He looked over at Imogen’s sleeping nook and saw she was already gone. He rose, pulled on his robe, wound up his headcloth—the actions had become almost automatic—and went into the front part of the tent to splash water on his face from the well bucket that was always there. The wedding had culminated close to dawn when Garza, called upon to speak, told a story that he said had been passed down from his ancestors. He proceeded to relate the tale of David and Goliath, translated by Lillaya to the great entertainment of the crowd. Blackbeard was nowhere to be seen, and Gideon hoped that after his humiliation he’d gone away for good. Maybe he’d even been banished by the chief.
“Halloo! Breakfast!” Imogen returned, carrying two wooden bowls of dates and roasted camel meat kebabs: leftovers from the wedding feast. She sat down cross-legged on the rug and placed a bowl in front of Gideon.
“Thanks,” he said. “That was one hell of a shindig.”
“Too bloody right.”
“The only thing missing was an ice-cold bottle of champagne,” said Gideon as he tucked into the chunks of breakfast camel. He had grown used to the meat, and as long as he didn’t think about where it came from he found it quite delicious: tender and not too gamy.
“By the way, Lillaya tells me we’re moving,” said Imogen.
“Really?”
“Because we are friends of the great and powerful Garza, defeater of the man-eating demon leopard and new son-in-law to the chief, our status has gone up another notch. It seems they’re giving us a fancy tent with separate sleeping areas.”
“Nice.”
“And you’re no longer on ditch-digging detail. In fact, thanks to Garza’s status, we three are to form a new hunting party. Looking for antelope, rabbits, that sort of thing. You know, like the other warriors.”
“Hunt with what? Spears?”
“As a special gift, the chief had crossbows and arrows made for us—copied from the original, apparently. I left them outside the tent. We’re free to roam in search of game—except back through the canyon that leads to the mist oasis. That’s the only way out of here, apparently, and they don’t want us scarpering.”
“We’re free to go anywhere else?”
“It seems so. Except some riddle of canyons a ways west of here, where, it seems, the demon leopards live.”
“But that’s fantastic! It means—” Gideon suddenly realized what he was about to say and stopped himself abruptly.
“It means what?”
In his excitement, he had forgotten that Imogen was not one of them—that she was not privy to their secret. “It means,” he said, “we can search for an escape route.”
She leaned toward him with narrowed eyes. “That’s utter tosh.”
Gideon stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“Please. I know you’ve got some secret agenda. When are you going to finally tell me what’s going on? I’ve leveled with you lot. How about leveling with me?”
Gideon faltered. She’d been with them almost from the beginning; they had been through hell; and she’d told them the truth and saved their lives. Twice, at least. If they let her in on their secret, she could be a most useful partner, knowing more about the country than they did. What the hell, he thought. She’s earned it.
“Okay,” he said.
Imogen crossed her arms. “I’m listening.”
“It started in New York City, at a company called Effective Engineering Solutions.”
Imogen listened while Gideon launched into the story: about Eli Glinn; their previous mission to the South Atlantic; the abrupt dissolving of EES that followed; how he and Garza had then stolen the translation of the Phaistos Disk, and why; and how it led them here. Imogen listened in silence, her blue eyes conveying intense interest.
When he was done, she said simply: “Incredible.”
She was silent for a few moments. Then she asked: “So where exactly is the Phaistos location?”
“I figure no more than five miles west of here.”
“And you really have no idea what’s there?”
“None.”
“But you must have speculated.”
“Of course. Maybe a tomb. Or maybe it’s King Solomon’s Mines or an ancient library. Whatever it is, it was important enough to be inscribed on that Disk and sent up the Red Sea and then halfway across the Mediterranean to the island of Crete—the center of the Minoan civilization.”
She shook her head. “It’s a remarkable story. Thank you for being honest.”
“It was high time we were. Now we can go there and check it out—under the guise of hunting, of course.” He rose. “Let’s go get Garza.”
“He’s still in his wedding tent.” A smile played about Imogen’s lips. “I imagine he’s busy.”
“Not so busy that we can’t go find what we came all this way for. It’s close to noon and we don’t have much time left if we’re to get there and back before dark.”
Gideon emerged into the sunlight with Imogen following. The three new crossbows were leaning up against the side of the tent. He picked one up and examined it.
“Looks like it might actually work,” he said.
“I tested one. It’s rather like firing a gun—you cock it, put in a bolt, aim, and pull the trigger. Simple, crudely made, but effective.”
Gideon slung his crossbow over his shoulder, picked up another one, and followed Imogen toward a large gray enclosure set up apart from the village—the wedding tent. As they walked through the encampment, people glanced at them and let them pass. Gideon had the sense that, at long last, they’d finally been accepted.
As they approached the tent, Gideon cupped his hands. “Hey, Manuel! Can we come over?”
No answer. He took a few steps forward. “Manuel?”
“Hold on,” came a muffled voice from within.
Imogen glanced at Gideon.
After a minute Garza appeared, looking haggard, pulling his robe about him. “Look, I’m kind of tied up right now,” he said.
Gideon raised his eyebrows. “Really? Because I’m going hunting, if you get my drift—”
“Yes. Well, we can hunt tomorrow.” With no more ceremony he ducked back into the tent, closing the flap behind him.
Imogen and Gideon exchanged a look. “Told you,” said Imogen, with that same wry smile.
“Let’s you and I go.”
Gideon laid Garza’s crossbow against the wedding tent, then the two set off along the trail that led westward to the tomb field. Nobody seemed to pay much attention. They followed the well-trodden path into the valley and soon arrived at the tomb of the current chieftain—still under construction but now almost finished. Nobody was working on it; the day following the wedding seemed to be a general holiday.
At the far end of the valley, they reached the central trail that led, among other places, to the pit of the headless, and to the arena. The trail split, then split again, and each time Gideon was careful to keep heading westward. This new trail, which he had not been on before, eventually narrowed and halted at a seemingly impassable rockfall. But a barely discernible path led upward to a high ridge beyond, and they followed it, switchbacking across a series of ledges and cliffs. Reaching the crest, the trail ran along the ridgeline for a mile before coming to a fork at an overlook. To the right, the trail led on for at least half a mile before dipping below the ridgeline. To the left, there was no trail—only a labyrinth of nasty canyons far below, all running into a long winding wash. A weathered human skull, badly mauled and missing its lower jaw, lay beside the fork like a grim marker.