Restless Soul - Alex Archer [36]
She canted her head up and squinted through the rain. The clouds were swollen and the color of iron.
Luartaro joined them and tugged the rope ladder up and rolled it. “No use making it easy on whoever has been visiting this spot. Let’s get rid of this just in case they come back here before we do.”
He worked the ends of the ladder free from clamps that had been hammered into the stone. “Got to find a spot to hide this.”
He pointed to a clump of high, thick ferns, the leaves of which were flattened down from the rain. “See? We’ll be able to find this place again. A parrot plant. Pretty rare even for this area. Find the parrot plant, find the treasure.”
Next to the ferns was a delicate-looking plant that had rosy blossoms in the shapes of parrots hanging upside down. Most of the flowers had been smashed against the ground by the storm.
He bent to stuff the coiled rope ladder under the fern, and then straightened in surprise. “What’s this? Annja, it seems this hiding place is already being used.”
She slogged toward him and peered around the ferns. “A winch and cable. So that’s how they got the treasure into the chamber.”
She knelt and examined it. “But it’s broken, the motor’s burned here and here. They probably discarded it.”
“And will have to come back with another one,” Luartaro added.
“We should get going.” Annja stood and looked to Zakkarat. She had an innate sense of direction and didn’t get lost easily, but this section of the mountains—like all of Northern Thailand—was wholly unfamiliar to her. “Can you tell where we are? How far we might be from your Jeep?”
The guide scratched his head. “I am not sure,” he said after a moment. He slowly turned, raising and lowering his eyes, and then shrugging. “We cannot be terribly far from anything, Annjacreed. There are many tribes in and around the mountains. More tribes now than there were a few years ago. A few thousand Karen from Myanmar—Burma—settled here not long ago to avoid fighting in their country. Other tribes divide.”
“Karen?” Annja asked.
“Yes, but not the long-necked ones the tourists like to see. So if I cannot find the Jeep, I will find a tribe. I will get home, and you will get to your lodge.” He dug the ball of his foot into the muddy path and pointed south. “And this muddy little road must lead somewhere, yes? We will not be lost for long.” He started walking without another word.
She gave a last look at the cavern opening, and then plodded forward, passing Zakkarat in a few strides. If he didn’t know where they were, she might as well take the lead.
The rain felt good against her skin, neither cold nor warm but more than tolerable on this summer day. It smelled good, it and the trees and mud, chasing out the last trace of mustiness from the cave and all the guano that she’d smelled in the various chambers and knew wasn’t good for her.
She nimbly avoided what looked like a deep rut from a tire, filled with water and ringed by small green frogs that made chirping sounds.
They quieted and leaped away when Zakkarat, not walking as carefully, stomped by in his effort to catch up with Annja.
She listened to the slap of his boots against the mud and the jangle of coins and whatever else he’d managed to stuff in his pockets.
It continued to grate on her, the notion that he’d stolen some of the treasure. But she did her best to force her displeasure down…and she decided she would not tell any authorities of his theft.
Let Zakkarat provide well for his family and other Shan members. She couldn’t fault a man for wanting to do that, and she’d prevented him from taking out the rest, after all. And she, too, was guilty of removing the skull bowl.
She hitched her pack higher onto her back. The bowl pressed against her spine through the canvas.
Zakkarat poked her shoulder. “Annjacreed, what is this finder’s fee you talked about? When will I get this fee? How many baht will it be?”
As if you