As she was going in, she thought it would be a good idea to draw the piece of felt carefully across the entrance, completely closing it and indicating to the Scythians that the strangers were not to be disturbed. When she turned around, taking hold of the edge of the felt, she unwittingly looked through the opening, and what she saw made her stop, rooted to the spot. Forgetting all about her tiredness, she watched.
She saw the misshapen Scythian, who had evidently come with the crowd, talking to the old soothsayer, gesticulating excitedly, and glancing every so often at the kibitka. Without understanding a word, Lida realized that the younger man wanted the soothsayer to give him something that was in the kibitka. But the soothsayer kept doggedly shaking his head, apparently saying no. The younger man insisted.
Watching them talk made Lida’s heart race wildly for some reason or other. She could not guess what it was that the ugly Scythian wanted, but she sensed it was something extremely significant, something that might concern them all. But what? Why was she so unnerved by it?
The soothsayer was now listening to the stoop-shouldered man with growing attention, and then Lida saw him nod his head curtly. The younger man’s face twisted into a contented smile. She shifted her gaze to the soothsayer, checking whether he had in fact given his consent. The soothsayer nodded his head in an unmistakable gesture of assent.
The misshapen Scythian cast a quick glance at the kibitka. His whole face shone with satisfaction. His eyes seemed to have located Lida in the kibitka and were resting on her… His gaze made her shudder and start back so violently that she almost lost her balance.
“Lida, what’s keeping you?” she heard the voice of Ivan Semenovich. “Come here. There’s something new and interesting for all of us.”
Lida turned around, and as she walked over to join the rest, she stopped dead, overcome with surprise. She saw something that she never expected to see.
Her friends, sitting on a rug, were talking to none other than Varkan who had somehow made his way into the kibitka. The Scythian was lying in the far corner of the kibitka, covered with a piece of cloth, only his helmeted head showing.
“Varkan!” Lida exclaimed in astonishment, opening her eyes wide. The next moment she flushed as she saw the young Scythian, hearing her utter his name, smile amicably at her.
CHAPTER THREE
The explorers are informed that they are the property of the gods the Scythian food is eaten and complicated problems involving Skolot and Dorbatay are discussed; the archeologist goes into one of his impromptu discourses on history and Dorbatay puts forward his conditions; more is learned about Hartak, the misshapen Scythian, and Ivan Semenovich expands his ideas.
“Don’t just stand there like that, Lida. Come over here. You’re not afraid of our friend Varkan, are you?” Ivan Semenovich said, laughing.
“Of course not! But how… how did he get in here?” Lida asked, still in the grip of the initial fright.
“That’s what Dmitro Borisovich is going to explain to us, as he remains the only person who can communicate with Varkan. Dmitro Borisovich! We’re waiting for you to start!”
In the semi-darkness of the kibitka, into which the twilight could penetrate only through the opening at its top, the conversation began, with Dmitro Borisovich acting as the interpreter. Artem was dispatched to stand guard at the entrance. He was to signal should anyone approach. That was the first thing Varkan wanted the explorers to do. Varkan was lying on llie floor, almost completely covered with a piece of felt; if the alarm were given, he could pull the felt over his head in his dark corner, and thus remain unnoticed by anyone who entered.
Varkan was telling his story in a low voice but speaking very fast. Dmitro Borisovich had to interrupt him once in a while, asking him to repeat or explain something that he had missed or failed to understand. Every two or three minutes, he stopped Varkan to translate what had been said. Impatient to render Varkan’s words as quickly as possible, he made short cuts, dropping words and sounds, gesticulating with his agile hands to help himself and others get his meaning.
“Skolot, you see, could do nothing in that situation,” Dmitro Borisovich translated. “The soothsayer — as we ourselves correctly guessed — managed to use the approaching thunderstorm to his own ends, threatening the Scythians with the wrath of the gods who would hurl rocks down from the sky if… well, in fact, rocks do happen to fall from the sky here…”
“That is quite an understandable phenomenon given the local conditions,” remarked the geologist.
“Terrified, the Scythians followed the soothsayer and demanded that we be handed over to them. The soothsayer’s case was immensely strengthened by the thunderbolts… Skolot was obliged to give in to the demand as he was afraid that any further resistance would lead to the fighting between his warriors and the soothsayer’s henchmen. So, now we’re in the hands of the soothsayer who has put a magic spell on us so that no one, except for him and his priestesses, can approach us… A sort of taboo. Now we’re the property of the gods, so to speak… And since the soothsayer has developed a strong dislike for us, we, as Varkan tells me, are in danger of being… errr… sacrificed to appease these gods…”
“I protest!” Artem called indignantly from his post at the entrance. “That must not be allowed to happen!”
“I hold the same view, but it’s a good thing we’ve been forewarned. Varkan says that the old soothsayer is an extremely wily and treacherous person. But this also makes it likely that he will want to use us for his own ends. The Scythians, you see, take us for some kind of wizards or sorcerers. Especially Artem…”
“Rrrright, Fm a very powerful magician!’’ the young man said in a voice affecting imperious dignity.
“Yes, Yarkan says that you, Artem, have produced a very strong impression on the Scythians. Diana, our dear poskina, has also wrought havoc… To make it short and sweet, Varkan says that the confrontation has only just begun. The main thing is to let the Scythians calm down a little, then it’ll be easier to deal with them. Now they’re too excited… Ah, there’s one thing we’ve got to ask Varkan about!”
Dmitro Borisovich began speaking to Varkan, choosing his words painstakingly. Nevertheless, it was obvious that he had gained somewhat in fluency. Varkan listened to him, his head bent attentively.
“Dmitro Borisovich, ask him who that stoop-shouldered Scythian is. He’s been making eyes at Lida all the time,” Arlem requested from his post at the entrance.
“All righ, I will.”
After the archeologist had worded his questions, Varkan started explaining, and, evidently, it was a rather complicated story, since Dmitro Borisovich had to interrupt him more often than before, asking him to repeat this or that phrase.
Suddenly, Artem coughed loudly, signaling a warning to his friends. Varkan immediately disappeared under the felt, and Ivan Semenovich even reclined on it, pretending to be resting.
Two Scythians, daggers hanging from their belts, entered the kibitka. They carried in two large wooden plates with big hunks of boiled meat on them. On top of the meat was some bread. A third Scythian came in carrying an earthen jug. They put the food on the floor silently, some distance away from the captives, and then left without uttering a word.
As soon as they had gone out, Varkan flipped the felt off his head. He said something that disturbed Dmitro Borisovich. The archeologist shook his head as though not quite believing what he had heard, adjusted his eyeglasses in an abrupt gesture, and said: