Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

there will be press, media, and cameras until hell won’t have them. Celebrities. Politicians. Socialites. The whole tacky tortilla.”
    “What Shane is trying to say,” Risa offered, “is that in Las Vegas there’s downtown, downscale, tasteless, and then there’s uptown, upscale, ostentasteless. Nothing in this lot will make a jaded tourist blink.”
    Yet even as she spoke, her fingertips reverently brushed the cool, damaged surface of what could have been a privileged child’s torc or a votive offering to one of the four hundred named deities the Celts had worshipped. To her, even the most awkward artifact deserved respect simply for having survived when so much else had been lost.
    Dana waved off the explanation and looked at Shane. She had expected his impatience. That was why she had insisted that Rarities pay for Risa’s time and travel. “Down, boy. She’s here for us, not you.” To Niall she said, “Why don’t you take him to the basement and play with guns or something.”
    It was an order, not a question.
    Shane laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender to the small brunette. “You rise to the bait so beautifully, Dana. Hard to resist.”
    “Fight it,” Niall suggested, but the lines at the corners of his eyes gave away his silent laughter.
    Dana said something that was either “men” or “merde.” No one asked for clarification.
    Smiling, Risa picked up the small torc. “From its weight, it’s hollow. This torc—neckring—is most probably grave goods or perhaps an offering to the spirit of a special spring or a marsh or a river. From the color, I might guess that the torc was made from a gold-silver alloy similar to the hoard found in Snettisham, England, which has been dated to mid-first century b.c. Even if that is the case, it wouldn’t be definitive proof of origin for this object, because graves and treasure troves have been dug up and melted down and reworked for as long as people have been burying gold in the ground in the first place.”
    “But you would be comfortable with labeling that torc as British Celtic, approximately first century b.c.?” Dana asked.
    “If that is consistent with your XRF results—”
    “It is,” Dana cut in. “None of the pieces match XRF graphs of modern nine-, fourteen-, or eighteen-karat-gold alloys.”
    Risa nodded without glancing away from the torc. “The technique isn’t up to the standards of what has been published from the Snettisham hoards of the first century b.c. These terminals aren’t even engraved. Maybe the torc wasn’t finished. Maybe it was. We’ll never know. We can only judge what we have in our hands, not what might have been.”
    “But the torc is similar to the Snettisham goods?” Dana pressed.
    “Apparently this torc is made of electrum. So were some of the Snettisham goods. That’s all I’m willing to say at this point.”
    Risa held the torc out and turned it so that the overhead camera would have a clear view. The awkwardness of the object leaped into high relief.
    “This is a single hollow tube of gold shaped—inelegantly—into a small neckring,” Risa said. “As a golden survivor of the centuries, it has both extrinsic and intrinsic value. As an example of the jeweler’s art of Iron Age Britain . . .” She shrugged. “Ordinary. Very ordinary. Any good museum has something like it in storage in the basement, waiting for a scholar to care.”
    Dana’s nod made light shimmer over her short dark hair. The client had doubtless hoped for more, but that was his problem. Her problem was to buy, sell, appraise, and protect the constant stream of cultural artifacts that came through the door of Rarities Unlimited.
    “The other pieces are of similar artistic quality.” Deftly Risa replaced the torc in its nest and picked another piece of jewelry at random. “This penannular brooch—think of it as a broken circle—was used to keep robes, cloaks, and the like from falling off your shoulders. Many such brooches were made of iron or bronze. The Vikings preferred silver, because that’s what they had the most of to work with. The Celtic tradition in earlier times and other places is rich in gold.”
    Niall looked at the brooch. There wasn’t any way to fasten the piece to cloth. There wasn’t even a sharp point to pierce fabric before coming to rest in the rudely formed clasp. “Don’t see how it could hold up anything.”
    “That’s because the pin part of the brooch was broken,” Risa