p&c.thunderhead-第64部分

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　his　career。　God　knows　what　they　would　find　when　they　returned。　If　they　returned　at　all。　
　He　shook　his　head　in　disgust　and　pulled　a　tarp　over　the　second　trench。　Still；　he　wasn't　entirely　sorry　to　be　leaving。　His　usual　assistant；　Smithback；　was　off　burying　Holroyd；　and　as　Black　worked　he　managed　to　feel　deeply　thankful　that　particular　task　had　not　fallen　to　him。　It　didn't　really　matter　whether　poison　or　disease　had　killed　the　technician。　Either　one　was　dangerous。　A　part　of　Black　hungered　for　civilization…telephones；　fine　restaurants；　hot　showers；　and　toilets　that　flushed…a　world　hundreds　of　miles　away　from　Quivira。　Of　course；　he'd　never　admit　this　to　Sloane；　who　had　moved　off　in　stony　silence　to　take　the　final　photographic　records　of　the　site。　
　As　his　thoughts　turned　to　Sloane；　he　felt　a　hot　flush　begin　to　spread　out　from　his　vitals。　Memories　of　the　night　before　gave　way　to　hopes　and　fantasies　for　the　night　to　e。　Black　had　never　had　much　luck　with　women；　and　Sloane　was　a　woman；　all　right；　a　woman　who　。　。　。　
　Tearing　himself　from　these　thoughts　with　difficulty；　he　turned　to　the　flotation　lab。　Unhooking　the　jug　of　distilled　water　from　the　apparatus；　he　dumped　the　water　pan　over　the　edge　of　the　cliff。　Then；　with　a　sigh；　he　began　unscrewing　the　equipment；　draining　the　hoses；　and　packing　everything　into　two　metal　suitcases　filled　with　custom…cut　foam。　It　was　a　job　he　had　done　many　times　before；　and　despite　everything　he　prided　himself　on　his　tidiness。　Snapping　the　suitcases　closed；　he　set　them　aside　and　began　breaking　down　the　paper　chromatography　setup。　
　He　paused　in　the　act　of　stacking　the　unused　papers　into　plastic　folders。　By　rights；　they　would　have　all　been　used　over　the　ing　weeks；　forming　the　foundation　for　half　a　year　of　analysis　back　in　his　fortable　lab。　He　stared　at　them；　all　the　brilliant　articles　he　planned　to　write　for　the　most　prestigious　scientific　journals　going　up　in　smoke　inside　his　head。　
　Suddenly；　a　gust　of　wind　caught　a　pack　of　the　chromatography　papers；　blowing　them　toward　the　back　of　the　cave。　He　watched　as　they　scattered　and　disappeared　into　the　darkness。　
　Black　swore　out　loud。　The　papers　were　ruined…contaminated…but　he　couldn't　just　leave　them。　He'd　publicly　humiliated　more　than　one　archaeologist　for　leaving　trash　in　a　ruin。　
　He　finished　packing　the　chromatography　setup　and　buckled　the　case　shut。　Then　he　stood　up　and　walked　toward　the　back　of　the　cave；　eyes　to　the　ground。　The　papers　had　scattered　along　the　very　back　of　the　midden　heap；　he　could　see　some　still　blowing　about　in　the　random　eddies　of　wind。　Muttering　again；　he　walked　past　the　first　granary　along　the　rear　wall　of　the　ruin；　trapping　the　papers　with　his　foot　as　he　went；　picking　them　up　and　shoving　them　into　a　pocket。　Soon　he　had　counted　eleven。　The　papers　came　twelve　in　a　pack；　he　knew；　where　the　hell　was　the　last　one？　
　Ahead　of　him　lay　the　narrow　opening　to　the　Crawlspace；　and　he　moved　toward　it；　bending　low　under　the　rock　roof。　It　was　too　dark　to　see；　and　he　fumbled　in　his　pocket　for　a　penlight。　Its　feeble　gleam　struggled　to　pierce　the　darkness；　illuminating　dust；　scattered　bones；　and…about　ten　yards　away…the　last　paper；　caught　on　a　piece　of　broken　skull。　
　To　hell　with　Aragon　and　his　ZST；　Black　thought　sourly；　getting　down　on　his　hands　and　knees　and　childishly　shoving　the　bones　out　of　his　way。　Another　eddy　of　wind　stirred　up　the　dust　inside　the　Crawlspace；　and　he　sneezed　explosively。　Kicking　the　bones　aside；　he　grabbed　the　final　paper　and　stuffed　it　in　his　pocket。　As　he　turned　to　go；　he　saw　a　large　pack　rat　shamble　into　the　beam　of　his　flashlight；　disturbed　by　the　clatter　of　bones。　It　turned　to　face　him；　yellow　teeth　bared。　
　Black　shied　back；　sneezed　again；　and　waved　his　hand。　The　animal　backed　up　with　a　chattering　protest　and　a　flick　of　its　tail；　but　it　did　not　flee。　
　〃Yah！〃　Black　cried；　picking　up　a　longbone　and　aiming　it　at　the　rat。　With　a　sudden　movement；　the　rat　vanished　into　a　small　pile　of　rock；　lying　against　the　back　wall　of　the　Crawlspace。　
　Curious；　he　moved　forward。　On　closer　inspection；　he　could　see　that　the　rocks　had　not　fallen　from　the　ceiling　of　the　Crawlspace；　as　he　had　assumed；　they　were　of　a　different　material　than　the　sandstone　cave。　In　the　bottom　of　the　pile　of　rocks　the　pack　rat　had　made　his　opening；　lined　with　twigs　and　cactus　husks。　
　Black　crawled　closer；　wrinkling　his　nose　at　the　strong　smell　of　guano　and　rat　urine。　As　he　played　his　light　into　the　rathole；　he　saw　that　it　led　to　a　black　space　beyond：　a　large　black　space。　
　He　examined　the　rocks　again。　It　looked　to　his　expert　eyes　that　they　were　not　a　natural　event。　Rather；　they　had　been　piled　there　deliberately。　A　great　deal　of　care　had　been　taken　to　conceal　this　opening：　Aragon　must　have　passed　it　at　least　two　dozen　times　without　noticing　anything；　and　Aragon　had　sharp　eyes；　even　for　an　archaeologist。　But　his　own　eyes；　Black　mused；　were　better。　
　He　sat　in　the　darkness；　feeling　his　heartbeat　quicken。　Something　had　been　deliberately　hidden　behind　the　rock　pile；　painstakingly；　cunningly　hidden。　A　burial；　most　likely；　or　even　a　catab。　Perhaps　of　great　archaeological　value。　He　glanced　up　and　down　the　Crawlspace。　He　was　alone；　Aragon　busy　elsewhere　on　Holroyd's　postmortem　analysis。　He　shone　his　light　into　the　hole　once　more；　probing　farther。　
　This　time；　something　glinted　back　at　him。　
　Black　withdrew　the　light；　sat　up；　and　remained　motionless　for　a　moment。　And　then　he　did　something　he　had　never　done　before。　He　picked　up　a　stray　bone　and　began　working　loose　the　small　rocks　around　the　rathole。　Carefully　at　first；　then　with　greater　and　greater　urgency；　he　scrabbled　with　the　rocks；　pulling　them　out。　Soon；　a　small　opening　in　the　back　of　the　cave　became　visible。　Thoughts　of　disfort；　disease；　and　poison　evaporated　from　his　mind；　replaced　by　a　new　thought：　a　consuming　desire　to　see　what　lay　on　the　far　side。　
　Dust　began　to　cake　on　his　sweaty　skin；　he　tied　a　bandanna　over　his　mouth　and　nose　and　continued。　The　bone　fell　apart　and　he　continued　working　with　his　hands。　In　five　minutes；　he　had　cleared　an　opening　large　enough　to　admit　his　bulk。　
　Breathing　deeply；　he　wiped　his　hands　on　the　seat　of　his　pants　and　plucked　the　bandanna　from　his　mouth。　Then　he　put　his　hands　on　either　side　of　the　opening　and　pulled　himself　through。　
　In　a　moment　he　was　on　the　far　side。　He　scrambled　to　his　feet；　panting　hard。　The　air　was　thick；　hot；　and　surprisingly　humid。　He　looked　around；　his　penlight　stabbing　through　skeins　of　dust。　
　Almost　immediately　he　saw　the　glint　again…the　unmistakable　glint　of　gold…and　for　a　moment　his　heart　stopped。　He　was　in　a　large　black　cavern。　There；　rising　in　front　of　him；　dominating　the　cavern；　was　another　Great　Kiva。　Incised　and　painted　on　its　side　was　a　huge　disk　that　winked　gold　in　his　light。　The　Great　Kiva　had　once　had　a　door　in　the　side；　also　blocked　with　loose　stones　and　half　buried　in　sand。　Behind　it　stood　an　exquisite　Anasazi　pueblo；　small　but　perfect；　its　two…storied　roomblocks　and　ladders　sealed　in　the　cave　and　untouched　for　more　than　seven　centuries。　
　He　scrambled　to　his　feet　and　approached　the　kiva；　touching　the　gold　disk　with　a　trembling　hand。　The　effect　of　gold　had　been　created　with　a　deep　yellow　pigment…Black　guessed　it　was　yellow　ochre　of　iron…mixed　with　crushed　flakes　of　mica。　The　whole　thing　had　then　been　polished；　creating　a　shimmering　surface　that　looked　remarkably　like　gold。　It　was　the　same　method　used　to　make　the　image　in　the　Rain　Kiva；　only　this　disk　was　ten　feet　in　diameter。　
　He　knew　then　that　he　had　found　the　Sun　Kiva。　
　
　
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　THE　DIRTY　SKY　OF　THE　AFTERNOON　HAD　lifted；　and　the　air　above　the　canyon　of　Quivira　was　suffused　with　the　last　golden　light　of　sunset。　Already；　the　gloom　of　night　was　gathering　in　the　bottom　of　the　canyon；　in　strange　juxtaposition　to　the　brilliant　narrow　strip　of　sky　above。　The　brief　rain　had　released　the　scents　of　the　desert：　wet　sand；　the　sweet　smell　of　cottonwoods；　mingled　with　the　fragrant　cedarwood　from　Bonarotti's　fire。　
　Nora；　struggling　to　close　one　of　the　drysacks；　noticed　none　of　the　beauty；　smelled　none　of　the　scents。　To　her；　still　numbed　by　the　events　of　the　day；　the　valley　was　anything　but　benign。　A　few　minutes　before；　Swire　and　Smithback　had　returned　from　their　grisly　errand；　and　they　now　rested　by　the　fire；　exhausted；　faces　blank。　
　With　an　effort；　she　heaved　the　drysack　alongside　the　growing　pile　of　equipment；　then　grabbed　an　empty　duffel　and　began　to　fill　it。　Much　of　the　evening　would　be　spent　packing　the　gear；　caching　some　of　it；　getting　the　rest　ready　for　the　long；　wet　trip　out　the　slot　canyon　to　the　horses。　Once　they　had　packed　and　gotten　away　from　the　valley　and　its　divisive　influences；　she　felt　sure；　they　would　be　able　to　function　as　a　team　once　again；　at　least；　long　enough　to　bring　the　details　of　their　remarkable　find　back　to　the　Institute。　
　A　harsh；　ragged　shout　from　the　direction　of　the　rope　ladder　intruded　on　her　thoughts。　She　looked　up　to　see　the　tall　figure　of　Aaron　Black　e　striding　through　the　gloaming；　his　face　gray　with　dirt；　his　clothing　streaked；　hair　wild。　For　a　terrifying　moment；　she　was　certain　he　had　caught　whatever　it　was　that　killed　Holroyd。　But　this　fear　was　quickly　dispelled　by　the　look　of　triumph　on　his　face。　
　〃Where's　Sloane？〃