When he reached the cave, he stopped, lit the lamp, and entered. The familiar passage, the familiar damp walls. So far, so good. But where was the rockfall Dmitro Borisovich had been talking about? It did not take long to find it, and the hole in the rock suggested the way forward. Artem decided not to wait for anyone else. He was sure to make some extraordinary and extremely important discovery on his own.
Artem crawled through the hole and found that the tunnel got wider and higher. The rock reflected the light from the miner’s lamp as though it were polished. The cave was quite big, unexplored, full of mystery, concealing its secrets. Artem cried out in a burst of good humor:
“Oho-hoL.”
The loud echo reverberated somewhere far away, then died down, only to echo back from an even greater distance. The reverberations seemed to be running along the passage, breaking into separate sounds, like falling pieces of rock, generating strange, new menacing voices, quite different from Artem’s initial cry.
No, I won’t do it again. It’s a little unnerving, Artem thought to himself, directing the light along the ground to see the way ahead.
The passage grew wider as he moved forward, and it began to feel softer under his feet. Then at one moment, quite unexpectedly, Artem found that the passage forked and he had to choose which way to turn. He looked around hoping that something would suggest the direction. What was that on the wall? It looked like a drawing…
Oh yes, it was the profile, carved into the rock that Dmitro Borisovich had copied so carefully. No mistake about it. A human head, portrayed with rough lines cut deeply into the rock: short hair sticking from under a hood; a stern expression, a short straight nose and small beard. The face of a man from ancient times. Was he a Scythian? Most likely. Anyway, the visage corresponded to Artem’s mental image of the nomads: stern, manly, and yet marked with comeliness and pride…
Artem gazed at the profile for a while. An odd feeling came over him. For the first time in his life, he had come face to face with something truly ancient. Just to think that two thousand years before, an ancient artist had stood on that very spot, carving that profile in the rock!
But which way should Artem turn: left or right? Which way should he choose?
All of a sudden it dawned upon Artem that he should go in the direction the head on the wall indicated! Of course! Besides, there was a rough arrow scratched on the rock that pointed in the same direction. Without further hesitation, Artem turned right.
The new passage was narrower, and turned sharply at different angles. The corridor seemed to be bypassing huge rocks. Another fifteen or twenty meters, and Artem had to stop in a sudden disappointment — the passage was completely blocked by a wall of soft earth.
Another rockslide, Artem thought in frustration.
He was about to turn back. What rotten luck! Was it a dead end? But how could he return without finding anything? No, he positively had to try and do something about it. He had probably gone the wrong way; perhaps he should have turned left instead of right. But no, that arrow under the profile unmistakably pointed right. Maybe there was a way of getting around the obstacle…
Artem began thoroughly examining the wall, holding the lamp close. No, there was not a single crack. Then he suddenly held his breath.
He had caught sight of some barely noticeable traces of stonework in the wall right in front of his eyes. He held the lamp closer and was able to make out individual stones in the masonry. The stones were placed one upon the other, with darker lines of mortar in between to hold them together. Part of the obstruction was in fact a stone wall rising from the floor to the ceiling. How strange he had failed to notice it straight away!
The stone wall definitely concealed something. Otherwise, why should it be there? And how could he get inside? Had it been sealed up without any openings? There must be some treasure hidden behind it, what else? It was he, Artem, who would discover this secret… Oh, just you wait, Lida…
But before Artem had had any time to make a movement, he heard muffled sounds. He strained his ears to hear whether he had just imagined them. No, he hadn’t. Now he could make out distant footfalls: somebody was making his way toward him.
He was annoyed. He had no desire to share his remarkable discovery with anyone yet. The best thing to do now would be to hide somewhere so the approaching person would not notice him. That would allow Artem to avoid any unwanted explanations. But where could he hide? Artem began frantically searching for any sort of recess in the walls. But there wasn’t a single one! And the footfalls were drawing nearer and nearer. What a piece of bad luck! How would he explain his unauthorized visit to the cave?
Now Artem could also hear somebody whistling; the man who was approaching was evidently in a good mood: he was whistling quite a cheery tune. In a few seconds, a light blinked in the passage and…
“May I inquire what you are doing here, young man?” Artem heard the voice of Dmitro Borisovich.
Yes, it was the archeologist. He walked up, looked Artem over with suspicion (or so it seemed to the young man), and asked once again, this time somewhat sternly:
“Why have you come here, Artem? We decided to begin our exploration tomorrow, didn’t we? What does this all mean?”
Artem felt the blood rush to his face and neck. He tried to turn the whole thing into a joke:
“But you’re here, too, Dmitro Borsovich, in spite of…” That didn’t help in the least: it only aggravated the situation: the archeologist got quite hot under the collar: “What? I’m here because archeology happens to be my occupation. But what right have you to be here? Who told you to come? Who has authorized your visit? It seems that you, my dear friend, have not even informed anyone of your intentions! Am I correct in my assumption?”
Dmitro Borisovich was glaring fiercely at Artem through his eyeglasses.
“You seem to have decided to become an independent treasure hunter,” the archeologist went on implacably. “And this is after I’ve explained to you that it is benighted grave robbers that do most harm to archeology by defacing the most valuable evidence. Oh, I understand now — you wanted to make an important discovery on your own, so you kept your intentions secret? And then, probably, you would appropriate your finds without ever letting us know about them? Is that it, eh? Answer me!”
The accusations bordered on insult. He, Artem, a crass treasure hunter, a grave robber? Appropriate something for himself?
Artem tried in vain to think of some plausible excuse or explanation, but words failed him… Dmitro Borisovich was right to censure him: only now did Artem realize that his stunt looked rather suspicious: he had done something wrong and had nothing to say in his own defense.
Dmitro Borisovich kept his gaze fastened on Artem, and noticed the young man blink in desperation. He even seemed on the verge of tears. This placated the archeologist somewhat.
“All right, tell me what you were up to, Artem. You realize I thought you were up to no good, but still, I must know what brought you here? What would you think if you were in my place?”
At last Artem worked up the courage to give a hurried account of what had happened.
“You know, Dmitro Borisovich… I wanted, you know, so very much… I was so upset yesterday, when I learned that you and Lida…. that you went together to the… when you know I’m so interested in all these things… and so I decided…”
“You decided what?”
“I decided to come here and pay you back…”
“To pay who back? Me or Lida? And how you were going to do it?”
“To pay back both you and Lida… I wanted to find something really great… and then prove that I can…”
“Can what?”
“Can find something valuable and important… But I would never keep it to myself, Dmitro Borisovich! It’d be for everyone!” Then, quite unexpectedly, even for himself, he blurted out: