Faint silhouettes of the rocky outcropping surrounded him, a veritable labyrinth of obstacles. After a few moments, Kismet became conscious of fish swimming through the maze. Even in this inhospitable place he was surrounded by life.
As he surveyed the submarine environment, he gradually became aware of an unusual light source off to the west. The quality of the illumination was negligible, but Kismet knew that nothing in the natural world could account for it. Kerns' comment about golden light shining from beneath the sea echoed in his head. He hadn't really expected to witness any such manifestation, but if the Golden Fleece was indeed the source of the light he was now seeing, then he would have little difficulty locating it.
A step in that direction created yet another obscuring silt cloud. Rather than wait for it to subside, he proceeded more cautiously, taking long, deliberate steps. By this method he was able to keep silting to a minimum while making good progress toward the light source.
In terms of actual distance, the light was very close. Kerns' coordinates had been right on the mark. Nevertheless, distances in the underwater realm were exaggerated. It took Kismet almost half an hour to cross a few hundred yards. From time to time he would gaze upward toward the idle trawler, and was amazed to find that its position in relation to his seemed unchanged. The cable connecting him to the boat was still being played out as needed, but he was beginning to wonder if he had actually gone anywhere.
The amount of time he was spending below was beginning to concern him. Kerns had outlined decompression recovery times for him on the previous night. Kismet knew that minutes spent under the influence of the sea's tremendous pressure might require hours of gradual ascent to avoid the bends — bubbles of gas in the bloodstream that caused painful cramps or even death. In spite of the risk of further obfuscation due to the silt clouds, Kismet strove to pick up his pace.
He was quickly rewarded. The glow soon became a ray of golden brilliance guiding him through the underwater labyrinth. He passed from behind a large outcropping and got his first look at the place where Petr Chereneyev had discovered the relics of a forgotten age.
The rocky maze gave way to a broad plain, broken up by a scattering of small rocky nubs that barely poked out of the soft mud. Chereneyev's footprints were still visible, as were the depressions in the sediment where he had removed artifacts. As Kismet's eyes roved across the plain, he made out dozens of holes, and realized that the artifacts Harcourt had showed him were merely the tip of the iceberg.
As he continued west, his gaze began to focus on the source of the golden illumination, directly ahead. Another of Kerns' caveats occurred to him as he crossed the expanse. The old Russian had warned him of unusual activity from the fish; he had used the word "aggressive." Kismet was now seeing exactly that kind of behavior. The area before him was thick with schools of fish. Smaller fish from the herring family formed a virtual curtain, sparkling in the unnatural golden light, while larger fish — dogfish, rays and even enormous sturgeon, all of which should have been devouring the smaller prey creatures — cut harmlessly through the traffic, content to patrol the region without feasting. Kismet realized that he was becoming the object of their interest when a large stingray seemed to erupt from the silted seafloor. The creature's barb hovered dangerously close as it circled his chest, and Kismet decided it was time to bare the blade of his kukri. The ray's flanks rippled menacingly and then it retreated into the silt cloud.
A few more steps brought him close enough to discern the outlines of a sunken wreck laying on its side, half buried in silt, in the midst of the yellow brilliance. The lack of distinctive features led Kismet to believe that he was looking at the underside of the vessel. He noted also that the sediment, which had built up around the craft, did not significantly eclipse the golden light; it seemed to shine evenly from the hull of the wreck, passing through the silt as through a veil of gauze.
Suddenly something struck him from behind and sent him stumbling. He struggled to recover his balance, but the weight of the helmet took him over and he ended up face down in the muck. He pushed himself up, but saw only a dark shadow pass over him and faint eddies in the swirling murk. With one glove he smeared away the algae that clung to the front view port of the helmet.
When he got to his feet, he realized that the crowd of bottom dwellers had moved away from the wreck and begun orbiting a new axis: him. Like a squadron of fighter planes, the larger fish seemed to be circling, preparing to dive-bomb their target. Before he could raise the knife in his own defense, an enormous sturgeon, like some prehistoric monster from the fossil record, veered toward him.
Instinctively, he tried to dodge the creature. The fish smacked into his shoulder, but did not succeed in knocking him down. As it flashed past, he slapped at it with his empty hand, striking it in the gills. Enraged, and possibly injured, the sturgeon retreated hastily toward the wreck. With its flight, the attack ended. Kismet remained ready to slash at the next assault, but the schools held their distance. He took a tentative step toward the wreck, then another.
His earlier assumption about the vessel lying on its side was soon confirmed. As he drew closer, he could discern the outline of the keel just above the mud line. Kismet was not an archaeologist by trade, and certainly not an expert on maritime history, but he had studied Jason and the Argonauts during his classical education and knew enough about ships of the era from various contemporary sources to recognize a Greek galley about fifty feet long and twenty feet broad of beam — more a big boat than a ship in the modern sense. But no galley in myth or history looked quite like this one, ablaze with golden brilliance. The illumination was indeed shining from the skin of the craft, which to Kismet's surprise, did not appear to be wood.
A few more steps brought him close enough to place a gloved hand against the ship. As he pressed experimentally against the surface he could feel a tingling in his fingertips but no heat. When he moved his hand away, he saw the indentations left behind, as though he had pushed into stiff clay. Pondering this observation, he started walking toward what he presumed to be the stern of the craft.
The coating on the hull was uniform, like a layer of paint. The natural world was filled with luminescent fungi, plants, insects and fish, but Kismet was certain that some other phenomenon was at work. The overlay on the ship was smooth and consistent, whereas lichen growth would adhere to a more chaotic pattern and would certainly have rubbed off when touched. There was only one explanation: the ship was coated in luminous gold.
Kismet was also not a metallurgist, but he did know a thing or two about the corrosive power of salt water. Even in the Black Sea, where the salinity was about half that of the world's oceans, time and oxidation would have corroded any other substance, leaving a wooden ship to decay into pulp. Only gold could resist ravages of the sea for so many centuries. The vessel had evidently been overlaid with gold in a manner similar to the helmet fragment Harcourt had displayed in Kismet's office. What he could not fathom, as he rounded the stern and got his first look at the topside of the ship, was why the ancients had covered their sea-going craft in one of the heaviest substances known to man, and why that normally inert element was glowing like an incandescent light bulb.