“What? You’re coming from the mount?”
But they had already disappeared beyond the crest of the hillock. It would be futile to call after them now. But why didn’t Artem stop, wait for her, or give a more articulate answer? Was he still out of humor? So very foolish of him!
Lida looked at Diana; the dog was looking at the girl in expectation, but she did not feel like frolicking any longer.
“Hey, let’s run home, Diana! While they’re walking so slowly downhill, we’ll run and catch up with them!”
But Lida had miscalculated. Artem and Dmitro Borisovich reached the frame tent ahead of her. As she burst into the room, out of breath, she heard only the conclusion of the story Dmitro Borisovich, evidently much excited about something, had been telling:
“Now it’s here in front of you, Ivan Semenovich. The chest we found in the walled-off recess. In fact, I must admit it was not ‘we,’ it was Artem who found it all by himself. Why to blush, young man? It’s true, isn’t it? You’re the one who noticed it under the thick layers of dust! The credit for the discovery is all yours. Our Artem is very observant; he’s got very sharp eyes!”
A small chest was sitting on the table. All the papers and diagrams had been shoved aside to make room for it. Ivan Semenovich was examining it with absorbed interest from all angles. Artem was standing beside the table, flushed, with an elated and jubilant smile on his face. So that’s what they’d been carrying! And the chest had been found by Artem?… Lida approached the table cautiously. An ancient, greenish-black chest with some half-effaced ornaments on top, still liberally sprinkled with dust, crude… Lida surreptitiously gave Artem’s hand a tug, and said under her breath:
“Well done, Artem! Congratulations!”
Artem gave her a glance, wanted to say something at first, but then changed his mind and squeezed her hand lightly, his eyes flashing.
“Yes, it seems to be a genuinely ancient thing,” Ivan.Semenovich uttered pensively. “It must have been made quite a few years ago.”
“Oh, yes, quite a few, quite a few!” said Dmitro Borisovich as though rejoicing over the fact. Eyes half-closed, head raised dreamily, he ran his hand over his pointed beard.
“Yes, quite a few. I believe… at least two thousand… Oh, I must photograph this chest right away.”
“Hey, when are we going to open it up?” cried out Artem impatiently. But the archeologist cooled him down with a single glance from under his spectacles:
“There’ll be plenty of time for that!”
The picture-taking was given a much too solemn air and proceeded far too slowly. But at last Dmitro Borisovich put away his camera and heaved a sigh of relief:
“Well, now we can try to open it. But it must be done as carefully as possible. No, no, don’t help me, Artem! And… you know what? Do me a favor and step back. I must concentrate properly on the task, and you’re distracting me!”
Oh, how maddeningly slowly the archeologist did everything, as though teasing everyone with his sluggishness. One even got the impression he was opening it merely to satisfy the others’ curiosity. But Artem could clearly see the excitement on his face and hear how it affected his voice. Aha, dear Dmitro Borisovich could barely control his own impatience!
This Artem did not say aloud; he only smiled to himself at the thought, with the conversation in the cave immediately coming back to mind.
Meanwhile, Dmitro Borisovich issued orders:
“Not a single unnecessary movement! Artem, why are you standing there as if you had nothing to do? Come over here, spread out some clean paper — not a single tiny bit from here must be lost. Not the tiniest of bits, understand?”
“Again this tiny bit of knowledge, Dmitro Borisovich?”
“Yes, my dear young man, of knowledge. As a matter of fact, you should bear it in mind that now none of your taunts can affect me in any way. They fall on deaf ears. All right, move to the right, Artem. You’ll have a better view. Ivan Semenovich, we’ll begin now. We should probably make the first attempt from this side… from right here in fact!”
There were some marks on the chest, indicating that it had once been fitted with a lock. But apparently, it was not the lock that was now holding the lid shut: it must have stuck fast to the chest under the weight of centuries. Dmitro Borisovich, exercising great caution, tried to pry open the lid with gentle pressure on all sides. But it would not yield to his efforts. The archeologist heaved a sigh:
“I’m so afraid to use force, you know… It might be so fragile after two thousand years…”
uLet me try it,” Ivan Semenovich said. “I think my hands are stronger… Oh, don’t look so alarmed! I’m not going to break it. You may rest assured, my dear friend, everything’ll be all right.”
“The problem is, Ivan Semenovich, it might just fall apart! I beg you to be most careful, most careful!”
Ivan Semenovich leaned over the chest. Then a light cracking sound was heard. It was enough to make the archeologist jump with horror and spring to the chest.
“Oh, my God! You’ve broken it!” he wailed as though it were he himself who was being mutilated.
“No, I haven’t. I told you everything would be all right, didn’t I?” Ivan Semenovich said reassuringly and stepped aside. The chest opened. Dmitro Borisovich began muttering, overwhelmed with excitement:
“Let me come closer, make way!… Don’t touch anything! I’ll do the rest!”
No one made even a slightest move to infringe on the sacred right of Dmitro Borisovich to be the first to examine the contents of the mysterious chest. All of them just craned their necks, moved by curiosity and the desire to see something exceptional at last. But no one really knew what to expect, no one except Artem, of course. The gold crown of a Scythian chieftain — that was what was in the chest!
“Stay where you are, stay where you are,” Dmitro Borisovich went on mumbling. “Don’t come any closer. One mustn’t… First of all the chest must be photographed the way it is now. The first one who has the right to look inside isn’t me, it’s my camera. Besides, the chest seems… it seems to be empty,” he added after he duly succumbed to the temptation to peep in.
“What?”
“Empty?”
“But it can’t be empty!”
The last of these exclamations belonged to Artem who had never thought, even remotely, of such a possibility.
But still it was empty, or very nearly empty. Dmitro Borisovich did indeed produce a roll of something that looked like paper, holding it with both hands, his elbows sticking high into the air, after he had finished photographing the opened chest. But there was really nothing else inside except for a thin layer of fine dust covering its bottom.
Artem did not even try to hide his disappointment. The crown of the Scythian chieftain, where was it? A stupid old piece of paper — and that was all? Luck positively seemed to have turned its back on the young man! All his dreams had come to naught. What was the use of photographing the chest again and the roll of parchment, as Dmitro Borisovich was now so thoroughly doing? Of what value were they now compared to what Artem had hoped they would find?
But finally the archeologist put away his camera. He leaned over the chest again, closely examining the inside. He put the roll that had been discovered in the chest on a clean sheet of paper, doing it very carefully as if it were the greatest of treasures. He even placed his hands edgewise on both sides of it as if trying to protect it against something. Dmitro Borisovich, quite unlike Artem, did not seem to show any disappointment. And what is more, his face radiated excitement, his small pointed beard moved in nervous jerks, his eyes flashed triumph. He looked round, at every one in succession.
“My good friends,” he said at last in a solemn voice. “Do you know what’s in front of you?”