“Do you think you can push the cart back without using that leg? It needs to be x-rayed.” Dante crawled to one side to help his student to the wheels.
He ignored Federico’s protests, sending him off so he could examine the fallen ceiling.
No Etruscan had created this space. A more modern entity had widened the original narrow exit with metal tools and attempted to reinforce it with concrete.
Then someone else had deliberately weakened the reinforcement.A rubble of chiseled concrete blocked the rest of the tunnel.
The twins wriggledand protested their captivity, keeping Pris occupied with their antics. She’d made a lunch basket and produced sandwich squares to settle them down. She needed to be monitoring Dante, his student, and all the worried people crowding the tunnel entrance, but she had only so much mental space. All she managed was to send messages to the heavens.
Finally, after two eternities, she heard the crowd yell in relief. She instantly sought Dante’s distinctive mind, but his thoughts were an impenetrable maze. She could tell he was verynot happy, but he didn’t seem to be in too much pain. He was safe, at least.
Act now or regret it forevermore.
Once the ambulance arrived, Pris signaled one of the students. “Look, I need to let the kids out to run about, but it’s too dangerous here. I’ll take them around to the farmhouse. Can someone run Dante up there when he’s ready to leave?”
If the damned man had hurt himself pretending to be Hercules, there were medics on hand. She couldn’t help him.
She might want to weep and scream and call him three kinds of fool for risking his life playing superhero with a cracked leg, but logic warned that she couldn’t help him.
Fortunately, the student spoke enough English to understand, and being female, she happily agreed. Pris suspected half Dante’s classes were there because of him and not the subject.
They were welcome to the insufferable professor who needed no one and nobody except servants.
She eased the Fiat back to the road at a more sedate pace, promising the twins they could get out and look around. She hoped Leo would be gracious enough to offer them the ubiquitous lemonade, and hopefully, bathrooms, but she wouldn’t hold her breath. Dante’s villa wasn’t too far away. She could always take them home.
Aftershe played around with Leo’s mind a little more. So yeah, she could be goal-oriented too.
She didn’t have to wait long after pulling up the drive and releasing the kids before Leo arrived. It looked as if he might have slicked back his hair and slapped on some pomade for her benefit.
He was seriously not her type, but she smiled in appreciation anyway. At least he noticed her existence. “Buon giorno, Signor Ugazio.”
He helped her lift the picnic basket from the car floor. “Are you running away from Dante, I hope?” He glanced at the twins, who’d discovered the gazebo. “Are those Lucia’s? I haven’t seen them since they were in diapers.”
“This is Dante learning to take care of them,” Pris said dryly. “He got caught in a kerfuffle down below. Five-year-olds can’t sit still for long. Do you have water or anything I can offer them?”
She could tell the tunnel collapse fretted at Leo’s mind, but she couldn’t read his actual thoughts. He relaxed his mental guard at her innocuous question, and she poked a bit as he answered.
“We have water in the cooler and cans of lemonade. Afraid I don’t have anyone to make the real stuff these days.” He led the way over to the gazebo bar and handed out drinks.
One-track minds were annoyingly just that. Pris could tell he agonized over finances. Even a cave-in and Lucia’s children didn’t distract him from adding up costs of blocking off the tunnel. Leo was useless.
He handed the twins cans, noted their resemblance to Dante, and forgot about them, much as Dante did, apparently.
Pris attempted directing Leo’s mental energy. “Will the tunnel collapsing again be a problem for you?”
She received the distinct impression of relief before he shuttered his thoughts and replied with caution. He wanted the tunnel closed?
“I know Dante hoped we had Etruscan tombs, but the dead should be allowed their privacy, shouldn’t they?” He opened a can of soft drink.
“I hadn’t given it much thought. Dust to dust is my preference. Grave goods belong with the living. They’re just temptation for thieves.”
“And archeologists,” Leo added with amusement.
But he wasn’t really amused. He was seeing bones again. Andmoney? Good grief, did everything relate to money? She’d hate to administer a Rorschach test on this man.
“You’re not worried that your oil tanks won’t someday fall through the floor into the tunnel below?” How did she steer a conversation to bones? She usually avoided her gift for good reason—it made for senseless conversation.
“There is probably a hundred feet of dirt below the tanks.” He shrugged in unconcern.
