The fat finger resumed its passage due northif those stars really might be taken to represent Low-Pub and Springston.
Danvar, Brock announced, thumping the table with his finger. He indicated the third star in the belt of great Colorado. The map seemed to suggest that that the buried world of the gods was laid out in accordance with their heavenly stars. As if man were trapped between mirrored worlds above and below. The tent swayed as Palmer considered this.
Youve found it? Hap asked.
Aye, someone said, and the drinking and smoking resumed. The curled hide of a map threatened to roll shut with the rise of a mug.
We have a good guess, Brock said in that strange accent of his. You boys will tell us for sure.
Danvar is said to be a mile down, Palmer muttered. When the table fell silent, he glanced up. Nobodys ever dove half of that.
Nobody? someone asked. Not even your sister?
Laughter tumbled out of beards. Palmer had been waiting for her to come up.
Its no mile down, Brock told them, waving his thick hand. Forget the legends. Danvar is here. More plunder than in all of Springston. Here lies the ancient metropolis. The three buried towns of this land are laid out according to the stars of Colorados belt. He narrowed his eyes at Hap and then Palmer. We just need you boys to confirm it. We need a
real map, not this skin.
How deep are we talking? Hap asked.
Palmer turned to his friend. He had assumed this had already been discussed. He wondered if the wage hed been promised had been arrived at, or if his friend had just been blowing smoke. They werent here for a big scavenge; they were here to dive for ghosts, to dig for legends.
Eight hundred meters.
The answer quieted all but the moaning wind.
Palmer shook his head. I think you vastly overestimate what a diver can
We dug the first two hundred meters, Brock said. He tapped the map again. And it says here on this map that the tallest structures rise up another two hundred fifty.
That leaves Hap hesitated, waiting no doubt for someone else to do the math.
The swinging lamp seemed to dim, and the edges of the map went out of focus as Palmer arrived at the answer. Three hundred fifty meters, he said, feeling dizzy. Hed been down to two fifty a few times on twin bottles. He knew people whod gone down to three. His sister, a few others, could do foursome claimed five. Palmer hadnt been warned they were diving so deep, nor that they were helping more gold-diggers waste their time looking for Danvar. He had feared for a moment there that they were working for rebels, but this was worse. This was a delusion of wealth rather than power.
Three fifty is no problem, Hap said. He spread his hands out on the map and leaned over the table, making like he was studying the notes. Palmer reckoned his friend was feeling dizzy as well. It would be a record for them both.
I just wanna know its here, Brock said, thumping the map. We need exact coordinates before we dig any more. The damn hole we have here is a bitch to maintain.
There were grumbles of agreement from the men that Palmer figured were doing the actual digging. One of them smiled at Palmer. Your mum would know something about maintaining holes, he said, and the grumbles turned into laughter.
Palmer felt his face burn. When do we go? he shouted over this sudden eruption.
And the laughter died down. His friend Hap turned from the dizzying map, his eyes wide and full of fear, Palmer saw. Full of fear and with a hint of an apology for bringing them this far north for such madness, a glimmer in those eyes of all the bad that was soon to come.
4 The Dig
The air was still crisp from a cloudless night, the sand having shucked off the heat soaked up the day before. Only a few stars clung to the darkness in the west. Venus stood alone above the opposite dunes. The sun was up somewhere, but it wouldnt show itself above the local dunes for another hour.
Before it could beat down between the high sands, Palmer hoped to be diving. He relished the coolness of the deep earth, even the pockets of moist sand that made for difficult flow. Sitting down, he upturned his boots and clopped the heels together, little pyramids of scoop spilling out. Slapping the bottoms of his socks, he pulled the boots back on and laced them up securely, doubling the knot. He was eager to attach his fins and get going.
He checked his dive pack and went over his gear. One of the prospectors emerged from the tent, cleared his throat, then spat in the sand near enough to Palmer for it to register but far enough away that he couldnt be certain if it was directed at him. After some consideration, and while the man urinated on the wall of a dune, Palmer decided this ephemeral range of questionable intent was between four and five feet. It felt scientific.
A wiry man with charcoal skin emerged from Brocks tent: Moguhn, who looked less fearsome in the wan daylight. He had to be Brocks second-in-command, judging by the way the two men conferred the night before. Moguhn lifted his eyebrows at Palmer as if to ask whether the young man was up to the days challenge. Palmer dipped his chin in both greeting and reply. He felt great. He was ready for a deep dive. He checked the two large air bottles strapped to the back of his dive pack and took a series of deep and rapid breaths, prepping his lungs. There was no pressure to get all the way down to the depths Brock was asking. His dive visor could see through a couple