"Is he guarding something, boy?"
The dog whined again and pawed the ground.
"Your master?"
The dog growled.
"Okay, let me take a closer look." Indy touched his whip, which was coiled on his belt. The guard wore a hat pulled low over his brow, but Indy recognized the hat and then the face. It was Hans Beitelheimers twin. Indy crawled cautiously forward, noting that one of the other man's hands was wrapped in a cloth as if it were injured. But the dog didn't wait for Indy. It bounded past him, knocked the man to the ground, and grabbed him by his injured hand. The twin let out a howl, but he managed to pull out a knife and stab at the dog's head. The animal squealed, and as Indy fumbled with his whip, the guard stabbed at the dog again. The dog whimpered and dropped to the ground. The twin was about to strike a third time when the tip of the whip snagged the knife and snapped it away. The weapon dropped at Indy's feet. Only it wasn't a knife. It was a blunt stick.
Indy grabbed the man by the collar, and sank his fist into his gut. As the twin hunched forward, clutching himself at the waist and groaning, Indy caught him under the jaw with an uppercut, hurling him back onto the ground. The twin scrambled up, faster than Indy would have believed possible, and lurched toward him. The dog bounded between them, and flew for the man's throat. The man let out a choking yell, and fell to the ground under the dog's vicious assault. He flailed his legs and arms, then fell deadly still. And that was when Indy noticed that the guard's leg was shackled to a stake by a short length of chain.
He saw the man's face for the first time; it was Beitelheimer all right. But now he wasn't so sure which one. Indy leaned over the body. Beitelheimers throat had been ripped out and his blood was soaking into the ground. Indy took a look at the hat. He was sure it was the same one worn by the man who had attacked him in the bar.
The dog growled in his ear. Stay on good terms with the dog; that was Indy's primary objective. He slowly stood up, backing away from the body. The animal leaped up, and Indy jumped back. But the dog was attacking the door, not him. Maybe Antonio's grandson had returned and demanded the house back, and the poachers had locked him up. But why was the twin shackled outside the door?
A massive steel lock held the door shut. But the hinges were old and rusted, and when Indy kicked it, the door rattled in its frame. He kicked again, and suddenly he realized he had no idea what the hell he expected to find. For all he knew, the shed contained nothing but dog food, or dead fish.
Then someone pounded from inside. Indy kicked again, and the screws in the hinges popped free and the door swung open. An angry voice shouted: "You have no right ... no right..." The voice faltered, and a man stumbled to the door. Beitelheimer. The dog leaped up and lapped at the captive's face.
"Hans?"
"Who are you?"
"A friend of Brody's." Indy glanced around warily as he quickly introduced himself.
"Where is Marcus? I need to talk to him."
But Indy needed an explanation first. He pointed to the body. "Who is he?"
Beitelheimer dropped to his knees, and shook his head. "My brother. The others were mad because I got away from him. So they forced him to guard me."
"All right. Get up. Let's go."
Beitelheimer patted the dog as they hurried away from the shed. "What's going on down there, anyhow?" Indy asked as they climbed the hill. "Why did they capture you?"
"I know too much, and now you know too much, too," Beitelheimer added.
"I don't know anything," Indy grumbled. "That's the problem."
When they neared the top of the hill, the dog growled as it sensed Brody and Antonio. Beitelheimer silenced him with a command that Indy didn't understand. Brody was elated to see Beitelheimer. "Hans, what in the world is going on here? I was terribly worried about you."
"Don't worry, Marcus," Hans said, shaking his hand. "I can explain."
Antonio backed away as he stared at Beitelheimer. His brow formed a deep furrow. He raised a shaky hand and pointed. "The one who was caught in the street injured his right hand. It was bleeding badly. This man's hand has no injury."
Beitelheimer turned to the old man. "You're mistaken. My hand was not hurt very badly." His voice was no longer friendly, but cold and piercing.
"He didn't mean anything," Brody said, stepping between them. "Let's go. We're all cold and wet."
But Indy remembered that the other Beitelheimers hand had been bandaged. He reached for his whip. "Wait, Marcus. Antonio's right. This is the wrong one."
The man took a step back, and snapped his fingers. The black dog darted to his side, bared its bloody teeth, and crouched, ready to leap. "Now you'll all die."
"What's going on here?" Brody demanded. "Just who are you?"
"You can call me Sacho. Now start walking."
The man appeared to be unarmed, but Indy had seen the dog in action, and the animal's gleaming eyes were fixed on him. The dog was the only weapon the man needed. "Down the hill," Sacho ordered.
"Wait a minute. If you're not Beitelheimer, where is he?" Brody demanded.
"He's dead," Indy said. "The dog killed him."
"Oh, no," Brody moaned.
The beast snapped at Indy's leg. He took the hint and led the way down the hill. Indy figured they were headed for the house, but at the bottom of the hill, Sacho directed them along a path which led toward the sea.
"Indy, where the devil is he taking us?" Brody whispered.
"Think about it, Marcus. Where did they come from?"
Before Brody could answer they reached a cliff. The water crashed against the rocks below them. If Indy still had any thoughts of getting away, they quickly were erased as he realized the night was alive with Sacho's buddies, the crew of the Caleuche. Dressed in black, they were barely visible in the darkness. As the mariners moved closer, Sacho stepped forward and grabbed Antonio by the back of the neck. "You broke the pact. You were not to talk. We warned you."
"Don't hurt the children, please," Antonio begged. "They are innocent. It is my fault."
"You're right, and you will pay." With that, Sacho flung the old man over the cliff. Antonio cried out, but he was quickly swallowed by the darkness and the crash of the sea against the rocks far below.
"Nice going. You killed an old man," Indy hissed.
"He knew what was waiting for him. Death was his only future."
"What are you going to do with us?" Brody asked.
Sacho turned his back to Brody and gazed out to sea. At first, Indy saw nothing. Then, through the mist, he glimpsed a golden glow. He squinted, and the glow took on the shape of a ship outlined against the night.
"The Caleuche," Sacho said.
"And it's not a ghost ship, any more than you're a ghost," Indy scoffed.
Sacho laughed as if Indy had said something incredibly hilarious.
A wave of rage flashed through Indy. "You think that's funny? Try this." He smashed his fist into Sacho's gut, but the punch had little effect. Indy was about to strike him again, this time in the jaw, but he stopped in midswing. The sight of Sacho's face stunned him. He was sure he'd been talking to the same man who had come out of the shack, the man who looked just like Beitelheimer. But that wasn't what he looked like at all. He had thick eyebrows, dark, narrow eyes, and a hawkish nose.
Suddenly, Indy lost his sense of certainty about Sacho, about the mariners, about the ship, about what was going on. Sacho took quick advantage of Indy's confusion. He grabbed his fist and twisted it until Indy thought his wrist would snap. Slowly, Sacho pulled him closer until their faces were inches apart.
"You have no idea, Jones. No idea. I'm from a world that you don't believe exists. They call us ghosts here, but to us you are the ghosts."
7
Aboard the Caleuche
Tall men with long, dour faces and sallow complexions closed in on them. Their icy stares gripped Indy in a numbing chill. He backed away from them, but not too far. The edge of the cliff was just behind him, a lip of rock, a
nd then nothing but the black, empty space where Antonio had fallen to his death.
Sacho raised a bony hand and pointed to the trail that wound down the ridge of the cliff to the shore. It was either follow it or get tossed over the ledge. "I think we'd better do what they say," Brody said.
"I always wanted to sail on a ghost ship," Indy muttered as they moved carefully along the narrow, slippery trail. Brody lost his footing as he maneuvered around a rock outcropping and Indy helped him to his feet. Indy glanced back; Sacho and the others seemed to loom over him.
When they finally reached the water's edge, Indy had a better opportunity to assess his captors. This time he realized they weren't all ghostly pale, nor grim-faced, nor tall. They varied in stature and features, and some were dark-skinned. Strange how the mind could play tricks. At first, it seemed the men had all resembled the haunting mariners of the myth. Yet, legends were usually based on certain truths, and the truth that was becoming readily apparent here was the part about the abductions.
The mariners forced them into a large rowboat, which had been sheltered by massive boulders. Someone shoved the boat from the beach, and the oars splashed the water. Indy noticed that the bow of the boat was filled with containers like he'd seen the men filling in the house. Fish eggs and pirates. Caviar and murder. Swell bunch.
But his attention quickly shifted from the boat to the ship, which came into view as they rounded the boulders. Lanterns were hanging from the rail every few feet, and there were more inside and along the mast, accounting for the luminous specter he'd seen from the cliff. It was a ship from another time, but it was still a real ship, and these guys were humans, too, Indy told himself. They had a few tricks up their sleeves, but he could deal with them as men much better than as ghosts. Besides, he had a few tricks himself.
The crew scaled a rope ladder to the deck, and the tall containers were quickly passed from one man to the next until they were all aboard. Finally, it was Indy's turn to climb the ladder. Only Sacho and Brody remained in the rowboat behind him. Indy's plan was already set in his mind as he stepped on the first rung. He yanked the rope which tied the boat to the ladder. He'd watched how it was tied, and knew it would come loose with a quick pull. Sacho yelled and grabbed for his legs, but Indy vaulted up two steps and out of his reach.
As Sacho lunged for him, Indy turned and dove into the churning sea. Sacho leaped into the water after him, and Brody grabbed an oar and stretched it out toward Indy.
"Row!" Indy shouted. "Get away from the ship." Sacho surfaced near him, and Indy plunged the mariner's head beneath the surface. But Sacho snagged Indy's legs and pulled him underwater. Indy kicked and fought to free himself, but Sacho wrapped his arms and legs around Indy, dragging him further down. Indy felt as if he were in the grasp of an octopus, and the thought made him literally swim out of his skin. He kicked loose, shot to the surface, gulped at the air.
The water was now alive with the crew as they dropped over the side of the ship. Brody frantically chopped at the water with one oar, and the boat turned in a wide circle a hundred feet from the ship. Indy swam toward Brody, windmilling his arms through the water. If he could climb aboard and get the other oar, they had a good chance of escaping.
He'd almost reached the boat when someone grabbed his ankle. He spun around, twisted, and flailed his arms as he tried to kick loose from the man's iron grasp, but to no avail. Brody came to Indy's aid, and slammed his oar down at the attacker. He missed, the oar harmlessly slicing the water. Desperately, Brody swung again just as Indy broke free of the man's grasp. It was a wild, reckless swing, and it struck Indy right on the forehead. Stunned, he slipped below the surface. His breath bubbled away; water rushed into his lungs; the arms of death opened to embrace him.
His first memory upon awaking was the sound of creaking beams, the gentle sway of the ship, and the smell of the sea. Then he heard the distant music, an eerie, wavering sound like a calliope being played underwater. He was wrapped in something soft and warm like a cocoon. Maybe he was on the ship to the afterworld.
Indy rubbed his head and groaned. His lungs and stomach ached. He felt as if he had swallowed and inhaled several barrels of sea water. From the sour taste in his mouth, he must have puked it as well. No, he was alive all right, alive and hurting.
He heard a rustling sound nearby. Someone was here with him, but it was too dark to see. "Marcus, is that you?" he croaked. Every word was an effort.
"There is no one else here. Just you and me," said a soft feminine voice. A match flared, and a pair of emerald eyes glistened in the flickering light. Hypnotic eyes, he thought.
Indy tried to talk, but sputtered instead. When he stopped coughing, he managed to get three words out. "Who... are... you?"
The woman lit a lantern and held it up, illuminating prominent cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Her face was framed by dark bangs and copper-colored hair that was tied back in a single braid. "My name is Salandra. I brought you back."
"Back?" Indy propped himself up, and saw that he was wrapped in a thick blanket. "From where?"
"From the border of death. You were drowning when they brought you to me. Actually, you had drowned. I brought you back."
He tried to clear the fog from his head, and think of the right questions to ask. "Who's playing the music?"
"You could say it is a ghost. It's the music of the portal."
"Porthole? Where are we? Is this..."
"Yes, you are aboard the ghost ship Caleuche."
He laughed, but then began to cough again, loud, hacking coughs that made his chest feel as though it were being crushed. Brody ... he had to find out about Brody. "Where's my friend? We were together. He was in the boat when—"
"He is gone. He is not with us," Salandra answered in a solemn voice.
Indy's anger overcame his grogginess. "They killed him, didn't they? Just like the old man. Where is Sacho?" He pushed off the cot and managed to stand, but everything was spinning wildly, out of control. He lost his balance and toppled over. The air seemed thinner, like air in the mountains at some great altitude. Salandra scooped him up as if he were stuffed with feathers and laid him on the bed.
"You don't understand. Your friend was allowed to leave."
"Where are we going?"
"Questions... questions. Where, where, where. Just relax. No one will hurt you. Not while I'm here."
"Are you with these pirates?"
She laughed, a melodic trill. "What makes you think we are pirates?"
"Because you're not ghosts."
"You have so much to learn, and so little time. Sleep now. You're safe here. When you wake up, we'll talk again."
It was becoming an effort to listen to her. With each word, he became increasingly drowsy. He struggled to keep his eyes open. "But... I need... to..." He fell back and into a deep sleep.
Indy stood at the railing and gazed into the thick fog. He was totally disoriented. Not only did he not know how long he'd been sleeping, but he couldn't tell whether it was dawn, dusk, or midday. He couldn't see more than a few feet in every direction.
He'd awakened a few minutes ago feeling astonishingly well, considering he should be dead. A lantern burned low in the cabin, and after getting his bearings he had hobbled over to the door. To his amazement, it was unlocked, and he walked out onto the empty deck.
Where was everyone? Why had he been left alone, the door unlocked? Maybe he should hide. Or jump overboard. But where was he? He couldn't see any land through the haze and faint light. If they were far from shore, jumping would be certain death.
"There you are," Salandra said from behind him.
Indy spun around. "Where did you come from?"
She smiled, but didn't answer. She was a long-limbed exotic creature with smooth, translucent skin. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Better."
"Good. There's a drink you must take while you're with us. If you don't take it, you'll get very sick and you'll die."
Sure. "I'
m not drinking anything you give me. Now why don't you tell me what's going on. You can start by explaining what happened to my friend, Marcus Brody."
"I already told you."
"I don't believe that Marcus could have escaped in that boat. He couldn't even paddle it himself."
"If we had wanted him, he would've been easily captured. But he was of no consequence to us. We let him go, and he drifted back. By the time he reached shore, we were already gone."
Although she spoke English, it was with an accent that he'd never heard, and he had to listen closely to understand her. "What about me? What consequence am I? And just who..."
Indy heard voices, and three men appeared out of the fog. He tensed as they neared, but they passed with barely a look at him. They were arguing about something, or so it seemed from their gestures. But he had no idea what language they were speaking. As Indy watched the men disappear through the curtain of fog, he recalled his encounter with the mariners. "Who were they?"
"Just crew members."
"Wait a minute. What happened to Sacho? Is he here?"
"Of course."
"He killed an old man."
Salandra frowned. "You said that before. What old man are you talking about?"
"From the island. Sacho said a pact was broken, and that was the penalty. He killed Beitelheimer, too."
"Hans is dead? Are you sure?"
So she knew Beitelheimer. But unless she was lying she hadn't known he was dead. "Sacho's dog ripped out his throat." Indy was about to ask her what she knew about Beitelheimer when something else occurred to him. "How did he make himself look like Beitelheimer? What kind of trick was that?"
Salandra didn't answer immediately. She seemed to be mulling over what he'd told her. "Sacho is an illusion shaper; many Pincoyans are. He didn't actually shift appearances, he only made you think so. There's a difference."
Indiana Jones and the Interior World Page 6