Boris traced his fingers over the hilt. “Surely it is Greek. This has to be Artemis, goddess of the wildlands and mistress of animals. See? The stag and the cypress tree are symbols that represent her.”
“I do see. It appears you have found quite the treasure trove. You’ll be buried in research work cataloguing the things that you find here.”
“Only if there’s more of this.” Boris grimaced as he moved his injured leg, but his mood remained ebullient. “Come. We should look more while we are able.”
“While you are able, the two of you should fall to your knees and give thanks that you didn’t get impaled by that spear. I thought you were both dead.”
Drawn by the woman’s voice, Lourds gazed up at Layla Teneen framed in the opening some twenty feet or so above them. “Good evening, Director Teneen.”
“More like good morning. You do realize you’ve probably thrown off everyone’s workday for tomorrow with all the gunfire and excitement.”
Lourds grinned mischievously. “I beg to differ, dear lady. Boris and I are not responsible for the gunfire. We came here unarmed. In fact, all I have to defend myself with now is this dagger, which was probably once very fine but, as you can see, is no longer in good shape.” He held up the ancient dagger for inspection. “As for the excitement, any archeologist worth his or her salt should thank us for that.”
Layla frowned at him as she played her flashlight beam around the circle of skeletons. “You do realize this was probably a Zoroastrian burial site?”
“Of course. We were just discussing that. Once we get a good anatomist in here—”
Boris harrumphed. “I am more than adequately trained in such matters.”
Lourds nodded and continued smoothly. “—like my good friend Boris Glukov here, we should be able to confirm that the skeletons along the outer edge of the circle are male and the skeletons in the center belonged to women in the second circle and children in the final circle.”
“Yes, and with that being the case, you do realize that the two of you are probably traipsing around in lime mortar, don’t you?”
Frowning with irritation, Lourds realized he hadn’t thought about that. Lime was often used by the Zoroastrians to hasten the decomposition of bones. “No. I hadn’t given it a thought.”
“You should. The Zoroastrians believed that the body of a dead person was filled with pollutants and got rid of it as quickly as possible.”
“You know your history.”
“Several histories, in fact, Professor Lourds.” Layla continued to play her light around. She swept the hair from her face. “This is a bit unusual, isn’t it? Didn’t the Zoroastrians bury their dead in dakhmas?”
The term translated loosely from Parsig to “tower of silence,” and they were initially loose constructions designed to hold the bodies of the dead until the flesh rotted away — or was taken by animals, birds, and insects — and the bones could be collected and stored for final burial.
“They did, but eventually they gave up the open-air burial practice for pits.”
Layla gestured to the passageway she was in. “This seems a little user unfriendly.”
“When you throw in the spear, it was tremendously unfriendly.”
Layla smiled, and the sight made Lourds smile even broader.
“I would not have expected a sense of humor after being nearly killed twice tonight, Professor Lourds.”
“I should think the fall would count as well, because I didn’t really think Boris and I would survive it when we tumbled out of that.”
“Neither did I.”
Boris sighed. “Please. The two of you will have all the time in the world to speak about these things. For the moment, I would like very much to see what I — Thomas and I — have found.”
“I have a rope coming. We can get you out of here soon.”
“Don’t hurry on my account.”
“What about your leg?”
“I’m not going to think about my leg.” Boris tried to limp away under his own power. Lourds had to catch his friend before he’d gone three steps. He grimaced and looked up at Layla. “Perhaps you could send a physician down.”
“If I can find one curious enough and sober enough to agree to it, I will.” Layla started to crawl away.
Lourds called after her. “Director Teneen.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you very much for the rescue.”
Layla hesitated a moment, then nodded. “You’re very welcome. And you owe me a story.”
“A story?”
“Of what brought you down into this place.”
8
Three days later, after much of the cataloguing of the hidden cave within the mountain had been done, though much also remained, Lourds and Boris invited Layla Teneen to the Russian’s tent for dinner.
At first, Layla hadn’t known whether or not to attend. After all, if anything, she should have been punishing them for risking their necks the way they had.
But there was something about the tall, good-looking, American professor that drew her. He was unrepentant and irrepressible, a man every woman should stay away from and yet so many were drawn to.
Even during her years in the West while at college, Layla had taken only a handful of lovers. The concept of sleeping with a man while not married to him went deeply against her moral fiber, even though she refused to conform to a typical Muslim woman’s role.
Still, Thomas Lourds interested her, but she would not allow herself to become involved with him. That just wasn’t going to happen.
As she walked through the tents, one of Captain Fitrat’s soldiers dogged her trail. The man was experienced and aloof, no more bothersome than Layla’s own shadow.
She stopped at the front of Boris’s tent and waved the soldier off. He took up a post only a short distance away. As she stood there, the twilight deepening into full night, she realized music was coming from inside the tent.
The jazz was a surprise, filled with light and airy movement. In spite of herself, Layla smiled. So…Professor Lourds had something else in mind other than dinner.
She spoke loudly enough to be heard over the music. “Professor Glukov, it is Layla Teneen. I have come at your invitation.”
After a moment, the tent flaps opened, and Boris stuck his shaggy head out. “Ah, good evening, Director. So good of you to come.”
“The two of you still owe me a story, I believe.” Layla stepped into the tent.
“Indeed we do.” Boris waved her farther into the spacious tent.
Over the past three days, Layla had been dealing with the dead men and the media blitz that had settled on the dig after the announcement of the find was made. She’d had no time to speak with the professors about the events of that night.
Layla was amazed at the smell of food. She recognized the spicy scent of palao and qorma. It had been weeks since she had enjoyed a decent meal. All of her meals had come out of the microwave lately, or a cereal box. Occasionally, and generally only if she was entertaining an archeologist group, she grilled on a small stove outside her tent.
In the center of Boris’s tent, a table stood under a burden of food and braziers that held small flames to the undersides of dishes. Pots held several different foods, including bata—sticky rice, mantu—pasta dumplings, and aush. Layla loved noodle soup, and she felt hunger pangs chew at her.
“Oh, this smells wonderful.”
“It does, doesn’t it? We thought you’d like it.”
“Like it? I’m amazed.”