The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [24]
“It does not sound stupid,” she said firmly. “A lot of people have a slight touch of claustrophobia; I have myself, but it’s just enough to add a certain spice to these expeditions for me—the way you enjoy hearing a ghost story even more when the room is dark. But in its severe form the feeling must be awful. I don’t think a doctor would approve of you pushing yourself this way.”
“The only way I’ll ever beat it is by pushing myself,” said Michael. He sounded almost normal; only the painful grip of his hand betrayed his feelings. “Here we are. The stairs—freedom! Are you going to escort the baby up and out?”
“No,” Jean said, stopping short. “You don’t need an escort, and I—oh! Oh, my Lord—what’s this? It’s a grave, right on the wall—”
Michael laughed, more easily; her inadvertent alarm had been, by chance, the most tactful emotion she could have expressed.
“There are several graves. Enjoy yourself with the ghosts; I’ll see you later.”
He went up the steep modern iron staircase with more speed than caution, his long legs eating up the steps. When the echo of his steps had died away, the place seemed very quiet.
Jean turned to examine the graves. Cut into the perpendicular face of the wall, they were of the same type as those found in the catacombs. She knew she was reacting to Michael’s nervousness, and with deliberate intent she made herself linger, trying to decide whether the scratches on the wall were only scratches, or a half-obliterated inscription. Illogically, the sound of footsteps approaching did not reassure her; she started nervously, and stared down the gloomy corridor as if she might see something….
The something turned out to be Dana; which, Jean told herself, was not much better than nothing.
However, the other girl also seemed to be affected by the atmosphere. She greeted Jean with moderate enthusiasm.
“Thank God. I was beginning to feel as if I ought to be lying flat on my back, with my hands folded on my chest. Where does Andy find these jolly little places he takes us to?”
“It’s funny you should feel that way.”
“Why? Don’t you find the place a bit uncanny?”
“Yes,” Jean admitted. “But I should think this would be right up your alley. Aren’t you used to digging up the dead past?”
“I’ve done some excavating. But on a normal dig you aren’t working underground. Not unless you find tombs, and they’re rare…. What’s become of Andy? I haven’t seen him since I came down to this level.”
“I haven’t either.”
“I’m bored to tears and dying for a drink,” Dana said petulantly. “This place is tedious. I don’t know why Andy dragged us here. There’s only one halfway decent thing, the ceiling stuccos on the pronaos of the temple. I rather liked them.”
“I didn’t see any stuccos. Just the benches and the altar.”
“That room isn’t the pronaos, it’s the triclinium. The dining area,” Dana added patronizingly. “Where they held the ritual meal. The pronaos is across the hall. You didn’t see it? You must not have been looking at much.”
“You must have paid more attention to Andy’s lecture than I did.”
“I cheated.” Dana’s sulky face relaxed. “I bought a guidebook. Look here, it has plans of all three of the levels on transparent paper, so you can see exactly where each section lies in respect to the one above and below.”
“Hey, that’s neat. I wish I’d had it before. I don’t know where I’ve been.”
“You can borrow it,” Dana said. She yawned, brushing her mouth with the back of her hand. “You haven’t run into Mike, have you? I promised I’d meet him here; but I guess he got tired of waiting.”
“He went upstairs a few minutes before you came.”
“Thanks.”
She went up the stairs, undulating. With a comment that would have been represented in the old days of publishing by a dash and an exclamation point, Jean swung on her heel and marched back along the passage. It was injured dignity, not interest in the stuccos Dana had praised, that made her go that way, but when she reached the end of the passage she decided she might as well have a look at the stuccos. She realized then that Dana had not given her