Carey’s foot crashed down on the brakes a second time. “Out!” Dracup yelled and threw himself under the jeep. The earth erupted around them as a chattering line of bullets ripped along the driver’s side, clanging against the metal like a team of manic steel band drummers.
Carey appeared next to him. “Friends of yours?” he shouted.
Dracup curled himself tightly by the front wheel and listened for the throb of the aeroplane’s engine. Would it make another pass? The noise receded. He stuck his head into the open and checked the sky. The plane was a retreating smudge, becoming smaller with each passing second. Half a minute later it had disappeared altogether. Carey rolled out from under the vehicle and brushed himself down. “What was all that about?” He looked at Dracup suspiciously. “Something to do with your ‘research project’?”
Dracup wiped sweat from his forehead and nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to drag you into all this.”
Carey shrugged. “No worries.” He scanned the open skies. “Looks like they’ve gone for now.”
“They’ll be back.” Dracup sat heavily in the passenger seat and took a swig from his water bottle while Carey conducted an inspection of the vehicle.
“They missed the tyres — that’s a miracle.” Carey climbed back in. “And the petrol tank. You’re a lucky old jalopy.” He patted the dashboard affectionately.
Behind them the cyclists were picking themselves up and pointing to the two men in the jeep. Dracup sensed a confrontation looming. “Better be off before we have a steward’s enquiry.”
Carey glanced back. “No damage? Well, I guess you’re right — no need to hang about. Hold tight.” He let the clutch out. For a few kilometres they both nervously surveyed the empty sky.
“Well that’s a first for me. I’m normally treated pretty well by the locals.” Carey grinned and shook his head ruefully. “For a moment I thought we’d carked it good and proper back there.”
“They weren’t locals,” Dracup said. “Not by any stretch.” He would have to come clean. Perhaps it was just as well that Carey had all the facts. He took a deep breath and clapped the Kiwi on the shoulder. “Dan, I owe you an explanation.”
“So, what’s the plan, Prof?” Carey asked matter-of-factly. “You might find a reception committee at Lalibela — then what? If that plane’s anything to go by, someone doesn’t want you poking around.”
Dracup smiled grimly. As they had checked into Weldiya’s Lal hotel he had scrutinised every face — waiter, guest or otherwise — for signs of bad intent. It had taken a couple of hours and a few beers to put his worries to rest. Carey seemed unperturbed, as if he were used to being shot up on a standard ‘weekender’, as he liked to call their trip. Dracup wished he could adopt some of the Kiwi attitude himself — Carey had accepted his story with no more surprise than if Dracup had been recounting a successful fishing trip. Maybe it would rub off.
“I’ll tread carefully.”
“You’d better. The aim is to get hold of the missing piece of this sceptre, right? The Omega section?”
“Yes. But I’ve no intention of removing it — not that I’ll have the option anyway, judging from what you’ve told me about the custodians of Lalibela’s treasures. I just need to get some clear photos of the cuneiform inscriptions. That’s it — Charles can do the rest.” You’d better, Charles, Dracup thought. You’d better.
Carey was silent for a moment, digesting this information. He inclined his head in a swift gesture of assent. “You’re the boss. We’ll check into the New Jerusalem. The view is something else.”
Dracup raised his eyebrows. “The what?”
“The New Jerusalem. Best guesthouse in Lali. Trust me.” Again came the lopsided Kiwi grin. “The whole of Lalibela is structured on the belief that it represents a kind of New Jerusalem — the churches all fit into different aspects of that concept. They’re a pretty amazing sight.”
“I know. I had a look on the web. The tradition is fascinating, the way it links back to King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.”
Carey looked reflective. “Yeah — the original Ark of the Covenant is supposed to be in a church back up north at Axum — brought here by Solomon himself. Almost makes you believe there’s something in it all. Well let me tell you, Lali has a kind of feel about it — tranquillity. It’s a strange place all right. It’s kind of hard to explain — you’ve got to experience it yourself. All I can say is that if there are any secrets to be found, Lali’s the place to find ’em.” He took his hand off the gear shift and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I reckon you’re headed in the right direction, mate, I really do.”
Lalibela was smaller and busier than Dracup expected. They drove past a motley collection of ramshackle houses, peaked huts and tin-roofed buildings, Carey skilfully picking his way through the busy streets clogged with wood-carrying women, farmers, pilgrims and holy men.
“Market day,” Carey observed. “Most of this lot will have set off at dawn to get here. They’ll have walked miles.” He pointed to a group trudging the last few steps to their destination, some pulling makeshift carts behind them, others carrying bags of produce.
Carey swung the jeep around, beeping the horn. Dracup drummed his fingers on the dash. As the jeep pulled up in front of the hotel Dracup was already swinging himself out, one hand on his bag.
“No, let me, boss! Nothing a problem, okay?”
Dracup turned to see a boy of around eleven grinning up at him.
“No problem. Mister let me take the bag.”
Dracup patted his pockets and made an empty-handed gesture.
Carey dispensed a few words in the boy’s direction; he shrugged dismissively in response, throwing back a few choice words of his own. He turned his back on Carey and made as if to leave them in peace, but couldn’t resist a last-ditch attempt. Dracup smiled at his persistence.
“Come on, boss.” He fixed Dracup with a persuasive grin. “I can help you out, man.”
“A bo teu weun!” Carey aimed a kick. The boy yelped and ran off, shouting and waving his fist.
“I take it he’s not wishing you a nice day.” Dracup watched the boy until he disappeared from view.
“Give ’em an inch and they’ll take a hundred miles,” Carey warned. “Do anything if you cross their palm. Trouble is, once you say yes you never get rid of ’em.”
Dracup’s bedroom window overlooked Lalibela’s rooftops and beyond these the distant mountains. The view was spectacular, the contoured peaks undulating like waves across the Ethiopian plains. The sheer immensity of the landscape reminded him of India. His boyhood seemed closer in this climate, the connecting years of adulthood pressed into a dim, grey background. Dracup retrieved his grandfather’s tablet from the suitcase and scanned the markings.
Loc. Remaining part staff, trad. Ethiop.
Ityopp’is — Cush — sn of Ham- fnded Axum.
Match. crest. Lal., Ω 1921, TD,GRC. Left in situ.
Formed basis of expo. 1922 C of Tr.
K. zig. - 7 by 7
1921. Left in situ. Dracup clung to the phrase. Eleven churches to choose from. Or maybe what he was looking for lay hidden elsewhere, perhaps not even here in Lalibela. He drew out a photograph from his pocket. Natasha’s face smiled back at him, small hands clasping her favourite teddy. He had spent a fruitless hour showing the image to the locals. Every approach had produced the same reaction. Dracup didn’t understand the language but simply read the faces. Pretty girl. Yes. Very pretty. Then a sad shake of the head, a sympathetic smile. No. Sorry. I haven’t seen her. He kissed the photograph and replaced it carefully in his breast pocket. Eleven churches. A lot of space to cover. Dracup set his mouth in a determined line. A one in eleven chance was as good as he was likely to get, and there was no time to lose. He needed answers and he needed them now.