, thought Bradley. But if these pieces had once been part of some sort of instrument or tool…might they be artifacts of an alien species?

“Your grandfather said he thought this came from a meteor? From space, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say these pieces almost resemble fragments of a blade or instrument of some sort.”

Mary continued to play along. She hadn’t intended for Francis Bradley to think she’d just delivered him evidence of extraterrestrial life…but in a manner, it was just that, having originated in a decidedly alien world he’d never heard of or seen before.

“Really? A tool of some kind? From outer space? Goodness.”

Bradley stroked his mustache intensely. “Yes…I suppose that is possible… Created by people from another world…”

Cicero snickered as he sat invisibly on Mary’s shoulder. “Doesn’t it drive you mad, not being able to tell him where it really came from?” Mary kept her attention on Bradley.

“Though,” he added, “it is more likely that we’re looking at fragments made smooth by the ancient volcanic activity at Giant’s Causeway.” Bradley, in fact, had little idea of what he was saying, but as long as he thought he knew, Mary hoped, her plan would have a chance of succeeding.

“Goodness me,” Mary said. “How much would something like this be worth?”

“That all depends,” said Mr. Bradley. “I’d like to have a closer look at these notes, if you don’t mind. To get a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“Be my guest,” Mary said.

Mr. Bradley was still wondering whether or not he could synthesize a similar compound using Britannia Steel’s facilities. And if the shards were naturally occurring, which he felt was more likely than not, that would mean there was more of the same kind of metal still embedded in the meteor.

He looked up from the notebook to Mary. “Did your grandfather have any more notebooks other than this?”

“No,” she said, “just the one. You can keep it if you like.”

Francis Bradley had difficultly believing his good fortune. Mary watched as he gawked and stammered, wondering if she had the same expression on her face when she was first visited by Lyra that one afternoon at her old office in Oxford.

“I notice,” said Mr. Bradley, “that these notes don’t mention the exact location of the meteor at Giant’s Causeway. Do you happen to know where it is?”

Mary allowed herself to be just a little sly with the man. “Well, maybe I do and maybe I don’t.” She tried to give him the impression that, though not particularly bright regarding metals, she knew to make a deal when the opportunity presented itself. “I only just received all these things in an inheritance…”

“My condolences,” said Bradley hollowly.

Mary went on, “So I haven’t had a chance to visit Giant’s Causeway yet to see if it’s all still there. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to. There’s no other notebook…but I do, though, have this map.” Mary produced another weathered-looking document, this time from her jacket. It was even more crudely drawn than any of the figures in the notebook, and was vague in its description of the fake meteor as it was genuine-looking.

“Of course,” she went on, “if I went back and found it first, I could claim it all for myself, couldn’t I?”

Bradley knew what she was driving at, and was a little annoyed by it. Was she trying to get extort money from him? Mary knew she was, in a way, but had to remind herself that all of this was for a greater good.

The man was ready to give Mary a piece of his mind when the sight of the engine and mallet reminded him of all that he had to gain. He simply had to have the metal, all of it, and was prepared to make whatever deal he needed to get secure the map in Mary’s hand.

“Yes, yes, you could of course do that, but you must surely understand that the applications for such a metal would be invaluable to not just our company but, and I don’t exaggerate when I say this, the entire world! Britannia Steel would of course be willing to compensate you for the rights to these materials…”

“What sort of compensation?” Mary said. Please, don’t let this fail, she thought.

“If you give me just a moment, I could sort out the numbers and give you an estimate? Of course, we would need to run all of this by our legal and financial departments, but…”

“I’d like to hear your offer first, Mr. Bradley.” She held half of the mallet head in one hand and tapped it against the palm of the other.

“Of course.” Bradley turned away from her and pulled out a calculator and some charts.

“Here it comes,” Cicero said to Mary. “The wheels are really starting to turn inside his head now.”

Let’s assume these are the only pieces she’s got in her possession, Bradley thought. If I make her the right offer, it would be ours to do with as we wished…ours to analyze. Ours alone. We’d even get these notebooks. And of course, if it truly is a naturally occurring metal within the meteor, I’d need to know exactly how much there is …

“Is there anywhere in your grandfather’s findings,” said Bradley without looking up, “that offers some idea of the size of the meteor or the amount of the metal within?”

Mary thought for a moment, formulating the most effective description to give him. “He may have mentioned something about it being as large as a railcar. Perhaps a little smaller.”

Bradley was cheering on the inside, but kept his composure. “I see,” he said. “Just a moment while I tot this all up.”

He leafed back through the notebook, and a passage caught his eye:

“The meteor rock appeared to be covered over by a small landslide by the rocks on the shore…perhaps just after impact? And several of the basalt columns were fused to its edges. So close the shore…with the waves and the tides covering the path made by the rock’s impact…who knows how long ago it happened? The lack of a crater is rather mysterious.

By my estimates, there’s at least a metric ton of this metal embedded within the rock, though I can not be certain.”

Bradley estimated what an ounce of the metal would be worth in relation to the most comparable rare earth metals. He decided the value of the metal would be at least ten times the current per-ounce value of rhodium, setting the value of the shards of the subtle knife at about £3,000 per ounce.

Now, assuming there’s a least a metric ton of the metal within the meteor…

He started at the total on the calculator. If there was in fact a metric ton to be had, priced at £3,000 per ounce, the metal would be worth over £125,000,000.

Francis Bradley crossed himself discreetly and tried to calm down. Finally, after gathering his wits, he turned to face Mary. He, of course, wasn’t about to make her an offer of that magnitude.

“I’ve come up with a figure,” he said. “Provided, of course, that you relinquish all rights to the future use of this metal…”

Mary piped up. “I’ve been doing some thinking about that myself, Mr. Bradley. And I did some figurin’ as well, and I know that that metal’s worth a whole bundle of money.”

Bradley went silent. He could feel the opportunity slipping away.

“And I figure,” Mary said, pulling out a crumpled piece of scrap paper she’d apparently done her figuring on, “that it’s worth no less than £1,000,000. That’s my price, Mr. Bradley. You’ll get the map, the notebooks, and these shards here. For £1,000,000. Take it or leave it.”

Mary’s bargain price produced the broadest grin ever to cross Francis Bradley’s face.

“You have a deal, Ms. Malone.”

Two weeks later, Mary signed a flurry of contracts and releases, as did several officials from Britannia Steel. Three weeks later, she and the Parry’s financial future were secured.

Mary took two additional steps to prevent any potential backfiring of her plan. She hired a stockbroker to help her invest in and manage a healthy mix of proven, standard, high-yielding stocks as well as futures in cutting-edge tech companies. This way, not only would they have enough financial resources for their current goals, but they could ensure the continued future success of their efforts.

The other step she took came before receiving payment from Britannia Steel. She demanded a clause in her contract stating that Britannia Steel would agree to never prosecute her over any charges of fraud if they were unsuccessful in locating the supposed meteor. In fact, years later, after exhaustive surveys of Giant’s Causeway, it was determined by Britannia Steel officials that no such meteor existed. But, no charges were brought up against Mary, since not only had she signed away the rights to pursue a patent of a new rhodium alloying process, but they also had the miraculous shards she’d given them, which was the only proof they needed that Mary Malone had told them the truth.

* * * * * * * * * *

Alec was a healthy young man, and in excellent shape, but found that twenty minutes of swimming laps with a future Olympian was more tiring than he thought it would be.

He stopped at the edge of the deep end of the pool and clung to the side, catching his breath. He and Jeanine had run several mini-races, with her winning most of them, except for the ones were Alec splashed her or distracted her somehow. She didn’t count those as victories, but Alec did. They had nearly launched a full-blown splash war against one another, but thought better of it once they caught sight of the imposing lifeguard that had watched them silently for the last half-hour.

Jeanine came to a stop and joined Alec, panting but full of energy.

“What’s the problem,” she said between breaths, “Tired already?”

“You’re training for the Olympics! I think I kept up with you fairly well. You should try my splashing method to distract the other swimmers. You’ll win for sure.”

Jeanine squirted some water at him with her hands, making sure the lifeguard wasn’t watching. He deflected the stream, and moved a bit closer to Jeanine.

“Say, how old are you, Allie?” said Jeanine.

Alec was actually beginning to like when she called him that.

“I’ll turn thirteen this November,” he said boldly. Like any young boys trying to impress older girls, he described his age in the rounded-up, future-tense fashion. “How old are you?”

“Just turned fourteen last month,” she said.

Alec nodded. “Hey, thanks for the goggles. That was nice of you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve actually been to the doctor because of the chlorine, and how bad my eyes would get. But I love to swim, so I have to be extra careful. Just part of the challenge, you know? I always have at least two pairs of goggles with me. So, now that you know what I like to do, what do you like to do?”

That was a fair question, but Alec wasn’t sure what to mention as an interest. He certainly wasn’t involved in anything at his age that matched training for the Olympics. There was his music, and his art.

“I like to do art.”

“Really? What kind”

“You know, paintings, drawings, things like that.”

Jeanine was impressed. She figured he was younger than she was, but didn’t know many boys his age that were interested in art. “Do you have any examples of your work with you?”

“No. Sorry.” Alec only drew and painted in school, but now wished he’d carried a sketchpad and some pencils with him, just to have something to show her.

Alec shifted the focus back to her. “So, where are you from? I’m guessing somewhere on the other side of the Atlantic, right?”

Jeanine grinned. “That’s right. I’m from Canada. Vancouver, British Columbia. I have relatives in England, in Southampton, and we’re visiting for the summer while school is out. I’m here with some of my cousins. No parents. It’s pretty cool.”

Alec smiled slightly. He thought of this mother.

“Where are you from?” Jeanine went on. “I’m guessing England, of course. What part?”

“I live in Winchester with my father and grandmother.”

“What about your mother?” asked Jeanine.

Alec paused. Jeanine sensed she’d touched onto something sensitive. “You don’t have to tell me if you…”

“She died five years ago.” He said no more about her. “I’m here with my father.” He tried to sound more upbeat, but it was difficult.

“I’m so sorry,” Jeanine said. “My grandfather died two years ago, and left me and my cousins a big inheritance. My grandfather was very rich. Actually, my whole family is rich anyway. They all work for a shipping company in Vancouver. It’s been around for years. My parents wanted me to work for the company someday, but I have other things I want to do.”

“Swimming,” Alec said.”

“You got it, Allie. But all the money we have…sometimes, I think it’s ridiculous how much we have. It used to seem fun, but not anymore. I mean, sure, I get to go on vacations and cruises and things, but that’s not all I want in life. I just get tired of it sometimes.”

“I know exactly what you mean. See, my father’s a doctor – well, he’s not really a doctor. He studied to become a doctor, but then he just stopped.”

“Really? But it sounds like you have a rich family.”

“Well, he does a lot of medical research or something, and he gets money from that. And he invested some money, too. I guess he’s made a lot from that also. But sometimes he tries to buy me things and do things with the money to make me happy. And it doesn’t work.”

Jeanine nods.

“Yes, I know what that’s like.” The two children floated in the water together, each committing to memory all of the things they had in common.

Alec had a question for Jeanine. “You say you’ve been on the cruise the whole time?”

That was a silly question, he thought. Of course she had to have been.

“Yep. Guess we just never ran into one another.”

“Guess I’ve been pretty busy,” Alec said, covering for all the moping he’d done on the cruise.

“My cousins and I have seen all the sights so far…I didn’t get to see much of Ibiza, though – not appropriate for a girl my age, is what my cousin Patricia said – but we did get to do some things when we were at Corfu. I visited the Byzantine fortress of Aggelokastro. I just loved the architecture there. Did you get a chance to see it?”

Alec mentally kicked himself.

“No. Guessed I missed it while I was there.” He considered telling her he went windsurfing, but decided against it.

Jeanine looked around the pool area for a clock. She spied Alec’s watch and asked him for the time. “Quarter of seven,” he told her.

She looked a bit surprised. “Already? Time flies, you know? Hey! I don’t know if you and your dad are busy later, but if you’re not, there’s a new youth dance club they just opened up on the ship. It’s pretty new…an all-ages kind of place, that’s what Patricia told me. Did you know about that?”

Alec didn’t. Will had tried showing him all the activities on the ship that were ‘kid-friendly’, but Alec paid no attention. “Must have missed that too,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Well, want to come tonight? My cousins and I will be there around eight o’clock, and it’s open until one in the morning. Think you can come?”

Despite his displeasure with his father, Alec felt a bit conflicted by Jeanine’s invitation. Why eight o’clock?

“Can I meet you there a little later?” He didn’t say why.

“I suppose so,” she said, “but they’re giving away prizes starting at eight, and you can even put in song requests if you want to, and you’d need to get there early to do that. But if you can’t make it…”

“No, no,” Alec said, speaking before thinking his dilemma completely through. “I should be able to make it by then.”

She smiled at him. “Hope so,” she said. “It’s is called the Crystal Ball Club, on the main deck. I don’t know what I’ll be wearing, but I’ll find you if you don’t find me first.”

Alec smiled back, exhilarated. “Eight o’clock,” he said. “You’ll find me.”

“See you then, Allie.” She climbed out of the pool, picked up her things, and left. Patricia awoke from her tanning session and followed her cousin.

Alec bobbed in the water, going over what he’d just said. He wondered what would happen if he wasn’t at the Franconia Restaurant in an hour and fifteen minutes.

Important news. About Dad, and Mother, and me.

Why now? Why did it have to be tonight? Couldn’t his father tell him later, even after the cruise was over and they were back home? Jeanine would be staying in Southampton, sure, but he knew his chances of seeing her again were slim.

He should have told me before, Alec rationalized. A tiny trace of guilt still nagged at him, but the fact that he had a date with a girl more than made up for it.