The Lost Choice by Andy Andrews

really,” Mark said.“He told me he was headed out our way tonight—I guess to see his sister—anyway, he said he had some info on the object and asked if it was okay to drop by. I told him just to plan on eating dinner with us.”There was silence on the phone.“Dorry?”
    â€œYes?” Her mood had changed again.“Mark, I won’t be home till after seven o’clock! I have an article to write tonight . . . Dinner? What time is he coming?”
    â€œWell, I told him . . . seven . . . -ish. Tell you what: Michael and I will cook. You won’t have to do a thing.”
    â€œUh-huh,” Dorry said through clenched teeth. “696-8777.”
    â€œWhat?” Mark asked.
    â€œI said, 696-8777. It’s the number for Domino’s. Just get whatever.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œMark?”
    â€œYes?
    â€œNo anchovies.”
    AFTER DINNER THAT EVENING, MARK PRESIDED OVER Michael’s bath and got him into bed while Dorry made coffee and engaged in small talk with Dylan. When at last they were all in the living room, Mark asked,“Well, is this gonna be good or did we waste your time?”
    â€œGood, I think,” Dylan grinned.“Intriguing anyway. Are you ready?” Mark and Dorry nodded.“All right, here goes.” Dylan pulled the object out of a satchel he’d brought in and left on the couch earlier.
    â€œWell . . . ,”Dylan began,“I gave it to an archy down the hall from me . . . an archaeologist,” he added, noting the quizzical expressions on the Chandlers’ faces.“Her name is Abby. She’s nice. Cute, which is a plus. And she said ‘yes’ when I asked her out, which is another plus.” Dylan looked up and smiled before continuing. “She’s new to Denver and the museum, like me, and being young, is anxious to prove her PhD is not a fluke.”
    â€œSo what did she say?” Dorry pushed.
    â€œHang on, I’m getting there,” Dylan answered. He pulled a palm-sized personal computer from his satchel, clicked a few buttons with a plastic pencil, and said,“Leaded bronze.” Dylan looked up. “You know, I thought it was leaded bronze, but this is really old stuff. I mean really old. Not Bronze Age exactly, but almost.”
    Mark leaned forward.“Which means what? How old?” “Less than twenty-four hundred years old, but almost certainly older than eighteen hundred. Old.”
    â€œYou’re kidding,” Dorry said.
    â€œNope. Could be only sixteen . . . seventeen hundred years, but Abby doubts it. She said the quality of the casting is not that great, which would skew it older. It’s soft, she says, though it doesn’t feel soft to me.”All three of them looked at the object on the coffee table. “ Soft is a relative term with metals, I suppose.”
    Dylan continued.“Bronze is an alloy—an amalgamation of metals—originally created by adding tin to copper. Copper was too brittle to use for anything other than ornamentation.”
    Dylan looked at his computer again.“Lead was deliberately added to the mix during this period to lower the melting temperature and facilitate pouring and molding. When this was made”—Dylan bent forward and picked up the object from the table—“leaded bronze was mostly for statues, pots, some weapons. And—I thought this was interesting—leaded bronze coins were used by the Roman Empire during the same time period as the casting of this particular piece.”
    â€œWow!” Dorry exclaimed. “Did she know where it came from?”
    Dylan scrunched up his face, closing one eye.“Hard to tell from the composition. Listen to the list of places that made this kind of thing during that time period.” He punched a button on the computer with his thumb.“Babylonia, Egypt, Greece, Mesopotamia, China, Persia, and most of Europe.” Dylan smiled. “Tough