They paused.
“If I remember correctly from the aerial maps,” Gideon said, “that wash to the left should lead to a place where three washes come together—and that’s the Phaistos location. I’d say another mile or two.” Catching the look on Imogen’s face, he said: “What’s the matter?”
“That way is forbidden.”
“Excuse me?”
“Remember I told you we could hunt anywhere except the mist oasis and the place where the demon leopards live? Well, as far as I can tell, those canyons down there are their home.”
Gideon licked his lips. “Who told you this again?”
“Lillaya.”
“Did she say the way was forbidden, or did she simply say it was too dangerous?”
Imogen shrugged. “I don’t speak the language well enough to tell you that.”
Gideon turned his head slowly, taking in the vista. “We’ve come this far. We’ve got weapons. I vote we go on. If we find evidence of leopards, demon or otherwise, we’ll head back and talk over our options with Manuel. What do you say?”
After a moment, she nodded.
They began moving forward with caution—a caution inspired by more than just the slippery terrain. As they began descending toward the wash, Imogen said: “Look. A mountain goat.”
About a hundred feet away, to one side and a little below them, a mother goat and its kid were working their way along a tiny ledge, nibbling grass.
“Would they be feeding near a nest of leopards?” Gideon asked.
“Let’s bag it. It’ll be perfect cover.”
Gideon felt impatient at the delay, but he recognized the sense of Imogen’s suggestion. “All right. It’ll give me a chance to acquaint myself with a crossbow. You stay here in case I flush them this way. And keep an eye out for leopards and vipers. I’ll stalk from above.”
Gideon cocked the crossbow, nocked in a bolt, and crept onto the ledge above, watching for predators at the same time he made sure he remained out of sight of the goats. The animals were upwind, and he moved cautiously so as not to make the slightest noise. He would have to get a lot closer with a crossbow than a gun. Gripping the crossbow in one hand, he moved around the swell of the cliff, staying out of sight, and crept up to a fin of rock. Peering over the top, he could see the animals about fifty feet below him. He wasn’t sure just how accurate the crossbow was, but he felt close enough to at least get in a sporting shot. With infinite care he leveled the weapon at the kid, aimed through the crude sights, and—feeling a slight twinge of guilt—slowly squeezed the trigger lever.
With a sharp twang the crossbow let fly; the short, heavy bolt struck the kid in the side with tremendous force, the momentum knocking it off the ledge. It fell into the valley below with a high-pitched bleating cry. The mother goat, terrified, bounded away and was instantly gone.
Gideon glanced around quickly, but there was no sign that the racket had roused any man-eating leopards. Filled with pride, he went back to where Imogen was waiting. “Bull’s-eye.”
“Where is it?”
“At the bottom of the cliff. We have to go down there anyway.”
With great difficulty they made their way down by the same faint trail and skirted the base of the cliffs. They soon found the kid, lying dead on some rocks. The bolt had gone almost completely through it.
“That crossbow packs a hell of a punch,” said Imogen.
“We’ve got to gut it,” said Gideon.
“Can’t we do that when we get it back?”
“The meat will go bad and we’ll look like idiots. Anyway, it’ll make it a lot lighter.”
With Imogen’s assistance, Gideon used his dagger to cut open its belly, remove the guts and organs, and cut out the bolt. He draped the carcass over a rock. “We can pick it up on the return trip.”
“If a pack of demon leopards doesn’t get it first.”
They set off down the winding, sinister-looking canyon. The sun lowered in the sky, the shadows grew longer, and they soon found themselves in a maze of stone. Gideon continued following what he hoped was the main wash, but it was hard to tell, given the side washes that came in at odd angles. Now and again they stopped to check for any sign—a low grunt, the shifting of a pebble—that might indicate a predator. But there was nothing. After a while his heart began to sink; they should have already reached the confluence of three canyons.
“We’d better turn around,” he said. “And come back earlier tomorrow. With Garza riding shotgun this time.”
“Let’s go a little farther,” said Imogen. “I’ll bet it’s just around the bend.”
It wasn’t just around the bend, but Imogen kept urging them on. Gideon was surprised at how quickly she seemed to have caught the Phaistos bug—the almost clinical attitude of scientific detachment she’d exhibited at times had fallen away. But then he recalled why she herself had braved the desert: to establish a name for herself, prove her worth as both a researcher and an explorer. Whatever the Phaistos Disk was leading them to might well do that.
Within thirty minutes or so they came around a sharp turn, and the canyon suddenly broadened into a natural fortress formed by the junction of three other canyons: sheer cliffs of basalt on all sides, unbroken save for a narrow open corridor to the west. No living thing was visible. The air was filling with the light of evening.
And there, on the opposite cliff face, was a rectangle. As the last rays of the setting sun gilded the stony wall, he could see that the rectangle was actually a massive portal, clearly human-made, with what looked like leaden seals hammered across one side, stamped with hieroglyphics.
And then the sun fell below the level of the cliffs and the light vanished.
“My God,” Imogen breathed. “It is a tomb! With unbroken seals!”
While he’d always believed they would find something, now that it had happened, Gideon felt a sense of utter unreality. It couldn’t be. It was too good to be true. But there it was. It certainly did look like a tomb, and—given the size of its entryway—an important one.
But the light was dying fast. He turned to Imogen, noticing the look of awe and wonder on her face. “What do you think?”
“A pharaoh’s tomb, I would say,” she said. “Unlooted. Untouched. And bigger than King Tut’s. I want to take a look at those hieroglyphs.”
Gideon hesitated. The light was dying fast and they had some rough ground to cover on the way back. He laid a hand on her shoulder and found it trembling with excitement. “Let’s retrieve the goat and get back to camp,” he said. “We can come back later…at our leisure. And with Garza.”
For a moment, it was as if she hadn’t heard him. Then with an obvious effort she pulled herself away and they headed back cautiously into the dark warren of canyons.
34
THEY RETURNED IN the dark, Gideon carrying the kid on an improvised pole he had slung over one shoulder. As they entered the broad valley, the evening’s cooking fires were lit and the fragrance of wood smoke mingled with roasting meat. Small boys were driving flocks of goats into their pens, bells tinkling, and the tents were lit from the inside with oil lamps. The numerous camels were all bedded down for the night in a kind of natural corral made from a break in the valley wall, as usual neither tethered nor shut in—clearly, the communal tribe did not steal from each other, and anyway the camels were distinctive enough that everybody knew which ones belonged to whom.