Tuesday, August 23, 2005

All That is Gold

A brief teaser from the new story, setting the scene. :)

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Duncan Bell stood in the blazing sun, contemplated his luggage and the long, dusty track that faced him, and sighed. It looked as though it was going to be one of those days. The taxi driver who'd brought him from the airport had pocketed the fare and disappeared in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes straight back over the nearest hill. The path was stony and deeply rutted and there wasn't a scrap of shade to be seen - and he'd left his hat on the plane. And worst of all, his suitcase alone weighed half a ton and there were bags of technical stuff as well - and he wasn't exactly built like Superman. There was no way he could transport himself and all this clobber down to the temple site.

"Knew I should have stopped at the bloody hotel first," he muttered, kicking a handy stone. His foot caught some of the low-growing plants and the scent of fresh warm herbs wafted up to his face - and suddenly things didn't seem so bad. A warm breeze blew up from the cliffs below, carrying more of the same scent and the sharp green smell of the sea and he breathed in deep. Nice. You didn't get this sort of air in Liverpool, that was for sure. The sea there stank of diesel from the ships, or the raw sewage they pumped out at the river mouth, and the streets were paved not with herbs but the grim remains of last night's take-away. Much as he loved his home, there were times when he was glad to get away.

He tugged his handkerchief out and wiped his face. His fair hair and skin were no protection at all against the potency of the sun, and he needed to decide what to do. It might be hours before anyone on site thought to wonder where he was; either he stood here and fried to death, or he found somewhere to stash the bulk of his stuff and walked down to the temple himself. There was a hut on site, or so Gloria had said - hopefully he could cool off there.

The cliff top where the road had petered out was barren and remarkably devoid of hiding places, but it was so deserted he had the feeling he could leave the suitcase out in full view and it would still be here when he got back. A sea-bird sailed the thermals above his head, a dog howled from a neighbouring farm, but apart from that he could have been the last human on earth. Even the team of archaeologists working on the site seemed to have left no record of their passing.

Glancing around he spotted a small hollow filled with creeping plants and rested his suitcase and two of the bags in that, draping as much greenery over them as he could. Then he plucked his sunglasses out of his top pocket, perched them on his nose, and with only his laptop bag slung over a shoulder, set off down the track.

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