The light of dawn was not yet sufficient. Roberts turned on the flash again. Then he nodded shortly.
“Interesting,” he said. “A jade, probably of the fourteenth century, the Yüan dynasty. A week ago I was searching for things like that, but now....”
Bowen leaned forward, raising himself to a sitting position.
“Look!” he cried, his voice squeaking into a cough. A touch of his tapered finger nail had caused the pendant to fall into two halves. There before Roberts lay a tiny roll of tinted silk upon which vertical rows of black ideographs were revealed.
Roberts removed the silk carefully, spreading it across his knee.
“The key to one of the treasure caches of Kublai Khan!” shrilled Bowen. “It’s mine. I found it. By using it, I managed to keep clean of body. It is the only hope for your friends—and you, if you venture in!”
Silently, and with a growing intensity of interest, Roberts deciphered the characters. The colophon furnished simple, straightforward directions, yet the tale it told was unbelievable.
“A—a cure?” he stammered shakily.
“Yes—or at least a preventive. I can answer for that.”