“Then that city predates Mesopotamia by thousands of years.” The pythia smiled grimly. “So much for mainstream history. It must have flooded when sea levels rose after the big glacier meltdown.”
“That would be my theory as well,” the scrivener agreed. “Global sea levels today are four hundred feet higher than they were at the time the IVC city was submerged. It’s quite likely that any survivors of that flood may have escaped inland and tried to re-establish their culture along another river valley farther from the coast. Mehrgarh may be one of many yet-undiscovered sites constructed by refugees from the sunken city.”
Cassie scanned the lower town of Mohenjo-Daro. “So that’s why you said this is the tail-end of the IVC.”
“Yes. The inhabitants in this place circa 1900 BCE were faced with a catastrophe just as disastrous as a global flood but more gradual in its damaging effect. The land which had supported them for thousands of years was drying up. Because it was a slow process, there was no mass evacuation. With each succeeding generation, small groups of people moved away to find a better climate. There are minor sites scattered through central and southern India that mark an attempt to rebuild but nothing on the scale of Harappa or Mohenjo-Daro.”
“Then you don’t think Mohenjo-Daro was destroyed by overlords?” Cassie asked.
Griffin paused to consider the question. “By the time the Aryans first appeared in this region, Mohenjo-Daro was already in steep decline. It’s very likely the interlopers massacred the remaining inhabitants since there’s at least one mass grave proving a small-scale conflict occurred here. Then they would have exploited the scant resources which remained and probably became squatters in the city without having any idea how to repair or maintain it. However, I don’t believe they contributed in any material way to the end of the civilization.”
“It’s a pretty safe bet that they took credit for a lot of the inventions developed by the IVC though,” Erik noted.
“Sadly, that’s quite true,” Griffin concurred. “The Aryans appropriated the skills, technology and even some religious traditions of this older culture and claimed them as their own. Their ancient texts would lead one to believe that the newcomers civilized the backward tribes inhabiting the area. However, we are quite sure that the IVC was not developed by overlords.”
“How do you know that?” the pythia asked.
“There is one interesting omission in their artwork which makes the strongest case. IVC seal-amulets portray a variety of animals indigenous to this region. Bulls and elephants feature prominently, but there are no horses. Terra cotta figurines depict wagons drawn only by oxen.”
“Why’s that so important?”
“Because overlord culture is synonymous with the domesticated horse,” Griffin replied. “Find one, and you invariably find the other. The horse played a huge role not only in the physical migration of the steppe tribes but in their artwork and ideology as well. It stands to reason that if the people who created stamp-seal art in Mohenjo-Daro were Aryan, they would have displayed horses everywhere.
“Aside from the horse, we have one other important clue to the identity of the builders of the IVC. They developed a written script consisting of over four hundred symbols. It remains undeciphered to this day because it is not an Indo-European language. Its closest extant relative may be Old Tamil which is a Dravidian tongue. Modern Tamil is still spoken by the population that inhabits the southern tip of India.”
“Dravidians were indigenous?” Cassie asked.
“Not precisely, but they certainly migrated to India thousands of years before the Aryans did. The timing of their arrival is currently being disputed. Some believe they migrated out of Africa sixty thousand years ago and settled throughout the country. Most Dravidian tribes today are clustered at the southern end of India, but that is hardly a surprise if the IVC inhabitants left to seek a better climate or were driven out. We know that Dravidians once lived in this area because there is a tribe still residing west of the Indus which speaks a Dravidian dialect. Even if we assume the Dravidians arrived more recently than sixty thousand years ago, they would certainly have been present when the IVC was in its infancy.”
“That makes the Aryans the new kids on the block,” Cassie remarked.
“Not to hear them tell it,” Erik retorted. “One of the few facts I remember about Indian history is that the oldest Hindu texts were all written in Sanskrit. That’s an overlord language. Because the Aryans got to tell the story, they took credit for everything.”
“It’s important to remember that the scriptures and epic poetry of the Vedas weren’t set down in writing until long after the Aryans had claimed India for themselves,” Griffin interjected. “The debate rages on even now as to how much Hindu culture is the result of overlord influence and how much is the result of the IVC. It’s easy to see that the caste system originated with the Aryans as did the subjugation of women. However, other familiar Hindu traditions may have been handed down by the IVC. For instance, one of the stamp-seals found at Mohenjo-Daro shows a man sitting in a yoga meditation pose. Some have argued that this is a proto-Shiva figure which means both yoga and a major Hindu deity did not originate with Aryans. There’s also the Hindu practice of ritual purification baths. We have the Great Bath right here which was used in religious ceremonies. Because overlords were never known for their commitment to personal hygiene, we can safely assume that ritual bathing came directly from the IVC.”
Cassie chuckled at the comment.
They lapsed into silence for a few moments.
Erik glanced upward, apparently noting the distance the sun had climbed since they’d begun their inspection of the site. “I don’t want to be a buzz kill, but maybe we should get a move on,” he urged. “We need to search miles of ruins, and we’re burning daylight—accent on the word ‘burning.’”
“Right you are.” Griffin stood and dusted off his trousers. “Ordinarily, I’d propose that we split up but given how much of Mohenjo-Daro is still underground, it might make more sense to follow Cassie and see if she senses anything Minoan.”
“Great. I get to play bloodhound for a day,” Cassie said ruefully.
“Just be happy we’re not putting you on a leash,” Erik joked.
***
The sun was hovering low in the sky when the dejected trio dragged themselves back up the path leading to the guest house. They had covered every street on the citadel mound and in the lower town. They had peered into every dwelling, stared down every drain and leaned over every well without finding a single clue. Now footsore, sunburned, and dehydrated, they were even too tired to converse, each one sunk into private thought.
Unexpectedly, a ringing sound interrupted their collective stupor.
“Where’s that coming from?” Cassie asked, startled.
Erik reached into his pocket to check his phone. “It’s not me,” he protested. “I didn’t even think we could get a signal out here.”
“What on earth.” Griffin was staring at his cell phone in wonder. “Hello?”
There was a long silence while the scrivener listened to the voice on the other end of the line. Then a smile gradually spread across his face.
Erik and Cassie traded quizzical glances.
Griffin continued to listen. “That’s brilliant! Thank you. We can still catch the afternoon flight back to Karachi and fly out tomorrow to meet with you. I’ll ring you again as soon as our travel plans have been sorted out.”
He ended the call and regarded his teammates with a look of triumph. “My friends, our run of bad luck appears to be at an end.”
Chapter 16—The Benefit of a Doubt
Cassie tiptoed down the hotel corridor. It was late, and she didn’t want to disturb anyone. After Griffin’s surprise phone call, they’d made a mad dash to get back to Karachi for the night. They needed to catch an early morning flight to meet a trove keeper in Kochi which was at the southern tip of India. Griffin, as usual, ha
d been stingy with the details. He said he didn’t want to get their hopes up prematurely. Cassie knew it was pointless to try to pry information out of him until he was ready to reveal it. She checked her wristwatch—11 PM already. She hoped he wasn’t asleep. She tapped gently on the door.
“Just a moment,” came the muffled response from the other side. When Griffin swung the door open, a look of alarm crossed his face.
“Sorry to bother you,” Cassie said in a low voice.
The scrivener’s expression didn’t change. “Is everything alright?”
The pythia drew back, realizing how much her unexpected appearance had worried him. “Fine, everything’s fine. I just wanted to... um... talk to you about something.”
“Please, come in. I was just repacking my suitcase.” He stood aside to let her pass, but she hung back.
Glancing furtively down the hotel corridor, she said, “Not here. Let’s go down to the lounge. I think it’s still open.”
“As you wish.” Griffin hastily pocketed his room key and followed her lead.
They rode the elevator down to the lobby in silence. In the lounge a few other groups were seated at tables and at the bar, presumably enjoying a nightcap before retiring. The room was dimly lit by candles on each table. Cassie immediately headed for the table farthest from the entrance. She positioned herself so she could watch anyone entering the bar.
Griffin took the seat opposite, a concerned expression never leaving his face. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he persisted.
She gave a weak smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I just wanted to talk here because there’s less danger of us being overheard by Erik.”
“Erik?” Griffin leaned forward over the table, scowling. “What’s he done to you?”
“Nothing, nothing at all.” She shifted her focus to a waiter standing a few tables away. “Do you think they serve hot chocolate in a place like this?”
“I’m sure it can be arranged.” Griffin motioned for the waiter and ordered two cups of cocoa.
Cassie relaxed slightly. “Erik didn’t do anything wrong, but I was wondering...” She paused again. “Does he seem different to you lately?”
“Different?” The scrivener echoed in puzzlement. “In what way?”
Cassie propped her elbows on the table and tipped her head to the side, considering how to answer the question. “I feel like he’s pulling away from me. I mean, he can be kind of moody, but this is different. It’s like a part of him has gone MIA.”
“MIA?” Griffin repeated.
Cassie dipped her hand into a small bowl of pretzels which had been left on the table. “MIA means missing in action,” she said, crunching on the snack.
“When did you first notice this strange behavior on Erik’s part?”
“It’s been building ever since we got to India, but I really felt a difference today.”
The scrivener helped himself to a few pretzels as well. “What happened today?”
“It wasn’t anything that happened, but I think something I said might have set him off. Remember when we walked on ahead because you wanted to take a closer look at the ruin that was called the Grand Bazaar?”
Griffin merely nodded.
Cassie continued. “I can’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but I joked, ‘Can you see us doing this when we’re in our forties? The pythia and her middle-aged sidekick crawling around sand traps in the desert.’ I saw a strange look cross his face just for a second and then it was gone. He shrugged off the comment, but I noticed that he got really quiet for the rest of the day.”
“I can’t imagine that Erik would be petty enough to resent you calling him your sidekick,” the scrivener observed.
“Neither can I,” Cassie agreed. “Whenever I tick him off, he’s not shy about telling me so.”
The waiter arrived with their order. They suspended their conversation long enough to take tentative sips of their scalding beverages.
“Now that you mention it, he does seem more subdued than usual,” Griffin agreed. He hesitated before continuing. “I’m loath to ask something this personal but is your romance... er, on track?”
Cassie giggled at his choice of words. “I’m not sure I’d call it a romance. We’re just friends with benefits if that’s what you mean.”
“And are the benefits still... um... satisfactory?” Griffin blushed to the roots of his hair.
The pythia chose to gloss over his embarrassment. “When we get together, everything’s fine, but he has been spending more nights by himself the last couple of weeks.”
“I see.”
Cassie noticed Griffin’s jaw muscles tighten. She pounced. “What is it? You know something, and you’re not telling me.”
“I don’t know anything,” the scrivener protested too quickly.
“Yes, you do,” Cassie persisted. “I need you to tell me what you know. Griffin, we’re friends. That means we’re supposed to look out for each other.”
The scrivener gave a short, bitter laugh. “If I’d truly been looking after your best interests, I would have discouraged you from forming an attachment to Erik in the first place.”
Cassie drew back, stunned. “What do you mean?”
Griffin refused to meet her gaze. “I mean he has a reputation as a ladies’ man.”
“Are you saying he’s a player? Well, that’s not a complete surprise. He’s got a girl in every port.” She paused to consider. “If you thought he might treat me like just another fling, why didn’t you warn me?”
“Because I thought it would be different with you.” Griffin raised his eyes to meet hers. “Cassie, you’re a remarkable person. I’ve never met anyone like you.” He stopped abruptly, growing flustered. “That is... um... You’re the pythia. That makes you different. I dare say; it makes you better. I thought Erik would see that too.” Half to himself he muttered, “Clearly, I gave the stupid prat too much credit!”
“Whoa! Ease up on the throttle, Ace.” She felt shocked by his hostile comment. In an effort to smooth things over, she added, “Just keep in mind that we might both be overreacting. Maybe something else is eating at him.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure you’re right.” Griffin hastily agreed, recovering his composure. “I could be imputing motives to him that are entirely without basis.”
“Yeah, it has to be something else,” Cassie agreed half-heartedly.
They stared at one another bleakly in silence for a few moments.
“So how do we find out what’s really bothering him?” she ventured.
“I don’t think we can without arousing his suspicions.” Griffin sighed. “If we begin to ask pointed questions, he’s sure to become even more reticent than he already is.”
“Then all we can do is wait for the other shoe to drop,” the pythia observed glumly.
“I’m afraid so,” the scrivener concurred.
“You know, when I signed on with the Arkana, it never occurred to me that my biggest problem would be boys. Religious fanatics, smugglers, teenage runaways, cowboys with guns. Those I can handle. But boys?” She threw her hands up helplessly.
Griffin chuckled in spite of himself before adding gently, “Drink up. We have an early flight tomorrow.”
“You’re right. We both need to get some sleep.” Cassie tried to sound cheerful. “Maybe things will look different in the morning.”
“Perhaps,” the scrivener said, raising his cup to his lips.
Cassie noticed the expression on his face. He really didn’t believe things would look better in the morning. With a sense of foreboding, she realized she didn’t believe it either.
Chapter 17—Hunt for Prey
Leroy Hunt sat in his rental car camped out across the street from his quarry. He trained his binoculars on the house address and checked it against the note he’d received from the moving company lady. He had to play this just right. He didn’t want to go storming in l
ike gangbusters until he was sure both Miz Rhonda and little Hannah were at home.
The house itself was a bungalow. Nothing special about it but that was probably the point. If folks were trying to keep a low profile, a bungalow in the middle of the old section of Phoenix surrounded by a bunch of other ugly houses was the place to hole up.
Hunt noticed the curtains move in the living room window. Somebody was stirring around inside. A few minutes later, he saw an old lady open the screen door and come out to retrieve a newspaper from the front porch steps. She straightened up and looked around vaguely before going back inside. Leroy didn’t recognize her. Maybe she was the housekeeper. He decided to hold off and keep an eye on things for a couple of hours.
***
Two days later, Leroy was still keeping an eye on things. He had switched rental cars and varied his parking spot, so nobody would get too suspicious. He needn’t have bothered. The people in this neighborhood were the least curious bunch he’d ever come across. They just went about their lawn-sprinkling, newspaper-fetching, dog-walking routines and never bothered to cast an eye in his direction.
The house he’d been watching followed its routine too. The old lady went grocery shopping, came home and shut the door. She didn’t go out in the evenings, and nobody came to call. Unless she had two hostages tied up in the basement, Leroy was pretty sure neither of the fugitives he was tailing were anywhere around.
Boredom finally made him desperate enough to take direct action. That and the daily phone calls from the preacher demanding to know if Hunt had got hold of the old man’s beloved yet. The cowboy decided it would be a wise policy going forward to tell the diviner as little as possible about his progress. Old Abe was wound up tighter than catgut on a cheap fiddle at the thought that his blushing bride might soon be under his thumb again.
Leroy climbed out of his car, straightened the bow in his string tie and crossed the street. He knocked gently on the bungalow door.
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