As he passed a sharp curve in the passage, he reached a pool of surprisingly bright light and stepped into a long, wide chamber with a twenty-foot-high ceiling whose plaster walls, more intact, were painted with much more complex and vivid images of the gods. Modern gas lanterns hung from iron brackets in the walls that had been fashioned to hold butter lamps. Supplies were stacked in makeshift half-walls to create a small living space at the near end, where a camp stove was heating a kettle, and also a corridor along a wall painted with prominent Buddhist dieties.

Two figures at the far end stood staring down at a pile of blankets. One turned then approached along the wall painted with gods, his limp accentuated by his hurried gait. “Constable,” the hail chaser said in a soft, welcoming tone. “You have come to the mountain. You do indeed never stop investigating.” Shan did not miss the hint of caution in his tone.

“It is my burden,” Shan replied, studying the next tunnel that led deeper into the mountain at the back of the long chamber.

Yankay gestured to the kettle. “Sit. We will have tea and see if you can finally hear the mountain speak.”

Shan complied, looking now at a stone-built shelf full of artifacts nearby. Sitting beside it, his back against the wall of the cave, was Lhakpa, writing in a notebook. The snow monk was archiving the artifacts.

“These are new,” Shan said as he approached Lhakpa.

“No, several hundred years old,” the snow monk said, misunderstanding.

“Newly recovered,” Shan said as he accepted a steaming mug. The two brothers had no reply. His gaze shifted to the black shadow that marked the next tunnel. “Which means,” he suggested, “that Gekho’s cave is not sealed off. When I was in the valley talking with the workers about the tragedy of the cave’s destruction, one said ‘if the cave is truly gone,’ as if having the entrance closed didn’t necessarily mean it was gone. There’s a back entrance,” he said and pointed to the next tunnel.

The old hail chaser sighed. “We are at your mercy then, Constable. If the government knew, it would come with more explosives and destroy this end as well. More would die, because some of us would not abandon the old god. We have already failed him too often.”

“But Shan is not the government,” Lhakpa said as he lowered his notebook. He rose and poured himself a mug. “He is the protector of the Yangkar gompa.” The snow monk’s gaze seemed to challenge Shan. “And the Yangkar gompa has always been the protector of Gekho.”