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“I was going to do the same thing to you and make it look like Wanuri did it.”
We look at the other woman. She frowns at us.
“Let’s just keep that between us,” says Daja.
“Yeah. It’s probably for the best.”
I get out the water bottle I filled with Aqua Regia. We both have a drink.
Wanuri is still looking at us. I offer her the bottle. She sniffs it and hands it back.
To Daja she says, “I told you this one is crazy. Don’t let him make you crazy, too.”
“We’re celebrating,” Daja says.
“What?”
“It’s our anniversary,” I say.
“Anniversary of what?”
“Not murdering each other.”
Wanuri shakes her head.
“It’s too late for you, girl. He’s dragged you into his madness.”
Daja takes out a chocolate bar and gives it to her.
“Relax,” she says. “It’s going to be all right. Everything is going to be all right now.”
Wanuri looks at the obelisk, not entirely convinced, but she gobbles down the chocolate anyway.
We move camp the next day and set up the havoc around the obelisk. A paddy wagon takes some conscripts back to the roadside store. They drag a desk and chair from the manager’s office and set it up by the obelisk for Traven. He lays out his old books and begins copying the symbols from each side of the obelisk. The damned thing is so tall he has to use the Magistrate’s spyglass to copy the highest carvings. This isn’t going to be a quick job.
The Magistrate knows it and is a one-man pep squad. He wanders around the havoc with his map, pointing out to anyone who’ll hold still where we were, where we are, and, maybe, where we’re going. It’s pure hustle, like those celebrity bus tours of L.A. Dumb as they are, they make people feel warm and special and closer to thei
r TV gods. It’s the same thing here. He points out the thrilling sights, the exciting points of interest, and hints that maybe if we’re lucky, the ghost of James Dean will swing by to give us all rides in his Porsche Spyder.
Traven has been working for around eight straight hours when a storm blows up in the distance. He’s sketched all four sides of the pyramid and copied all the symbols from one. Everybody stops what they’re doing to watch the approaching clouds.
“Is it a sandstorm?” says Doris.
“It sure isn’t rain,” says Wanuri.
“Do you think it ever rains in the Tenebrae?” says Barbora, who’s hardly said a word since her sister died.
I say, “Nothing happens out here because nothing is supposed to be here. That’s why it’s so boring. It’s the Fresno of damnation.”
“That doesn’t mean it never rains,” says Johnny. “Back home, even the deep desert gets the occasional monsoon.”
“Have you seen any wallabies down here? This isn’t back home.”
“What makes you such an expert on the Tenebrae?” says Daja.
“Maybe God told him. Or the Devil,” says Wanuri.
“Who’s been with the Magistrate the longest?” I say.
