"What is it?" he whispered.
"I think it's a parchment."
He moved over next to her, bent down as she pulled it out. "Keep it out of sight," he hissed as he saw someone moving toward them.
"Well, what do we have here, little sister?"
Powell stood behind them, brandishing a gun.
"Nothing," Deirdre said.
"What did you just bury?"
"I said nothing."
Powell pressed the gun to the back of her head. "You'd better not be lying, little sister."
"Give it to him," Indy said.
"Ah, so you are hiding something." Powell called a couple of his men over. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the hole, and they quickly uncovered the broken ceramic and the parchment.
"So, what could this be?" Powell sounded curious and at the same time disappointed that it wasn't a gold scroll. "Watch them, closely." He moved over to where one of the torches was mounted on the wall.
"I hope it crumbles in his hand," Indy muttered.
"Don't say that," Deirdre said. "It may be something important."
Her face was streaked with dirt, her auburn hair hung loosely over her cheeks. "That's just what I'm afraid of." He craned his neck to watch as best he could.
With the help of one of his men, Powell slowly unraveled the scroll. But he was inexperienced with parchment and it broke into three pieces. His glasses were on again, and he was pouring over the words. Indy decided that if he was asked to decipher anything, he'd intentionally mislead Powell.
It didn't take long for Powell to make up his mind on what to do next. He moved over to where a couple of his men stood. "Okay, tie them up. Their wrists to their ankles. Everyone but the good father."
"What are you going to do with me?" Byrne demanded as the thugs went to work.
"You are going to be my translator, dear Dad. I know your Latin is excellent. You are also going to be my scapegoat. You will get the blame for their deaths, because the constable is going to find the other canister of gas in your house."
"He won't believe it," Byrne snarled.
Powell shrugged, "Maybe not. But if they conduct a thorough investigation, the truth about you and your recruits will come out. I'm sure with a little pressure, one of those vulnerable young soldiers will talk."
"You won't get away with this," Byrne thundered. "God's rule will prevail."
Powell laughed. "I'll take that into consideration."
Narrow Eyes grinned at Indy as he looped the rope around his ankles. That was all the archaeologist needed. He jerked back his legs, bucked, slammed his feet into the man's chest. Narrow Eyes was caught off guard; he tumbled over onto his side. Indy lunged for his holstered gun, and pulled it free, but Narrow Eyes locked his hands around Indy's wrists. They struggled, but Indy had better leverage. He jerked his hands free, and backed away swinging the gun from side to side.
"Hold it, Jones!" Powell held his revolver to Deirdre's head. "Drop it. Now. Or she's dead."
Indy dropped the gun.
"On your face!" Powell yelled.
Narrow Eyes grabbed the gun and slammed the butt against Indy's back, knocking him to the ground. He rubbed Indy's face in the dirt, and with the help of one of the others he lashed his wrists behind his back, then tied them to his ankles.
Indy spat dirt. Powell smiled wanly. "The survival instinct is strong. So strong." He nodded toward Narrow Eyes. "Get it ready. It's time for us to leave."
Narrow Eyes disappeared from sight. When Indy saw him again, he realized what Powell had in mind for them. The thug laid the chlorine canister down on a flat rock less than ten feet from where he and Deirdre were tied. Nearby were Joanna and the housekeeper, and a few feet past them lay Carl and Richard. Their only hope was that the canister was already spent or faulty.
Powell bent down and picked up the crumpled pieces of parchment which he'd dropped when Indy had attempted to escape. He held it out to Byrne, as Narrow Eyes finished his preparations with the poisonous gas.
"Read, Father. Now."
"I won't."
Powell sighed. "Suit yourself. You're not the only one who knows Latin. But now you will die with the others.
"All right. Give it to me."
Shannon lay flat on the ground, staring down into the cave. He could see Indy and Deirdre lying on the floor, and the lower half of Joanna. He couldn't see Powell, but knew he was nearby from the sound of his voice.
After he'd reached the top of the cliff, he'd stretched out alongside the jagged edged hole in the roof and waited. He could see the light of the torches, but nothing else. They were working too far back from the entrance. All he heard was the occasional sound of a shovel hitting a rock or the creaking of the cart wheels.
Shannon imagined himself entering the front of the cave. While everyone listened to Byrne, he would slink along the wall unnoticed, passing directly under a couple of the torches. Maybe he would drop into one of the holes, and grab Powell by the ankle as he walked by. He'd disarm him, and everyone else would drop their guns when they saw their boss was caught. That was the sort of thing he'd like to do, but he knew he'd never make it out alive. Those sort of things happened in the serials. This was real; too real for him.
He considered rushing back to the village for help, but then remembered what Indy had said about how he had escaped from the gas and explosion. There must be another hole. He backed away from the edge of the cavity, and crawled on his hands and knees through the darkness, searching for the opening. Finally, Shannon stopped to rest near a rock, and there was the hole on the other side of it.
He just hoped that Powell and his buddies would leave with whatever it was they'd found. When he was sure they were gone, he'd climb back down and untie everyone. But what was going on? He leaned forward as far as he could, and listened.
He could see Byrne's legs now, and saw he held something in his hand. One of his goons must be standing nearby with a torch because light flickered behind him.
Byrne cleared his throat. "'Time of five months hath passed since I wrote of the gold scroll. The messenger from the Vatican arrived this day, but I fear some spell is cast upon me for I could not send the letter or scroll. Forgive me for what I do, but I am compelled to follow this path be it right or wrong. The Lord will judge my guilt or innocence.
"'The words Merlin hath writ truly astonish, and mankind in time shalt know of them, I am compelled to send the gold scroll to the place closest to where it truly does belong. It shalt go not to the pontiff, but to my sister at the convent in Amesbury with directions to conceal it in the most secret of places within the convent. Therefore, he who seeks the gold scroll of Merlin must seek it there.'"
"Amesbury, a walk down the road from Stonehenge," Powell said. "It makes perfect—"
Suddenly, there was chaos, shouts, movement. Shannon pulled his head back, and looked around. Had he leaned too far, had someone spotted him? He scrambled to his feet, poised to run, but then stopped short as he heard a scream.
Indy lifted his head as Byrne charged away with the parchment, racing for the entrance of the cave. One of Powell's men, fast in pursuit, tripped in a hole. Another one tumbled on top of him, cursing loudly. They crawled out of the hole and rushed toward the entrance.
But before the men had taken more than a half dozen steps, Indy heard a cry of terror, a hollow, horrible sound that faded and died. For a moment, he didn't know what had happened. Then he realized the priest must have tumbled off the edge of the cliff.
Whether intentional or by accident, Father Byrne was gone, and the parchment went with him. He no longer had to worry about Powell, or the police. His mission to save the world from the words of Merlin was over.
"One fitting ending deserves another, and another, and so on," Powell said as his two thugs returned.
"Adrian, come to your senses," Joanna said.
"I'm sorry it had to end this way, Mother. Good-bye. Have a pleasant journey."
He smiled sadly at Deirdre
. "Little sister, it's too bad things didn't work differently. If you hadn't spurned me, we could've become great friends and allies. You know, not all love requires physical union. I was going to tell you. I really was."
"Adrian, don't do this," Deirdre pleaded.
But Powell ignored her, and turned to Narrow Eyes. "Let's go."
"Deirdre, honey, when the gas comes, breath deep and it'll be over fast," Joanna said.
"Don't listen to her," Indy said. "Hold your breath. Pray for a miracle."
Mother and daughter said their good-byes; Indy refused to say good-bye. He heard a noise as the gas hissed out of the canister, and sucked in his breath one last time before the chlorine contaminated the air. From his ground-level view, he saw Powell and his men retreating. He squinted his eyes against the chlorine. He couldn't help inhaling some of it; he felt it burning the inside of his nose.
Somebody save us. At that moment, a figure dropped from the sky, from the roof, from somewhere. A creature, a god, with cheeks like balloons. Then he saw who it was; he could hardly believe it.
Shannon, his lungs and cheeks filled with air, knew exactly what he had to do. He grabbed the first shovel he found. He scooped up the canister, tossed it in the half-filled cart of dirt, and smothered it as best he could. Then, without hesitating another second, he wheeled it around the holes and between the piles of rubble until he was out of the cave. With one last shove, he pushed the cart over the side of the cliff.
It vanished into the night, and he collapsed onto his hands and knees. He sucked in great lungfuls of fresh, clean air. Finally, he thought of the others. He had to help them. He stumbled to his feet, and hurried back into the cave.
"Indy!"
No answer.
God, were they all dead?
He coughed and choked as he was engulfed by the nebulous remains of chlorine gas. He knelt next to Indy, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Shannon," a voice croaked. "Get us out of here. Fast."
He pulled out his pocket knife and sawed at the rope binding Indy's feet and hands. He heard the two guards coughing, and Deirdre moaning and weeping, and saying something over and over. At first he thought it was the effects of the gas; she was in pain. Then as the rope snapped, he understood what she was saying.
"Mother Joanna. Mother Joanna." Over and over.
Indy worked the rope over his wrists, then rolled over to help Deirdre. Shannon turned to Joanna. He saw right away it was no use.
Joanna was dead.
18
The Downs
Tears gathered in Deirdre's eyes as the casket containing her mother's body was lowered into the ground of Whithorn Cemetery. The grave-side ceremony was over, and villagers were streaming away. Another one of their own had been laid to rest.
Indy knew that many of the same people had been here the day before for the funeral of Father Byrne, and that few, if any, knew the real circumstances of his death or Joanna's. The rumor was something about a gas explosion relating to the work at the cave. Joanna Campbell had died; Father Byrne had fallen off the cliff trying to escape. If anyone wondered what the priest was doing at the cave, they hadn't asked Indy about it.
"I wonder if she saw Jack coming to help us before she died," Deirdre whispered.
Indy didn't know how to answer. "Don't think about it."
"I can't help it. She could've lived, Indy."
Maybe she didn't want to live, he thought. "We better go."
"Give me one more minute."
Indy stepped back. Three days had passed since the incident in the cave, and neither Indy nor Deirdre was in great shape. There were times when their lungs still burned, and their heads ached. But they had decided that as soon as the funeral was over, they would leave for Amesbury and join Shannon, who had gone ahead of them.
The reason was simple; Powell had to be stopped. It wasn't because they feared what would happen if he found the gold scroll and joined it with the Omphalos in some druid ceremony at Stonehenge. That was irrelevant. The man was deranged, and dangerous. Just the thought that he held a position of influence in the British government and was aiming even higher made Indy shudder. He wasn't sure what they would do, but they had to do something, and Amesbury was the place to do it.
Deirdre turned away from the grave. "I'm ready."
Indy took her hand as they walked away, but she pulled it back, crossed her arms, and stared ahead. As they neared the gate of the cemetery, Indy saw Carl waiting for them.
"How's Richard doing?" Deirdre asked.
"Still in bed. I'm afraid he got the worst of it. Besides Dr. Campbell, I mean."
"Wish him well for us," she said.
He nodded, then looked at Indy. "Have you heard? The investigation is over."
"No, what did they decide?"
"The constable found two canisters of chlorine gas in Father Byrne's house, and he's saying that the priest was responsible for Dr. Campbell's death."
Indy nodded. "Nothing about Powell?"
Carl shook his head. "It's all politics, if you ask me. Not a word in the constable's report about him."
"Thanks, Carl. I expected as much." They started to walk away. "All the more reason to get to Amesbury as fast as we can," he muttered.
"Indy," Carl called and hurried after them. "Please take this with you."
He handed Indy something wrapped in paper and tied with a string. It was heavy, and felt like a gun.
"What is it?"
"A .455 Webley. You may need it."
It was a case of down being up, Indy thought, gazing out the window as the train rattled across the Western Downs. In spite of its name, the Downs was not a lowland, but a plateau rising several hundred feet above sea level. They'd crossed into Salisbury Plain, which was indistinguishable from the rest of the Downs, except that it was bordered by two rivers and a rim of hills. To Indy, it all was one vast, barren landscape.
Deirdre leaned forward. The closer their journey took them to Amesbury, the more anxious she became. "Can you see the village yet?"
He shook his head. "Stop fretting. We're almost there."
"I can't help it. I'm worried, and scared."
Indy slipped an arm around her shoulders, and brushed a strand of auburn hair from her face. He felt her stiffen, pull back from him. He knew she was still grieving about her mother's death, but there was something more to it.
He suspected it had something to do with her relationship with Powell. He wanted to tell her that it didn't matter what had happened between them. But it was difficult to find the right words. He knew she might misinterpret what he said, or worse, assume he was saying one thing while thinking another. So he had said nothing and the barrier remained.
"Deirdre, what's wrong?"
"I just told you."
"No, I mean between us."
Silence filled their compartment. She avoided his gaze. "I didn't know there was anything between us, right or wrong."
Denial. "I think there is, and you know it, too. We may not have known each other for long, but there's something special that's developed."
"What?"
"I'm in love with you, that's what."
She bit her lower lip, and looked up at him. Her eyes glistened. She blinked, fighting back tears. "Damn it, Indy. How can you say that? How can you love me? I feel so dirty. He was my half brother."
"It's all right." But he wondered what exactly she meant.
"No, it's not."
"Deirdre, did you and Adrian..."
"No, of course not. But he kissed me, and..."
Indy laughed. "So what? Brothers and sisters do kiss each other."
She shook her head. "Not like that they don't. God, he knew, Indy. He knew, and he wanted to make love with me. He's horrible. I hate him."
"But you didn't. You just said you didn't."
"It doesn't matter. I still feel sick just at the thought. No wonder Joanna made such a dither about him. But she didn't tell me, either, and I still can't forgive her
for that."
"Deirdre, it's over. Forget about it." Indy knew that wasn't exactly true. He was almost certain they hadn't seen the last of Powell.
She slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was muffled. "I just wish it were really over."
"You'll see. It's going to be over soon."
"I love you, Indy."
He kissed her neck, her jaw, her mouth. Their tongues dueled. He hungered for her, and he knew she felt the same yearning, the same passion, but that part of her was elsewhere, distracted by events that surrounded them.
She pulled back a little. "Maybe we can find Jack, and just go back to London and forget about Adrian. Forget about all of this."
He would like nothing better than to forget. But he wanted to know what Shannon had found out. He said as much as his fingers slipped through her hair, as the scent of her perfume washed over him, intoxicating him.
"Indy?"
"Mmm?"
"I don't have a good feeling about what's going to happen."
"Don't worry," he said with more conviction than he felt.
"I always worry."
"Tell you what." He touched her jaw, lifting her face toward his. "When we get back to London, I'd like to get married."
He couldn't believe he'd just said the words, and she seemed equally amazed. "To who?"
"To, uh, you."
She laughed softly, very softly. "Is that a proposal?"
"Yeah." His smile grew. "Yeah, I think it is."
"Yes." That was all she said, just yes, the sweetest word he had ever heard.
"Amesbury," the conductor called out, moving down the aisle between compartments.
Just then the train slowed, and Indy glimpsed the village. It was situated in a hollow in the plain where the Avon River made a crook in its route across southern England. It was built on the site of ancient stone ruins, but was best known as the village nearest Stonehenge.
"Well, here we are."
"I sure hope Jack's okay."
Indiana Jones and the Dance of the Giants Page 15