The Scratch on the Ming Vase by Caroline Stellings Read Free Book Online

said Byron. “Too many students with nothing better to do than gape.”
    â€œHow about your office?” asked Nicki.
    â€œNo, that’s no good.”
    Why can’t we go to his office? she wondered.
    â€œLet me think,” said Byron, placing an index finger on his chin. “There’s got to be some quiet place nearby.”
    â€œLet’s go to Mac’s room,” suggested T’ai. He turned to Nicki. “He lives here in residence.”
    â€œGood,” said Byron, and the three of them headed across campus.
    The door to Mac’s room swung open when T’ai knocked. His friend was nowhere in sight.
    â€œHe must have a class. The guy never rests.” T’ai closed the door behind the other two. “He won’t mind if we come in.”
    Nicki removed several layers of bubble wrap from the vase.
    Peter Byron was more interested in Mac’s room and everything in it.
    â€œTakes me back,” he said. Then he opened a desk drawer. “Can I borrow a pen?” he asked. “I want to take some notes, then I can check my sources for information about your bowl.”
    â€œVase.”
    Nicki watched his eyes skim back and forth across the desk drawer, as if he was searching for something. Finally, he picked up a pen. Then he looked for paper, but instead of going for blank sheets from an open package, he riffled through typed pages sitting in a pile next to Mac’s printer.
    â€œHere it is.” Nicki handed the vase to Byron.
    â€œYes, that’s a Ming all right,” he said, then gave it to T’ai.
    That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? “Can you tell me anything about it?” asked Nicki.
    â€œWhat year would this have been fired?” T’ai gently turned the vase around. “Can you determine the age from the dragon design?” T’ai looked at the bottom. “I guess it would have been made in 1600 or so.”
    â€œYes, yes,” said Byron, “you’re probably right.”
    Nicki watched his gaze shift back and forth between the vase and every book, file, and disk on Mac’s desk.
    What’s this guy’s problem?
    â€œHow do you know that the vase isn’t from the Tang dynasty? Since that came immediately before the Ming period—wouldn’t it be difficult to tell?”
    T’ai went to correct her, but Nicki gestured him not to speak.
    â€œWell, you can’t be sure, of course. It could be a Tang vase.” He scratched down something on the paper, tucked it into his shirt pocket, and went to put the pen back into the desk drawer, but dropped it.
    â€œI’ll get that,” said T’ai, bending over to pick it up.
    Byron’s hand moved fast, but Nicki was sure he stuck something on the underside of the drawer.
    Did he just plant a bug?
    â€œI’ll consult some of my colleagues and see what I can find out,” he said. “But really, I think you’d better take this to an expert in ceramics. Maybe somebody at the Royal Ontario Museum.”
    â€œYes,” said Nicki, “the ROM has had exhibits of Chinese porcelain in the past. That’s a good idea.”
    As she began to wrap the vase, Mac entered the room.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” His face turned bright red, and he stormed over to T’ai. “What! You think you can bust in here without even asking me?”
    â€œBut, the door was—”
    â€œI don’t care. Get out of here.”
    Nicki and Byron shuffled out to the hall.
    â€œMac, you always said I could—” T’ai stopped. “Your forehead. It’s bruised.” He moved closer. “What happened, Mac?”
    â€œForget about it.”
    He slammed the door in T’ai’s face.
    T’ai hollered through the crack.
    â€œMac, I’m sorry. Really. You said I could come here anytime.”
    There was no reply.
    T’ai slapped his hand on the door several times, but Mac