Bestiary

Greer turned to see, and damned if Hasan wasn’t right — way up toward the top, there was a large iron hook driven into the trunk of the tree.

“They all have such hooks,” Hasan said.

“I still don’t get it,” Donlan said.

“The net was not used to catch anything,” Hasan explained. “It was tied to those hooks and used to keep something in.”

“Oh, you mean the birds? The peacocks?”

Hasan shrugged. If that’s what they chose to think…

“What are we looking for, anyway, sir?” Donlan asked. “It’s going to be dark soon.”

Greer was studying the map; they were close. Straight ahead, there was a row of what had looked like little boxes on the map, but which he could now see were, in reality, cages, with loose straw thrown around their wooden floors. Some of the cages were small enough to hold a pair of rabbits; some were big enough for a couple of rhinos. All were enclosed at the top, too — and most of them were oddly dented, as if the creatures inside them had been banging their heads against the iron bars. On the last one in the row, the gates had been bent forward so far that they hung open on the twisted hinges.

“What’d they do — keep a zoo?” Donlan said.

There was the smell of a zoo, too, in the air. Although no animals were to be seen, the fetid scent of manure, rotting hay, and mangy fur still lingered. Behind a row of eucalyptus trees, and nearly concealed by dead vines and wilted flowers, Greer saw what he’d been looking for — the structure that was highlighted on the map with a yellow pen. It looked like an oversized mausoleum, made of the same yellow stone as the palace.

“Follow me,” he said, striding up its steps and stopping at a pair of massive wooden doors, studded with iron bolts; with his gun still drawn, he pushed his way inside.

The place was built like an atrium — circular, with ladders and rails made of olive wood running along all the sides. There were hundreds of shelves, many of them with old leather-bound books still on them, spiraling upward toward a domed ceiling; in its center, there was a stained-glass window that cast a pale purple light over everything below.

“Nothing but books in here,” Lopez said. “I say we go back to the palace.”

“I say shut up,” Greer said, folding up the map and slipping it back into his pocket; from here on in, he knew what to do.

Mounted on the front wall was a big iron bird — okay, a peacock — with its wings spread wide. “Come here, Lopez,” Greer said. “And take hold of one of these wings.”

Lopez looked confused, but he leaned his rifle up against one of the bookshelves and did as he was told. The bird was about six feet high and four feet wide, and the metal was warm in his hands. Would this thing be worth anything, he wondered, back in the States?

“When I say so,” Greer told him, “press the wing forward.”

“You want me to break it?” Now it’d be worth nothing.

“Just do it. Now.”

As Greer pressed on his side, Lopez pressed on his, and after some initial resistance, the two wings began to give way.

“Keep pushing,” Greer said.

Gradually, the two wings began to come together, and as they did so, dust began to crumble from the wall just below the peacock’s feet.

Lopez, seeing the dust, started to ease up, and Greer said, “No, that’s what’s supposed to happen.”

“The whole place is supposed to fall down?”

Donlan, though he kept his rifle loosely trained on Hasan, was rapt.

As the ends of the two wings touched, a narrow space below the peacock’s feet was partially revealed. According to his instructions, something should have opened up completely, but this was close enough for Greer. He crouched down and dug his fingers into the wall. Loose bits of brick and sand fell away, enough finally for him to reach inside — the slot was no more than ten inches high and perhaps a few feet across — and touch something. It was a metal box, covered with dust, and it was what he’d come for. When he pulled, he could hear the crunching of the sand underneath it, but moving it from this angle was tough. He pulled his hand out, brushed it clean, then reached in again and pulled the box another inch or two forward; it must weigh twenty or thirty pounds, he guessed.

“You need some help, Captain?” Lopez asked eagerly. Maybe Greer knew what he was doing, after all. Maybe this was the treasure!

Greer didn’t need any help — not now. Leaning back on his heels, he pulled the box out of the hole. It was matted with grime, and for all he knew, the damn thing was made of lead. Huge iron clasps were sealed on both sides, with antique padlocks that looked like they took a key the size of a fist.

Lopez looked at the locks gleefully and said, “We can pop those — no problem.”

Greer stood up, cradling the box in his arms. “Time to go.”

Lopez and Donlan just stood there. Hasan was afraid of what might happen.

“What do you mean, sir?” Donlan asked. “You mean, we open it back at camp?”

“I mean, we go. Now.”

Greer stepped around them, giving Hasan a shove toward the door. Donlan and Lopez traded a glance— what gives? — then slouched behind.

Outside, the shadows were lengthening. The sun had fallen to the height of the walls, and a night wind was already beginning to kick up.

Greer was marching Hasan past the rows of empty cages, then onto the wooden bridge. Hasan was only too glad to go. He didn’t know what those cages had once held, but he did not want to find out. Nor did he wish to know why the al-Kallis would have needed a fine mesh net large enough to have created an aviary a hundred feet high and ten times as wide.

As they passed the garage with the Rolls parked inside, Lopez cast a covetous glance inside. What if the thing still ran? Why couldn’t he drive it back to camp, right behind the Humvee? Wouldn’t that be something?

But then, he could swear he saw something move inside the garage. No, not that he’d actually seen something, but the light in there, the shadows, had changed. He glanced ahead at the others — was it worth calling out an alarm? He looked again, his rifle leveled at the front of the Rolls. But now there was nothing, and the others were even farther away.

He picked up his pace, his head turned to keep an eye on anything behind him. He was sorry he’d listened to all that bullshit from Hasan. Strange cries in the night, people disappearing. But he was even sorrier that he’d listened to Greer. What was all that crap about a treasure hunt? The only treasure he’d seen — and who knew what was inside that box? — was now gripped in Greer’s loving arms.

On his left, he saw what he took to be the stables — there were empty stalls and unidentifiable pieces of harness hanging from the half doors. Lopez was from Santa Fe, and he’d actually worked summers at a ranch, but he’d never seen tackle like this. Maybe the al-Kallis kept those famous Arabian stallions he’d heard so much about.

As they approached the back of the palace, he scanned the many narrow windows, wondering what lay behind them. Christ, did people really live like this? The palace reminded him of pictures he’d seen of places like the Taj Mahal. By joining the army he thought he’d see some of them. But so far, this was it.

There was a cry, a loud, prolonged cawing from somewhere in the distance. It sounded like a baby being strangled.

“Jesus,” Lopez exclaimed. “What was that?”

They’d all stopped in their tracks.

“It was a peacock,” Hasan said. “They cry for rain.”

Lopez swallowed hard — his mouth was suddenly as dry as the desert. “They ever get it?”

“Not often.”

In the colonnade, the shadows made a kind of zigzag pattern on the floor. The sun had fallen now to just below the top of the outside walls. Their footsteps echoed here, too, but Lopez knew enough to make no Ghostbuster jokes this time. He pulled the damp collar away from his neck, and as he did so, he thought he heard breathing behind him, a low rasping sound. He whipped around, his finger on the trigger of