“And make everybody hate her at school because she’ll already know all the answers,” Zach protested.
“Everybody is going to hate me?” Hannah asked in alarm.
“Calm down. There’s no need to worry.” Faye chuckled. “Zach, she won’t be going to your school, so I’m sure the teachers will have a slightly different approach even if the subject matter is the same. I feel it’s important that she have an academic advantage. She’ll have enough of a struggle just trying to fit in socially.”
I’ll study very hard,” Hannah said earnestly, trying to convince them both. “Do you think I’ll be smart enough to understand the lessons?”
Zach gave a snort of derision. “After watching how fast you’ve picked up stuff from the net, I’ll be lucky if I can keep up with you!”
Hannah helped herself to the last cookie. “It’s so strange to think of going to school. Among the Nephilim, a girl my age would be a mother already.” She faltered, apparently thinking of her miscarriage.
Faye smiled reassuringly. “In the world of the Fallen, it’s highly unusual for a fifteen-year-old girl to be thinking of anything other than school dances and fashion.”
“That doesn’t sound very scholarly.” Hannah’s voice held a note of disapproval.
“They haven’t lived through what you have,” Faye countered. “Their childhood years were simpler.”
“I hope I’ll make you proud of me,” the girl added anxiously.
Zach studied Hannah with an expression of blank disbelief. “First lesson. If you want to fit in at school, we need to work on your attitude. You have got to stop trying to please people. Plus, you’re way too grateful. No self-respecting American teenager is like that.”
“They aren’t?” Hannah looked shocked.
Faye chuckled ruefully. “I’m afraid my descendent is right, Hannah. You need to cultivate an attitude of long-suffering contempt for your elders. Then you’ll fit right in.” Turning to Zach, she asked, “Am I right, dear?”
“Fo shizzle, Gamma. Fo shizzle!”
Chapter 8—Food Fight
Cassie leaned back in a wooden lawn chair and shut her eyes. The morning sun filtering through leafy tree branches was still too bright. She sighed and blinked, wearily regarding the placid hotel garden scene in front of her. It was so peaceful, and she was drowsy enough to fall asleep again even after a full night’s rest. No matter what the clocks said in Botswana, her body was still operating on Central Daylight Time in the good old U.S. of A. She yawned and rubbed her eyes trying to shake off a case of jetlag from hell. It had been a twenty-three-hour non-stop flight from Chicago to Johannesburg, South Africa. From there, she and her teammates had taken a short Air Bostwana flight to the northern city of Maun. Erik and Griffin woke up full of energy and were now finishing breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Cassie had wandered off into the gardens because the clinking of glasses and cutlery was giving her a headache.
A shadow crossed her shoulder. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she peeked up.
Griffin stood beside her chair holding out a paper cup. “Perhaps this might help,” he suggested.
She smiled gratefully and took the coffee. “You think of everything, don’t you?”
“Hardly.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh and sat down cross-legged on the grass beside her.
“So, what time is it here?” she asked, sipping the hot beverage.
Griffin checked his watch. “Nearly half past eight.”
“No, I mean what time of year.”
“Oh, I see.” He nodded sagely. “This must be particularly disorienting for you. Your first trip to the southern hemisphere where everything is reversed.”
“Am I standing on my head?” Cassie asked languidly. “Because I feel like I might be but I’m too tired to check.”
“No, my dear pythia, you are seated in a more or less vertical position.” Griffin chuckled. “In answer to your earlier question, the end of March in Botswana is autumn. Comparable to our late September.”
“It feels hotter than late September back home,” Cassie observed.
“That’s because it is. Autumn temperatures in this part of the world approach ninety degrees.”
“Remind me not to come back during the summer,” the pythia said.
“Yes, I hear that it can be quite an oven. After all, two-thirds of the country consists of the Kalahari Desert.”
Cassie glanced up suspiciously at the verdant leaves hanging over her head. “Then why’s it so green around here. Hidden lawn sprinklers?”
“Maun is fortunate enough to be situated near a plentiful supply of water. The town itself sits right on the banks of the Thamalakane River, but it’s also in close proximity to the Okavango Delta. The delta is an enormous catch-basis for waters flowing downstream out of the Okavango River. During the rainy summer season, the delta covers most of the northwest corner of the country with swampland and lakes. I expect we’ll get a chance to see more of it on our way to our destination.”
“Which is where exactly? You’ve been pretty close-mouthed about why we’re here.”
“You’ll find out today,” Griffin replied mysteriously. “Best not to spoil the surprise.”
Cassie sank deeper into her chair. “I think I need more sleep before I can stand any surprises.”
At that moment another figure walked up to join the two. “Is she awake yet?”
“Dude, why are you shouting?” Cassie groaned.
“I think she needs more coffee,” Griffin confided to Erik.
Cassie wordlessly handed her now empty cup back to the scrivener.
The paladin reached down and took both Cassie’s hands in his. He unceremoniously pulled her to her feet. “C’mon, Sleeping Beauty. Up and at ‘em. We can get you a caffeine IV in town.”
Griffin clambered up as well. “Have you spoken to our contact?”
“Yeah, she’ll be here in about half an hour. I thought we could go over to the outdoor market and kill a little time.”
“I can kill a little time by catching forty winks,” Cassie suggested vainly. She made an effort to fall back into her chair.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Erik caught her by the shoulders and stood her upright. “The best thing is to keep you moving. You’ll shake it off.”
“Easy for you to say,” Cassie grumped. “You can actually sleep on airplanes.”
“Someday you will too,” Erik replied. “It just takes some getting used to.”
“I suspect she never may,” Griffin demurred as the three slowly crossed the hotel’s grounds. He pitched the empty coffee cup into a passing garbage can. “Pythias possess highly sensitive nervous systems. It’s a blessing and a curse really. The sensitivity which gives them the ability to read artifacts also takes a toll when they are confronted with too much stimuli. They simply shut down.”
Cassie rewarded him with an appreciative smile. Turning to Erik, she said, “You see. That’s why I love Griffin. He gets me.”
At her words, the scrivener unaccountably stumbled and bumped into Cassie’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, his face blushing crimson. “Very clumsy of me.”
The pythia steadied him absentmindedly, still focused on her conversation with Erik. “You should cut me some slack. Like Griffin said, I have sensitive nerves.”
Addressing the scrivener, the paladin asked, “And you know this how?”
Griffin shrugged. “Observation and conjecture.”
“Yeah right!” Erik snorted. “It’s all moonshine as far as I’m concerned. She’ll be fine once she gets a few more thousand miles under her belt.”
Cassie shot him an incredulous look. “Unlike me, you’ve got all the sensitivity of a rhinoceros.”
By this time, the trio had reached the street outside the hotel and paused to get their bearings.
“Which way?” Griffin asked.
Erik looked right and then left. “O
ver here.” He marched down a side street to the left. “It should only be a couple of blocks.”
“I’ll be timekeeper,” the scrivener volunteered. “We have to return here by nine o’clock.”
Erik muttered something unintelligible while the other two trailed after him. The morning sun wasn’t only overly bright; it was also overly strong. Cassie could feel her neck beginning to burn. She noticed several pedestrians sporting colorful umbrellas. “Guess they don’t use those for the rain,” she murmured to Griffin.
“Only during the summer,” the scrivener corrected. “Most of the year, umbrellas are used as a shelter from the sun.”
“After a Chicago winter, I don’t think my epidermis is ready for full-on summer just yet,” Cassie admitted.
They walked on in silence for a few more blocks before Erik took a sharp right turn at the next side street which opened onto a broad square. Street vendors under cover of large patio umbrellas were busy arranging their wares. The trio ambled past each stand in an unhurried fashion, examining the displays of food, clothing, and jewelry all vying for their attention.
Pausing to watch a vendor cooking an unfamiliar dish, Cassie asked, “What’s that?”
The woman looked up at her and smiled, flashing a row of bright white teeth. In a clipped accent which Cassie could only describe as a cross between Jamaican and British, the vendor replied, “It is called maguna. Fried dough balls. Would you like to try some?”
“No thank you, I just had breakfast,” Cassie demurred. “But it does smell good.”
“Although maguna is made with wheat flour, I understand that maize rather than wheat is the principal grain in this region,” Griffin observed.
The vendor nodded. “Yes. We make a porridge of maize meal that is called papa, and it is often eaten with shredded meat which we call seswa.”
“Three new words to add to my vocabulary.” Cassie moved on to another stand where she stopped to examine a woven basket with an intricate pattern. Glancing up, she noticed that Erik had made a dash for a food vendor two stalls down and was purchasing something in a small paper bag.
He walked back to the other two with a pleased look on his face. “I haven’t had these in a couple of years,” he said, stuffing some of the contents of the bag into his mouth and munching with great satisfaction.
Griffin eyed the bag curiously. “What’s that you’ve bought?”
“Mopane worms,” the paladin said cheerfully. “I don’t know why they’re called worms. They’re really giant caterpillars that feed off the leaves of mopane trees. Want some?” He held the bag out to Cassie. She took one look at the contents and felt a wave of nausea rising up in her throat.
“Dude! What the hell!” She backed several paces away.
“It’s a delicacy in these parts,” Erik replied in an injured tone. “When they’re dried and salted, they taste a lot like Cheetos.”
Appalled, Cassie replied, “If I ever have a taste for Cheetos, you know what I’ll buy? Cheetos!”
“Insects are a staple part of the diet in most cultures around the world,” Griffin countered. “They’re really quite nutritious.”
“That’s true. Somebody told me that these beauties pack more protein than beef.” Erik selected a thick worm segment and held it out to Griffin. “Want to try one?”
The scrivener mimicked Cassie’s reaction and backed away a few paces. “Thank you, no,” he said hurriedly. “While in principle I’m quite comfortable with the idea of other people consuming insects, I fear I’m a victim of my own cultural upbringing.”
Erik shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He popped the worm into his mouth and crunched loudly. “It’s really interesting how they harvest the little suckers. Well, not exactly little. An average worm is about five inches long. They pick them off the trees, and then they squeeze out the guts which look like green goo. After that, they spread the worms out on the ground to dry.”
“Are you trying to make me hurl on purpose?” Cassie was sure her face was now the same shade of green as the worm’s innards. “I don’t get it. In every country we’ve visited so far, you’ve been Joe Cheeseburger. What’s going on with you?”
“I handled a retrieval in southern Africa a couple of years ago,” Erik explained. “While I was here I ate a worm on a dare. Turns out I really like the taste.”
He pulled another worm out of the bag and dangled it in front of Cassie’s nose. “C’mon. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Dude, get that thing away from me!” Cassie turned her back, afraid that if she looked at the dancing worm any longer, she really would be sick.
‘Much as I hate to break up this fascinating discussion of exotic cuisine,” Griffin said tactfully, “it’s time we started back to meet our contact.”
“OK,” Erik agreed. “But I don’t want to hear either one of you complain that I never eat the local food.”
Cassie raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “You win. You can eat cheeseburgers from here to Timbuktu, but the next time you decide to chow down on a bug, I don’t want to know about it.”
Erik ate the last worm and disposed of the empty paper sack. “Remind me to get a couple of bags for the road before we leave the country.”
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that,” Cassie murmured, averting her eyes and hurrying on ahead of the other two.
Chapter 9—Head for the Hills
As the trio hastened back from the market, they noticed a woman standing on the hotel verandah, obviously waiting for someone.
Erik waved to her.
She waved back and trotted down the stairs to meet them. Their contact was dressed in khaki shorts, hiking boots and a maroon and gold University of Minnesota tee shirt. A slouch hat, with the brim pinned to one side, completed her outfit. Cassie guessed her to be in her early twenties.
“Hi Erik, haven’t seen you in these parts for ages.” She held out her hand in greeting.
Erik took charge of the introductions. “Guys, meet Bobbye Johnson, archaeologist extraordinaire. By the way, she spells her name ‘B-O-B-B-Y-E.’”
“It’s a family thing,” the newcomer explained.
“Bobbye, this is Cassie, the new pythia. And you probably already know Griffin, our Chief scrivener.”
“Only by his reputation, which is considerable.” Bobbye enthusiastically shook hands with both of them.
Cassie mentally revised her estimate of Bobbye’s age. The woman would have to be at least thirty to be a veteran archaeologist, but she exuded a bouncy energy that belied her experience. Maybe it was her athletic build or the sandy mop of hair poking out from under her hat. Maybe it was the profusion of freckles dotting her nose, but she reminded Cassie of a scout troop leader.
“Are you the trove keeper in Botswana?” Cassie asked.
Bobbye shook her head. “No, I’m a scout.”
Cassie silently congratulated herself on her intuition. Maybe Bobbye wasn’t a scout leader, but she was some kind of scout all the same.
Their contact continued. “We actually don’t have a trove here. In fact, there’s very little evidence anywhere in southern Africa of the sort of objects the Arkana collects. The indigenous tribes were all gatherer-hunters. People who live a nomadic existence don’t leave many artifacts behind.”
She must have noticed Cassie’s puzzled expression and anticipated her next question. “So, what am I doing here? Lately, I’ve been checking out the ruins in South Africa west of Maputo. Gold mines, calendar stones and cities that might date back two hundred thousand years.”
“That’s seriously prehistoric,” Cassie commented.
Bobbye nodded. “It would be the find of the century if the age is correct, but we don’t know much at this stage. It’s too early to form any conclusions about what that site might mean for the Arkana. I’m just sniffing around to see what’s there.”
“And since she was in the neighborhood, I asked her to help out an old friend,
” the paladin added.
“Anything for Erik. I owe him.” The scout grinned. “As luck would have it, I’m pretty familiar with the rock art in Botswana. The Tsodilo Hills have some wonderful specimens.”
“Tsodilo Hills?” Cassie repeated.
“That’s where we’re headed today.”
“Did you rent us a car?” Erik asked.
“Better.” Bobbye gave a playful smile. “I got us a chopper.”
“We’re going for a helicopter ride?” Cassie forgot her fatigue at the prospect of an aerial view of the delta.
“It’s the quickest way to get there. It would take us over six hours by car, and the roads close to the hills aren’t in the best shape. By air, we can make it in two hours.” Their guide consulted her watch. “We’d better get started now if we want to examine the site and get back before nightfall.” She pointed to a jeep parked near the lobby entrance. “Climb in everybody.”
***
After a brief return to their rooms to pick up backpacks and change into hiking boots, the three visitors and their guide were on their way to the airstrip. The ride took less than ten minutes. A helicopter and its Aussie pilot named Len were already waiting for them when they pulled up. Bobbye explained that many of the bush pilots in Botswana were expatriates looking for adventure. Len gave them a short lesson in helicopter safety before allowing them all to climb in. Once they strapped on their seat belts and adjusted their headsets, so they could hear one another over the sound of the engine, they were airborne.
The helicopter followed a northwesterly course that cut right through the heart of the Okavango Delta. As it dipped low over the water, the reeds fanned out in all directions. Once they climbed higher, Cassie could see a variegated landscape of streams, small lakes, and marshes. Blue water shimmered through masses of green grass and scrub. The marshes were dotted here and there with clusters of trees that had found enough dry ground to grow to a mature height. The pythia noticed one particularly tall tree growing alone on a mound of earth and something large moving beneath it. She couldn’t believe her eyes.
The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set Page 84