by Alex Archer
From a short distance away, she heard Roux lightly snoring. Annja was surprised that he was still there. She wasn't sure how she'd have felt if he'd disappeared.
Because Roux was there, and because she didn't fully trust him, Annja reached into the otherwhere and drew the sword. She felt it hard and certain in her hand for a moment, then she pushed it back.
Sitting up quietly, she looked across to the sofa where Roux slept. She'd let him borrow one of her sleeping bags and a blanket because the building cooled off in the evenings and the temperatures had plunged during the night.
Looking across the street, she saw a fresh layer of white on the roof. Delighted, Annja got up and looked outside. Her breath fogged the window. She loved winter in the city. Everything looked fresh and new. Of course, it didn't stay that way. The snow would be dirty within hours.
Grudgingly, feeling the chill of the day seeping into her, she retreated to the bathroom.
A short while later, her hair wrapped in a towel and fresh from the shower, Annja raided the refrigerator. Roux had bought enough food to last for days. She set everything she wanted to one side and got started.
She put coffee on first, thinking the smell of it in the loft might wake Roux, then peeled a few potatoes, chopped them into chunks, and added onion. She mixed up a bowl of waffle batter and started frying bacon. She put a package of link sausages in a pan of water, covered it with a lid, and put it on a burner.
Roux got up as Annja opened up a carton of eggs. He looked tired and haggard in the pajamas he'd gotten from the suitcase he'd had his driver deliver.
"Scrambled or over easy?" Annja held up the eggs.
Roux's morning voice was a dry growl. "Benedict. We have muffins."
"We also have waffles."
Roux frowned. "Those are too sweet."
"You don't have to put syrup on them." Annja turned back to the stove and added another pan.
"You're up early," Roux said.
"We've got a lot to do," Annja said.
"Is the coffee ready?"
Reaching into the cupboard for a cup, Annja poured Roux a cup.
"Thank you."
"Sure." Annja felt relaxed making breakfast. She'd thought she'd have been self-conscious. Especially after Roux had dismissed the driver and stated his intentions about staying – in case her enemies decided to strike again.
Instead, nothing had happened but a good night's sleep.
"I'll do the dishes." Roux took the dirty dishes from Annja's tray.
"I can do them." Annja got up and started to help.
"No." Roux waved her back to her chair. "You did the dishes last night. It's the least I can do."
Annja watched as Roux went to the kitchen sink. It surprised her that Roux had demonstrated a softer side. Especially after nearly five hundred years of male chauvinism.
Annja retreated to her computer. "Where did you learn to be so domestic?"
"Back when I was on the road a lot, and Garin was just a boy, about the time I'd met Joan and knew that I was supposed to watch over her, there was no one else to take care of us. So I did."
Annja brought the computer online. "Were you poor in those days?"
Roux glanced at her as if wondering if she were sane. "No. We had money."
"Then why not hire servants?"
"Because someone traveling with servants was a clear target for brigands. It was better to pose as an old man and a boy with little material possessions. Although I can't remember the number of times we had to fight merely to keep our cook pots and horses."
"You could have stayed at inns."
"I had enemies." Roux frowned as he looked down into the dishwasher. "I've always had enemies. If Garin and I stayed at an inn, we'd have been found more easily."
Annja sorted through her e-mail. There were also a lot of fan letters from viewers of Chasing History's Monsters. She checked to see if anyone had posted anything new about the belt plaque.
She spotted one from Professor Michael Hu. Annja recognized the name from Michelle Kim's research while she'd been in California.
I'm a professor of Archaeological Studies at Peking University in Beijing, China. I'd like to confer with you if I may. You recently posted an image of a piece I'd be very interested in seeing.
If you would please, reply to this e-mail and I'd be happy to call you at my expense.
Sincerely,
Michael Hu
"Interesting." Roux stood at Annja's shoulder.
Annja checked the time and date on the message. It had been posted while she'd been asleep. She clicked on the attachment.
The image of the Scythian belt plaque filled the screen. The snarling tiger's savage face stared back at Annja in frozen silence.
If only you could talk, she thought. She sighed, then turned to Roux. "You came here about the thing Sha Wu Ying captured. Why is Professor Hu interested?"
"You'd have to ask him." Roux frowned. "There are too many people interested in the secret that lies behind that belt plaque."
"Could he know what you know?"
Roux considered that for a moment. "There are always whispers, legends, and half-truths." He spat a curse. "And, of course, there's no guessing whom Garin might have told. Over the years, he talked about a fair number of things that he shouldn't have talked about."
"Dr. Hu is working on a dig in Loulan City. It could be in our best interests to work with him. On some level," Annja said.
Scowling, Roux ran a hand over his face. "Unless this is a trap."
"There's two of us. Think they can trap us both?"
Roux smiled. "Did you know that ego was sometimes the best bait in any trap?"
Annja smiled back. "Whose ego? The trapper or the trappee?"
"Upon occasion, both." Roux paused. "I need to see the inscription that was on the back of the belt plaque."
After a moment's hesitation, Annja printed an enlarged image of the back of the belt plaque. Although she trusted Roux to an extent, she never knew what that extent was. He always seemed to know more than she did about the things he was interested in, and he only doled out what he reluctantly decided she had to know. Like the nature of whatever weapon it was that fell into Sha Wu Ying's hands.
Even if he took off with the image, though, she still had copies of it. He couldn't keep her from seeking the truth on her own. Surely there was someone in New York's Chinatown who would be able to interpret more of it than Harry Kim had been able to.
It took Annja almost an hour to get through to Professor Hu. Most of that time was spent tracking down a graduate assistant who could give Annja a cell phone number to try.
It took three attempts before Annja got Hu to answer. He spoke in Chinese.
Annja replied in English. "I'm sorry, Professor Hu, I don't speak the language. My name is Annja Creed. You sent me a message about a Scythian belt plaque."
"Ah, Ms. Creed." The professor's English was accented. "Thank you for getting in touch with me, but I would have been happy to call you."
"This is fine. And I was anxious to contact you. The belt plaque has become quite a puzzle for me."
Roux sat at the dining room table with the image Annja had given him. He used a notebook and pen as he worked. Annja still didn't know what he was doing.
"How so?" The professor sounded curious.
"I'll get to that in a minute. I'd like to know how you became interested in it."
Hu hesitated only a moment, then launched into his reply like a true academic. "I specialize in the ancient history of my country. I leave the last thousand years or so for my contemporaries to argue and fight over. I'm more interested in the primitive cultures that sprang up before Emperor Qin conquered the Seven Warring States and created China. I'm presently in Loulan City – actually, I'm in what is left of Loulan City – digging for more artifacts."
"I'm familiar with your work there, and somewhat with that period," Annja said.
The professor sounded relieved. "That will save us some time."
/> Annja also heard the fatigue in Professor Hu's voice.
"As you know, the Scythians were great traders. Being basically a nomadic culture, the Scythians traveled extensively. Archaeologists can trace their beginnings back to 3000 B.C. Generally it's believed that they were Iranian, although there are some who refuse to accept this. They roamed freely over Europe and Asia."
"They also conducted a lot of trade along the Silk Road," Annja said. She didn't want the conversation to turn into a lecture, which sometimes happened when talking to professors about a favorite or intriguing subject.
"Exactly." Professor Hu caught himself. "I suppose you're probably aware of a lot of the background on those people."
"Yes."
"Sorry. This dig is the first time I've gotten to do something I've wanted in a long time."
"Not a problem. I completely understand.
"But what is your interest in them there in Loulan City?" Annja asked.
"The history of their trade, of course, but there is more."
Annja waited, watching as Roux diligently worked.
"Do you know what the Scythian kurgan was?"
"A burial tomb." Annja remembered that from her reading.
"Precisely. Many of the kurgans were plain, but some were – for the time – elaborate affairs constructed with larchwood."
"The Scythians were thought to have believed the larchwood could bring about renewed life," Annja said.
"Yes. The Ice Maiden, the mummified remains of the woman in the Altay Mountains, came from such a kurgan. As far as we have discovered, no Scythian written language existed. Most of the history of that nomadic culture that we know today came from the writings of the Greeks."
"Some runes that were found in Eastern Europe and Central Asia are believed to be Scythian in origin." Annja had found references to that when she'd tried to decipher the writing on the back of the belt plaque.
"I don't know that I disagree with them, but until we actually find something more substantial, I'm going to remain somewhat skeptical," Hu replied.
"I understand." There were things Annja chose to remain skeptical about, as well.
"Have you heard of the Scythian tamgas?"
Annja had. "Tamgas are brand marks the Scythians left behind that allowed the various clan members to claim grazing rights to land tracts."
"You have been doing your homework, I see." Hu sounded pleased.
"Ever since I identified the belt plaque as potentially Scythian in origin."
"Brilliant. The tamgas have been extremely important in our understanding of the Scythian culture. Historians have been able to track the movements of the nomads, as well as get some ideas of generational progression. Many of the marks – not even close to becoming a rudimentary language in my opinion, however – remained similar over the years."
"But some scholars believe the tamgas are a written language," Annja said.
Roux looked up from his notebook at Annja's objection.
Hu took a breath. For the first time, he sounded a little testy, but Annja totally understood the cause. Each archaeologist – and specialist of any kind with leeway in the reconstruction of their particular field of study – had pet theories and basic beliefs they'd built for themselves. She had a few of her own. It was obvious that she was treading on toes by pointing out that possibility.
"I don't ascribe to that," Hu said.
Annja backed up. "The tamgas were used to claim pastoral lands."
"Yes." Hu relaxed a little. "They also marked treaties, community action, religious practices and affiliations between the clan members and other clans, as well. The tamgas didn't change for two thousand years."
"Even when clans died out, other clans would adopt their tamgas," Annja said.
"Yes. So we have a history of sorts regarding the movements, religious beliefs, and community bylaws developed by the Scythian people."
"But what does that have to do with the belt plaque I found?"
"That particular tamga was ascribed to a Scythian known as Tochardis."
"Tochardis. How do you spell that?"
From across the loft, Roux looked over at her with renewed interest. When he noticed she'd caught him, he scowled and bent his head back to his work.
Hu offered the spelling and reminded Annja that since there was no Scythian language or alphabet there was no correct spelling.
"Then how was Tochardis identified?"
"By his tamga. That belt plaque you have, Ms. Creed, bears Tochardis's tamga."
Annja pulled up the image of the belt plaque again. She studied the tiger image. "Tochardis's tamga was the tiger?"
"Tochardis's tamga was a tiger's shadow. Underscored by a sword."
Peering more closely at the belt plaque, Annja thought she could just barely make out the remnants of the sword and the dim outline of the tiger.
"The tiger motif was replicated," Hu said, "but many of the Scythians preferred mythological creatures. Dragons, griffins, and the like. They were borrowed from Greek and Chinese cultures. But no one replicated the three items from that belt plaque."
"The belt plaque is steatite. I could be wrong, but from everything I've studied, the Scythians worked in gold or bronze, not steatite or jade. If that is the case, then this belt plaque was made by a Chinese artisan, not a Scythian," Annja said.
"True, Ms. Creed. What you found was a copy of the original. The Chinese people also borrowed the rectangular shape of the belt plaque from the Scythians. But what you have is a copy of Tochardis's tamga. It shouldn't exist."
Annja studied the piece. "It's an anomaly."
"Yes. One I would very much wish to know more about."
"Why?"
"Because, although their culture seemed to promise such an occurrence, as far as I know Tochardis is the only Scythian to ever rise from the grave."
Chapter 26
Roux stood at the ticket counter at La Guardia at six the next morning and booked a flight out for 8:10 a.m.
In line behind him, Annja looked around, tense and ready to do anything but sit on a plane. Having an extra day of Roux sitting around the apartment with her had been more than a little unnerving.
"Two tickets to Dunhuang, China." Roux's voice was loud over the hubbub around him.
Not exactly on stealth mode here, Annja thought. She knew she was being overly critical. She couldn't help it. She was still slightly paranoid about a potential warrant being out on her from California.
She'd been ignoring calls from Doug Morrell and Bart McGilley. She didn't trust Doug not to be more interested in getting news coverage of her arrest than in her continued freedom, and she didn't want to put Bart on the spot with his department.
So far, the media seemed to have dropped the story. She wasn't yet certain how she felt about that. On one hand, it was good not to be wanted, but on the other hand – she wasn't wanted.
The travel specialist quickly made arrangements for the flight to Dunhuang, routing them through Pudong Airport in Shanghai where a puddle-jumper would take them on to Dunhuang.
Roux offered a credit card at the end of the transaction.
The airline representative quickly ran it and returned it, after looking at his identification. She offered the card and ID back. "Thank you for flying with us, Mr. Loftus. I hope you and your niece enjoy your trip."
After a brief inspection of Annja's documents, the representative checked the luggage. Annja claimed her backpack as carry-on, determined not to trust the computer to cargo handlers.
Once they were out of auditory range of the representative, Annja looked at Roux. "Mr. Loftus?"
Roux looked at her blandly. "Would you have preferred another name?" He handed her a ticket.
Looking inside the envelope, Annja found there was also a New York driver's license and passport in the name of Abigail Loftus inside. That explained where he'd gone when he'd left the apartment for a short time yesterday afternoon.
"Abigail?" Annja couldn't believe it.
"Abigail is a fine name."
"Is that ID going to pass inspection?" Annja didn't relish the idea of rotting away in a Chinese prison as a suspected spy.
The old man scowled at her. "Don't even pester me with questions like that. Of course it will. Give me your other ID."
After a brief moment of hesitation, Annja did.
Roux stopped at a courier service, asked for a protective envelope, then prepared to mail Annja's documents to the hotel where he had reservations in Dunhuang. "That way they'll be there if you need to prove who you are later. But for the moment, we're off the passenger manifests. In case anyone's looking."
The whole cloak-and-dagger scenario made Annja feel vulnerable. Still, she saw the reasoning behind it.
"Why are we flying commercial? Don't you have a private jet?"
Roux passed through the security area with ease. "Yes, but how much attention do you think we really need to attract?"
Annja knew. Roux had a point. As she started to pass through, the metal detector beeped and she was asked to step back. Trying to fly these days was exhausting.
"What do you know about Tochardis?" Annja sat across from Roux at a small table in an airport restaurant. She picked at a salad with little enthusiasm. Roux made short work of a barbecue sandwich.
"Until today, I had never – "
Annja cut him off and heard the anger in her own voice. "Don't. Don't forget that I'm getting you into the Loulan City dig. If you could have done that on your own, you wouldn't have flown me across the country and met me in New York. Furthermore, don't forget that whoever Huangfu Cao works for is willing to kill to get whatever he's after."
For a moment, Roux held her gaze. Then he shrugged and smiled a little. "You are right."
"Were Sha Wu Ying and Tochardis related?"
"Before he was known as Sha Wu Ying, he was called Tochardis."
"Was either his real name?" Annja asked.
"No."
"Is he still alive?"
"I don't know."
"Was he dead somewhere in the middle of that?"
Roux thought for a moment. "I suppose so."
Annja couldn't believe it. "You suppose so? How can you suppose someone was dead?"