Excavation

The Indian lowered his head in thanks and relief.

Friar Otera slipped past the kneeling Indian and approached the second fellow. “You have done well, too, my child.”

This other Indian had remained silent during the exchange and had not knelt. His dark eyes had remained wary. He backed up a step now, somehow sensing the danger, but he was too late.

Friar Otera lashed out with the long blade hidden at his wrist, slicing cleanly. The man’s hands flew to his slashed throat, trying to stanch the flow of blood. A spraying spurt struck the friar’s robe as the Indian fell to his knees. Too late to pray now, heathen. With a scowl, Friar Otera used his booted foot to topple the gurgling man backward.

Stepping over the body, Friar Otera continued on his way down the trail. He had not even heard a sound as the other monks dealt with the first Indian. He nodded in satisfaction.

The Church had certainly trained them well.

Joan tried the wine. It was a decent vintage Merlot, not too dry, with a sweet bouquet. She nodded, and the waiter filled her glass the rest of the way. “It should accent the porterhouse nicely,” she said with a shy smile.

Across the candlelit table, Henry returned her smile. “A forensic pathologist and a wine connoisseur to boot. You’ve grown to be a woman of many surprises. As I recall, you used to be a beer-and-tequila woman.”

She stifled a short laugh. “Time has ways of refining one’s taste. As does a stomach that can no longer tolerate such excesses.” She eyed Henry. He still filled his dark suit well, a double-breasted charcoal jacket over a crisp white shirt and pale rose tie. The colors accented perfectly the salting of silver-grey in his dark hair. Clean-shaven and impeccably attired, it was hard to believe this fellow had been tromping through the Peruvian jungles just last week. “And I must say you’re full of surprises, too, Henry. Your years in the field have done you no harm.”

Henry, fork in hand, glanced up from the remains of his Caesar salad. He wore a roguish grin, an expression that took Joan back to her college years. “Why, Dr. Engel,” he teased, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to pick me up?”

“It was a simple compliment, Professor Conklin. That’s all. Just a professional courtesy. I say it to all the visiting doctors.”

“Ah… so that explains your current academic popularity.” Henry stabbed a crouton, hiding a smile.

Joan feigned insult and snapped her napkin toward his hand.

“Ow.” Henry rubbed his knuckles as if they stung. “Okay, okay… then I guess we’d best stick to business.”

“Maybe we should,” she said with a tired smile.

Thus far, their evening had been spent catching up on each other’s pasts. Joan had nodded when Henry mentioned the death of his wife from cancer. Joan had heard the news from mutual friends. It was about the same time her own marriage had ended in a bitter divorce. Afterward, it seemed both had immersed themselves completely in their respective professions, becoming renowned in their fields. During this time, neither had sought out any intimate relationships, still shy from their wounded hearts. It seemed pain was pain, no matter what the circumstance.

“Have you learned anything new about the gold debris found inside the mummy’s skull?” Henry asked more soberly.

Joan sat straighter, switching to her more professional demeanor. “Not much. Just that it’s certainly not gold. It’s more of a dense viscid liquid. At room temperatures, it’s moldable, like warm clay. I suspect it’s some type of heavy metal amalgam, perhaps mercury mixed with something else.” She shrugged.

Henry’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head slightly. “It doesn’t make sense. The Incas’ skill with metals was not considered advanced. Even smelting iron was beyond them. I find it strange they could create a new amalgam.”

“Well, they must have learned something. They filled the mummy’s skull full of the odd metal.”

“Yes, I suppose…”

“But why do you think they did that?” she asked. “Fill his skull?”

“I can only theorize. The Incas revered the braincase as a source of power. They even made drinking mugs from their slain enemies’ skulls. My guess is that the Incas feared the friar’s Christian god and performed this odd rite to avoid the wrath of this foreign deity.”

Joan curled her nose. “So they drilled holes in the man’s skull, removed the brain, and filled the space with the amalgam as an offering to the stranger’s god?”

Henry shrugged and nodded. “It’s a theory. The Incas seemed to have a fascination with trepanation. If you took all the skulls from around the world, they would not equal the number of Incan skulls found with such mutilations. So I wager there must be a religious significance to the act. But it’s only a theory so far.”

“And not a bad one, I suppose,” she said with a smile. “But perhaps tomorrow I’ll have more answers for you about the amalgam itself. I contacted Dr. Kirkpatrick at GeorgeWashingtonUniversity, a metallurgy specialist. He owes me a favor. He’s agreed to come by tomorrow and take a look at the substance.”

Henry brightened with her words, his eyes glinting. “I’d like to be there when he examines the material.”

“Sure…” Joan was momentarily flustered. She had been considering some way to arrange a meeting with Henry again before he left, and here he was dropping it in her lap. “Th… that would be wonderful… your company would be welcome anytime.” Joan mentally struck her forehead with the heel of her hand. Why was she acting like a tongue-tied adolescent? She was forty-eight years old, for Christ’s sake. When would these games between men and women ever grow more comfortable?

Joan found Henry smiling at her. “I’d enjoy working beside you again, too.”

She blushed and wiped her hands on her napkin in her lap. She was saved from having to speak by the server’s arrival with two platters of sizzling steaks. The two waited silently as dishes and silverware were exchanged. Once the waiter left, Joan spoke up, “So what about your end of the deal? Anything new on this Friar de Almagro?”

Henry’s voice was subdued. “No… I’m still waiting to hear back from the archbishop’s people.”

She nodded. “When I was working on the metal, I got to thinking about the Dominican cross you found. I was wondering if it was really gold, or maybe another amalgam like the debris in the skull.”