The Oracle Read online

  Renee led them along the ancient paving stones, talking about the history of the site, then paused along the way to point out the striking detail of some of the mosaic work of the paths they were walking on. Renee led them along the ancient stones, talking about the history of the site, when Remi stopped, pointing to a group of people in the distance. “Could that be Warren and Amal?”

  Sam glanced up as the woman and three men disappeared behind some ruins.

  Renee shaded her eyes, looking that direction as well. “That certainly looked like Amal. She gives tours to earn extra money for school. I can’t think why Warren would be there, though. Especially when he knew you were coming, and I needed him at the excavation site this morning.” She gave one last look that direction, then led them toward a low rectangular parapet. “Careful,” she said as they peered down some twenty feet below into a peristyle courtyard supported by six granite columns. Above the columns were large hexagonal windows, which let light into the subterranean corridors. “This is one of my favorites,” she said as they descended the stairs into the heart of the villa. She stood off to one side, allowing them to see the splendor of the richly colored floor mosaics.

  Remi crouched down for a better look at the intricately detailed sea creatures and twin cherubs astride dolphins, one carrying a casket of jewels, the other a mirror, gifts for a haloed Venus borne in triumph by two centaurs. “Amazing.”

  “That’s what I think every time I come into work.” Renee sighed as she looked around, then started up the steps. “Who’d have thought all those years ago that we’d be living our dream?”

  “We did,” Remi said.

  Sam laughed, no doubt thinking about all the scrapes they’d gotten into and escaped from over the years. “Not quite how you’d planned, though. Eh, Mrs. Fargo?”

  She looked over at him, laughing as she took his hand. “Not even close.”

  Renee was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. “What you two consider fun the rest of us consider extreme.” She suddenly turned, her eyes going wide, as someone grabbed her shoulder bag, then pushed her down the stairs.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A tree does not move unless there is wind.

  – NIGERIAN PROVERB –

  Sam caught Renee as she tumbled down. Once he had her safely on her feet, he raced up the stairs. The man who had grabbed Renee’s bag was now rummaging through it by the time Sam emerged. He looked up, then took off. Sam chased him along the paths and out to where their cars were parked as a dark SUV pulled up, tires kicking up dust as it skidded to a stop. Sam breached the gap between them as the driver reached over and threw open the passenger’s door. The thief looked back, saw Sam, and threw the bag at him.

  Sam flung it aside, lunged, grasping the man’s shirt but losing his grip as the man jumped in the SUV. The vehicle sped away. In the few seconds it took to see that there was no license plate on the back, the thief rolled down the window, tossing Renee’s wallet out.

  Sam ran over, picked it up, and returned for the bag as Remi and Renee hurried toward him.

  He handed both to Renee. “You’re not hurt, I hope?”

  “No. More humiliated than anything,” she said, looking inside her wallet to see what was missing. “There’s been an uptick in thefts around here, especially around our site. Had I been smart, I would’ve left my bag in the car.”

  “Did they take anything?” Remi asked.

  “A couple dinar, but that’s it. If I had to guess, they thought I was some rich tourist, not a poor archeologist.” She dropped the wallet into her purse, then patted her pant pocket. “Keys right where they belong … I say we get out of here.”

  “You don’t want to call the police?” Sam asked.

  “Had they taken something important like my keys or ID, I would. This? Not worth the time.”

  When they reached their cars, they followed Renee past the main archeological park toward the foothills, parking behind her when she finally stopped.

  “That’s our site,” she said as they walked across the uneven ground down the hill to where Hank stood watching two younger men who were kneeling by a marked-off area, carefully brushing away dirt from the dig site. “Not much to look at from here, but extraordinary up close.”

  Hank saw them and walked over. “Ah, the Fargos. A pleasure to meet you in person.”

  “Likewise,” Sam said, shaking his hand.

  “Has Warren come back?” Renee asked.

  “Not that I’ve seen.” Hank’s brow furrowed. “You look a little green around the gills, LaBelle. Everything okay?”

  “Purse snatch. Failed, I should add. Sam ran after the guy and got it back for me.”

  He glanced at the bag on her shoulder. “After the rash of robberies in the area, you need to be careful.”

  Sam nodded toward the two men working in the field. “What’s going on out there?”

  “That,” Renee said, “is the new site that may or may not be another villa. Last year we made a topographical survey, did some coring, and dug several test pits. No serious excavation until that’s all done, but there’s plenty to be found on the surface.”

  Hank twisted off the top of his stainless steel water bottle. “Though not nearly as exciting as the underground villa we’re already excavating. You should take them to see the rest of it in person. It’s spectacular. And now that we have electricity in there, we can actually work at night.”

  “That can wait. I want to introduce the Fargos to my grad students,” she said, nodding out toward the field to the two young men. “José’s from Spain, Osmond’s from Egypt. I’ve told them all about your escapades. José’s a hobbyist treasure hunter. He’ll get a kick out of meeting the two of you.”

  “You’ll miss the good daylight,” Hank said. “Those two can wait.”

  “Good point.” She smiled at Sam and Remi. “Shall we?”

  Sam eyed the men, who seemed to be waiting eagerly. “I’ll introduce myself and catch up to you.”

  “I’ll go with Sam,” Hank said. “Better fill a bucket if you really want to show it off.”

  “We will.” Renee smiled as she looked over at Remi. “You have to see this … Did I mention there’s a curse?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hurry, hurry, has no blessings.

  – SWAHILI PROVERB –

  What curse?” Remi asked as Renee led her toward the villa.

  “Not that I believe in that stuff, but it was something about the last Vandal King’s brother being brutally killed because of it.” Renee stopped in her tracks, grinning. “With all the thefts going on around here, it just occurred to me that I should post warning signs. Property Cursed. Violators Will Suffer a Violent Death.”

  They laughed, then continued down the uneven path for several more minutes to an area cordoned off with a chain-link fence. A padlock and chain hung on the open gate, and yellow caution signs warning Excavation in Progress were posted around the perimeter.

  Renee pointed to their left. “Somewhere over there is where we think the stairs are located. Buried beneath tons of rubble and centuries of dirt.”

  “I thought they’d discovered most everything there was to find and that the work now was all about preservation.”

  “Exactly what I thought, until I got to know Amal.” She gave a conspiratorial smile. “That’s when I learned about the curse. That was the hook of her thesis. But the idea that the city extended farther than anyone had previously believed came from a strong oral history about Bulla Regia passed down through the women in her family. See that house up there?” she said, pointing past the dig site. “That’s where she lives with her mother. The olive grove covering the entire hillside and all the land just beyond it has been in their family for generations. The university rents the house there at the bottom of the hill for our crew.”

  A gust of wind swept through the ancient trees, swirling the twisted branches. “A warning, no doubt,” Remi deadpanned as spent leaves fluttered to the ground.
r />   “Let’s hope not. Last thing I need is to deal with the remnants of a centuries-old curse. Heaven knows it’s caused enough problems around here these last few months.”

  “What sort of problems?”

  “Trying to get local help. Somehow, word about the curse got out and, next thing we knew, no one would even step foot on our site.” She removed the chain, pushing the gate open. “Thankfully, our graduate students are nonbelievers. They’ve been great at picking up the slack.”

  “Curse aside, what was in Amal’s history that brought you all the way out here?”

  “Her photograph of a charcoal burner—or, rather, the lid to one—sitting on her mother’s mantel. According to Amal, her grandmother found it when she was a girl not too far from where we’re digging.” She handed Remi a hard hat. “The site is shored up with support scaffolding, but there’s always danger of a loose chunk falling from the molded-stucco ceiling.”

  Remi tucked her sunglasses into her shirt pocket, then put on the hard hat. She followed Renee onto a wooden deck structure surrounding an opening from which an aluminum ladder protruded. Next to it, on the deck, sat a metal bucket and a thick coil of rope. “How deep is it?” asked Remi, peering down into the space.

  “About eighteen feet.” Renee preceded her down, leading her through a jungle of scaffolding, platforms, and pulleys. “Just wait until you see the floor mosaic.”

  The temperature dropped noticeably as they descended, and it took some time for Remi’s eyes to adjust to the softly lit chamber. She could make out the dusty masonry of thin, flat horizontal bricks typical to Roman Empire buildings of the second century. At one end of the room was a large arched entranceway, behind which were huge masses of masonry where the ceiling had apparently collapsed. A work light was clamped to the railing on the first platform, its thick orange extension cord looped halfway down the side just above the rubble. “Remnants of the earthquake.” Renee turned on the light, aiming it toward an area marked off with yellow and black caution tape, one end tied to the scaffolding, the other secured to a wooden sawhorse. “We’re lucky so much of this survived.”

  She turned the light off and the two climbed down the ladder. At the bottom, she opened her canteen and poured water onto a portion of the mosaic. When the liquid washed away the film left by mineral accretions, the mosaic patterns shimmered with a remarkable depth, some with semi-precious stones, revealing a temple with a man lying on the bottom step. “Isn’t it stunning?”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “The man lying along the bottom step of the temple and looking down into the water is supposed to be Narcissus. You can see Echo there behind the tree on the other side of the temple. She’s exquisite.” Renee tried to brush what remained of her water over the floor. It quickly evaporated. “Or she would be. You really need enough water to get the full effect. I’ll go fill the bucket.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Remi said.

  “It’s not that far to the water tank. Take your time, have a look around. Just stay on this side of the yellow and black tape.”

  Renee climbed up the ladder through the maze of squeaking scaffolding and decks, then pulled herself out.

  Remi walked beneath the scaffolding that filled most of the anteroom, looking at the patterned mosaic, trying to imagine what it must have been like to live in that area centuries ago. Some of the mosaic pieces had come loose along a crack that ran beneath the rubble all the way across the floor to the other side of the room. She bent down for a closer look as the wind gusted into the chamber, causing the scaffolding and deck boards to creak like the hold of a ship. Closing her eyes against the sting of dust wafting down, she waited for everything to calm. Soon, all was quiet and she turned her attention back to the mosaic, admiring the workmanship and wondering how long it had taken to place each tiny piece.

  “Still there?”

  Remi looked up, saw her friend silhouetted above her on the top deck. “Still here.”

  “Might want to move away from the opening in case I spill water on you. It’s a crude system, but try to guide the bucket so it doesn’t hit the mosaic when it lands.” She lifted the pail onto a hook, the rope creaking in the pulley as she turned the crank. The bucket was no more than a few feet down when a loud crack startled them.

  “What was that?” Remi asked. Drops of water hit her as the bucket swung high over her head.

  It took a moment before Renee answered. “The pulley, I think.”

  “Whatever it was can’t be good. Maybe we should skip the water.”

  Renee, still holding the rope for the bucket, nodded. But when she tried to straighten up, there was another crack and the water-filled pail rushed downward. Attempting to stop it, she slammed her foot on the coil of rope. It ripped out from beneath her foot, wrapped around her leg, and knocked her over the side of the scaffolding. Suddenly she was the one falling as the bucket flew upward. Remi braced herself in an attempt to break her friend’s fall. But the rope went taut and the woman jerked to a stop, dangling above Remi’s head, too high for her to reach.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Holy …”

  It wasn’t until Renee started spinning that Remi realized the rope wrapped around her leg was the only thing holding her up. “Grab the scaffolding,” Remi shouted.

  Renee reached out, caught one of the pipes, and pulled herself to a stop. Several seconds passed before she gave what sounded like a small laugh. “Remember that frat party we went to our first year? This feels like that hangover.”

  “It’s going to feel a lot worse if you fall.” Remi pulled out her phone to call Sam. No signal.

  “You think that extension cord’s strong enough?”

  Remi eyed the length of orange cord hanging down the side of the scaffolding. “Not sure that’s a good idea. Hang on. I’m going to climb up. Maybe I can pull you onto the deck and cut the rope.” But the moment she stepped onto the ladder, she heard another loud crack as dirt and debris fell from above.

  She froze. One more step and she’d bring the entire thing down.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  If opportunity doesn’t knock, build a door.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  The moment Sam heard the crash echoing across the field, he whipped around. “What was that?”

  “No idea,” Hank said.

  Sam raced down the hill, past the water tank, seeing the remnants of an observation deck constructed over a large opening in the ground. “Remi?”

  “Down here,” she shouted. “Renee’s caught in the rope. The deck gave way.”

  Relief flooded through him on hearing his wife’s voice. When he reached the deck, he tested its surface with one foot. It felt solid and he stepped on, leaning forward to peer in. Several boards were broken near the entrance. A crushed bucket was wedged against a pulley system, its thick rope disappearing below. What he didn’t expect to see was Remi’s friend hanging from that rope, stretched out between it and the ladder like a trapeze artist caught mid-performance.

  “LaBelle,” Hank shouted, running toward the deck.

  Sam held his hand up. “Stop. I’m not sure how much weight it’ll support.”

  Hank halted at the edge. “Is she okay?”

  “So far. Do you have any rope?”

  He nodded.

  “Bring it here.”

  Hank ran to his car, unzipped a thick canvas duffel bag in the back, and returned with a rope, which he tossed to Sam. “What can I do?”

  “Park your car as close to the deck as you can,” Sam said, unwinding the long coil, fashioning a harness.

  Hank did as he asked, then joined Sam. “Can’t we just pull her up with the rope from the pulley?”

  “This is safer,” Sam said, not wasting time to explain the hazards of such an idea. The rope wrapped around her leg, the damage to the scaffolding, the precarious anchoring of the ladder to it—never mind if any of it fell during their rescue attempt—it all put Remi in danger.

  He anchored th
e rope to the tow hook beneath the car’s front bumper, slid into the harness, and edged his way toward the opening. The A-frame over the deck that held the pulley had collapsed. Fortunately, a deck beam and the aluminum ladder remained intact, both strong enough to have stopped the bucket wedged between them while still holding the weight of Renee LaBelle. “Remi, move back. I’m coming down.”

  He lowered himself into the chamber, bringing himself level to Renee, noting a trickle of red blood in the hairline above her forehead. “Anything broken?”

  “Not unless you count my pride.”

  “You think you can grab on to my shoulders and hold on piggyback all the way up?”

  “No question.”

  Sam gripped her wrist as she reached across his back with one arm, wrapping tight, before letting loose of the scaffold. He glanced down, saw Remi off to the side, watching.

  She gave him a look of relief once he and Renee reached the top, then shouted up to Sam, “You are planning to come back for me?”

  “Have I ever left you behind?”

  “There was that time in …”

  Sam waited until Hank had helped Renee from the deck before turning back around and looking down at his wife. “Never left you behind without a good excuse.”

  “I’m sure you had a good reason.”

  Sam stepped out of the harness and lowered the apparatus to his wife. She slipped into it and he pulled her up and out, helping her from the deck. “Remind me what that reason was again?” he asked, once she was on solid ground.

  “The details are a bit fuzzy.”

  “Conveniently fuzzy.”

  She kissed him. “Why rehash old history?”

  They walked arm in arm over to the car, where Renee was seated, examining her left ankle and calf, which looked swollen and bruised. She smiled at Remi. “Twice in one day. Guess there really is something to that curse.”