Meryam stepped onto the ladder and started down.
“One monster at a time.”
The plastic tenting around the coffin had been dismantled. Bright lights illuminated the horned thing, a buttery yellow glow that cast haunted gray shadows in strange patterns on its withered remains and on the wall and floor around its box. Walker stayed out of the way as best he could, knowing that if anyone stumbled over him, Meryam would be within her rights to order him away.
Adam and Calliope somehow managed to be unobtrusive, weaving among the workers with their cameras. The workers Hakan had brought into the project had been excluded from this operation. Instead, Wyn Douglas and the archaeology students would be handling the removal of the remains, overseen by Dev Patil and Zeybekci. Olivieri hovered, studying the corpse intently. Meryam had twice barked at him and once physically maneuvered him out of the paleopathologist’s way when Patil grew visibly frustrated.
“Is this typical?” Olivieri asked, sidling up to Walker with an air of disapproval. “I’ve never observed this process before, but I can’t imagine there isn’t a more methodical way to extricate the cadaver, particularly in the interest of preservation.”
Under Patil’s direction, the students had unwrapped a fresh package of thick plastic sheeting. Nobody could have been under the illusion that the opaque tarp was sterile, but at least it was clean.
“No idea,” Walker said quietly, glancing at Calliope and her camera, not wanting his words recorded. “I’m not sure Meryam much cares at this point.”
The students slid the stiff plastic tarp under the cadaver’s head. When the horned skull shifted, they could all hear a dry crackle, like the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot. No. There was no way this was standard procedure in the archaeology world. This was fuck-it-get-it-done-fast procedure.
Walker wondered if the body would stick to the wood—if over the millennia the desiccated flesh would have melded itself to the bottom of the coffin—but as the archaeology team gently guided the tarp under the corpse, they encountered little resistance. The body rocked slightly. Bits of the dried skin that remained on the bones had reminded Walker of cobwebs, but they turned to dust as the body shifted, and the air at the back of the ark filled with a stale odor. Dev Patil sneezed into the crook of his arm, backing away for a moment as the students finished drawing the tarp underneath the body.
“We set?” Meryam asked.
Patil pulled a surgical mask up over his face and bent over the cadaver. With gloved hands, he checked the side of the head. The crinkling at the corners of his eyes made his displeasure clear and he sighed.
“There’s damage enough already,” he said. “So I’m going to say it again. Holding each edge of the tarp, we will gently roll the cadaver toward the wall. The board will be slid beneath the remains and then we will—again, gently—roll the cadaver back down. This will likely result in significant damage, but our goal is to minimize that damage.”
At this, Patil glanced sharply at Meryam. Walker could feel the sting of the paleopathologist’s disapproval from his place behind one of the lighting arrays.
A susurrus of mutterings came from off to the right, toward the other end of the passage, and Walker looked up to see Father Cornelius quietly arguing with Mr. Zeybekci.
“You may not,” Zeybekci said firmly.
“You have no authority over me,” the priest said, his caterpillar eyebrows knitted together. “Now let me pass!”
Walker swore under his breath.
“Dr. Walker—” Meryam began.
He held up a hand, staving off her admonishment, and pushed past Olivieri and one of the archaeology students. Adam’s camera tracked him as he approached Zeybekci and the priest.
“Father, you can’t be here,” Walker began.
“I don’t recognize your authority, either,” Father Cornelius said.
“If you mention God’s authority, I’ll pitch you off the mountain myself,” Walker heard himself say. He felt the flinch from the gathered team members, then realized what he’d said. Most of these people were worried that the missing staffers had been victims of foul play. If so, that almost certainly involved going over the cliff.
Father Cornelius ignored him, turning to Meryam instead. “Nobody here is going to listen to anyone but you, Miss Karga, so it’s to you I must appeal. I’ve been poring over my transcriptions and notes from my examination of the bitumen casing and the coffin lid and there is no doubt in my mind that the writing thereon is a warning, one that seems to be repeated several times, and emphatically so.”
Olivieri huffed and rolled his eyes.
Calliope swiveled to focus her camera on Meryam’s face.
“Father, honestly,” Meryam said, “I respect your faith—”
“This isn’t about my faith. These are writings that have no root in Christianity. Only history. It’s got nothing to do with being Catholic or Jewish or Muslim or any other religion.”
“It does, though,” Meryam said. “You’re suggesting there’s some kind of spiritual evil at work. That this thing”—she pointed at the horned cadaver—“is actually a demon. I’m not arguing your translation—”
“I am,” Olivieri muttered.
“—but I’m saying it doesn’t matter if the people who wrote those warnings believed they were necessary. We don’t believe them.” Meryam waved her hand around the space, her hand throwing long shadows in the bright, industrial light. “None of us but you, and priest or not, I’m surprised a man with your academic background would embrace such ideas.”
Father Cornelius walked to the edge of the coffin. One of the students moved to stop him, but Meryam waved the young woman away, allowing the priest to stand beside the box and stare down at the horned visage of the “demon.” The way the shadows fell inside the coffin, Walker admitted to himself that the thing looked terrifying.
“Back in my office, surrounded by books, I might not believe it,” Father Cornelius said. “But I’ve felt it. And I know you’ve all felt—”
“Oh, enough of this,” Olivieri interrupted. “You’ve translated only fragments, and I question the methods by which you arrived at even those limited translations. With all due respect, you’re a frightened, elderly man who has heard one too many tales of evil from his fellow priests.”
“The translation doesn’t matter now,” Walker said, trying to soften the inherent unkindness of the words as he gazed at Father Cornelius. “Even if this ugly bastard was an actual demon, look at it. The thing’s been dead since long before the time of Christ. It’s long gone.”
Zeybekci moved in front of the priest. “Please step back.”
Father Cornelius retreated a few paces, his face pale and his body tense.
“Do it,” Meryam said.
The students moved into place at the head and foot of the coffin, while Patil picked up the thin, hard plastic backboard and rested it on the edge. On the count of three, Patil nodded and the two students slowly shifted the plastic tarp, rocking the body to one side. Patil lowered the board into the coffin and worked it beneath the cadaver as if he were trying to shovel the dead thing up. As he bent over, sliding the board into place, a dry crackling came from the corpse, like tinder catching fire. A crack appeared in the horned thing’s chest, a puff of dust rose, followed by a little cloud of piss-yellow gas, enclosing Patil’s head in a momentary fog.
“Get back!” Walker called.
Adam darted forward, camera hanging by his side, forgotten, and used his free hand to haul Patil away. The paleopathologist turned and fell to his knees. For a moment Walker thought the whites of the man’s eyes had gone a putrid shade of orange. Then Patil twisted away from them and began to retch. The first groan brought up nothing, but with the next he spewed a torrent of vomit that splashed into the slanted corner of the cave, slipping into the places where the ark’s timbers had separated under the pressure of passing ages.