The sun was glaring hotly down on them. Despite the dubious protection of hats and sunblock, skin was flushed and glistening from the heat.
Nonetheless, cheerful voices rang out across the Essene site; though the work had passed tedious over a week ago, the mood on the dig was upbeat and optimistic.
"We . . . dig-dig-dig-dig-dig-dig-dig-dig-mine the whole night through!"
"We dig-dig-dig-dig-dig-dig-dig is what we like to do!" Tobe bellowed gleefully.
"It's no big trick -"
"To get rich quick -"
A snicker split the musical harmony, disrupting the beat. Michelle glared at Saloma.
"When you dig-dig-dig with a shovel or a stick," Katie continued with a smile, hefting her trowel in an explanatory gesture that managed to look threatening.
"In a mine . . ."
"In a mine!"
"Where a zillion diamonds -"
"Ziv!"
"What?"
Michelle glared at him.
"You know," Mac observed, staring at the unit from which the surprisingly harmonious raucous was emanating, "they don't sound half bad."
Galya's flaming head tilted, as she lifted her gaze from the clipboard to the expanded unit in which her graduate students were dutifully wielding trowel and brush. "If Saloma could stop laughing at the lyrics long enough to sing them."
Mac snorted. "And if Ziv stopped changing his voice part every three measures."
Galya raised an interested brow. "Is that what he was doing?"
A grin carved through the wrinkles under Mac's Mexican sombrero. His niece had sent him the massive hat only a few days ago for his birthday, and it completely obscured his wild head of hair. "Couldn't you tell?"
Galya shrugged unashamedly. "I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Haven't you figured that out by now?"
Mac squinted out toward the unit, his suspicions roused at the lack of noise. "I know the students were convinced that there was a cat lurking about the tents, somewhere. It took me a good half-hour's argument to keep them from searching for it. Jo insisted that any animal making noises like that had to be in pain."
Age hadn't slowed the overseer of the dig; he managed to dodge the clipboard that swung through the air with frightening velocity.
"Schmuck," Galya pronounced with alacrity.
"Hey! I resemble that remark!" Louie cried, coming up on them from behind.
Mac grinned, about to respond, when noise from the unit caught his attention. Turning, he raised a brow and sighed. The wind brought a few words to them, allowing the older Professor to divine the nature of the problem.
"I must depart," he mournfully told Galya. "The children are fighting again."
She hid a grin behind her clipboard, ushering him off with an imperious wave. The source of the problem seemed to be a heated debate involving airborne trowels and, unfortunately, a Munsell book that was being emphatically brandished.
" – telling you," Tobe insisted as Mac drew close to the three-foot hole in the ground. "10 YR, ¾! It's yellowish brown!"
"I disagree," said Saloma, haughtily. "I think that you would be better served to look on page 7.5 YR. It's clearly a dusty yellow."
"You're both wrong," Michelle snorted. "It's -"
"What's the scorpion in your sleeping bag?" Mac inquired genially. He was rewarded for his silent approach with a jerk of surprise from Saloma, a gasp from Tobe, and a little shriek from Michelle. He was also unused to being ignored.
"Mac!" Tobe exclaimed, the thrill of discovery shining in his eyes. "We found a hole!"
The professor became serious immediately. "Move," he ordered, and they shuffled to the far side of the unit as he dropped in beside them. Studying the ground, he could see a clear difference in the colors of the soil. A dark, circular patch was bordered by the paler soil characteristic of the unit's second level.
"We'd just left the topsoil and the first level," Michelle explained. "When we were leveling out the bottom of the unit, we realized that we were in level two. Barely three centimeters down, we found distinctive marks of either a pit or posthole."
Mac nodded, agreeing with the girl's assessment; she had been well taught and missed nothing. He glanced around, making his own assessment, then crouched in the dirt, pinching a bit of the soil and rubbing it through his fingers. It had the same sandy, grainy texture that they had found in the second and first layers, which was typical of the region. There was a clear color difference that distinguished the circular patch from the surrounding dirt, however.
"A pit," he commented, keen eyes taking in the rest of the unit. "Have you found any artifacts in this layer?"
Saloma shook her dark head, voice clear and precise. "None in level two. Level one was sterile as well."
Mac pursed his lips, then blew a raspberry. "Refuse," he determined. "Or, if you're exceptionally lucky, a latrine."
Michelle's eyes grew wide with excitement. Saloma started searching frantically for her trowel, which had been lost during a particularly vehement stage in the argument. Tobe whispered happily, "Wait 'till I tell Katie!"
Mac turned away to hide his grin. These ones had the makings of true archaeologists, and a little bit of the crazy that he and Galya hoarded so preciously, as well.
"I still say it's 10 YR - " Tobe began, crouching at the wall of the unit.
"And I still say you've spent a little too much time in the sun," Saloma interrupted. "It's clearly -"
"You're both wrong," Michelle informed the two next to her.
Mac listened to the argument with one ear as he returned to the tent where Galya was filling out her charts. Louie was cooing over a few of the nicer artifacts that had been turned up and Ziv was out, making sketches of several of the features they had uncovered.
"Galya," Mac called absently, clearing his throat of the dust. "What unit did you assign Tobe, Michelle and Saloma to today?"
She reached over, and flipped through her chart. "Unit 16, out of shovel test 245. Why?"
"They've found a feature, and I think we need a few photos before they get completely in gear."
Taking his cue, Louie snatched his camera on the way out of the tent, description board appropriately lettered and slung under his arm, compass hanging from a bit of twine about his neck.
"And, Galya?"
"Hmm?"
"Whatever possessed you to put the three of them on that unit at once?"
The fiery-haired professor broke into a wicked grin. "Well, I wanted to see if they could work together. And the unit is a yard per side."
Mac shook his head, turning back to his table. On it were many of the details that he coordinated as site director. Among them budget information and updates from both the camp and the Hebrew University, status reports from field and lab, and the latest test results of soil samples they had sent to a German laboratory, from breaking ground two months ago. Floral and faunal examinations were costly in addition to being time-expensive; he was amazed that they had gotten the results so quickly.
On the heels of a discovery that was brewing in the sun outside, however, he had no urge to deal with paperwork. Instead, he turned his attention to the tiny packet of letters he had received the previous day, but hadn't had the chance to open yet.
"Bill," he sorted through the pile. "Bill. Bill. Junk mail – heh, even in the middle of nowhere, the sales marketers still manage to find you – bill, letter from home, bill. Letter from the university, demanding another update, I presume. Reminder from Smitty that he needs to make another food run – how did he slip that into my mail? Eh. Letter from . . . Colorado Springs?"
"Who do you know in Colorado Springs?" Galya called over, clearly distracted and just as clearly not wanting to do anything about it.
"Beats me," Mac muttered, sifting through papers for his letter opener.
"No, but I will if you don't hurry it up," Galya told him, over his shoulder.
Mac froze, eyeing her warily. "How did you get here . . . from all the way over there, without me noticing?"
The smug look that Galya trained on him didn't make him feel any better. "Mystic female powers."
Pushing his luck, Mac opened his mouth. "What exactly -"
Galya reached over, snatched the letter from his slackened grasp, and proceeded to sashay back to her chair.
"Hey!"
Tilting her head saucily, Galya gave him a look. "Were you going to open it?" she asked, ripping savagely through the envelope. The return address was only barely salvaged from the relentless attack. Pulling out three hand written sheets, she glanced at the handwriting, and then searched for the signature. When she found it, she let out a loud whoop.
"What? What is it?" Mac demanded, standing and making a grab for the letter. "That is mine, you know!"
Instead of answering, Galya dodged around the shorter, solid Scot and made for the tent-flap, shouting, "Five-minute break! Hey everyone! Guess what I've got!" Then she let out a piercing whistle, waving the papers through the air.
Mac glared at her, hands over his ears. It would be a cold day in hell before he jumped to grab the letter from her hands. That didn't stop him from wanting to, however.
"Galya," he growled. "Galya!"
Normally, she would have balked at the warning, becoming serious instantly. This time, however, she just smiled at him. "It's the desert bug, Mac," she told him, handing the letter over. The grad students piled around stared blankly, before Mac sputtered in surprise, "Daniel?"
The hubbub that rose lasted moments, and was only quelled when Tobe shouted, "Well? What's he say?"
Mac waved them all down and away. "Back up, ye heathens! Give me some room, here!"
At the outcry, the archaeologists adjourned to the tent, out of the sun. Tobe and Ziv, the first in, grabbed the two extra chairs. Katie wound up on Tobe's lap, Mac and Galya at their claimed areas. Michelle, Saloma, and Louie were chairless; while Louie leant against a table, Michelle and Saloma seemed to give up, and plopped down on the dirt.
Mac cleared his throat, reading the intent expressions of the colleagues and students around him, and began.
"'Dear Mac (though I assume that by the time you start this letter, everyone will have found out that I've written you, and refused to let you continue until the congregation has settled itself),'"
Laughter interrupted the site director, and he smiled and waited for the last sounds of mirth to die down before continuing.
"'I'm back at Colorado Springs, and finally settled in. I'm waiting for an apartment lease to clear, but until then I stay at Jack's house the nights I'm not on base. I have my job as a consultant once more, though I'm not on a field unit just yet. I've decided to wait on that for a bit; or at least, to join another unit for awhile and get my feet back under me.
'How's the Essene site coming? I've enclose some information that might be relevant from my copy of Fausted . . .'"
Here Mac broke off, sorting through the next page and a half, which contained cited, technical information. "The boy knows how much I hate library work," he murmured, appreciative of the thought and time Daniel had spent on him.
Galya snorted. "What else is archaeology, you stubborn Scot? Oy," she lamented.
Mac ignored her, continuing. "'The weather here's pretty good; nothing like the scorching heat to make you appreciate the rain. Jack's been happily grouching about it for days now. But after the desert, Colorado's a bit too cool for me.
'Speaking of which. Galya –"
Mac broke off, and the woman in questioned looked pleased, buffing her nails against her shirt before blowing nonchalantly across the tips. "Well?"
Mac smirked. "'The coffee at Colorado Springs is much better than anything you managed, caffeinated or not.'"
"Hey!"
Laughter, once more, at the convivial tone of the missive. "The three-thousand mile smackdown," Ziv whispered, entranced. "Oh, a thing of beauty!"
"Keep it up," Galya suggested sweetly. "I've got to make up the chore roster for latrine duty for the next month. Want to be it?"
The blonde ex-surfer bum's mouth snapped shut.
"'But I just wanted to ask you what vengeance you wreaked on those poor unfortunate souls I impressed into service. I hope it wasn't anything too awful; they were mostly innocent, you know.'"
"Mostly!" Galya snarled.
Mac grinned, continuing without pause. "'Louie, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a rain check on the perfumery argument until my next letter; Mac, same goes for the import of Essene ritual. Ziv, I was wondering how the fiddling's coming? I added a sheet or two of some really exotic African music for you, Saloma and Michelle. I'm planning on coming for a visit, anytime you're short on labor, and wouldn't mind hearing what you make of it.'"
"Daniel's coming for a visit?" Louie asked, excitedly.
"'It won't be for at least a month or so, but apparently I have a lot of accrued leave, and the stuff just keeps rolling over. I was a little suspicious when the General told me that, since I thought that with my resignation it would have been negated –'"
"General?" Katie asked with interest.
"Leave?" Tobe inquired at the same time. The two smiled at each other, and leaned in close, while Saloma made a gagging motion and Michelle rolled her eyes.
"Get a tent," Ziv suggested slyly.
Katie aimed a kick in his general direction.
"' – but apparently not. I've got to go, Sam's dragging me to the commissary to get something to eat. It's only two (yes, in the afternoon, Galya, stay calm) –'"
"What?" the woman in question protested, receiving and correctly interpreting the several looks leveled her way from various parts of the tent. "I caught him finishing up paperwork at four in the morning once! He hadn't slept!"
"What were you doing up?" Mac queried interestedly.
"She was helping him," Michelle accused, grinning widely.
"That's none of your business." Galya radiated offended hauteur.
"She was helping him," Saloma confirmed, sharing a knowing smile with Ziv. The blonde ex-surfer grinned, no longer sulking at the thought of a month cleaning the Port-A-Privies, and showed off a pierced tongue in the direction of the redheaded Latin professor.
"Eeeeww!" Michelle squealed. "When did you get that done?"
A few moments of silent, morbid fascination passed while the archaeologists stared at Ziv's tongue with varying degrees of horror, respect, and disgust.
"Anyway," Mac cleared his throat after a minute, pulling his eyes from the unexpected sight. "'Murray wishes to send you all his deepest thanks for, as Jack has it, 'pulling my butt out of the fire' a week or more ago. Sam (Major Carter) says thanks as well, and Jack would like to cordially inform you that, for grave-digging geeks, you're not that bad. Um, I paraphrased – sort of.'"
A disgusted snort rounded the room, but Galya laughed heartily. "The boy's got spitfire," she declared approvingly. The rest of the academics, dirt smeared and bedraggled as they were, looked at her as if she had lost her mind.
"' Sincerely,
Daniel.
P.S. If you have trouble with anyone sneaking around the dig, call me. I've enclosed my cell phone number, if Galya hasn't completely destroyed the envelope – it's in there.'"
"Well, it sure is good to hear from the desert bug again," Louie commented, pushing away from the table and rolling his shoulders contentedly.
"Wait, wait! There's another postscript," Saloma called, having hoisted to her feet and snagged the letter before Mac could stop her. She snickered, and gave Mac a look that screamed blackmail.
"What?" Katie called, unaware of the flush that was creeping up Mac's neck at the sudden attention. He looked distinctly hunted.
"'P.P.S. – Mac, Janet still wants to hear the end of that bagpipe story, and she's convinced that the haggis probably had something to do with it . . . what, exactly, is she talking about?
Daniel.'"
"Bagpipes?" Galya inquired gently, a speculative gleam in her eye.
"Haggis?" Michelle asked, just as innocently.
"Ye're closing in on me like piranhas readying for the kill," Mac commented, unsuccessfully trying to stifle his nervousness.
"Mac?" Ziv probed, hungry for the details.
"I may have made a few unwise choices in my youth in regards to bagpipes, kilts and haggis," Mac declared with hard-won aplomb. "But I am still the head honcho of this site, and daylight's a-wastin'! Back to the grindstone!"
There were only a few loud groans at the thought of toiling once more in the hot sun, but the students trooped back out into the heat to continue opening their unit. Galya was the last one, following them out. She paused in the doorway, looking back at Mac, who had tossed the letter in resignation onto his desk.
"Mac?"
Scrubbing a hand through his wild white mane, the director looked back at her. "Yes?"
"Kilts?"
Mac looked at the postscript, and back at the professor, and swore.
Galya let the tent flap drop in her wake, the notes of a cheery tune whistled off-key with no rhythm drifting back to her supervisor.
"I'm a dead man," Mac groaned, slumping to his chair. "It's only a matter of time . . . ah well."
Resigned to the inevitable, he tackled the nightmare known commonly as "that horrid place, don't make me go in there, please!", which he called his desk. It took only four hours, across lunch break, to look over the lab results, respond to the demands of both the Hebrew University and the Israeli government, and to sort and catalogue the sheets filled out by the students for each unit in the original Roman-Byzantine site for the last three days. He had just finished, and was staring unenthusiastically at the chaotic half of the desk which had been devoted to the Essene site, when a shocked shout reached his ears. Eager for the distraction, Mac gained his feet and stretched, popping a few vertebrae in his spine with a pained grunt.
He ambled over to the tent flap. And was bowled over by a tall, dusty figure that sped in at a speed of at least sixty-five kilometers an hour. "Mac! Mac?"
"Down . . . here," he wheezed.
"God, Mac, I'm sorry," Tobe apologized fervently, helping the older man to his feet. "It's the pit, in Unit 16 – we've found something, and Saloma threatened to kill us all if anyone touched it before you got there."
"In that case," Mac grinned, sparing not another glance to his desk, spilling over with leftover paperwork. "Lead the way."
The outside lights were on, buzzing with a hum of electricity and accumulated insect life. Mac followed them to the unit, taking a moment to inspect the straightness of the walls and the quality of the sifting work that was being done, off to the far side. Louie was already there, meter-stick, compass, noteboard and camera at the ready. Ziv crouched down, well away from the unit wall, a sketchpad balanced across his knees. Saloma was reading off depth measurements to Michelle, who was dutifully cataloguing and peering at her Munsell book.
Mac looked in amusement at the amount of people who had gathered around the unit, tempted to shout for them all to go back to work. Looking at his watch, however, he knew that this would probably be the day's last hurrah, so he cut them some slack, and simply shouted for everyone to move back, instead.
He lowered himself three feet down into the unit, walking carefully forward until he reached the point of interest. It was almost fully excavated, a squarish object wrapped in cloth. Mac squatted next to it, carefully tugging at the cloth, to reveal a creamy corner with black scrawled across it.
His breath caught.
"What is it?" Tobe asked, peering over his shoulder, entranced.
"It's a text."