took the tablets away to translate. A few nights later, he sat down with us around the fire and told us what he had deciphered. The tablets described how Korbazrah had trapped a demon in that silver flask—”
“A demon?” Yazir’s eyebrows went up.
Loring nodded. “And that anyone opening it would be releasing a plague of evil.”
She sat quietly a moment. Yazir stared at his wall maps but said nothing. Finally, he nodded for her to continue.
“The Iraqis, who were around the fire with us, were terribly frightened. They demanded that we put everything back where we had found it, rebury the site, and leave. Moulin and Bayar did their best to calm the men down, but they were insistent. They threatened Bayar, until finally he went down into the excavation to prove there was nothing harmful. He made a lot of noise— shouting at imaginary demons, warning them to leave or risk being destroyed by a man without fear. Quite a performance.”
“Did it work?”
“On the Iraqis, boasting is very effective. They relaxed and went to sleep. Moulin and I stayed up drinking. Nervous. We started kidding around. Moulin read some of his translations from the hieroglyphics. He gave me one of Korbazrah’s spells—a chant that was supposed to bring water.”
She stopped a moment and sipped her tea, lost in reflection. “I thought it would be interesting to see what would happen, so I climbed up on a rock and began chanting. It was—it was a joke.” She hesitated. “But then I fell into the rhythm of it and there was a moment when... when I knew I was doing it right.... The sound became a singsong effect I copied from the Iraqis.... All of a sudden I knew how that chant should sound... and then... then there was the water.”
“Water?” Yazir’s brow darkened.
“A boulder over the excavation disintegrated—and water erupted out of it. It came rushing down—”
She stopped with her hands in the air and sorted through a torrent of thoughts.
“It completely flooded the excavation, overran the dig, washed down into our camp, and then”—her eyes went wide and her voice quavered—”I just couldn’t get down there fast enough. I was shouting—Moulin and I were both shouting to warn them, but they didn’t hear us over the roar of the Water—” She choked. “They never had a chance—”
“The workers ...”
Loring nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Her hand covered her mouth. “They were all caught sleeping. All of them—drowned.”
She was very still for a moment. Yazir stared at her but she couldn’t meet his gaze. “I see,” he said. “You recited a chant, a rock broke, water flooded the excavation and drowned the Iraqis—leading you to the inescapable conclusion that you were somehow responsible.”
Loring looked at him miserably. Yazir packed a pipe with a foul-smelling Turkish tobacco and lit it. He spoke around the stem. “What did you do about this accident?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“Did you report it?”
“They were washed away without a trace—down a gully into a canyon filled with erosion holes. We searched when the water stopped flowing. We tramped down miles of that gully and never found anything.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Packed up the artifacts... the silver flask and the clay tablets... whatever was left up on the ridge. We returned to the expedition and told them that our workers had run off and the excavation had been destroyed in a flood.”
“Ah.” Yazir puffed hard on his pipe.
“What was I going to tell them? What could I possibly have said to the Iraqi authorities? They would have reacted exactly as you—”
“Never mind my reaction. What did you do next?”
“Returned to England, deposited everything in a basement vault at the British Museum, left orders that nothing was to be disturbed. Moulin swore never to speak of it again. I don’t think he returned to Iraq. He disappeared, and took all the translations with him. I lost track of Bayar, too.
“A demon?” Yazir’s eyebrows went up.
Loring nodded. “And that anyone opening it would be releasing a plague of evil.”
She sat quietly a moment. Yazir stared at his wall maps but said nothing. Finally, he nodded for her to continue.
“The Iraqis, who were around the fire with us, were terribly frightened. They demanded that we put everything back where we had found it, rebury the site, and leave. Moulin and Bayar did their best to calm the men down, but they were insistent. They threatened Bayar, until finally he went down into the excavation to prove there was nothing harmful. He made a lot of noise— shouting at imaginary demons, warning them to leave or risk being destroyed by a man without fear. Quite a performance.”
“Did it work?”
“On the Iraqis, boasting is very effective. They relaxed and went to sleep. Moulin and I stayed up drinking. Nervous. We started kidding around. Moulin read some of his translations from the hieroglyphics. He gave me one of Korbazrah’s spells—a chant that was supposed to bring water.”
She stopped a moment and sipped her tea, lost in reflection. “I thought it would be interesting to see what would happen, so I climbed up on a rock and began chanting. It was—it was a joke.” She hesitated. “But then I fell into the rhythm of it and there was a moment when... when I knew I was doing it right.... The sound became a singsong effect I copied from the Iraqis.... All of a sudden I knew how that chant should sound... and then... then there was the water.”
“Water?” Yazir’s brow darkened.
“A boulder over the excavation disintegrated—and water erupted out of it. It came rushing down—”
She stopped with her hands in the air and sorted through a torrent of thoughts.
“It completely flooded the excavation, overran the dig, washed down into our camp, and then”—her eyes went wide and her voice quavered—”I just couldn’t get down there fast enough. I was shouting—Moulin and I were both shouting to warn them, but they didn’t hear us over the roar of the Water—” She choked. “They never had a chance—”
“The workers ...”
Loring nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Her hand covered her mouth. “They were all caught sleeping. All of them—drowned.”
She was very still for a moment. Yazir stared at her but she couldn’t meet his gaze. “I see,” he said. “You recited a chant, a rock broke, water flooded the excavation and drowned the Iraqis—leading you to the inescapable conclusion that you were somehow responsible.”
Loring looked at him miserably. Yazir packed a pipe with a foul-smelling Turkish tobacco and lit it. He spoke around the stem. “What did you do about this accident?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“Did you report it?”
“They were washed away without a trace—down a gully into a canyon filled with erosion holes. We searched when the water stopped flowing. We tramped down miles of that gully and never found anything.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Packed up the artifacts... the silver flask and the clay tablets... whatever was left up on the ridge. We returned to the expedition and told them that our workers had run off and the excavation had been destroyed in a flood.”
“Ah.” Yazir puffed hard on his pipe.
“What was I going to tell them? What could I possibly have said to the Iraqi authorities? They would have reacted exactly as you—”
“Never mind my reaction. What did you do next?”
“Returned to England, deposited everything in a basement vault at the British Museum, left orders that nothing was to be disturbed. Moulin swore never to speak of it again. I don’t think he returned to Iraq. He disappeared, and took all the translations with him. I lost track of Bayar, too.
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