Restless Soul by Alex Archer Page A

the flashlight in her pack, camera into the plastic bag in a pocket, then took the lantern from him and stepped through the opening.
    The air was close and musty and she picked up a trace of guano. Bats had been there, but not for quite some time or not in any great numbers.
    She ran the fingers of her free hand along the wall as she walked. The stone was smooth and cool, and she would have allowed herself to linger and enjoy the sensation were she not in a hurry.
    The ascent was so steep that at first she thought the corridor was an aven, a passage that rises toward the surface. But after fifty or so yards it took a steep downturn and a gentle crook to what she guessed was the east.
    “Watch your step, Zakkarat.” The guide was right behind her. “The floor’s uneven, and there are some hollow spots.”
    “I have not been here before,” he told her. “I would have remembered this. And all those coffins…I would have remembered them, too. I have not been in this particular cave. I took a wrong turn somewhere. Should have brought a map, I know. I should not have trusted my memory. So very sorry, miss. This is not Ping Yah.” He rattled off more words in Thai.
    She realized he’d never said her name, nor had they ever been properly introduced. He probably never bothered to learn the names of tourists he guided—no practical reason for it, as there were so many and they were only briefly in his life.
    “Annja,” she said. “My name is Annja Creed. And don’t be sorry, Zakkarat. The coffins are magnificent. In much better shape than the ones you showed us in Tham Lod. I hope we can find more.”
    “I have never been this way, Annjacreed,” he said. He made a worried tsking sound, and she heard him tap his helmet. “Not that I remember, at least. I have gotten us horribly lost and—”
    “I say again, I’m not worried,” Annja cut in. She truly meant it.
    “Me, neither.” Luartaro said from behind them. “I consider this just a grand adventure, Zakkarat. Something to make my vacation more remarkable. We’ll find a way out of here. Lost is just a temporary condition.”
    Despite her confidence, Annja’s stomach clenched several minutes later when the passage led down into a small chamber flooded with river water.
    She couldn’t say why, but she instantly thought of Roux as she glanced at the surface of the water. It looked as black as oil, still and mysterious. Annja hadn’t seen Roux in quite some time, and she knew that he would admonish her when she met up with him again and told him about her Thailand excursion. And she would tell him all about it.
    He’d say that she shouldn’t have ventured into active caves after there’d been so much rain and that she certainly shouldn’t have taken Zakkarat and Luartaro with her, risking their lives. That if she was going to investigate whatever it was that niggled at her brain, she should have done it on her own.
    No doubt he’d also grill her about Luartaro, and perhaps scold her for being so impetuous and flying halfway around the world with a man she’d only known for a few days.
    The “old man” as she thought of him sometimes took a great interest in her personal life, like a father might. But they were bound together by history and the sword, not by blood. Maybe Roux wouldn’t care about her relationship with Luartaro.
    She shook her head to chase away the thoughts and tentatively waded forward into the water. It was cool, but not uncomfortably so. She was thankful it was summer, as at any other time of the year she would be shivering from being so wet and so far under the mountain.
    The ground continued to slope down and soon the water was around her knees, and then her thighs.
    She reached into her back pocket for her digital camera. Even though it was in plastic, she didn’t want to take a chance it would get ruined. She put it in her shirt pocket and moved ahead.
    Behind her, Zakkarat chattered anxiously and softly in Thai—it had the