Main Page: Indiana Jones and the Monkey King
Previous: Chapter Six
Previous: Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Dawn came much too soon, and neither the beauty of the sunlight on the water nor the cheerful singing of the birds lifted Indy's mood. He couldn't stay in bed for long, though, as he would need to take charge of the expedition and make the day's assignments. He rolled out of bed with a groan, wrapped a shirt around his waist, grabbed his razor, and stumbled out onto the deck.
It took him a few moments to notice Clare already sitting at the rear of the boat, absorbed in her journal, looking as prim and proper as if she'd been up for hours. He tried to hide how startled he was, but she didn't even look up. For a moment he considered sneaking away to shave somewhere else – but what the hell, he'd have to face her eventually. “Morning,” he mumbled.
“Astute observation, Dr. Jones,” she said, still not looking up.
At least she's not giving me the silent treatment. Maybe I can make like nothing ever happened? Like it was just a dream? Trying to sound disinterested, he asked, “What's that you're writing?”
“The Erotic Adventures of Indiana Jones, Professor of Perversity.”
He turned back to shaving with a scowl. Maybe not. “Very funny,” he said. “You should quit this gig and go into show business.”
“I'm open to suggestions on the title,” she said. “I rather like the alliteration, though.”
“Look, Clare, Betsy, she – she came into my cabin, see –”
Clare slammed her notebook shut, stood up, and moved over to him so quickly he nearly stumbled over board. “And she threw herself at you, Dr. Jones,” she said, her face so close he could smell her minty breath. Like every woman from here to the Gulf of Mexico throws herself at you. Oh, it thrills you like nothing else, doesn't it?”
Indy took a step back. “It's not my fault,” he said. He didn't know what else to say.
“Of course not, you poor man,” Clare said, looking his bare abdomen up and down. It had picked up its share of scars, but he tried to keep it in good shape – he'd be dead otherwise. “Who can blame you for having such an effect on them? Especially a young thing like Betsy... how could she possibly hope to defend against it, at her age? Really, it's hard to say who's the victim in all this.”
Indy felt he knew exactly who was the victim in all this. He threw his razor to the deck in frustration, not caring that half his face remained covered in stubble. “Clare, you've seen her. You've heard her talk. Don't you get it? She's crazy. She –”
“Crazy about you, Dr. Jones,” Clare said in a singsong voice that didn't match her face at all. She swayed suggestively from side to side as she spoke, the stopped and pointed a finger between his eyes, so close he felt as if she could push him into the water with one little poke. Her voice grew soft, but serious again. “I'll be perfectly honest with you, Dr. Jones. You are a handsome man. Charming, even. And when we met, for the first few moments, I fell for it too.”
Fat lot of good that does me now. “Yeah?” he said, trying not to go cross-eyed.
“Yeah,” she said, derisively emphasizing the American terminology. “I'm as human as the next woman. But I thank providence that I discovered, and soon the world will discover, what you really are.”
“Yeah?” Indy felt his temper slipping from him. Betsy was bad enough on her own, but he'd had about all he could take from this woman too, and he was tempted to grab her wrist and push it out of his face. He put his hands on his hips and let his voice rise a little in contrast to hers. “So tell me, professor, since you're so smart, what exactly did you discover? What am I really?”
A trace of a smile came to her lips for the first time in this conversation. “You'll have to buy the book,” she said as she lowered her arm, backed away, sat back down and returned to her writing.
***
Even had Indy been more awake and less distracted, he wouldn't have noticed that this morning the Zambezi river held something more dangerous than crocodiles, something even more adept at blending into this environment, with a rather more human motivation. He wouldn't have noticed, even when their hands, dozens of them, one by one, broke the waterline. Wouldn't have noticed the figures creeping silently up the side of the boat.
The tired man at the wheel didn't notice either, not until one of them had an arm around his neck. His throat was slit before he could scream.
Scraggy noticed, witnessing this scene through an open porthole, for a moment too shocked to scream himself.
Betsy, meanwhile, was having a very good morning as she replayed the previous night's events over and over in her head. True, they hadn't gone as far as she would have liked, and Indy was still playing hard to get, but it was a step in the right direction. She hummed to herself as she stood over a large skillet, frying pancakes that the entire crew would surely regard as an improvement over the canned meat. The first few were about ready. Taking the spatula in hand – she'd made sure to wash it a few times before putting it to use – she placed the first one on the plate beside her.
When she turned to place another pancake on the plate, the first one was gone. She blinked. A moment of deja vu? No matter. She replaced it.
When that one was gone too, she frowned. Was she losing her mind?
And then she heard the giggling behind her.
She spun around to see an Oriental pirate towering above her, colorful tattered clothes draped over his tall muscular frame. Pancake crumbs dribbled from his bloated mouth as his giggle transitioned into full-fledged laughter at the sight of her startled face.
She was at first startled almost as much by his ethnicity, neither white nor black, as by his presence in the first place. Then she remembered what Indy had told her, that there were at least a few hundred Chinese in Mozambique, beginning sixty years ago or so when the Portuguese started recruiting them to work here as carpenters and various unskilled laborers. This one had obviously chosen what he felt would be a more profitable vocation.
Betsy took a step back, but the stove blocked her escape. He removed a dagger from his belt and raised it up in a fist the size of her head. He hadn't said a word, and she probably wouldn't have understood him anyway, but the lechery gleaming in his eyes needed no translation.
Betsy reached behind her, grabbed the skillet, and threw the hot oil in his face. He lurched back with a scream, dropping the knife to claw at his eyes. Skillet still in hand, she rushed from the kitchen.
***
Indy had nearly finished shaving, but his more complicated task in winning over Clare still loomed large. “Look,” he said as she continued to write, ignoring him, “even if there were something between me and Betsy – which there isn't – you're blowin' it all out of proportion.”
As he leaned down to rinse his face in the bucket of water, a dagger flew over his head and embedded itself in the wall. Clare looked up from her notebook and her mouth fell open.
Indy raised his head and wiped at his face. “It's not as if I have this sleazy reputation to anyone else,” he said.
“Dr. Jones –” Clare began, pointing at the dagger.
Indy leaned down into the water bucket again, the second dagger missing him by inches. He straightened up again. “I am a respected, honored, admired –”
Clare leaped forward and shoved him against the boat's railing.
Not having expected his pleas to actually change her attitude toward him so quickly, and not noticing the third dagger that had just missed him and embedded itself alongside the other two, Indy was at a momentary loss for words. But as he made eye contact with Clare, she looked to the right, and he followed her gaze to the trio of dirty, toothless pirates, swords extended, closing in. His eyes darted down to the water bucket table where he had left his whip and pistol, now just out of reach. Well, he had fought swordsmen with his bare fists before...
A loud scream split the morning air. The pirates froze, then looked up as Scraggy swung down from a rope and knocked them to the deck. With surprising agility for one his age, he sprang to his feet, grabbed two of the swords and tossed one to Indy.
Indy liked these odds better already. “Get out of here!” he yelled to Clare, pushing her behind him.
Obliging, she dashed around the corner, face-first into what felt like the chest of a grizzly bear and smelled like a corpse. She stumbled back to see the obvious pirate king looming over her, a mountain of a man decorated with several layers of tattered but colorful clothing, golden jewelry, and animal skins. His stringy, greasy hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and a thick, long mustache wrapped around his mouthful of crooked golden teeth. And he made Scraggy smell like a bed of roses.
Clare shrieked and tried to run the opposite way, but he picked her up by waist and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
***
As the boat degenerated into an all-out brawl between Oriental and black pirates, Betsy overcame her initial shock and fared better than the older woman. Lacking the experience of Dr. Jones, she nonetheless had street smarts and knew a thing or two about handling trouble – when she was sober, anyway. She clubbed one pirate over the head with her skillet, then traded it for his sword. Another pirate closed in with a nervous glance at his mate sprawled on the deck. “C'mon,” Betsy said, raising an eyebrow at him, “you ain't so tough. You wouldn't last ten minutes in Brooklyn.”
The pirate lunged and engaged her in a heated swordfight.
***
The pirates weren't the most competent or cohesive swordsmen Indy had ever dealt with; he guessed that they were used to overwhelming their prey with intimidation and sheer numbers, but they did have that going for them. As he fought back-to-back with Scraggy, he tried to maneuver closer to his whip and gun, knowing the latter in particular would disperse them quickly.
A shadow fell over the crowded deck as Clare's scream rang out over the clanging of metal. Without missing a beat, Scraggy said, “You go, Indy. I hold them off.”
Indy stabbed a pirate in the stomach as he swiveled to look at the pirate ship now looming beside the little river boat. Ancient, worn, laden down with countless pirates wielding guns, bows, and cannons, it hardly looked capable of staying afloat. But it did. As he watched, one of its crew tossed a grapnel rope across the divide to the leader of the pirates, who swung over with a screaming Clare slung over his shoulder.
Indy pushed his way through the crowd toward them, but no sooner had the pirate king made his escape then the pirate ship opened fire, apparently heedless of its other crew members who hadn't made it back. The river boat rocked from a direct hit. He lost his balance for a moment, but it hardly mattered since he'd been planning to dive overboard anyway. I was hoping not to take another swim so soon. Ah, well.
He kept his head under the water as it churned around him with sprays of bullets, arrows and cannonballs. He didn't know if anyone was shooting at him specifically but he wasn't about to pop up and check. At least the projectiles kept the crocodiles at a respectful distance.
***
Scraggy couldn't escape the effects of age forever, and as he began to tire, his opponent knocked the sword from his hand. The pirate grinned as he raised his own sword to plunge into Scraggy's heart – then a look of bewilderment passed over his face as a dark red blade tip burst from his own chest. A moment passed. The blade slid back inside and he slumped sideways onto the deck. Behind him, Betsy stood looking almost bored.
Scraggy nodded at her as he caught his breath. “You not so useless after all,” he said.
“You're welcome,” Betsy said, but she smiled. They both looked around. The marauders were dispersing, trying to make it back to their own ship as this one shook under sustained cannon fire. Indy had emerged from the river and was climbing up the side of the enemy vessel. An arrow hit him in the arm, but he managed to dive into a nearby cannon compartment.
On the pirate ship's deck, Clare stood tied to a mast pole, the drooling pirate king standing in front of her as his leering men looked on. He planted a sloppy kiss on her lips. She looked seasick.
***
Indy pulled the arrow out of his arm with a wince, but he didn't have time to worry about the pain or the bleeding just yet. The gunner jumped him and they began to struggle directly in front of the cannon's open barrel. The fuse was already lit for another shot and burning quickly, but the other man was too massive and wouldn't let him get clear. In fact, the pirate noticed a moment after he did, and decided to shove his head right into the opening.
Idiot, Indy thought. His own face would probably do little to cushion his captor against the blast. But more to his immediate concern, it wouldn't be much of a face afterward. Indiana Jones was not a vain man, not most of the time anyway, but he liked his face just as it was now. Even the little scar on his chin added character. He did have one last maneuver to try – not the most sporting maneuver, but he'd tried it for lesser reasons, and this case surely more than justified it. He pushed up behind him with one of his legs and caught the pirate between his.
The pirate yelped, loosened his grip and fell forward as Indy took advantage of the distraction to fall to the floor. A wall of noise and air rushed over his head, drowning out all sound and leaving him dazed for a few good moments after. He finally stumbled to his feet, ears ringing, shirt stained with blood, but alive, and swayed like a drunkard as he rushed for the wooden staircase on the opposite wall.
Having lowered her blouse a bit, the pirate king was now kissing the bare shoulder of the struggling, helpless Clare as Indy emerged from the cannon compartment. “You son of a bitch!” he yelled.
The pirate king turned, not looking the least bit alarmed. Clare looked happy to see him for a change, but under the circumstances that brought him no joy. The pirate king emitted a gravelly laugh and scratched his neck, studying the brash American archaeologist whose fame hadn't penetrated quite this far into the wilderness. The men surrounding him itched for a fight, but seemed to understand that this was something personal.
Indy extended his sword. The pirate king removed his own sword, this one golden, and stepped forward as his men stepped aside.
“After you,” Indy said with a mock curtsy.
The pirate king lunged, and a heated duel ensued. It didn't take long to see that he hadn't risen through the ranks by his good looks; he was easily worth fifteen of his men in skill. Indy found himself always on the defensive, always moving back. For a moment he burst into a cold sweat as he flashed back to fighting the suit of armor in Baron Seagrove's castle. Focus, Jones, he told himself, or this party's gonna be over real quick. But the image wouldn't go away.
***
One of the last remaining pirates had taken over the crippled river boat's wheel and steered it off the regular path, toward the base of a large, thrashing waterfall. Alongside it, the pirate ship followed the same route, its own pilot perhaps distracted by the excitement on board. Scraggy and Betsy looked at the waterfall, then at each other, panic in their eyes. “I'll take him,” Betsy said. Scraggy nodded.
They dashed to the steering wheel. Betsy engaged the pirate in combat and Scraggy took control of the boat, attempting to maneuver it back on course.
***
Desperate to gain a tactical advantage, Indy had backpedaled away from his opponent and climbed the pirate ship's mast. The pirate king clambered up right after him, though he didn't look like he should be able to move that fast and it didn't look like it should hold up under his weight. Indy reached the top, held on tight with his free arm and called down, “It's over, Blackbeard! I have the high ground!”
Unimpressed, the pirate jumped the remaining few feet, forcing Indy to lose his grip with a curse and grab onto one of the tangled ropes for dear life. As he swung through the air, their swords clashing, he noticed both vessels were heading for the base of the waterfall. Huh? Why would this one – unless – “Scraggy!” he yelled over the cannon fire. “No, keep goin' straight! Full steam ahead!”
Scraggy looked up and screamed back to him. “What? You crazy, Indy? We be crushed! We smash into rock wall!”
Indy couldn't keep his attention on Scraggy, as the fight demanded all of it, but he kept yelling. “No, trust me! Full steam ahead! Full steam ahead!” He severed the rope he was holding and tried to swing out of the pirate's range, but he was no Errol Flynn, after all. The rope carried him right back into the amused giant's grasp.
Scraggy chanted a prayer under his breath, then did as he was told. Revving the engine, clutching the wheel. Full steam ahead. Behind him, Betsy continued to swordfight despite their intervention here now being somewhat superfluous.
The river boat and the pirate ship penetrated the waterfall alongside each other, met simultaneously with an exploding shower of water that tossed people about both decks like rag dolls. Indy and the pirate king paused their duel and clung tightly to the sails. The river boat, aged and considerably damaged in the attack, got the worst of it, tossing and tilting and nearly splitting in half as its boards creaked and moaned. Scraggy gritted his teeth and held tight to the wheel. Betsy somersaulted across the deck behind him, flailing for anything to keep her from going overboard, and settling on the arm of a dead pirate wedged into the railing.
When everything settled a moment later, Indy could see that his inference had paid off.
They were all inside an enormous underground cavern, lit with a devilish glow by hundreds of burning torches. The grey rocks of the walls stretched upward almost out of sight, peppered with countless tiny caves. Around the shore, various stone artifacts and ancient utensils lay scattered – Indy felt his heart race at the sight, but now was hardly the time to worry about them – and several other pirates stood at attention, awaiting their king's return. Damn, how many men does this guy have? This must be half of Mozambique's Chinese population right here.
Just like the forty thieves' hideout, he thought as he looked around, except you don't even have to ask nicely to get in.
The battered river boat came to a rough stop, screeching along a far wall, where it would no doubt slowly sink. A more immediate concern, however, was the pirate ship that sailed to a smoother stop in the middle of the cavern, and the pirates who rushed to surround the smaller vessel with guns, knives and swords. They took Betsy, Scraggy, and the remaining crew members captive with little fuss.
As if Indy was now beneath his notice, the pirate king leaped to the deck below with a thud and untied Clare. Indy climbed back down the mast more cautiously, still dazed, and paused to procure a few items from a crate on the now mostly deserted pirate ship deck. The king began to lead Clare off the ship, his sword at her throat. A small rowboat was already coming to meet him with Betsy and Scraggy aboard. “Ah,” the pirate king said, preparing to climb over and join them, “so this little girl and old man gave you too much trouble, did they? We'll see about that.”
Indy called out, “Wait!”
The pirate king stopped and turned around, looking bored and annoyed that this little pest continued to hassle him. Indy approached, stepping less than ten feet from them, attempting to burn a hole through the large man with his eyes.
“Free the girl,” he said. He glanced across the cavern at the river boat. “And my friends,” he added, holding up a stick of dynamite in one hand and lighting a match with the other, “or I blow your hideout here out of the water!” Well, Betsy wasn't really what he would consider a friend, but he'd feel a little bad leaving her here. Even she didn't deserve that. Probably.
But the pirate just laughed, a sound like rocks grinding together.
I don't have time for this. Indy lit the fuse without further discussion. The pirate stopped laughing, and looked worried for a moment. Then he broke into a wide, defiant smile.
“Good,” he said in English. “We will all die.”
Indy hadn't expected this turn of events, and though he tried not to show it, he felt a knot in his stomach. Betsy, Scraggy and Clare trembled a little as they stared at him. The pirate king held perfectly still. No, this won't do at all. Before he could think, Indy blurted out, “We can take you to the Lost City of Sun Wu-Kung!”
The pirate king didn't even blink. “Ha! Better men than you have tried to find the Lost City. They have all failed.” He shook his head with a low chuckle. “You are a fool.”
Damn right I am, Indy thought, but he'd need to keep up the bravado if any of them were to have a prayer of getting out of here alive. He let his mouth run as his brain raced to keep up; a bad habit, some told him, but one that had worked plenty of times before. “No, you're the fool,” he said. “You and your buddies are hiding out in Sun Wu-Kung's Water Curtain Cave, and you don't even know it.”
Now the pirate king's smugness faltered for the first time. “Huh?” He looked around. Scraggy and Betsy exchanged a shocked glance. Clare gaped at Indy.
“The Water Curtain Cave,” Indy repeated. He'd said it and now he had to commit to it for better or worse. “Sun Wu-Kung's dojo. He was the bravest monkey, the one who rushed through the waterfall to see what was behind it, and he found the cave. We thought it was in China –”
“But it's been here, in Africa, all this time,” Clare cut in, either confirming his hunch or playing along with his bluff. “This was a sacred space of training and resting, prepared by someone ahead of time, I suppose. There was a bridge when he found it, with a stone tablet that said 'HAPPY LAND OF THE MOUNTAIN OF FLOWERS AND FRUIT, CAVE HEAVEN OF THE WATER CURTAIN'. But who –”
“There's nothing of the sort here now,” the pirate snapped. “Just what we've brought in. Do you have anything more compelling than old legends?”
“Yes, an old scroll. The Sacred Pai-Cho Scroll,” Indy said, and nearly had a heart attack as he reached for his pocket with his free hand, then remembered for the second time that it hadn't been on his person when he submerged. “Uh, show him, Clare.”
Clare took out the ancient document without argument, and the pirate king snatched it away.
Indy interrupted his attempts to read it. “Don't bother. Only we can translate it.” Scraggy gave him a hopeful glance that he didn't dare return.
The pirate king squinted at the writing anyway, mumbling to himself. “The Lost City... said to have streets paved in gold... treasures far greater than any mortal man could imagine...”
He pushed Clare away, toward Indy, who blew out the dynamite fuse and tried not to think about how many seconds it had left. Clare embraced him, breathing hard, too flustered to even come up with a snarky remark.
“Your pathetic lives will be spared, for now,” the pirate king said. He scratched his neck. “But everything we find in the Lost City... belongs to me.”
“Fat chance, Sinbad,” Indy said, feeling bo now with this gorgeous woman in his arms. “It's fifty-fifty. Or you've got no deal.”
The pirate king gave him a vicious smile and glanced down to his golden sword. “It is one hundred-zero. Or you've got no head.”
On second thought, Indy decided, that's an offer I can't refuse.
***
That damn guitarist was at it again, but at least he played a cheerier tune this time. A group of drunk pirates, arm in arm, swayed to the rhythm as they belted out some incomprehensible lyrics that didn't fit at all. Indy was tempted to tell the lot of them to shut the hell up, but he didn't want to jeopardize his standing as a guest here. And there was no more time for idle conversation anyway. Kezure didn't strike him as the most patient guy in the world.
Indy, seated around a blazing fire with Scraggy, Kezure, and several more clear-headed pirates, squinted through his spectacles at the scroll. Now that the existence of the Water Curtain Cave had been confirmed, probably, he was seeing it in a whole new light and far more open to whatever it had to say. An idea nagged at him. He looked at Scraggy. “Read that last proverb again.”
Scraggy cleared his throat and recited, “High tide drowns curiosity, low tide quenches thirst.”
Indy stood, stretched, and looked around the cavern. Metaphorical drowning, metaphorical thirst – yet plenty of very real water greeted his eyes. “There's something here,” he said. “Something that could help us.”
“What?” Kezure interrupted.
Lost in thought, Indy risked the pirate king's displeasure by ignoring his question, and then even more so by stepping away from the fire.
***
Elsewhere in the cave, Clare looked over the various artifacts and utensils, a job unrelated to their immediate goal but worth doing as long as they were here anyway. It was a job Indy would have much preferred to translation duty. Betsy assisted her instead, and Clare had to admit the girl did seem to know what she was doing after all. Dr. Jones had taught her well.
They worked as studiously as they could with the eyes of at least a dozen leering, hungry eyed pirates on them. Clare might have worried about what they would attempt, but the pirates kept a distance as if held at bay by a magical barrier. For all their lust they also seemed to hold the foreign women on a pedestal, like they were something divine, unearthly, untouchable. Or maybe they just feared what their boss would do to them if they damaged his prize.
Betsy glanced over her shoulder. “Look at 'em,” she said with mock disgust. “It's like they've never seen a woman before.”
Clare shrugged, a slight smile playing across her lips. “Maybe they haven't.”
“Not up close, anyway, with that stench.”
Clare almost laughed out loud. “Until we came along, and took the time to look past that to their charming personalities.”
“Kinda flattering, isn't it?” Betsy said, leaning against the wall as she contemplated an urn. “Being the girl of two hundred guys' dreams?”
They both chuckled.
Clare glanced over her shoulder to see if they were getting any reaction, but unlike their boss, these men seemed to speak little or no English. “Dr. Jones will fit right in with them,” Clare said, turning back to inspect a small dolphin figurine. “Or maybe he'll just be jealous. Do you think they'll make him even more jealous than Dashiell?”
“Huh?” Distracted from her work, Betsy stared right at her. “Jealous? Dashiell?”
“You didn't notice? Oh, of course you didn't. You were too busy getting drunk and rubbing his leg.” The words came out sounding harsher than she'd intended, and she tried to soften them. “It was so obvious, it would have been cute if he weren't so bloody aggravating. Dr. Jones has been all over me since we met, you know. You might want to reconsider your taste in men. He might say the right things to win you over, but he's always on the lookout for the next conquest, and he can't stand to let anyone else have her, no matter how many he's already had for himself.”
“You just met him,” Betsy said, looking hurt. “It's not like that.”
“So I keep hearing.” Clare set the figurine aside and made a futile pretense at looking for something else now that she was getting worked up. “I know you think what you have is special, my dear, but he's using you. I admit I thought at first you deserved each other, but –”
“It's not like that!” Betsy snapped, tears coming to her eyes. “Give him a break already. He just saved your sorry ass, didn't he?”
“That he did.” Clare wasn't ungrateful, but neither was she inclined to let Betsy see how shaken she'd been. “I would have done the same for him, if Kezure were... that way inclined. I'm stuck with him for the time being.”
“He's a real good guy, honest. An' he's taught me everything I know.”
“In the classroom, maybe. But I hear his field methods leave a bit to be desired.” Clare wanted to change the subject as much as Betsy, but she had to have the last word. She picked up the dolphin again and pretended to notice something she'd missed before. “It's all smash and grab with him,” she said, lowering her voice. “With archaeology, and with women's hearts.”
***
Indy and Scraggy strolled through the cavern, a suspicious Kezure close behind. The fact that he hadn't killed them for insolence demonstrated that his curiosity was getting the better of him, and that he still needed them. Indy was still working through what this place's existence might imply for the whole Sun Wu-Kung mythos, but the more immediate concern was how to move on to the next step. He could worry about history when his and his friends' future was secure.
Indy came to a stop and turned back to the pirate king. “Is there an area, a place where the tide changes?”
The pirate grunted, nodded, and led them into a dark corner of the cavern where the water narrowed to only a few feet wide. A large, smooth wall filled with an intricate pattern of cracks stretched up to the ceiling, while water could be heard trickling in or out of some unseen opening. Kezure pointed to the sound. “In a few hours,” he said, “the water will be lower. Much lower.”
“And the remainder of this wall will be visible?”
Kezure nodded.
Indy snapped his fingers; his hunch had been correct, he was sure of it now. “We're gonna need light,” he told the pirate king. “A lot of light. On this wall.”
Kezure nodded again. If he was excited, he didn't show it.
When he wasn't looking, Indy exchanged an anxious, hopeful glance with Scraggy. He had to be right or they were both in trouble.
***
Snoring pirates lay scattered, limbs akimbo, all over the ground. Only Indy and Kezure remained awake at this hour, sitting across from each other, close enough to reach out and stab each other in the throat, the smoldering embers of the campfire between them. Scraggy, Betsy and Clare slept on the ground beside them.
Kezure poured two glasses of whiskey from a stone bottle and handed one over. Indy didn't feel like accepting it, but he decided it wasn't worth upsetting his gracious host. Kezure raised his own glass. “To my good fortune.” He downed it in one gulp.
With a grimace, Indy drank his own, more slowly. It tasted sweet but burned his throat all the way down.
Kezure laughed as he poured two more glasses. “You know,” he said, almost to himself, “we are very much alike, Dr. Jones.”
Indy thought back to a bar in Cairo last year where a villain with far more tact and charm had said almost the same thing, and in a French accent, no less. It was bullshit then and it was bullshit now. “I doubt that,” he said.
“We both share a remarkable talent for killing,” Kezure insisted. “The way you dispatched my men? Outstanding. You didn't learn that overnight.”
Indy refused to make eye contact. “I've never gotten used to killing, pal. I do it for survival.”
“I do it for pleasure,” Kezure said. “And yet we both benefit further.” He gestured around at his spoils. “Lucrative, isn't it? How many treasures have you recovered?”
To avoid answering, Indy swallowed his second glass of whiskey. I liked this guy better when we were trying to kill each other.
Kezure laughed again, the laugh of a man who knows he holds all the cards, and drank his second glass as well. “Of course, I'm talking about more than one kind of treasure. How long have you known – Dr. Clarke, was it?”
Indy jumped to his feet. “About time to check on the tide, eh?”
“Yes, all right,” Kezure said, standing. His amused smirk at Indy's awkwardness soon vanished. “This had better impress me, Dr. Jones. I'm in such suspense.” He grabbed two nearby torches and handed one to Indy.
The tide was very low, and with the entire wall now visible as they thrust their torches toward the dark corner, the cracks had taken on a less random shape. The lower part of the wall had clearly undergone centuries of erosion but the cracks ran deep enough to remain just as legible as if they had been carved yesterday. They were lines of a map, with a group of arrows leading to an “X” at the bottom corner. Indy couldn't believe his hunch had paid off even better than expected; in his experience, X never marked the spot. Yet here it was.
“This is incredible,” he said, looking it up and down. “This map was obviously used by Sun Wu-Kung's disciples. If they were ever lost...” He frowned and looked at the pirate king. “You live here, and you've never noticed this before?”
Kezure grunted. “I'm usually asleep around now. I have a busy life.” He reached out as if to run his hand over the wall, but the water held him at bay. “These drawings, they are of the surrounding jungle.”
Indy pointed to the X. “Where is that?”
“It is located at the most southeastern part of the jungle, near the mountains. There is a village there. The Mongooboo tribe.”
Indy had never heard of them, but then there were so many small, isolated tribes in Africa that keeping track of them all would be a full-time career. “You know them?”
“Very well. I traded with the chief for many years. In the long term it's been more lucrative to let them all live.”
Tyki's people? “Are they pygmies?”
“No, a bit on the tall side, actually.”
Oh well. “As long as they're friendly,” Indy said. “We'll leave in the morning.”
Now Kezure burst into a full-fledged toothy smile, though it was far from charming. “Maybe you're right, Dr. Jones,” he said. “Maybe I am a fool. But it's almost as if Sun Wu-Kung led me to this place, and then led you here to guide me, isn't it? I am Chinese, after all. The Lost City is my birthright as much as anyone's. It's like destiny.”
“If you believe in that sort of thing,” Indy muttered. “You'll still have to fight for it.”
“Naturally. I look forward to a rematch, Dr. Jones.”
Indy hesitated, then figured as long as they were forced to take this bastard with them they should let him know what he was getting into, so he could at least make himself useful for a while. “I'm not your biggest problem,” he said. “There will be another interested party showin' up, sooner or later. One that makes your boys here look like the Red Cross. They've got one of our friends hostage and they want this monkey's stuff real bad.”
“Good. Today has only increased my thirst for blood.” Kezure patted the hilt of his sword, then Indy's shoulder as he strode past. “I'm going to bed, or to ground as it were. Sweet dreams, Dr. Jones. We'll be up bright and early.”
“Swell,” Indy muttered.
As they passed by, neither of them noticed one of Scraggy's crew members lurking in a cave a few feet away, wide awake and well hidden in the shadows. Neither of them heard him whispering in German, into a small radio microphone adorned with a red swastika.
And neither of them heard the whispered response, also in German: “Well, of course he knows we're following. What difference does that make?”
Next: Chapter Eight
It took him a few moments to notice Clare already sitting at the rear of the boat, absorbed in her journal, looking as prim and proper as if she'd been up for hours. He tried to hide how startled he was, but she didn't even look up. For a moment he considered sneaking away to shave somewhere else – but what the hell, he'd have to face her eventually. “Morning,” he mumbled.
“Astute observation, Dr. Jones,” she said, still not looking up.
At least she's not giving me the silent treatment. Maybe I can make like nothing ever happened? Like it was just a dream? Trying to sound disinterested, he asked, “What's that you're writing?”
“The Erotic Adventures of Indiana Jones, Professor of Perversity.”
He turned back to shaving with a scowl. Maybe not. “Very funny,” he said. “You should quit this gig and go into show business.”
“I'm open to suggestions on the title,” she said. “I rather like the alliteration, though.”
“Look, Clare, Betsy, she – she came into my cabin, see –”
Clare slammed her notebook shut, stood up, and moved over to him so quickly he nearly stumbled over board. “And she threw herself at you, Dr. Jones,” she said, her face so close he could smell her minty breath. Like every woman from here to the Gulf of Mexico throws herself at you. Oh, it thrills you like nothing else, doesn't it?”
Indy took a step back. “It's not my fault,” he said. He didn't know what else to say.
“Of course not, you poor man,” Clare said, looking his bare abdomen up and down. It had picked up its share of scars, but he tried to keep it in good shape – he'd be dead otherwise. “Who can blame you for having such an effect on them? Especially a young thing like Betsy... how could she possibly hope to defend against it, at her age? Really, it's hard to say who's the victim in all this.”
Indy felt he knew exactly who was the victim in all this. He threw his razor to the deck in frustration, not caring that half his face remained covered in stubble. “Clare, you've seen her. You've heard her talk. Don't you get it? She's crazy. She –”
“Crazy about you, Dr. Jones,” Clare said in a singsong voice that didn't match her face at all. She swayed suggestively from side to side as she spoke, the stopped and pointed a finger between his eyes, so close he felt as if she could push him into the water with one little poke. Her voice grew soft, but serious again. “I'll be perfectly honest with you, Dr. Jones. You are a handsome man. Charming, even. And when we met, for the first few moments, I fell for it too.”
Fat lot of good that does me now. “Yeah?” he said, trying not to go cross-eyed.
“Yeah,” she said, derisively emphasizing the American terminology. “I'm as human as the next woman. But I thank providence that I discovered, and soon the world will discover, what you really are.”
“Yeah?” Indy felt his temper slipping from him. Betsy was bad enough on her own, but he'd had about all he could take from this woman too, and he was tempted to grab her wrist and push it out of his face. He put his hands on his hips and let his voice rise a little in contrast to hers. “So tell me, professor, since you're so smart, what exactly did you discover? What am I really?”
A trace of a smile came to her lips for the first time in this conversation. “You'll have to buy the book,” she said as she lowered her arm, backed away, sat back down and returned to her writing.
***
Even had Indy been more awake and less distracted, he wouldn't have noticed that this morning the Zambezi river held something more dangerous than crocodiles, something even more adept at blending into this environment, with a rather more human motivation. He wouldn't have noticed, even when their hands, dozens of them, one by one, broke the waterline. Wouldn't have noticed the figures creeping silently up the side of the boat.
The tired man at the wheel didn't notice either, not until one of them had an arm around his neck. His throat was slit before he could scream.
Scraggy noticed, witnessing this scene through an open porthole, for a moment too shocked to scream himself.
Betsy, meanwhile, was having a very good morning as she replayed the previous night's events over and over in her head. True, they hadn't gone as far as she would have liked, and Indy was still playing hard to get, but it was a step in the right direction. She hummed to herself as she stood over a large skillet, frying pancakes that the entire crew would surely regard as an improvement over the canned meat. The first few were about ready. Taking the spatula in hand – she'd made sure to wash it a few times before putting it to use – she placed the first one on the plate beside her.
When she turned to place another pancake on the plate, the first one was gone. She blinked. A moment of deja vu? No matter. She replaced it.
When that one was gone too, she frowned. Was she losing her mind?
And then she heard the giggling behind her.
She spun around to see an Oriental pirate towering above her, colorful tattered clothes draped over his tall muscular frame. Pancake crumbs dribbled from his bloated mouth as his giggle transitioned into full-fledged laughter at the sight of her startled face.
She was at first startled almost as much by his ethnicity, neither white nor black, as by his presence in the first place. Then she remembered what Indy had told her, that there were at least a few hundred Chinese in Mozambique, beginning sixty years ago or so when the Portuguese started recruiting them to work here as carpenters and various unskilled laborers. This one had obviously chosen what he felt would be a more profitable vocation.
Betsy took a step back, but the stove blocked her escape. He removed a dagger from his belt and raised it up in a fist the size of her head. He hadn't said a word, and she probably wouldn't have understood him anyway, but the lechery gleaming in his eyes needed no translation.
Betsy reached behind her, grabbed the skillet, and threw the hot oil in his face. He lurched back with a scream, dropping the knife to claw at his eyes. Skillet still in hand, she rushed from the kitchen.
***
Indy had nearly finished shaving, but his more complicated task in winning over Clare still loomed large. “Look,” he said as she continued to write, ignoring him, “even if there were something between me and Betsy – which there isn't – you're blowin' it all out of proportion.”
As he leaned down to rinse his face in the bucket of water, a dagger flew over his head and embedded itself in the wall. Clare looked up from her notebook and her mouth fell open.
Indy raised his head and wiped at his face. “It's not as if I have this sleazy reputation to anyone else,” he said.
“Dr. Jones –” Clare began, pointing at the dagger.
Indy leaned down into the water bucket again, the second dagger missing him by inches. He straightened up again. “I am a respected, honored, admired –”
Clare leaped forward and shoved him against the boat's railing.
Not having expected his pleas to actually change her attitude toward him so quickly, and not noticing the third dagger that had just missed him and embedded itself alongside the other two, Indy was at a momentary loss for words. But as he made eye contact with Clare, she looked to the right, and he followed her gaze to the trio of dirty, toothless pirates, swords extended, closing in. His eyes darted down to the water bucket table where he had left his whip and pistol, now just out of reach. Well, he had fought swordsmen with his bare fists before...
A loud scream split the morning air. The pirates froze, then looked up as Scraggy swung down from a rope and knocked them to the deck. With surprising agility for one his age, he sprang to his feet, grabbed two of the swords and tossed one to Indy.
Indy liked these odds better already. “Get out of here!” he yelled to Clare, pushing her behind him.
Obliging, she dashed around the corner, face-first into what felt like the chest of a grizzly bear and smelled like a corpse. She stumbled back to see the obvious pirate king looming over her, a mountain of a man decorated with several layers of tattered but colorful clothing, golden jewelry, and animal skins. His stringy, greasy hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and a thick, long mustache wrapped around his mouthful of crooked golden teeth. And he made Scraggy smell like a bed of roses.
Clare shrieked and tried to run the opposite way, but he picked her up by waist and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
***
As the boat degenerated into an all-out brawl between Oriental and black pirates, Betsy overcame her initial shock and fared better than the older woman. Lacking the experience of Dr. Jones, she nonetheless had street smarts and knew a thing or two about handling trouble – when she was sober, anyway. She clubbed one pirate over the head with her skillet, then traded it for his sword. Another pirate closed in with a nervous glance at his mate sprawled on the deck. “C'mon,” Betsy said, raising an eyebrow at him, “you ain't so tough. You wouldn't last ten minutes in Brooklyn.”
The pirate lunged and engaged her in a heated swordfight.
***
The pirates weren't the most competent or cohesive swordsmen Indy had ever dealt with; he guessed that they were used to overwhelming their prey with intimidation and sheer numbers, but they did have that going for them. As he fought back-to-back with Scraggy, he tried to maneuver closer to his whip and gun, knowing the latter in particular would disperse them quickly.
A shadow fell over the crowded deck as Clare's scream rang out over the clanging of metal. Without missing a beat, Scraggy said, “You go, Indy. I hold them off.”
Indy stabbed a pirate in the stomach as he swiveled to look at the pirate ship now looming beside the little river boat. Ancient, worn, laden down with countless pirates wielding guns, bows, and cannons, it hardly looked capable of staying afloat. But it did. As he watched, one of its crew tossed a grapnel rope across the divide to the leader of the pirates, who swung over with a screaming Clare slung over his shoulder.
Indy pushed his way through the crowd toward them, but no sooner had the pirate king made his escape then the pirate ship opened fire, apparently heedless of its other crew members who hadn't made it back. The river boat rocked from a direct hit. He lost his balance for a moment, but it hardly mattered since he'd been planning to dive overboard anyway. I was hoping not to take another swim so soon. Ah, well.
He kept his head under the water as it churned around him with sprays of bullets, arrows and cannonballs. He didn't know if anyone was shooting at him specifically but he wasn't about to pop up and check. At least the projectiles kept the crocodiles at a respectful distance.
***
Scraggy couldn't escape the effects of age forever, and as he began to tire, his opponent knocked the sword from his hand. The pirate grinned as he raised his own sword to plunge into Scraggy's heart – then a look of bewilderment passed over his face as a dark red blade tip burst from his own chest. A moment passed. The blade slid back inside and he slumped sideways onto the deck. Behind him, Betsy stood looking almost bored.
Scraggy nodded at her as he caught his breath. “You not so useless after all,” he said.
“You're welcome,” Betsy said, but she smiled. They both looked around. The marauders were dispersing, trying to make it back to their own ship as this one shook under sustained cannon fire. Indy had emerged from the river and was climbing up the side of the enemy vessel. An arrow hit him in the arm, but he managed to dive into a nearby cannon compartment.
On the pirate ship's deck, Clare stood tied to a mast pole, the drooling pirate king standing in front of her as his leering men looked on. He planted a sloppy kiss on her lips. She looked seasick.
***
Indy pulled the arrow out of his arm with a wince, but he didn't have time to worry about the pain or the bleeding just yet. The gunner jumped him and they began to struggle directly in front of the cannon's open barrel. The fuse was already lit for another shot and burning quickly, but the other man was too massive and wouldn't let him get clear. In fact, the pirate noticed a moment after he did, and decided to shove his head right into the opening.
Idiot, Indy thought. His own face would probably do little to cushion his captor against the blast. But more to his immediate concern, it wouldn't be much of a face afterward. Indiana Jones was not a vain man, not most of the time anyway, but he liked his face just as it was now. Even the little scar on his chin added character. He did have one last maneuver to try – not the most sporting maneuver, but he'd tried it for lesser reasons, and this case surely more than justified it. He pushed up behind him with one of his legs and caught the pirate between his.
The pirate yelped, loosened his grip and fell forward as Indy took advantage of the distraction to fall to the floor. A wall of noise and air rushed over his head, drowning out all sound and leaving him dazed for a few good moments after. He finally stumbled to his feet, ears ringing, shirt stained with blood, but alive, and swayed like a drunkard as he rushed for the wooden staircase on the opposite wall.
Having lowered her blouse a bit, the pirate king was now kissing the bare shoulder of the struggling, helpless Clare as Indy emerged from the cannon compartment. “You son of a bitch!” he yelled.
The pirate king turned, not looking the least bit alarmed. Clare looked happy to see him for a change, but under the circumstances that brought him no joy. The pirate king emitted a gravelly laugh and scratched his neck, studying the brash American archaeologist whose fame hadn't penetrated quite this far into the wilderness. The men surrounding him itched for a fight, but seemed to understand that this was something personal.
Indy extended his sword. The pirate king removed his own sword, this one golden, and stepped forward as his men stepped aside.
“After you,” Indy said with a mock curtsy.
The pirate king lunged, and a heated duel ensued. It didn't take long to see that he hadn't risen through the ranks by his good looks; he was easily worth fifteen of his men in skill. Indy found himself always on the defensive, always moving back. For a moment he burst into a cold sweat as he flashed back to fighting the suit of armor in Baron Seagrove's castle. Focus, Jones, he told himself, or this party's gonna be over real quick. But the image wouldn't go away.
***
One of the last remaining pirates had taken over the crippled river boat's wheel and steered it off the regular path, toward the base of a large, thrashing waterfall. Alongside it, the pirate ship followed the same route, its own pilot perhaps distracted by the excitement on board. Scraggy and Betsy looked at the waterfall, then at each other, panic in their eyes. “I'll take him,” Betsy said. Scraggy nodded.
They dashed to the steering wheel. Betsy engaged the pirate in combat and Scraggy took control of the boat, attempting to maneuver it back on course.
***
Desperate to gain a tactical advantage, Indy had backpedaled away from his opponent and climbed the pirate ship's mast. The pirate king clambered up right after him, though he didn't look like he should be able to move that fast and it didn't look like it should hold up under his weight. Indy reached the top, held on tight with his free arm and called down, “It's over, Blackbeard! I have the high ground!”
Unimpressed, the pirate jumped the remaining few feet, forcing Indy to lose his grip with a curse and grab onto one of the tangled ropes for dear life. As he swung through the air, their swords clashing, he noticed both vessels were heading for the base of the waterfall. Huh? Why would this one – unless – “Scraggy!” he yelled over the cannon fire. “No, keep goin' straight! Full steam ahead!”
Scraggy looked up and screamed back to him. “What? You crazy, Indy? We be crushed! We smash into rock wall!”
Indy couldn't keep his attention on Scraggy, as the fight demanded all of it, but he kept yelling. “No, trust me! Full steam ahead! Full steam ahead!” He severed the rope he was holding and tried to swing out of the pirate's range, but he was no Errol Flynn, after all. The rope carried him right back into the amused giant's grasp.
Scraggy chanted a prayer under his breath, then did as he was told. Revving the engine, clutching the wheel. Full steam ahead. Behind him, Betsy continued to swordfight despite their intervention here now being somewhat superfluous.
The river boat and the pirate ship penetrated the waterfall alongside each other, met simultaneously with an exploding shower of water that tossed people about both decks like rag dolls. Indy and the pirate king paused their duel and clung tightly to the sails. The river boat, aged and considerably damaged in the attack, got the worst of it, tossing and tilting and nearly splitting in half as its boards creaked and moaned. Scraggy gritted his teeth and held tight to the wheel. Betsy somersaulted across the deck behind him, flailing for anything to keep her from going overboard, and settling on the arm of a dead pirate wedged into the railing.
When everything settled a moment later, Indy could see that his inference had paid off.
They were all inside an enormous underground cavern, lit with a devilish glow by hundreds of burning torches. The grey rocks of the walls stretched upward almost out of sight, peppered with countless tiny caves. Around the shore, various stone artifacts and ancient utensils lay scattered – Indy felt his heart race at the sight, but now was hardly the time to worry about them – and several other pirates stood at attention, awaiting their king's return. Damn, how many men does this guy have? This must be half of Mozambique's Chinese population right here.
Just like the forty thieves' hideout, he thought as he looked around, except you don't even have to ask nicely to get in.
The battered river boat came to a rough stop, screeching along a far wall, where it would no doubt slowly sink. A more immediate concern, however, was the pirate ship that sailed to a smoother stop in the middle of the cavern, and the pirates who rushed to surround the smaller vessel with guns, knives and swords. They took Betsy, Scraggy, and the remaining crew members captive with little fuss.
As if Indy was now beneath his notice, the pirate king leaped to the deck below with a thud and untied Clare. Indy climbed back down the mast more cautiously, still dazed, and paused to procure a few items from a crate on the now mostly deserted pirate ship deck. The king began to lead Clare off the ship, his sword at her throat. A small rowboat was already coming to meet him with Betsy and Scraggy aboard. “Ah,” the pirate king said, preparing to climb over and join them, “so this little girl and old man gave you too much trouble, did they? We'll see about that.”
Indy called out, “Wait!”
The pirate king stopped and turned around, looking bored and annoyed that this little pest continued to hassle him. Indy approached, stepping less than ten feet from them, attempting to burn a hole through the large man with his eyes.
“Free the girl,” he said. He glanced across the cavern at the river boat. “And my friends,” he added, holding up a stick of dynamite in one hand and lighting a match with the other, “or I blow your hideout here out of the water!” Well, Betsy wasn't really what he would consider a friend, but he'd feel a little bad leaving her here. Even she didn't deserve that. Probably.
But the pirate just laughed, a sound like rocks grinding together.
I don't have time for this. Indy lit the fuse without further discussion. The pirate stopped laughing, and looked worried for a moment. Then he broke into a wide, defiant smile.
“Good,” he said in English. “We will all die.”
Indy hadn't expected this turn of events, and though he tried not to show it, he felt a knot in his stomach. Betsy, Scraggy and Clare trembled a little as they stared at him. The pirate king held perfectly still. No, this won't do at all. Before he could think, Indy blurted out, “We can take you to the Lost City of Sun Wu-Kung!”
The pirate king didn't even blink. “Ha! Better men than you have tried to find the Lost City. They have all failed.” He shook his head with a low chuckle. “You are a fool.”
Damn right I am, Indy thought, but he'd need to keep up the bravado if any of them were to have a prayer of getting out of here alive. He let his mouth run as his brain raced to keep up; a bad habit, some told him, but one that had worked plenty of times before. “No, you're the fool,” he said. “You and your buddies are hiding out in Sun Wu-Kung's Water Curtain Cave, and you don't even know it.”
Now the pirate king's smugness faltered for the first time. “Huh?” He looked around. Scraggy and Betsy exchanged a shocked glance. Clare gaped at Indy.
“The Water Curtain Cave,” Indy repeated. He'd said it and now he had to commit to it for better or worse. “Sun Wu-Kung's dojo. He was the bravest monkey, the one who rushed through the waterfall to see what was behind it, and he found the cave. We thought it was in China –”
“But it's been here, in Africa, all this time,” Clare cut in, either confirming his hunch or playing along with his bluff. “This was a sacred space of training and resting, prepared by someone ahead of time, I suppose. There was a bridge when he found it, with a stone tablet that said 'HAPPY LAND OF THE MOUNTAIN OF FLOWERS AND FRUIT, CAVE HEAVEN OF THE WATER CURTAIN'. But who –”
“There's nothing of the sort here now,” the pirate snapped. “Just what we've brought in. Do you have anything more compelling than old legends?”
“Yes, an old scroll. The Sacred Pai-Cho Scroll,” Indy said, and nearly had a heart attack as he reached for his pocket with his free hand, then remembered for the second time that it hadn't been on his person when he submerged. “Uh, show him, Clare.”
Clare took out the ancient document without argument, and the pirate king snatched it away.
Indy interrupted his attempts to read it. “Don't bother. Only we can translate it.” Scraggy gave him a hopeful glance that he didn't dare return.
The pirate king squinted at the writing anyway, mumbling to himself. “The Lost City... said to have streets paved in gold... treasures far greater than any mortal man could imagine...”
He pushed Clare away, toward Indy, who blew out the dynamite fuse and tried not to think about how many seconds it had left. Clare embraced him, breathing hard, too flustered to even come up with a snarky remark.
“Your pathetic lives will be spared, for now,” the pirate king said. He scratched his neck. “But everything we find in the Lost City... belongs to me.”
“Fat chance, Sinbad,” Indy said, feeling bo now with this gorgeous woman in his arms. “It's fifty-fifty. Or you've got no deal.”
The pirate king gave him a vicious smile and glanced down to his golden sword. “It is one hundred-zero. Or you've got no head.”
On second thought, Indy decided, that's an offer I can't refuse.
***
That damn guitarist was at it again, but at least he played a cheerier tune this time. A group of drunk pirates, arm in arm, swayed to the rhythm as they belted out some incomprehensible lyrics that didn't fit at all. Indy was tempted to tell the lot of them to shut the hell up, but he didn't want to jeopardize his standing as a guest here. And there was no more time for idle conversation anyway. Kezure didn't strike him as the most patient guy in the world.
Indy, seated around a blazing fire with Scraggy, Kezure, and several more clear-headed pirates, squinted through his spectacles at the scroll. Now that the existence of the Water Curtain Cave had been confirmed, probably, he was seeing it in a whole new light and far more open to whatever it had to say. An idea nagged at him. He looked at Scraggy. “Read that last proverb again.”
Scraggy cleared his throat and recited, “High tide drowns curiosity, low tide quenches thirst.”
Indy stood, stretched, and looked around the cavern. Metaphorical drowning, metaphorical thirst – yet plenty of very real water greeted his eyes. “There's something here,” he said. “Something that could help us.”
“What?” Kezure interrupted.
Lost in thought, Indy risked the pirate king's displeasure by ignoring his question, and then even more so by stepping away from the fire.
***
Elsewhere in the cave, Clare looked over the various artifacts and utensils, a job unrelated to their immediate goal but worth doing as long as they were here anyway. It was a job Indy would have much preferred to translation duty. Betsy assisted her instead, and Clare had to admit the girl did seem to know what she was doing after all. Dr. Jones had taught her well.
They worked as studiously as they could with the eyes of at least a dozen leering, hungry eyed pirates on them. Clare might have worried about what they would attempt, but the pirates kept a distance as if held at bay by a magical barrier. For all their lust they also seemed to hold the foreign women on a pedestal, like they were something divine, unearthly, untouchable. Or maybe they just feared what their boss would do to them if they damaged his prize.
Betsy glanced over her shoulder. “Look at 'em,” she said with mock disgust. “It's like they've never seen a woman before.”
Clare shrugged, a slight smile playing across her lips. “Maybe they haven't.”
“Not up close, anyway, with that stench.”
Clare almost laughed out loud. “Until we came along, and took the time to look past that to their charming personalities.”
“Kinda flattering, isn't it?” Betsy said, leaning against the wall as she contemplated an urn. “Being the girl of two hundred guys' dreams?”
They both chuckled.
Clare glanced over her shoulder to see if they were getting any reaction, but unlike their boss, these men seemed to speak little or no English. “Dr. Jones will fit right in with them,” Clare said, turning back to inspect a small dolphin figurine. “Or maybe he'll just be jealous. Do you think they'll make him even more jealous than Dashiell?”
“Huh?” Distracted from her work, Betsy stared right at her. “Jealous? Dashiell?”
“You didn't notice? Oh, of course you didn't. You were too busy getting drunk and rubbing his leg.” The words came out sounding harsher than she'd intended, and she tried to soften them. “It was so obvious, it would have been cute if he weren't so bloody aggravating. Dr. Jones has been all over me since we met, you know. You might want to reconsider your taste in men. He might say the right things to win you over, but he's always on the lookout for the next conquest, and he can't stand to let anyone else have her, no matter how many he's already had for himself.”
“You just met him,” Betsy said, looking hurt. “It's not like that.”
“So I keep hearing.” Clare set the figurine aside and made a futile pretense at looking for something else now that she was getting worked up. “I know you think what you have is special, my dear, but he's using you. I admit I thought at first you deserved each other, but –”
“It's not like that!” Betsy snapped, tears coming to her eyes. “Give him a break already. He just saved your sorry ass, didn't he?”
“That he did.” Clare wasn't ungrateful, but neither was she inclined to let Betsy see how shaken she'd been. “I would have done the same for him, if Kezure were... that way inclined. I'm stuck with him for the time being.”
“He's a real good guy, honest. An' he's taught me everything I know.”
“In the classroom, maybe. But I hear his field methods leave a bit to be desired.” Clare wanted to change the subject as much as Betsy, but she had to have the last word. She picked up the dolphin again and pretended to notice something she'd missed before. “It's all smash and grab with him,” she said, lowering her voice. “With archaeology, and with women's hearts.”
***
Indy and Scraggy strolled through the cavern, a suspicious Kezure close behind. The fact that he hadn't killed them for insolence demonstrated that his curiosity was getting the better of him, and that he still needed them. Indy was still working through what this place's existence might imply for the whole Sun Wu-Kung mythos, but the more immediate concern was how to move on to the next step. He could worry about history when his and his friends' future was secure.
Indy came to a stop and turned back to the pirate king. “Is there an area, a place where the tide changes?”
The pirate grunted, nodded, and led them into a dark corner of the cavern where the water narrowed to only a few feet wide. A large, smooth wall filled with an intricate pattern of cracks stretched up to the ceiling, while water could be heard trickling in or out of some unseen opening. Kezure pointed to the sound. “In a few hours,” he said, “the water will be lower. Much lower.”
“And the remainder of this wall will be visible?”
Kezure nodded.
Indy snapped his fingers; his hunch had been correct, he was sure of it now. “We're gonna need light,” he told the pirate king. “A lot of light. On this wall.”
Kezure nodded again. If he was excited, he didn't show it.
When he wasn't looking, Indy exchanged an anxious, hopeful glance with Scraggy. He had to be right or they were both in trouble.
***
Snoring pirates lay scattered, limbs akimbo, all over the ground. Only Indy and Kezure remained awake at this hour, sitting across from each other, close enough to reach out and stab each other in the throat, the smoldering embers of the campfire between them. Scraggy, Betsy and Clare slept on the ground beside them.
Kezure poured two glasses of whiskey from a stone bottle and handed one over. Indy didn't feel like accepting it, but he decided it wasn't worth upsetting his gracious host. Kezure raised his own glass. “To my good fortune.” He downed it in one gulp.
With a grimace, Indy drank his own, more slowly. It tasted sweet but burned his throat all the way down.
Kezure laughed as he poured two more glasses. “You know,” he said, almost to himself, “we are very much alike, Dr. Jones.”
Indy thought back to a bar in Cairo last year where a villain with far more tact and charm had said almost the same thing, and in a French accent, no less. It was bullshit then and it was bullshit now. “I doubt that,” he said.
“We both share a remarkable talent for killing,” Kezure insisted. “The way you dispatched my men? Outstanding. You didn't learn that overnight.”
Indy refused to make eye contact. “I've never gotten used to killing, pal. I do it for survival.”
“I do it for pleasure,” Kezure said. “And yet we both benefit further.” He gestured around at his spoils. “Lucrative, isn't it? How many treasures have you recovered?”
To avoid answering, Indy swallowed his second glass of whiskey. I liked this guy better when we were trying to kill each other.
Kezure laughed again, the laugh of a man who knows he holds all the cards, and drank his second glass as well. “Of course, I'm talking about more than one kind of treasure. How long have you known – Dr. Clarke, was it?”
Indy jumped to his feet. “About time to check on the tide, eh?”
“Yes, all right,” Kezure said, standing. His amused smirk at Indy's awkwardness soon vanished. “This had better impress me, Dr. Jones. I'm in such suspense.” He grabbed two nearby torches and handed one to Indy.
The tide was very low, and with the entire wall now visible as they thrust their torches toward the dark corner, the cracks had taken on a less random shape. The lower part of the wall had clearly undergone centuries of erosion but the cracks ran deep enough to remain just as legible as if they had been carved yesterday. They were lines of a map, with a group of arrows leading to an “X” at the bottom corner. Indy couldn't believe his hunch had paid off even better than expected; in his experience, X never marked the spot. Yet here it was.
“This is incredible,” he said, looking it up and down. “This map was obviously used by Sun Wu-Kung's disciples. If they were ever lost...” He frowned and looked at the pirate king. “You live here, and you've never noticed this before?”
Kezure grunted. “I'm usually asleep around now. I have a busy life.” He reached out as if to run his hand over the wall, but the water held him at bay. “These drawings, they are of the surrounding jungle.”
Indy pointed to the X. “Where is that?”
“It is located at the most southeastern part of the jungle, near the mountains. There is a village there. The Mongooboo tribe.”
Indy had never heard of them, but then there were so many small, isolated tribes in Africa that keeping track of them all would be a full-time career. “You know them?”
“Very well. I traded with the chief for many years. In the long term it's been more lucrative to let them all live.”
Tyki's people? “Are they pygmies?”
“No, a bit on the tall side, actually.”
Oh well. “As long as they're friendly,” Indy said. “We'll leave in the morning.”
Now Kezure burst into a full-fledged toothy smile, though it was far from charming. “Maybe you're right, Dr. Jones,” he said. “Maybe I am a fool. But it's almost as if Sun Wu-Kung led me to this place, and then led you here to guide me, isn't it? I am Chinese, after all. The Lost City is my birthright as much as anyone's. It's like destiny.”
“If you believe in that sort of thing,” Indy muttered. “You'll still have to fight for it.”
“Naturally. I look forward to a rematch, Dr. Jones.”
Indy hesitated, then figured as long as they were forced to take this bastard with them they should let him know what he was getting into, so he could at least make himself useful for a while. “I'm not your biggest problem,” he said. “There will be another interested party showin' up, sooner or later. One that makes your boys here look like the Red Cross. They've got one of our friends hostage and they want this monkey's stuff real bad.”
“Good. Today has only increased my thirst for blood.” Kezure patted the hilt of his sword, then Indy's shoulder as he strode past. “I'm going to bed, or to ground as it were. Sweet dreams, Dr. Jones. We'll be up bright and early.”
“Swell,” Indy muttered.
As they passed by, neither of them noticed one of Scraggy's crew members lurking in a cave a few feet away, wide awake and well hidden in the shadows. Neither of them heard him whispering in German, into a small radio microphone adorned with a red swastika.
And neither of them heard the whispered response, also in German: “Well, of course he knows we're following. What difference does that make?”
Next: Chapter Eight
