The Lost Labyrinth

II

Gaille stared numbly down at the photograph.

Iain.

So he'd been here before. At least twice. Which meant he'd known about this place long before Knox had telephoned him. All that nonsense about knowing Petitier as Roly, about his Belgian archaeologist friend, about asking directions at that shop in Anopoli! He'd been stalking Petitier for…she checked the date on the first folder of photographs-for at least six months.

It took a few moments for the barking to register. Argo was going berserk outside. It could only mean Iain was on his way back. She froze a moment, wondering what to do. But she couldn't let him find her here, not with these photos. She hurried out, switching lights off as she went, then ran up the steps and closed the trap door behind her even as she heard his boots outside. She laid the rug back out, pulled the chair across it, then stood there attempting negligence as the door opened and Iain came in. 'Fuck me!' he said, throwing himself down into the armchair. 'My feet!'

'Long day?' she asked.

'I hadn't realised there'd be so much to search.'

'Any luck?'

'Some. I found his Minoan site.'

'But that's brilliant!' she exclaimed, trying her hardest to sound suitably impressed. 'Where?'

Iain nodded south. 'Most of it is covered up with earth, but there's enough still exposed to get an idea. A small palace or temple dating from Early Minoan II, I'd say, though there are obvious signs of destruction and a rebuild in the Mycenaean. But he can't have been doing anything there for at least five years, probably longer. So if he's found anything recently, it must be from somewhere else.' He looked up at the racks of journals. 'I'll bet those are his excavation notes. You make any progress on them?'

She shook her head. 'His code's too difficult for me. I did make friends with his dog, though.'

'Yeah. I saw he was in his pen. How did you manage that?'

'Bribery. Petitier hadn't left him any food or water. I gave him a bath too. He was really filthy.'

'I'm feeling pretty filthy myself,' grinned Iain. 'Do I get a bath too?'

'I scavenged some eggs and peppers and things,' she told him, ignoring him. 'What would you say to an omelette and a glass of chateau Petitier?'

'Now you're talking.' He leaned forward to undo his laces then kicked off his boots. He stretched out his legs, wriggled his toes. She limped through to the kitchen, swinging her bad ankle out wide, instinctively wanting him to think she was more badly injured than in fact she was. She opened a dusty bottle of wine, splashed ruby liquid into a pair of tumblers, took them and the bottle back out.

'Cheers,' said Iain, offering his glass in a toast, before slurping down a full third of it.

'Cheers,' agreed Gaille, taking a more modest sip, struggling to keep the smile on her face, suspicion from her eyes.