Mariah Stewart - Last Breath

“They couldn’t have gone around it?”

“The walls of the city offered safety after dark,” she explained. “Beyond the walls, at night, anything could happen. There were tales of wild animals that hunted at night and that were most fond of human flesh and blood. And of course, there were bandits.”

“So, in other words, it was worth paying the toll to be able to sleep safely.”

“I’m sure that was the idea. In addition to the tolls, the merchants who did business in the marketplace had to bring tribute to the temples twice each year. If you wanted to spend the next life in heaven, you paid up. The more you gave, the better your chances of a happy afterlife.”

“What did the priestesses do to keep everyone in line? Surely there were some who didn’t want to cough up their share.”

“These ladies were pretty shrewd. Here’s the thing about Ereshkigal. She was the goddess of the underworld. The place where you do not want to spend your afterlife.” Daria smiled, pleased by his interest. “When you died, you had to face the goddess at the junction between heaven and hell. If you wanted to get into heaven, you had to bring offerings to the goddess.”

“They had to bribe their way into heaven?”

“Exactly. You were to appear at that gateway with something in each hand. Then you would tell the goddess all your good deeds, so she could judge your worthiness.”

“So far, so good. You bring the bribe, you brag a little.” Connor nodded. “Everyone can come up with something good that they did over the course of their lifetime. So where’s the incentive to pay the tribute?”

“Those who refused to pay were brought before the priestesses, who would pass sentence on the offender.”

“I have a feeling the punishment may not have fit the crime.”

“One or both hands were cut off,” she told him. “If you really pissed them off, they’d have your tongue cut out as well.”

“Ouch. Why not just kill them?”

“It made more of a statement. Everyone knew you were marked for the underworld, and no one would assist you because you were the walking dead. It was just a matter of time before you starved to death or died of thirst, since no one was permitted to help you. And once you died, you’d go straight to the underworld, because when you showed up at the gate, you’d have no gifts for the goddess and because you had no tongue, you couldn’t tell her about all the good things you’d done. So off you went, right into the pit.”

“I imagine that made quite the impression.”

Daria nodded. “Enough that the tongueless head is a recurring theme in Shandihar art. I found several pieces in the collection that depict the goddess or one of her priestesses holding one in her hand. Remind me to show you.”

“Great. Looking forward to that.”

Daria laughed.

“Why haven’t I heard more about this city?” he asked.

“A few years after the discovery-around 1914, I think-an earthquake buried it under tons and tons of sand, so it’s lost once again. I don’t know if the site could even be located, since the landmarks are all gone.”

“Has anyone looked?”

“Not that I know of,” she told him as they approached the museum from the side. “Here we are.”

“That’s it?” They rounded the corner and faced the courtyard. “That’s the museum?”

Daria nodded.

He scanned the front of the building.

“You said on the phone there’s security.”

“There is.” She nodded.

“Where?”

“I guess the guard’s inside. Let’s go see.” She took the key from her pocket and walked across the courtyard to the door, which opened with a push.

“Stan?” She called out.

“Right here.” His voice came from the stairwell.

The guard, a tall, thin, balding man in his mid-forties, came up the stairs from the office level.

“Sorry, Dr. McGowan. I had to use the facilities,” he told her.

“You leave the door unlocked when you take a break?” Connor asked skeptically.

“No one’s around.” Stan shrugged. “No harm, no foul, right?”

“Next time you leave your post, lock the door behind you,” Connor told him pointedly.

Stan glanced at Daria.

“Stan, this is Special Agent Shields, from the FBI.”

“Oh.” Stan stared at Connor with no small interest. “Here to see if anything’s been pinched, huh?”

“Here to assess the situation.”

“I thought there were two guards assigned.” Daria frowned.

“One of us takes the night shift, the other the day. This week I have day shift, next week we’ll trade off.”

“So at any given time there’s only one guard,” Connor noted.

“That’s right.”

“I guess if you’d noticed any activity around the building you’d have notified Dr. Burnette,” Connor said.

“Sure. But there hasn’t been any.”

“Go on back to your post, Stan. But Agent Shields is right, the door should be locked at all times,” Daria told him. “Starting now.”

She locked the door with the key and slipped it back into her pocket.

“I’m going to be showing Agent Shields around for a while,” Daria told the guard, “so you can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing.” She gestured toward the folding beach chair inside the front door. A stack of paperback novels, several crossword puzzle magazines, and a large bottle of water sat nearby.

“Give a shout if you need me.” He ambled over to the chair and sat down, and took the first book from the stack.

“That’s your security?” Connor whispered to Daria.

“Don’t knock it,” she whispered back. “That’s the most they’ve had here in almost fifty years.”

“And Burnette wonders why things went walking out of the museum.”

“Well, they did have the building completely boarded up for a while. It isn’t likely anyone got in then.”

Connor walked around the perimeter of the room, checking the wide, oversized windows that arched at the top.

“None of these open,” he noted.

“They’re really only designed to let in natural light for the exhibits. They’re well placed, so only indirect light is allowed into the room, but no direct sunlight, which could have an adverse effect on the artifacts.”

“Any windows on this floor that open?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t check them all.”

“Let’s do that now.”

She led him from one room to the next. In each, he examined the windows, those that opened to the outside, and those that were fixed. When he finished, he said, “I don’t see any sign that any of the windows were tampered with. No indication that anyone’s tried to break in on this level.”

They went back into the great hall, and Connor studied the door frame.

“I guess Dr. Burnette would know if this door or the frame had been replaced over the years?”

“I would think there’d be a record of the expenditure someplace or a copy of the work order. We can ask Louise to look into that.”

“Let’s check the windows downstairs,” Connor suggested.

“There are none,” she told him.

“No windows in the basement?”

“No.”

“There must be another door to the outside, though,” Connor said. “There couldn’t be just this one and the one we found at the end of the hall. That one showed no sign of having been forced, and even when you opened it, the outside is obscured by all those overgrown shrubs.”

“I’ve asked Louise to have those removed. They could provide protection for anyone who’s looking for a way to get inside. And I’m afraid that as soon as the story gets out, there will be more interest in the building and what’s inside it than there has been in a very long time.”