“The tall man is the son of the chief I killed in the plane crash. I have named him Alaric after the Visigoth king. He's quite intelligent and a natural leader, but he tends to be a bully. He would like to depose me and has gathered a group of young Turks around him. The fact that he set foot on the forbidden shrine shows that he has become bolder. He is obviously exploiting the questions raised by your arrival. We must get back to the palace.”

As they left the shrine the guards materialized from the forest and took their places alongside. Francesca walked briskly, and they were back at the compound within minutes. Something was different inside the stockade fence. Knots of Indian men stood around. They averted their eyes when the procession passed. There were no friendly smiles as on the way out.

About twenty armed warriors were gathered in front of the palace with Alaric at their center. They parted with sullen looks at a wave of Francesca's hand, but Gamay noticed that they took their time doing it. Tessa greeted them inside the door. Her eyes were wide with fright. She and Francesca talked in their language for a minute, then the white goddess translated for the Trouts.

“The priests have made a decision. You're to be killed in the morning. They'll spend the night getting their courage up and building the pyres to burn you.”

Gamay's mouth hardened. “Sorry we can't stay for the barbecue,” she said. “If you would point us to the nearest canoe, we'll be saying good-bye.”

“Impossible! You wouldn't get ten feet now.”

“Then what do we do?”

Francesca mounted her dais and sat on her throne, her eyes glued to the chamber door. “We wait,” she said.

NUMA 2 - Blue Gold

CHAPTER 20

The ancient ship hung in space as if suspended from invisible cables, its multi-decked hull outlined by shimmering spiderweb lines of gossamer blue. The great square sails were bowed full, and ghostly pennants fluttered at the masthead as if tossed by a freshened breeze.

Hiram Yaeger leaned back in his chair and studied the spectral image hovering over a platform in front of his horseshoe shaped console. “It's beautiful, Max,” he said, “but the detail needs sharpening.”

A soft and disembodied feminine voice filled the room from a dozen speakers set in the walls. “You only asked for a blue print, Hiram.” There was the hint of petulance in the tone.

“That's right, Max,” Yaeger said, “and you've gone far beyond that. But now I'd like to see how close we can get to the finished product.”

“Done,” said the voice.

Unknown

The ship's hull solidified like a specter materializing from ectoplasm. Its hull blazed with gold that highlighted the elaborate carvings covering the sides from stem to stern. Yaeger's eyes lingered on the beak head, crowned by a wooden image of King Edgar, the hoofs of his charger trampling the seven fallen monarchs whose shorn beards bordered his mantle. Then he studied the astronomical panels that represented the glories of the Olympic gods, going back to the high stern, embellished with biblical figures. Every detail was perfect.