Hit Hard. Amy J. Fetzer

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      “Will it go with my shorts?”

      He laughed, guiding her to the second cave. A portion was a dwelling where they’d found more than pottery—a rudimentary hearth, sleeping quarters, and even a drainage system. Got to love those ancient Thai, she thought. They were quick on the draw. Imagine, plumbing in the BC days. They didn’t even have plumbing on the dig. That was just wrong.

      She ducked under the canvas tarp and into the cave. Low rock ceilings tickled her hair, the corridor lit with electric lamps, yards of cables leading to the generator outside. She wished they had enough juice for air-conditioning. Wasn’t in the budget.

      She almost ran into Dr. Nagada as he squatted, pointing to the corner of two blocks. “See? And it appears to be gold.”

      Viva knelt, pulling her brush from her back pocket and swiping lightly.

      “Your technique has improved.”

      “I’m trying the Van Gogh style of brushwork. Oh, wow, this is incredible. Get that side, it’s sandwiched between something else.” She glanced up to make certain she wasn’t going to pull the whole dig down on top of them. Which would be so her.

      She brushed and worked the rocks loose, and was suddenly touched that he’d let her do this. With Salih’s direction, she gently pulled the item out, then handed it to him. He brushed it, blew off the dust, and she stood, then moved with him to the lights.

      “It’s a bracelet, a cuff. Excellent condition, must be gold.” The two inch wide band was hammered and etched with markings almost too worn to see. “It’s particularly small. A child’s perhaps.”

      “In here?” Viva said. “This was just the average Joe’s cave dwelling, and we haven’t found anything like that before.”

      “And we are not done, either.”

      The man had the patience of a saint. No, two saints. After years of excavating around Egypt and Israel, and digging up all there was, he’d offered his services elsewhere. Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, and once on the island of Timor. If it was lost, he’d find it. Even if it took years. Viva admired that kind of diligence. She could barely find her panties before breakfast.

      Salih walked toward the entrance and Viva dogged his heels. At a worktable shielded with a shade tarp, he brushed the cuff some more, then dipped it in a solution, rinsed and dried it.

      He met her gaze. “It has stones.” He held it out.

      She took it, tipping it to the sun. The gleam of old gold blinked greenish in the morning light. “Small ones, but look at the faceting. And two cabochon cuts. Rubies, you think?” Thailand was famous for blood rubies and sapphires. “And if these are sapphires, they’re good ones.” So blue they were nearly black.

      “Even more rare.”

      “But how could they have cut these? They didn’t have the equipment, not to facet, create a bevel like this. Amazing.” She stared at it for another moment, then handed it back. “So what are the markings?”

      “That, my dear Xaviera—” She loved the way his Egyptian accent made her name sound. “—is the real question. I think they are Thai royalty.”

      “No kidding.” She glanced back at the cave, and noticed a couple of dig workers listening to the conversation. “Hiding during an uprising or something?”

      “We are near the Laos–Cambodian border and there are four temples in a straight line right to this area.”

      “A summer home, how lovely for them.”

      “I was thinking a pilgrimage. These markings are Thai, but the design is Cambodian. Though I am not well versed in its ancient text.” He frowned at the piece a moment longer, then drew a small box onto the table, filled it with shredded material, and set the bracelet inside. “I want you to take this to Dr. Wan Gai in Bangkok.”

      Her brows tightened. “Okay, I give up, why me?”

      “You’ve had that look lately.”

      She made a sour face. “Darn, I thought I was hiding it so well this time.”

      “You have been on five digs with me since you were in college. It is not hard to recognize. You stop chattering constantly.”

      “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

      Smiling, he pressed the box into her hands. “Take it to him, see the city while he makes his findings. Then perhaps you will come back and enjoy yourself.”

      She doubted it. Viva knew herself well, and her biggest flaw, her indecision, her complete and utter incapability to stick with one thing for longer than a year—no, wait, six months—was embarrassing. At her age, she should have a real paying career in something.

      She looked at the small wood box, then up at Dr. Nagada, and thought, Oh, goody, Bangkok. Great hotels, a decent shower, food, and some real girl clothes were just too wonderful to turn down. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll make you some babaganoush when I get back.”

      He grinned. “I am already missing you. In the morning?”

      “It will take me that long to scrape off the dust. Get all dolled up.” She turned away, still talking. “And look fashionably cute for the train ride.”

      He frowned. “A plane ride, Xaviera.”

      “Is boring. On, up, down, off. What fun is that? At least with the train I get to commune with the locals, see more of this country.” She walked backwards, smiling.

      “And the dangers.”

      “Well, you know what they say?”

      “No, what?”

      “You’re the expert on old stuff, figure it out.”

      “Tree!” he shouted and she turned, smacking into it.

      “I meant to do that.” Rubbing her forehead, she kept going to her tent, and Salih thought, she’d be lucky to survive the trek.

      Twelve hours later

       West of Chao Phraya River

       Thailand

      Sam parked his ass on a mossy rock at the river’s edge, pulled off his hat, then scooped up some water. He poured it over his head, but wasn’t dumb enough to drink the bacteria-infested stuff. To make the point, a lizard slid into the stream a couple feet away. Instead, he pulled the tube from his Camelbak water supply and drank fresh. Texas heat had nothing on Thailand, he thought. On so many levels. The air hung, and in the darkened jungle it dripped with humidity. Damn beautiful, though. Kingfisher birds darted overhead, as if warning him of their presence, then dove into the water for food. Hornbills, the bullies of the bird pack with thick, colorful faces and long, hawkish bills strong enough to chop a finger clean off, weighted branches overhead. And then there were the monkeys. Food for the local hill tribes and an annoyance. They threw stuff, mostly their own shit.

      Sam fell back, then noticed banana trees a couple yards away, bright yellow fruit in the СКАЧАТЬ