"Lysian Scott! What are you doing here?"

Lysian turned to see a familiar form coming up from the road. "Melanie? I should ask the same of you!"

"Have you seen the papers lately?" Melanie continued as she caught up to him.

"To be truthful, no. I’m on vacation," Lysian replied, pushing his bangs out of his face.

"Then you haven’t heard? Someone’s robbed the museum." Melanie looked incredulous. "I’d’ve thought you, of all people, would know what’s up."

"Why? Because I’ve caught a couple mistakes in the records, you think I know everything?"

"Lee!" Melanie sighed, exasperated. "A couple mistakes? You know as well as I do that those weren’t clerical errors!"

Lysian raised an eyebrow. "Who told you that? It was just a misclassification of a few things."

"Lee, it was all over town. Everyone said they were stolen," Melanie replied.

"All over the tabloids, you mean. I should think someone as determined as you at finding the truth would know enough not to believe those things. What are you doing here, anyway?"

Melanie knew he was changing the subject but she’d known him too long to expect any less. "The Melbourne Museum was robbed the other day. Some priceless artifacts were taken, but they’re all out of the country by now. But what was odd was that the thieves stole the Ayers manuscript."

"The Ayers? The one they uncovered last year?" Lee asked, surprised, "I thought no one could decipher the glyphs on that."

"They can’t," Melanie replied, "But whoever stole it has some other use for it, apparently. They weren’t amateurs; they knew exactly what they were looking for. Why they’d want a 700-year-old unreadable manuscript is beyond me."

Lysian had some ideas of his own, but kept them to himself. "That doesn’t explain why you’re here."

"I’m here because I was going to see the manuscript, of course," Melanie replied. She was in law school, but ancient linguistics was a hobby.

"But how did you get here?" Lee could understand how she had been intrigued by the Ayers piece; she might have flown down during a vacation to see it. She was like that. But Melbourne was a day’s drive from the guest ranch.

"Dad knows someone who knows Mr. Flynn. He said I could stay here until the manuscript is found or I have to go back to the States. It’s better than staying in Melbourne," she replied, "Why are you here?"

"You father knows everyone," Lee said with a grin, "I’m here because the caves are here. I planned on doing some spelunking."

"You’re not going to look for the manuscript?" Melanie asked, disappointed.

"Why should I? Manuscripts are your forte, not mine. Anyway, this week’s not for research; I’m spelunking."

But his curiosity had been aroused. Maybe he would do some background checking after Melanie left.

"Well, I have to go now. Jason’s expecting me for dinner," Melanie said.

"Jason?"

"Jason Flynn, the owner’s son. He wanted to hear about American law." She smiled.

Lee had no doubt there was more than American law on Jason’s mind. Melanie was quite good looking, and her father’s money tended to swing males in her direction. "I guess I’ll see you around then," he said, and walked back to his room.

Lysian Scott was 25 years old, and was often called "enigmatic," at least when people were being polite. No one knew that much about him, mainly because he spent more time looking at history books than anything else. It was known he’d been educated at some of the best schools both in the States and in Britain. His C.V. listed a Master’s in History and a Bachelor’s in Computer Science, but other than that, he often remained a mystery. He’d spent the past two years roaming the world, doing research and seeking out "new old things to learn."

But his slim form hadn’t come from lack of food or exercise; spelunking was just one of the hobbies he practiced when he wasn’t pouring over an old book. He’d been in Australia for about two weeks, looking up the continent’s past in the capital city of Canberra. An acquaintance had told him of the caves at Flynn ranch, and he’d come up for a break from the computer screens and musty tomes that were his oftimes companions.

The tall young man had a reputation for finding things out. The "misclassifications" Melanie had mentioned were perfect examples: some artifacts at a museum in the States had gone missing, and it was Lee who’d found them. The official story was that they’d been misplaced, but the rumor mill declared they’d been stolen. Lee did nothing to encourage the rumor, but it followed him just the same.

Lee opened the notebook in his room and began to type. "Ran into Melanie. Discovered Ayers manuscript stolen. Might check into that... Tomorrow is perfect weather for a trip to the caves. Will leave early." He closed out the journal program and pulled up a file on Australian artifacts. His file didn’t have much on the Ayers manuscript, because he was en route Melbourne at the moment, but it did list some background info.

[It] is an ancient, book-like manuscript, constructed of a form of papyrus indigenous to the Australian continent. The inscription appears to be glyphic, in an unknown language similar to ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. The ink is an unknown substance, but has held up well over time. The manuscript was discovered in an unidentified shrine or tomb. It is thought to be a link to the first civilization in Australia.

"Well, that doesn’t tell me much," Lee said to himself, "but it does give me a starting point."

Putting the modem on the phone line, he called up the Melbourne Museum’s records. He got through to the menu of the Manuscripts screen.

PASSWORD?

Lee typed the museum’s standard password.

ACCESS DENIED.

"Hm. That’s strange. Why should something like the Ayer’s be high security? No one can read it.... Unless someone can read it? But if that’s so, why lock it up"

Lysian pondered this hypothesis, and finally realized that if the Ayer’s piece really was translatable, and said something that the museum didn’t want known, the thieves might well be looking for ransom or blackmail of some sort. But what could the manuscript say that would be so dangerous?

Lysian’s mind was running in circles. He forced himself to stop, reminding himself that this was a vacation, and he was not here to find a lost manuscript. He turned off the computer and got ready for supper.

The next day dawned clear and mild, as the weather forecast had predicted. Lee was up at first light, packing his equipment. He didn’t have access to a truck, so he had to ride. He got the horse he’d been assigned from the stables, grabbed the backpack, and rode off all before anyone besides the help was awake.

He arrived at the caves around nine. It was a beautiful ride, and the chestnut gelding had an excellent disposition. Lee tethered the horse to a tree near the caves, made sure he had water and a place for grazing, and started in. Not far in, there was a deep hole, the very reason he’d come. From his pack, he removed the harness, rope, and light that he was to wear. Most spelunkers worked in groups, but Lee didn’t know of any others in the area at the moment. He double- and triple-checked his equipment before shrugging on his pack and dropping over the side.

He reached a ledge about fifteen feet down. When he stopped, he noticed another hole in the wall, one that wasn’t on his map. The chute he was in supposedly dropped straight to the bottom, about forty feet.

"Curiosity kills the cat," he muttered, and went to check out the cut. About eight feet or so in, there was another hole in the floor, which seemed to have a pale light radiating from it.

Lee shone his flashlight down the shaft; it bottomed out at maybe nine feet or so, short enough to jump. There was another cavern at the bottom, about six feet high, and that seemed to be where the light was coming from. Curiosity fought with caution, but finally Lee dropped down silently. He crouched in front of the new opening and peered in.

The cut was wide enough to walk through, and looked like it had been used recently. There was no sound coming from the shaft, so he cautiously ducked in to find what was causing the light.

He came out in a small cavern, set up like a bomb shelter; there was a cot, a shelf with canned food, and a table with a lit oil lamp, which was the source of the light. There was something else on the table; Lysian crept closer, his head barely missing the low ceiling. The object on the table appeared to be roughly rectangular and wrapped in canvas; it looked like a book of some sort.

Unwrapping it, Lee found that it was a wooden box, with symbols embedded in the lid. He opened the lid and inside lay a yellowed manuscript.

Manuscript? Lee gave it a quick once-over and realized it was indeed the missing Ayer’s. What in the hells was it doing here?

Of course, no one would think to look for it fifteen feet underground. Lysian rewrapped the book and stowed the package in his backpack. He’d just turned to lean when he heard someone coming down the passage. Anyone who’d gone to the trouble to hide the manuscript down here wouldn’t look kindly on visitors. Where could he hide? There was only the one exit, and the approaching light ruled it out.

Lee scanned the small room again; there seemed to be some space behind the shelves. He moved them slightly, and, sure enough, there was a small alcove. Taking care to move the shelves roughly back into place, he crouched and waited.

The sound of voices grew louder. "I hope that whoever came down that rope didn’t find the cave," a nasal voice said.

"Nah. There’s no passage in this hole, remember? No spelunker would be dumb enough to go off the map. Anyway, Charlie keeps them all in line," a rough bass responded.

Lee recalled that Charlie was one of the spelunking guides; most of the cavers took the tours. No one knew Lee had gone out by himself.

"Well, I’m still a little concerned," Nasal Voice continued, "That line came awfully close to our ladder."

"No worries, Jase. Nobody knows we’re here, and the boss is arriving tomorrow. All we’ve got to do is give him the book, and we’re home free."

"I guess you’re right. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be two million dollars richer," Jase said. There was a shuffling sound. "Hey Mick, did you move the book?"

"I don’t think so. Maybe Charlie put it on the shelf?"

Lee heard someone come towards the alcove. "No, it’s not here either. D’you think Charlie took it back to the ranch?" Jase sounded very agitated.

"Nah, he’s not that dumb. Especially with your old man listening to that American sheila."

Lee realized that ‘Jase’ must be Jason Flynn; in that case, the American ‘sheila’ must be Melanie.

"Hey, she’s a ditz, but she’s not too bad," Jason sounded defensive.

"Ha, the little man’s got his eye on the American. Remember, she’s the one who wants to see this thing back in its place." Mick laughed, sounding closer.

There was a shuffling at the shelves, and the laughter died. "We have to find that book. Wonder if Charlie hid it in the alcove?"

Lysian froze. If they moved the shelves, he’d be found. And he suddenly remembered where he’d heard the name Mick before. Mick was the stable master, and built like a linebacker. Jason, on the other hand, was a playboy type.

There wasn’t any time to come to a decision; the shelves began to move. Waiting until the last possible moment, he shoved the shelves over and burst out, sprinting for the cut.

The shelves knocked Mick to the ground; Lysian was past Jason before the man could do more than gape. "What the hell are you standing there for?" Mick yelled, struggling with the heavy metal shelves. "Get that idiot!"

Jason started out after Lee, who was already at the base of the short shaft. He jumped, using his height to push himself over the edge. By the time Mick got himself free, Lee was on the way to the main shaft. Grabbing his rope, he pulled himself up as fast as he could.

Glancing down, he saw Jason scrambling up the previously unseen ladder. The climb didn’t take Lysian long, but Jason was gaining. Then a shot rang out, the bullet barely missing the rope. Mick had a gun. Lee hit the top and kept running.

At the spot where he’d left the horse, he saw a Land Rover at the top of the cliff; there was a road of sorts up there. Lee scrambled up the cliff and found the doors unlocked, but the keys were missing. He dived into the truck as another shot whizzed past his head. Reaching under the dash, he yanked out the wires and clambered out the other side, racing back down the hill.

He was past the tree line by the time they reached the top, but Mick let off another shot for good measure. It missed, as Lee’d already untethered the horse and was now galloping for the ranch.

When he reached the stables, he decided to play it cool, like nothing had happened. He was sure they hadn’t gotten a good look at his face. He knew he had to get the manuscript back to the museum, but first there was something he needed to check out.

Pulling the manuscript from his pack, he powered up the notebook and opened his program for deciphering glyphs. He checked the manuscript for similarities to known languages and came up with a few comparisons. Going from there, he attempted to translate the glyphs.

It took him the better part of the night and the next day, even with his program, but he came up with a fair translation.

"This is outrageous!" He skimmed the translation again, making sure he’d read it correctly. "Unless I’m translating wrong, this is an account of how the Aborigines came to Australia, but the narrator isn’t Aboriginal. It seems to be written from the point of view of someone present in a society that existed for a long time before they arrived. But what happened to them, if that’s the case? There’s never been any mention of a preexisting civilization..."

A few minutes later, he looked up at the computer screen again. "Well, if this is real, I can see why they might want to hide it. At the time this was written, there shouldn’t have been anyone here with the skills to write such a piece. They must have been waiting until they could get conclusive proof that it’s not some sort of fake. But that still doesn’t explain why someone would want to steal it."

He stood up and began to pace around the room. "There aren’t many reasons why someone would steal an unproven manuscript. Someone obviously is willing to pay a lot for it. Do they want it for a private collection? Are they going to conveniently lose it? Or do they have another reason?" Something clicked, and Lee knew why the manuscript had been stolen, if not by whom. But he had a very good idea about that as well. He got back on the computer and took another look at the Melbourne Museum’s files.

Lysian checked the schedule of busses leaving for Melbourne. There was a late one leaving at 10. It would arrive in Melbourne the next morning. He reached for the phone and began to pack.

The next morning, Lysian climbed off the bus in Melbourne. He checked his bags at the hotel, grabbed the backpack with the manuscript and his notebook, and caught a trolley to the museum. Upon arriving, he asked to see the curator, and was politely informed that Professor Andrews was not available.

Lysian suspect why Professor Andrews wouldn’t want to see him, but he was going to see him anyway. Leaving the reception area, he headed down the hallway to the curator’s office. The secretary started to follow him, threatening to call security. Lee ignored her.

Shouts could be heard through Professor Andrews’ door. Lysian didn’t bother to knock.

"You lost it? How could you manage that? You’re not getting paid ‘til you find it, damn you!" The middle-aged Professor slammed the receiver down and swung his chair around.

Lee suppressed a smile as the older man growled, "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"

"My name is Lee Scott, and I’ve got some information on your missing manuscript."

"Never heard of you. You’re not a reporter, are you?"

"No, I’m not. But I think you’ll find what I have to say quite interesting."

"Mr. Scott, I’m a busy man. This had better be good." Andrews leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"Oh, it is. You see, I know who stole your manuscript, and I think I know why."

"Well?" Andrews snapped, "Who do you think stole it?"

"You did."

The older man gaped.

"I figured it out last night," Lee continued, "You have a reputation for being a very proud man. This would be a big find, the one that puts your name in history books. But your pride is your downfall. You can translate, and you can date a manuscript, marginally. But you don’t want anyone else to get the credit for it, so you haven’t let anyone else look at it. You can’t prove it until you’ve had an expert check it out, but you won’t let any experts confirm it."

"Now see here, young man..." Andrews sputtered, but Lysian ignored him.

"I checked the records. There was an archeologist coming to date the manuscript last week. You were jealous, so you did the only thing you could think of — hired a thief to steal it for you. Then you could miraculously "recover" it and the fame would be yours even if the expert credits it real. A very strange way of thinking, but it fits your profile."

"You don’t think you can prove that, do you?" Andrews muttered.

"Indeed I can, Professor. We can ask Jason Flynn. We can check your bank records. It’s not difficult these days."

"No! You can’t have it!" Andrews exploded, coming out of his chair, "You can’t take it away from me! It’s my find, mine! No one else knows what it means..."

Lysian stepped to one side, avoiding the charge. Andrews couldn’t stop, and bowled into the bemused policeman standing in the corridor. "Jeez, you were right," the officer said, cuffing Andrews, who was muttering crazily, "A nutty historian steals his own find. The supervisor is going to have a fit."

Lysian reached into his pack. "I’m sorry it couldn’t have been a better answer. The sad thing is, the credit already was his. He was just too unstable to realize it."

He removed the box and handed it to the museum guard who was watching the proceedings in puzzlement. "This belongs to the museum."

"What I’d like to know," the officer said, "is how you found this out."

""It was an accident. A friend told me it was missing, so I checked a couple of ideas out of curiosity. Then I put it out of my mind until I found that cave. When I was stuck, I heard them talking — all they wanted was the money. So I did some more checking, to find out who might have wanted the manuscript for any reason. I came across some info on Professor Andrews, and it just made sense." Lysian smiled ruefully. "I didn’t want to get into this at all. "

"Well, if you ever decide to join law enforcement, you’ve got talent," the officer said with a grin, "I looked up your file. This is some piece of work. A couple non-related incidents made into a clear-cut case."

"It’s just a lot of luck," Lysian replied, turning to leave. "If you don’t need anything else, I’ve got a plane to catch. I’m due in Perth tomorrow."

"Luck or talent, I wish you more of it," the officer said, but Lee was already gone.

Later that day, Lysian woke from a much-needed nap at his hotel to the ringing of his cell phone. "Lee?" Melanie asked, "I saw on the news that they found the manuscript, and where. You had something to do with that, didn’t you?"

"Really, Melanie, what makes you think that?"