“I don’t hear anyone either,” the scrivener agreed.
They both waited for the lantern’s owner to make a move but nothing was stirring beyond their canvas prison other than the hollow wind.
In the faint light, Cassie noticed that their backpacks had been shaken out, searched, and then tossed into the tent after them. The attackers hadn’t taken any of the contents which meant they’d been looking for something specific.
“Check out our packs.” The pythia drew Griffin’s attention to their scattered belongings. “They didn’t find what they were after which means they must want the relic.”
“How is that even possible?” The scrivener registered surprise.
“Think about it,” Cassie answered. “It was pretty easy for the twins to find out what Daniel and Hunt were planning for tonight. What if somebody else overheard them and decided to grab the goods as those two came back down the mountain?”
“If that’s the case, why would they waylay us?”
“Who knows? It was dark out. Maybe all Western tourists look alike in the dark. I’d be suspicious of anybody climbing down from Kailash at this hour.”
“It still seems odd that they should disappear after tying us up.”
Cassie was as stumped as her companion. “Maybe they were sure we had the artifact. They were thrown when they didn’t find it. Maybe there’s somebody else who’s giving the orders, and they had to report back to him to decide what to do next.”
“Oh, dear!” The scrivener sounded stricken. “If those men really are thieves, I can think of only two possible ways this evening can end for us.”
Cassie braced herself. “I’m only listening to this because my hands are tied up, and I can’t cover my ears.”
Griffin forged ahead. “In the first scenario, they believe we stole the artifact and hid it somewhere. They’ll torture us to find out its location.”
Cassie swallowed hard. “What’s the second possibility?”
“In the second scenario, they believe they made an error, and someone else stole the artifact. They’ll cut our throats to keep us from exposing them.”
“Given those two choices, I vote for option three.”
“Which is?”
“We get the hell out of here before they come back!” Cassie frantically twisted her hands in an effort to loosen the ropes.
Griffin seemed not to hear her. “I say, this shelter looks like the old mummery tents that were used by Himalayan climbers several decades back.”
“So what?” Cassie failed to see the relevance of the comment as she continued to fidget with the ropes.
“Mummery tents are unusual. Their design is floorless.”
The pythia stopped struggling. She tried to turn her head to glare at the scrivener but couldn’t quite manage it, so she settled for whacking him in the back of the skull with her own.
“Oww! Why the bloody hell did you do that?”
“To snap you out of it because I think you’ve lost your marbles! Our lives are literally hanging by a thread... Well, more like a bunch of threads... But that isn’t the point. We’re in dire peril, and you’re fixating on flawless tent design?”
“Not flawless, floorless!” Griffin objected, trying to keep his voice down. “F-L-O-O-R-L-E-S-S.”
Cassie gritted her teeth. “Griffin, your accent is adorable but in Brit Speak those two words sound exactly the same. Would it kill you to pronounce a hard ‘R’ every once in a while?”
Ignoring her comment, he resumed his explanation. “Given our current predicament, floorlessness is a useful feature. We can—”
She cut him off. “Now that we’ve cleared the pronunciation hurdle, I’m way ahead of you.” The pythia managed to dig the heel of her boot into the sleeping bag on which she was seated. Dragging the coverlet to the side, she exposed the loose rock beneath. Then she swept the ground with her leg, drawing half a dozen stones toward the two captives. “C’mon, flawless,” she urged. “Mama needs a sharpie.”
Griffin noticed her actions and began a dredging operation of his own. Unfortunately, his long legs couldn’t quite tuck in far enough to bring the stones close to their bodies.
“Allow me,” Cassie offered. “Aside from needing a step stool to reach my top kitchen cabinets, being vertically-challenged has its advantages. It gives me a smaller turning radius.”
By twisting her hips sideways, she managed to push a sizeable mound of rocks right beneath Griffin’s hands.
“Your fingers are longer. Can you find something in that pile with a cutting edge to fray these ropes?”
There was silence for several seconds as he sorted through the rock collection.
“Aha! I do believe I’ve found one. It feels as jagged as an arrowhead to me.”
“Good, then work on my hands first. Those guys didn’t tie my wrists too tightly.”
“I imagine they went more easily on you because you’re a woman.”
Cassie gave a short bark of a laugh. “That mistake is gonna cost them.”
Griffin sawed away feverishly.
“Ouch!” The pythia winced. She could feel blood running down her fingers.
“Cassie, I’m so sorry!” The scrivener stopped immediately. “Are you injured?”
“Forget it. A nick on my wrist is no biggie. Besides, the blood might make the rope slippery—easier for me to slide out.”
“Forgive me for calling you a fatalist earlier this evening,” Griffin said dryly. “Your willingness to take life’s lemons and make blood lemonade bespeaks a truly appalling form of optimism.”
“Thanks. I think...”
The scrivener returned to his task, albeit more carefully. At the end of five minutes, he’d succeeded in fraying the top layer of rope.
Cassie interrupted his labors. “Hold on. Let’s see if I can wiggle out yet.” She twisted her hands this way and that. The rope was definitely looser but not enough for her to slip free. “A little more,” she advised.
The scrivener was about to resume the operation but froze when they both heard a noise outside.
Footsteps were traveling toward the tent. The two of them sat bolt upright, pressing their backs close together to hide the makeshift knife and pile of rocks.
The flap opened, and a face peered in at them—a man with coarse, weather-beaten features and a scraggly gray beard. His flashlight beam swept the interior
