a time.
“What the hell is that?” Phil exclaimed, thrown off stride by the sudden burst of light from the monitor.
“Looks like the entire hand is encased in something.” Max glanced at Kate. “Could she be wearing some kind of glove?” Distracted by the images blossoming on the screen in quick succession, she didn’t answer. Neither did Cleo. A few seconds later Max let out a long sigh. “Jesus!”
Kate didn’t have to ask why. She had seen all the fracturescome and go, too fast to count, some with lateral slivers of bone that meant Tashat’s hand had been crushed. Yet the bright rings around each finger hardly changed from one axial image to the next.
“She was alive then, too,” Kate murmured, barely aware that she spoke aloud, “because there’s not the slightest dent in that gold glove. That’s why she’s wearing it—to protect her broken left hand.”
Phil nodded and spoke to Cleo, but Kate couldn’t make out what he said, partly because of the muted hiss of forced air, which reminded her of the subtle deafening effect of boarding a plane. When Max joined their conversation she tried to separate out what he was saying from the clacking of Cleo’s Bakelite bracelets and relentless on-off hum of the machine as it moved over Tashat’s desiccated remains. Instead, all she could hear was unintelligible gibberish. Then even that was blotted out, only to be replaced by a roaring storm of sound, fast-moving, like snow on a TV screen. The muscles in her neck tightened until her entire body felt like a vibrating string, sending a shiver of pain into her temples. The next thing she knew, Max had slipped off his sport coat and was draping it around her shoulders.
“These machines put out a lot of heat is why the airconditioning is going full blast. You okay?” Another practiced response from the ever-solicitous caretaker?
Kate nodded. “I’ve been standing still too long. Think I’ll go find the rest room.”
“It’s time for lunch, anyway,” Phil put in. “Why don’t you girls go powder your noses while we shut down here? It’s just a few doors that way, on your right.”
Cleo shot Kate a manic-eyed grimace and mouthed an exaggerated “GIRLS?” then let her eyeballs roll up into her head. Kate got the message.
As they started down the hall, Cleo mumbled, “Too bad. He’s got fantastic buns.”
Kate pushed through the door of the “Ladies” and into a stall. “He’s also tall and has a full head of hair,” she pointedout through the partition. “Of course that would mean you’d have to stop complaining about having to look down on some guy’s bald spot.” She hit the lever and let a rush of water end the discussion.
“So what do you think, Katie?” Cleo asked as she joined Kate at the next sink.
It was too good an opening to let pass. “What I think is that you let Dave talk you into something, and now you can’t figure a way out that won’t cost your job.”
Their eyes met in the mirror. “Okay, I’ll give him through lunch,” Cleo agreed.
Freed from the demands of his control console, Phil allowed his attraction to Cleo to blossom. Once it came out that he was divorced, the two of them engaged in a pas de deux that might have been choreographed by Balanchine, with Cleo testing his intellect as well as his tolerance for the outrageous while Phil countered every thrust with a sense of humor that seemed to surprise even Max. Through it all he sent sometimes amused, other times amazed looks at Kate, sharing his thoughts as openly as if she had been an old friend. By the time Phil laid his credit card on the check, Kate figured her old roommate had met her match.
“It’s going to take most of the afternoon to finish up,” he commented as they got up to leave, “so if you two girls are bored—”
Cleo didn’t bat an eyelash. “Bored? You must be joking! I haven’t come across anything this exciting since my last dig, in western Anatolia. The land of the
“What the hell is that?” Phil exclaimed, thrown off stride by the sudden burst of light from the monitor.
“Looks like the entire hand is encased in something.” Max glanced at Kate. “Could she be wearing some kind of glove?” Distracted by the images blossoming on the screen in quick succession, she didn’t answer. Neither did Cleo. A few seconds later Max let out a long sigh. “Jesus!”
Kate didn’t have to ask why. She had seen all the fracturescome and go, too fast to count, some with lateral slivers of bone that meant Tashat’s hand had been crushed. Yet the bright rings around each finger hardly changed from one axial image to the next.
“She was alive then, too,” Kate murmured, barely aware that she spoke aloud, “because there’s not the slightest dent in that gold glove. That’s why she’s wearing it—to protect her broken left hand.”
Phil nodded and spoke to Cleo, but Kate couldn’t make out what he said, partly because of the muted hiss of forced air, which reminded her of the subtle deafening effect of boarding a plane. When Max joined their conversation she tried to separate out what he was saying from the clacking of Cleo’s Bakelite bracelets and relentless on-off hum of the machine as it moved over Tashat’s desiccated remains. Instead, all she could hear was unintelligible gibberish. Then even that was blotted out, only to be replaced by a roaring storm of sound, fast-moving, like snow on a TV screen. The muscles in her neck tightened until her entire body felt like a vibrating string, sending a shiver of pain into her temples. The next thing she knew, Max had slipped off his sport coat and was draping it around her shoulders.
“These machines put out a lot of heat is why the airconditioning is going full blast. You okay?” Another practiced response from the ever-solicitous caretaker?
Kate nodded. “I’ve been standing still too long. Think I’ll go find the rest room.”
“It’s time for lunch, anyway,” Phil put in. “Why don’t you girls go powder your noses while we shut down here? It’s just a few doors that way, on your right.”
Cleo shot Kate a manic-eyed grimace and mouthed an exaggerated “GIRLS?” then let her eyeballs roll up into her head. Kate got the message.
As they started down the hall, Cleo mumbled, “Too bad. He’s got fantastic buns.”
Kate pushed through the door of the “Ladies” and into a stall. “He’s also tall and has a full head of hair,” she pointedout through the partition. “Of course that would mean you’d have to stop complaining about having to look down on some guy’s bald spot.” She hit the lever and let a rush of water end the discussion.
“So what do you think, Katie?” Cleo asked as she joined Kate at the next sink.
It was too good an opening to let pass. “What I think is that you let Dave talk you into something, and now you can’t figure a way out that won’t cost your job.”
Their eyes met in the mirror. “Okay, I’ll give him through lunch,” Cleo agreed.
Freed from the demands of his control console, Phil allowed his attraction to Cleo to blossom. Once it came out that he was divorced, the two of them engaged in a pas de deux that might have been choreographed by Balanchine, with Cleo testing his intellect as well as his tolerance for the outrageous while Phil countered every thrust with a sense of humor that seemed to surprise even Max. Through it all he sent sometimes amused, other times amazed looks at Kate, sharing his thoughts as openly as if she had been an old friend. By the time Phil laid his credit card on the check, Kate figured her old roommate had met her match.
“It’s going to take most of the afternoon to finish up,” he commented as they got up to leave, “so if you two girls are bored—”
Cleo didn’t bat an eyelash. “Bored? You must be joking! I haven’t come across anything this exciting since my last dig, in western Anatolia. The land of the
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