Main Page: Indiana Jones and the Monkey King
Previous: Chapter Ten
Previous: Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Tapestries and artwork filled the expansive chamber. They held no aesthetic interest for Helmut Gutterbuhg, but the power they represented was something he could get used to. He didn't particularly like the deceased Bohbala's robes either – they certainly didn't fit him very well – but the message they sent to the people was more than worth it.
He sat atop an elaborate golden throne while one pygmy after another brought him plates of food, delicious food such as he hadn't tasted in a lifetime. Several young black women stood clustered around as if waiting to cater to another sort of desire. As if! The notion almost made him throw up on the spot. He tried his best to ignore them as he gobbled down the food, drooling, slobbering, not caring what spectacle he made of himself.
Gutterbuhg licked the fingers of his good hand, swigged some wine that tasted as old as his dead predecessor, and belched. “It is good to be the king,” he announced to the room. The pygmies didn’t understand him, but they all nodded, eager to please.
Ah, but of course, he had business to attend to, and he shouldn’t put it off too much longer. At least the business would also be pleasurable.
Scraggy knelt at his feet, one end of Dr. Jones' whip tied around his neck and the other around the foot of the throne. The old man’s eyes remained cast down at the floor. Gutterbuhg pulled the leash hard, nearly strangling him, and screamed through a mouthful of food. “I want to see Jones!”
Scraggy translated for the guards.
***
Moss covered the stone walls of the dungeon beneath the palace. Indy guessed that it didn’t see a lot of use – this seemed like a peaceful civilization, and it had been empty before he and the others were tossed in here. Most of them sat in silence, waiting for who knew what. Of course Gutterbuhg was too much of a sadistic bastard to kill them outright. Clare consoled a tearful, despondent Tyki. Kezure chuckled to himself as if someone had shared a joke.
Clare stared at him. “This amuses you?”
The pirate king looked at her as if not really seeing her. “Oh, yes. I was just thinking. Believe it or not, I've never been in prison before.”
“Pity,” she said. “But do you feel at home now? Because it's where you belong.”
He shook his head as if he were the one filled with pity. “And I suppose you think I came out of the womb with gold teeth and a sword, ready to raise hell? I'm flattered.”
“Look,” Indy said, placing a hand on Clare's arm, “I'm not crazy about the guy either, but we're all in this together. Facing Nazis is not the time to be picky about your partners. So let's not antagonize him, huh?”
“I'm not antagonizing him, Dr. Jones.” She pulled her arm away. “Look at him, he's not embarrassed – he's gloating.”
“It's just funny how life turns out,” Kezure said, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms behind his head. “If events had unfolded differently, maybe I would be the respectable archaeologist, and the two of you would be the pirates.” He looked over at Betsy. “You would probably still be an obnoxious brat.”
“Hey!” she said. “I held my own against your men, didn't I?”
He laughed. “That you did. Good help is so hard to find these days.”
“So indulge us,” Indy said. “We've got time. How did you end up here?”
Kezure looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “Well, the funniest thing happened the other day. I attacked a river boat, expecting a typical raid, but they put up more resistance than expected. Their leader, a goofy-looking American in a silly hat –”
“Not here in prison,” Indy snapped. “Here as a pirate, with so many followers. You built this whole little empire in the jungle that nobody knows about and you've been thriving for who knows how long. Kind of like these people here, I guess, but we've got an explanation for that.”
“What's there to tell?” Kezure shurgged. “I came from China with my father several years ago when the Portuguese hired him to work as a carpenter. We sent money back to my mother, and when she saved up enough, she was to come join us.”
“But that didn't happen,” Indy guessed.
“Who's telling the story, you or me? Right, that didn't happen. In '99 there was an outbreak of plague in Mozambique. The Portuguese blamed the Indians. Since they apparently couldn't tell the difference between Indians and their own asses, they banned all Asians from immigrating. For eight years my mother was stuck over there. Then they relaxed the restriction but still charged a fee of three thousand reals for any Asian to disembark here.”
“They don't use reals anymore,” Clare said. “What's that amount in escudos?”
“Don't know, don't care. But it was steep. Too steep.”
“I guess that musta been pretty awful,” Betsy said almost to herself. “Bein' lumped in with everyone else just 'cause you were part of a certain group...”
“They treated us fine here,” Kezure said. “They just didn't pay us too well. So my father and I started stealing to cover the fee.”
“Ah,” Indy said.
“And then he stole from the wrong people and they killed him. Took justice into their own hands. So I killed them back, and then I ran away and became a river pirate and as you saw, business has boomed since then. Finding the cave was a real stroke of luck –” his eyes twinkled “– or destiny.”
“And did your mother ever make it over here?” Clare asked in a tone that suggested she already anticipated the answer.
“Nah. I lost contact, figured she must be dead and gave up.”
“I'm sure she would be proud of the man you've become,” she said, her voice rising. “Murdering people, stealing their things, tying women up and slobbering on their faces. You did it all for her, except then you didn't.”
“I just built up this image around myself, and stepped into it,” Kezure said, sounding almost wistful but not quite sad. “I couldn't be a successful pirate captain without doing things that some would consider objectionable. And then I turned out to enjoy the role a lot more than I expected. Who knew?”
“Almost,” Clare said, holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “You almost made me sympathize with you.”
Kezure let out a booming laugh. “Who asked you to sympathize with me? Ah, but you did trick me into showing my soft side. If you tell a soul about this, I'll cut out all your tongues.”
The wooden dungeon door opened and two guards entered. Indy and Kezure made eye contact and shared the same thought – they could take these guys, but then what? Better to wait and see, perhaps. The guards motioned for Indy to stand and dragged him out.
“Indy!” Betsy jumped up and tried to follow, but the guards slammed the door in her face. She peered through the small, barred window.
“I’ll be all right, kid,” he said, trying to sound convincing.
The guards led him upstairs and through a series of corridors into the ruler’s chamber. The first thing he noticed was Scraggy tied up with his whip. As he watched, Gutterbuhg, still stuffing his face, pulled tightly on it. “Your friend makes a wonderful interpreter,” he said.
Indy’s eyes burned as the Nazi gulped down a glass of wine, letting it spittle from the sides of his mouth.
Gutterbuhg swallowed and cleared his throat. “‘The Nazi Party will exist for one thousand years – and I wish to be alive for every year!’” He paused as if waiting for Indy to be impressed. “That is a favorite philosophy of our Fuhrer.”
“Your Fuhrer’s philosophies aren’t fit for a bathroom wall,” Indy said.
Gutterbuhg rose from his throne, stepped forward, and slapped him across the face. “This is a very serious matter, Dr. Jones. It could save your life.” He smiled. “I understand that somewhere in this city there is a Garden of... Immortal Peaches?”
Indy said nothing.
“I want information about this garden. And I would greatly appreciate it if you would share everything you know with me.”
“I don’t share anything with Nazis,” Indy said.
Gutterbuhg nodded. Without breaking eye contact, he reached back and grabbed an apple from a plate, then took a big juicy bite. “Very well,” he said with his mouth full. “My friends will be here soon. They will rest, enjoy the pleasures of my newfound kingdom...” He grabbed a pygmy woman, winced as he kissed her, and pushed her away. “Then we shall exterminate these worthless Ungeziefer! Destroy their pagan city! And carry away all of its riches... in pieces.”
He sat back down and went back to his food. Scraggy and Indy exchanged a worried glance.
“All right,” Indy said, “supposing I did know something about –”
Gutterbuhg waved him off. “Nein, nein, you had your chance, Dr. Jones. I can figure it out myself.” He addressed the guards. “Have this man executed. The more entertaining, the better.”
The guards looked at Scraggy. His eyes grew wide, but he remained silent.
Gutterbuhg pulled on the whip. “Well? Out with it, or I’ll break your filthy black neck!”
“Scraggy, you better cooperate,” Indy said, nervously looking from him to the Nazi. “It’ll be all right. You know me.” As long as he leaves Clare and the others out of it...
With a sorrowful, trembling voice, Scraggy cooperated.
***
Oberleutnant Werner von Mephisto rode in the front Jeep of the convoy as it traveled along the narrow mountain path. “How much farther?” he asked his driver.
“We should reach the top in less than sixty minutes,” the driver said.
Mephisto nodded. That was acceptable. They would rescue Gutterbuhg, if he was still alive, and then Mephisto would decide whether to kill him. A pity, after such an investment, that he’d turned out so useless.
***
The enormous stone arena in the city center resembled a Roman coliseum in size and structure. Countless large metal bells surrounded its top walls, and these were ringing as they had earlier in the day, but now they sounded eerie, threatening. The seats were filled with pygmies gathered for the special event, murmuring among themselves with as much confusion as excitement.
Gutterbuhg sat in the elaborate golden ruler’s box, flanked by guards and protected behind a golden grating that encompassed it on all sides, directly above the earthen playing field. Scraggy, still leashed, knelt at his feet. At the other end of the field, a large steel cage suspended Betsy, Clare, Tyki, Kezure, and the remaining pirates and crew members above a deep pit filled with tigers.
Such a barbaric spectacle, he thought, but he could indulge himself in a little barbarism now and again, couldn't he? These people had caused him enough trouble to earn it. They needed to be put in their place in a way that would send an unmistakable message. Not that anyone who witnessed the message would survive to remember it for long, but it was the principle of the thing. At least he would remember it.
Two guards led a shirtless Indiana Jones onto the field and over to another cage below Gutterbuhg’s box. This one held two enormous, restless, angry buffalo. As his friends helplessly watched from afar, they led him inside, between the buffalo, and tied one of his arms and legs to each of them.
A delighted Gutterbuhg peered down at Indy. “Dr. Jones,” he said, “those beasts are anxious to run wild. Free.” He spread his lips to show his teeth. “How long will you be able to ride... before they tear you in two?”
“Why,” Indy asked, “are we placing bets?”
Gutterbuhg declined to acknowledge his bravado. “Auf wiedersehen, Dr. Jones.” He turned to the guards, prepared to give them the order to open the cage.
Indy screamed, “Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!” Gutterbuhg bolted to his feet as his mechanical arm shot up in a salute. The fingers caught in the grating above his head. “Verdammt!” He struggled to remove them, to no avail. He gave one final tug, and the entire arm ripped from its socket.
A gasp echoed from the crowd.
Thinking fast, Scraggy jumped up and grabbed the arm, which he now had the leverage to remove from the grating. He held it above his head, and the crowd’s gasp morphed into a cheer.
Gutterbuhg took a step back. The sight of the black Ungeziefer holding the arm, his arm, sickened him on a visceral level. He felt naked without it, vulnerable in the midst of all these savages. And the looks in the guards' eyes as their hands rested on their spears dissuaded him from trying to snatch it back with his other arm. Scraggy ordered the other guards down below to free Indy, and they did, more eagerly than they’d tied him up.
No matter. Mephisto and the others would be here soon; he could wait until the odds were solidly in his favor. He fled the coliseum. Scraggy yelled and motioned after him, and several people leaped from their seats, chasing the Nazi. They chased him all the way to the city gates and went no further. Only their screams and shouts followed him into the mountains.
Indiana Jones rejoined his friends on the playing field, who had been freed from the cage. Scraggy handed him his whip. He nodded his appreciation, but he was worried. “Nazis’ll be here soon,” he said. “We gotta move fast.”
Scraggy handed Gutterbuhg’s arm to Tyki. The pygmy nodded. He raised it toward his people, who cheered their rightful ruler. Then he led them outside. They walked, at a more leisurely pace this time, to the edge of the city. Then with a mighty heave, he threw the arm over the wall, into the moat. They heard a flurry of motion as sharks tore it to pieces.
“Shame he wasn’t still attached,” Indy muttered.
Scraggy conferred with Tyki for a moment. Then Scraggy approached. “Indy, Tyki want you to lead his forces to defend the city. He see you tame rhino and defeat tank.”
Indy looked at Tyki. Open warfare wasn’t his preferred style, but he had gotten his share of experience with it in the great war. He certainly didn’t want to face an army like the one he’d seen approaching – but he couldn’t leave these guys to do it alone.
He nodded. “Tell him to gather his forces. Fast.”
***
The Nazi convoy had arrived at the section of path blocked by the avalanche and backed up a few hundred feet from it. Under Mephisto’s direction, the troops planted several sticks of dynamite with a long fuse. He struck a match.
“Oberleutnant, warten Sie bitte!”
He blew out the match as Gutterbuhg slid around the blockage and down the edge of the ravine, soaking wet, dressed in a red robe that was much too small, and missing his mechanical arm. The Wachtmeister approached and dripped water on his superior as he attempted a salute, his shoulder twitching in vain as if he hadn’t noticed his condition.
Mephisto was speechless for a moment, then he snarled. “Idiot! Why are you dressed like that? Where is your uniform?” Before Gutterbuhg could answer, Mephisto shoved him aside. “Another moment and I would have been rid of you for good.” He tried to light another match, but his matches were now soaked. He slapped Gutterbuhg across the face.
“Tut mir leid, Oberleutnant,” Gutterbuhg said. “The little savages –”
“There is a city?” Mephisto demanded.
“Jawohl, mein Herr. Solid gold. Inhabited by more of the little black Ungeziefer.”
“Then you may help us clear them out,” Mephisto said. He motioned toward a canvas truck. “I have one more spare for you, Wachtmeister. Put it to good use... or else.”
The sniveling Gutterbuhg nodded and bowed, scurrying away in the direction indicated. In the rear of the truck, sticking out among several crates of dynamite and supplies, he found a silver metallic briefcase. It had a lock, but it was not locked. With the wet fingers of his left hand, he opened it to reveal two rectangular compartments encased in black velvet. One was empty. The other housed another mechanical arm.
Attaching it with his remaining hand wasn’t the easiest thing, but since the mounting plate remained fused to his flesh, it didn’t require another surgery. It clicked into place and he tested out its mobility. Good as new.
He rejoined Mephisto on the mountain path, pointed his index finger at the fuse, and squeezed a lever located on his palm. He felt only a slight buzz, like the air before a storm, as a bright, jagged line of electrical current shot from the finger. The fuse burst into flame. He and Mephisto moved back and hid behind a rock.
With a loud ka-boom, rocks and debris flew.
***
The explosion echoed through the city and shook its walls.
Indiana Jones stood in the city square with everyone who had assembled for the battle. Tyki and the pygmies were armed with bows and arrows, spears and blow pipes. Kezure and the pirates held their swords. Scraggy’s men carried revolvers and daggers. Clare and Betsy stood with several gorillas. That was where Indy tried to draw the line.
“Clare, this is no place for a woman,” he said. “Betsy, this is no place for a kid. Both of you should find somewhere to hide and –”
“Tyki is my dear friend, Dr. Jones,” Clare said, unflinching. “I’ll die for him if it comes to that.”
“And I ain’t no kid,” Betsy said, equally unflinching. “Least you didn’t think so when you went to bed with me.”
Clare grimaced. “Yes. Well said.”
Indy was at a loss for words. Before he could even think of pressing the issue, Scraggy approached him again and said, “They want you to give speech.”
“What?” He looked around. Tyki and everyone else were looking at him with expectation.
“Before battle, General always give speech to inspire troops.”
“General?” Indy scoffed. “Who the hell do they think I am, Custer? I only ever made Corporal in the Belgian Army.”
But all eyes were on him and refused to look away. He sighed.
“Geez,” he mumbled to Scraggy. “The only speeches I remember off the top of my head are from college... when I played ball...”
Scraggy shrugged. Indy cleared his throat. He looked at everyone and stepped away from Betsy and Clare, toward the front of the crowd.
“Men,” he began, “and, ah, women... I... ah... We’re about to face one of our toughest opponents... They’ve got size... hardware... and, well, quite frankly, we’re the underdogs...”
His eyes lit up. Something began to rise in his heart.
“But, well, if it wasn’t for the little guy... where would this country be? Er, city.” His voice rose as he became more excited. “I mean, I knew this little guy once. A scrawny runt with about three hundred different kinds of allergies. But this little kid had a dream... He wanted to be on the football team.”
Scraggy stumbled a little as he translated. The pygmies had never heard of football. Yet they remained fixated on his every word. Even the gorillas looked impressed.
“Well, all the big guys made his life miserable. Always shoving his head in the drinking fountain, putting mustard in his pants, throwing me – er, him! Throwing him in the shower with all his clothes on.” Indy was practically shouting now. “But that little guy didn’t quit. He worked hard. Never gave up. And in two years, he was the quarterback. Star of the team. And you know why?”
In the home stretch now, he imagined an American flag waving behind him as a choir sang Battle Hymn of the Republic. Not the most appropriate imagery for this part of the world, but it resonated with him and gave him power.
“‘Cause that little guy had somethin’ that those big guys never heard of... He had heart! And nothin’ can stop that! Nothin’!”
Now they could hear motorized vehicles approaching the city walls. Their time was up.
Indy raised his sword. “Now let’s go out there and show ’em just how tough the little guys are!”
Everyone broke into a loud cheer. They swarmed after him as he ran toward the drawbridge, into battle.
Next: Chapter Twelve
He sat atop an elaborate golden throne while one pygmy after another brought him plates of food, delicious food such as he hadn't tasted in a lifetime. Several young black women stood clustered around as if waiting to cater to another sort of desire. As if! The notion almost made him throw up on the spot. He tried his best to ignore them as he gobbled down the food, drooling, slobbering, not caring what spectacle he made of himself.
Gutterbuhg licked the fingers of his good hand, swigged some wine that tasted as old as his dead predecessor, and belched. “It is good to be the king,” he announced to the room. The pygmies didn’t understand him, but they all nodded, eager to please.
Ah, but of course, he had business to attend to, and he shouldn’t put it off too much longer. At least the business would also be pleasurable.
Scraggy knelt at his feet, one end of Dr. Jones' whip tied around his neck and the other around the foot of the throne. The old man’s eyes remained cast down at the floor. Gutterbuhg pulled the leash hard, nearly strangling him, and screamed through a mouthful of food. “I want to see Jones!”
Scraggy translated for the guards.
***
Moss covered the stone walls of the dungeon beneath the palace. Indy guessed that it didn’t see a lot of use – this seemed like a peaceful civilization, and it had been empty before he and the others were tossed in here. Most of them sat in silence, waiting for who knew what. Of course Gutterbuhg was too much of a sadistic bastard to kill them outright. Clare consoled a tearful, despondent Tyki. Kezure chuckled to himself as if someone had shared a joke.
Clare stared at him. “This amuses you?”
The pirate king looked at her as if not really seeing her. “Oh, yes. I was just thinking. Believe it or not, I've never been in prison before.”
“Pity,” she said. “But do you feel at home now? Because it's where you belong.”
He shook his head as if he were the one filled with pity. “And I suppose you think I came out of the womb with gold teeth and a sword, ready to raise hell? I'm flattered.”
“Look,” Indy said, placing a hand on Clare's arm, “I'm not crazy about the guy either, but we're all in this together. Facing Nazis is not the time to be picky about your partners. So let's not antagonize him, huh?”
“I'm not antagonizing him, Dr. Jones.” She pulled her arm away. “Look at him, he's not embarrassed – he's gloating.”
“It's just funny how life turns out,” Kezure said, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms behind his head. “If events had unfolded differently, maybe I would be the respectable archaeologist, and the two of you would be the pirates.” He looked over at Betsy. “You would probably still be an obnoxious brat.”
“Hey!” she said. “I held my own against your men, didn't I?”
He laughed. “That you did. Good help is so hard to find these days.”
“So indulge us,” Indy said. “We've got time. How did you end up here?”
Kezure looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “Well, the funniest thing happened the other day. I attacked a river boat, expecting a typical raid, but they put up more resistance than expected. Their leader, a goofy-looking American in a silly hat –”
“Not here in prison,” Indy snapped. “Here as a pirate, with so many followers. You built this whole little empire in the jungle that nobody knows about and you've been thriving for who knows how long. Kind of like these people here, I guess, but we've got an explanation for that.”
“What's there to tell?” Kezure shurgged. “I came from China with my father several years ago when the Portuguese hired him to work as a carpenter. We sent money back to my mother, and when she saved up enough, she was to come join us.”
“But that didn't happen,” Indy guessed.
“Who's telling the story, you or me? Right, that didn't happen. In '99 there was an outbreak of plague in Mozambique. The Portuguese blamed the Indians. Since they apparently couldn't tell the difference between Indians and their own asses, they banned all Asians from immigrating. For eight years my mother was stuck over there. Then they relaxed the restriction but still charged a fee of three thousand reals for any Asian to disembark here.”
“They don't use reals anymore,” Clare said. “What's that amount in escudos?”
“Don't know, don't care. But it was steep. Too steep.”
“I guess that musta been pretty awful,” Betsy said almost to herself. “Bein' lumped in with everyone else just 'cause you were part of a certain group...”
“They treated us fine here,” Kezure said. “They just didn't pay us too well. So my father and I started stealing to cover the fee.”
“Ah,” Indy said.
“And then he stole from the wrong people and they killed him. Took justice into their own hands. So I killed them back, and then I ran away and became a river pirate and as you saw, business has boomed since then. Finding the cave was a real stroke of luck –” his eyes twinkled “– or destiny.”
“And did your mother ever make it over here?” Clare asked in a tone that suggested she already anticipated the answer.
“Nah. I lost contact, figured she must be dead and gave up.”
“I'm sure she would be proud of the man you've become,” she said, her voice rising. “Murdering people, stealing their things, tying women up and slobbering on their faces. You did it all for her, except then you didn't.”
“I just built up this image around myself, and stepped into it,” Kezure said, sounding almost wistful but not quite sad. “I couldn't be a successful pirate captain without doing things that some would consider objectionable. And then I turned out to enjoy the role a lot more than I expected. Who knew?”
“Almost,” Clare said, holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “You almost made me sympathize with you.”
Kezure let out a booming laugh. “Who asked you to sympathize with me? Ah, but you did trick me into showing my soft side. If you tell a soul about this, I'll cut out all your tongues.”
The wooden dungeon door opened and two guards entered. Indy and Kezure made eye contact and shared the same thought – they could take these guys, but then what? Better to wait and see, perhaps. The guards motioned for Indy to stand and dragged him out.
“Indy!” Betsy jumped up and tried to follow, but the guards slammed the door in her face. She peered through the small, barred window.
“I’ll be all right, kid,” he said, trying to sound convincing.
The guards led him upstairs and through a series of corridors into the ruler’s chamber. The first thing he noticed was Scraggy tied up with his whip. As he watched, Gutterbuhg, still stuffing his face, pulled tightly on it. “Your friend makes a wonderful interpreter,” he said.
Indy’s eyes burned as the Nazi gulped down a glass of wine, letting it spittle from the sides of his mouth.
Gutterbuhg swallowed and cleared his throat. “‘The Nazi Party will exist for one thousand years – and I wish to be alive for every year!’” He paused as if waiting for Indy to be impressed. “That is a favorite philosophy of our Fuhrer.”
“Your Fuhrer’s philosophies aren’t fit for a bathroom wall,” Indy said.
Gutterbuhg rose from his throne, stepped forward, and slapped him across the face. “This is a very serious matter, Dr. Jones. It could save your life.” He smiled. “I understand that somewhere in this city there is a Garden of... Immortal Peaches?”
Indy said nothing.
“I want information about this garden. And I would greatly appreciate it if you would share everything you know with me.”
“I don’t share anything with Nazis,” Indy said.
Gutterbuhg nodded. Without breaking eye contact, he reached back and grabbed an apple from a plate, then took a big juicy bite. “Very well,” he said with his mouth full. “My friends will be here soon. They will rest, enjoy the pleasures of my newfound kingdom...” He grabbed a pygmy woman, winced as he kissed her, and pushed her away. “Then we shall exterminate these worthless Ungeziefer! Destroy their pagan city! And carry away all of its riches... in pieces.”
He sat back down and went back to his food. Scraggy and Indy exchanged a worried glance.
“All right,” Indy said, “supposing I did know something about –”
Gutterbuhg waved him off. “Nein, nein, you had your chance, Dr. Jones. I can figure it out myself.” He addressed the guards. “Have this man executed. The more entertaining, the better.”
The guards looked at Scraggy. His eyes grew wide, but he remained silent.
Gutterbuhg pulled on the whip. “Well? Out with it, or I’ll break your filthy black neck!”
“Scraggy, you better cooperate,” Indy said, nervously looking from him to the Nazi. “It’ll be all right. You know me.” As long as he leaves Clare and the others out of it...
With a sorrowful, trembling voice, Scraggy cooperated.
***
Oberleutnant Werner von Mephisto rode in the front Jeep of the convoy as it traveled along the narrow mountain path. “How much farther?” he asked his driver.
“We should reach the top in less than sixty minutes,” the driver said.
Mephisto nodded. That was acceptable. They would rescue Gutterbuhg, if he was still alive, and then Mephisto would decide whether to kill him. A pity, after such an investment, that he’d turned out so useless.
***
The enormous stone arena in the city center resembled a Roman coliseum in size and structure. Countless large metal bells surrounded its top walls, and these were ringing as they had earlier in the day, but now they sounded eerie, threatening. The seats were filled with pygmies gathered for the special event, murmuring among themselves with as much confusion as excitement.
Gutterbuhg sat in the elaborate golden ruler’s box, flanked by guards and protected behind a golden grating that encompassed it on all sides, directly above the earthen playing field. Scraggy, still leashed, knelt at his feet. At the other end of the field, a large steel cage suspended Betsy, Clare, Tyki, Kezure, and the remaining pirates and crew members above a deep pit filled with tigers.
Such a barbaric spectacle, he thought, but he could indulge himself in a little barbarism now and again, couldn't he? These people had caused him enough trouble to earn it. They needed to be put in their place in a way that would send an unmistakable message. Not that anyone who witnessed the message would survive to remember it for long, but it was the principle of the thing. At least he would remember it.
Two guards led a shirtless Indiana Jones onto the field and over to another cage below Gutterbuhg’s box. This one held two enormous, restless, angry buffalo. As his friends helplessly watched from afar, they led him inside, between the buffalo, and tied one of his arms and legs to each of them.
A delighted Gutterbuhg peered down at Indy. “Dr. Jones,” he said, “those beasts are anxious to run wild. Free.” He spread his lips to show his teeth. “How long will you be able to ride... before they tear you in two?”
“Why,” Indy asked, “are we placing bets?”
Gutterbuhg declined to acknowledge his bravado. “Auf wiedersehen, Dr. Jones.” He turned to the guards, prepared to give them the order to open the cage.
Indy screamed, “Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!” Gutterbuhg bolted to his feet as his mechanical arm shot up in a salute. The fingers caught in the grating above his head. “Verdammt!” He struggled to remove them, to no avail. He gave one final tug, and the entire arm ripped from its socket.
A gasp echoed from the crowd.
Thinking fast, Scraggy jumped up and grabbed the arm, which he now had the leverage to remove from the grating. He held it above his head, and the crowd’s gasp morphed into a cheer.
Gutterbuhg took a step back. The sight of the black Ungeziefer holding the arm, his arm, sickened him on a visceral level. He felt naked without it, vulnerable in the midst of all these savages. And the looks in the guards' eyes as their hands rested on their spears dissuaded him from trying to snatch it back with his other arm. Scraggy ordered the other guards down below to free Indy, and they did, more eagerly than they’d tied him up.
No matter. Mephisto and the others would be here soon; he could wait until the odds were solidly in his favor. He fled the coliseum. Scraggy yelled and motioned after him, and several people leaped from their seats, chasing the Nazi. They chased him all the way to the city gates and went no further. Only their screams and shouts followed him into the mountains.
Indiana Jones rejoined his friends on the playing field, who had been freed from the cage. Scraggy handed him his whip. He nodded his appreciation, but he was worried. “Nazis’ll be here soon,” he said. “We gotta move fast.”
Scraggy handed Gutterbuhg’s arm to Tyki. The pygmy nodded. He raised it toward his people, who cheered their rightful ruler. Then he led them outside. They walked, at a more leisurely pace this time, to the edge of the city. Then with a mighty heave, he threw the arm over the wall, into the moat. They heard a flurry of motion as sharks tore it to pieces.
“Shame he wasn’t still attached,” Indy muttered.
Scraggy conferred with Tyki for a moment. Then Scraggy approached. “Indy, Tyki want you to lead his forces to defend the city. He see you tame rhino and defeat tank.”
Indy looked at Tyki. Open warfare wasn’t his preferred style, but he had gotten his share of experience with it in the great war. He certainly didn’t want to face an army like the one he’d seen approaching – but he couldn’t leave these guys to do it alone.
He nodded. “Tell him to gather his forces. Fast.”
***
The Nazi convoy had arrived at the section of path blocked by the avalanche and backed up a few hundred feet from it. Under Mephisto’s direction, the troops planted several sticks of dynamite with a long fuse. He struck a match.
“Oberleutnant, warten Sie bitte!”
He blew out the match as Gutterbuhg slid around the blockage and down the edge of the ravine, soaking wet, dressed in a red robe that was much too small, and missing his mechanical arm. The Wachtmeister approached and dripped water on his superior as he attempted a salute, his shoulder twitching in vain as if he hadn’t noticed his condition.
Mephisto was speechless for a moment, then he snarled. “Idiot! Why are you dressed like that? Where is your uniform?” Before Gutterbuhg could answer, Mephisto shoved him aside. “Another moment and I would have been rid of you for good.” He tried to light another match, but his matches were now soaked. He slapped Gutterbuhg across the face.
“Tut mir leid, Oberleutnant,” Gutterbuhg said. “The little savages –”
“There is a city?” Mephisto demanded.
“Jawohl, mein Herr. Solid gold. Inhabited by more of the little black Ungeziefer.”
“Then you may help us clear them out,” Mephisto said. He motioned toward a canvas truck. “I have one more spare for you, Wachtmeister. Put it to good use... or else.”
The sniveling Gutterbuhg nodded and bowed, scurrying away in the direction indicated. In the rear of the truck, sticking out among several crates of dynamite and supplies, he found a silver metallic briefcase. It had a lock, but it was not locked. With the wet fingers of his left hand, he opened it to reveal two rectangular compartments encased in black velvet. One was empty. The other housed another mechanical arm.
Attaching it with his remaining hand wasn’t the easiest thing, but since the mounting plate remained fused to his flesh, it didn’t require another surgery. It clicked into place and he tested out its mobility. Good as new.
He rejoined Mephisto on the mountain path, pointed his index finger at the fuse, and squeezed a lever located on his palm. He felt only a slight buzz, like the air before a storm, as a bright, jagged line of electrical current shot from the finger. The fuse burst into flame. He and Mephisto moved back and hid behind a rock.
With a loud ka-boom, rocks and debris flew.
***
The explosion echoed through the city and shook its walls.
Indiana Jones stood in the city square with everyone who had assembled for the battle. Tyki and the pygmies were armed with bows and arrows, spears and blow pipes. Kezure and the pirates held their swords. Scraggy’s men carried revolvers and daggers. Clare and Betsy stood with several gorillas. That was where Indy tried to draw the line.
“Clare, this is no place for a woman,” he said. “Betsy, this is no place for a kid. Both of you should find somewhere to hide and –”
“Tyki is my dear friend, Dr. Jones,” Clare said, unflinching. “I’ll die for him if it comes to that.”
“And I ain’t no kid,” Betsy said, equally unflinching. “Least you didn’t think so when you went to bed with me.”
Clare grimaced. “Yes. Well said.”
Indy was at a loss for words. Before he could even think of pressing the issue, Scraggy approached him again and said, “They want you to give speech.”
“What?” He looked around. Tyki and everyone else were looking at him with expectation.
“Before battle, General always give speech to inspire troops.”
“General?” Indy scoffed. “Who the hell do they think I am, Custer? I only ever made Corporal in the Belgian Army.”
But all eyes were on him and refused to look away. He sighed.
“Geez,” he mumbled to Scraggy. “The only speeches I remember off the top of my head are from college... when I played ball...”
Scraggy shrugged. Indy cleared his throat. He looked at everyone and stepped away from Betsy and Clare, toward the front of the crowd.
“Men,” he began, “and, ah, women... I... ah... We’re about to face one of our toughest opponents... They’ve got size... hardware... and, well, quite frankly, we’re the underdogs...”
His eyes lit up. Something began to rise in his heart.
“But, well, if it wasn’t for the little guy... where would this country be? Er, city.” His voice rose as he became more excited. “I mean, I knew this little guy once. A scrawny runt with about three hundred different kinds of allergies. But this little kid had a dream... He wanted to be on the football team.”
Scraggy stumbled a little as he translated. The pygmies had never heard of football. Yet they remained fixated on his every word. Even the gorillas looked impressed.
“Well, all the big guys made his life miserable. Always shoving his head in the drinking fountain, putting mustard in his pants, throwing me – er, him! Throwing him in the shower with all his clothes on.” Indy was practically shouting now. “But that little guy didn’t quit. He worked hard. Never gave up. And in two years, he was the quarterback. Star of the team. And you know why?”
In the home stretch now, he imagined an American flag waving behind him as a choir sang Battle Hymn of the Republic. Not the most appropriate imagery for this part of the world, but it resonated with him and gave him power.
“‘Cause that little guy had somethin’ that those big guys never heard of... He had heart! And nothin’ can stop that! Nothin’!”
Now they could hear motorized vehicles approaching the city walls. Their time was up.
Indy raised his sword. “Now let’s go out there and show ’em just how tough the little guys are!”
Everyone broke into a loud cheer. They swarmed after him as he ran toward the drawbridge, into battle.
Next: Chapter Twelve