Several robed figures, their faces shrouded by cowls, mounted the slaughter stone. "Who're they?" Deirdre whispered.
"Probably leaders of the different orders."
The men conferred for a few seconds, then one of them stepped forward. Indy wasn't surprised that it was Powell. He turned toward Deirdre to make sure that her face was still buried deep within her cowl, then tugged at the sides of his own.
Powell raised his hands over his head to draw everyone's attention. He began by welcoming the various orders to Stonehenge, which he called the druids' most sacred place. "You know the story of how Merlin built this great circular temple. It originally had seventy windows, and was Merlin's observatory of the cosmos. It was the entry point for the gods to our world. This festival not only celebrates the return of our sun-god Apollo for his nineteen-year trip to his homeland, but will see this great monument restored to its place as the sacred navel of our world. Once again Stonehenge will be the Dance of the Giants, the entry point of the gods."
Indy looked over the assembled druids, and wondered how they could swallow this mishmash of myths. Powell made it seem that Merlin and Apollo lived at the same time, or even that Merlin, as builder of Stonehenge, preceded Apollo. It didn't make any sense.
"Most of you, I'm sure, are knowledgeable about the deeds of our ancestors. In the year 280 B.C. an expedition of Celtic warriors and druid priests landed in Greece and marched to Delphi. Their goal was to capture the Omphalos, the sacred stone which belonged to Stonehenge and marked the center of the world.
"But fate turned against our brave ancestors. The oracle itself prophesied that it would be saved by the white virgins. The warriors laughed at this prediction, and said they couldn't wait until the white virgins appeared. But the priests, knowing the wisdom of the oracle, were not so amused. They worried and puzzled over the strange prophecy, but decided to continue their march on Delphi. That day, a ferocious snowstorm appeared out of nowhere and buried our warriors, killing many and forcing the survivors to retreat. Humbly, they recognized that the white virgins, taking the form of the snowstorm, had been victorious, and the oracle had been right."
Indy listened, both fascinated and angered. He knew what was coming next, and he realized that Powell was a genius to invoke this story of a failure, and now follow it with his victory tale.
"With the waning of the oracle of Delphi, the Omphalos was lost to mankind for many centuries," Powell continued. Then he recounted its recovery two years ago.
"During those two years it has been displayed in a museum, and not surprisingly many people have said recently that New York, the very site of the museum I speak of, will soon replace London as the center of the civilized world. But the Omphalos does not belong in a museum. It belongs here at the Dance of the Giants. Magnetic forces radiate out across the earth from here. It is a great center, a cosmic center, balanced above by the polestar. Now I am very pleased to tell you that today the Omphalos has finally returned to Stonehenge."
He bent over, reached into a leather bag, and lifted the cone-shaped relic above his head. He held it for several seconds, then lowered it, cupped in his arms. "By dawn tomorrow, before this festival is over, the great prophecy will be fulfilled. Merlin will indeed speak from the past directly to us, and with those words the power of the Omphalos will take effect."
The sight of Powell holding the stolen relic and speaking so blithely sparked a sudden, unreasonable rage in Indy. He fingered the whip on his belt as his rage mounted. His hands itched to crack the whip, to snag Powell around the ankles with it. His legs shrieked to rush forward. Adrenaline raced through him. He took a step, and Deirdre's fingers closed around his arm.
"No. Don't."
He blinked. The rage receded some. As he looked around at the sea of robes, he realized that any attempt to attack Powell here would fail. No one would listen even if he did get a chance to shout a few words before Powell's thugs pounced on him.
Deirdre pulled him back and he melted into the crowd. Powell was still speaking, but Indy heard only a word here, a phrase there. It was as if Powell were speaking a foreign language.
As he calmed down, he mulled over what he was seeing. He was perplexed that Powell held the Omphalos as if it were any ordinary stone. He seemed unaffected by it. The sight caused Indy to question what had happened to him when he'd held it at Delphi. Did the uncanny experiences, the visions, really happen as he remembered them? How could a stone cause such a thing? The Omphalos was a valuable artifact, a symbol of power, a focal point. But maybe all the rest of it had simply been his imagination.
Then he remembered what Powell had said at Byrne's house. According to the order's secret knowledge, the Omphalos would not possess its power until the message of the gold scroll was read. That hadn't been necessary before. Why now?
But Powell didn't have the gold scroll. If he did, Indy was sure Powell would've brought it here for the eclipse. It was still missing, and somehow he knew it held the key to unraveling both Powell and the enigma of the Omphalos.
The blackness was receding from the sun just as his rage had receded from him, as though the two events were connected. The field of white robes began to ripple and Indy realized that Powell had stopped talking and everyone was moving away. Deirdre squeezed his hand.
"Let's get out of here."
Outside the ring of giant stones, Indy felt a sense of relief. It was as if some power had gripped him when they were on the inside, and hadn't let go until they'd left. Ahead of them a disorganized file of druids, many of them in the process of removing their robes, streamed away from the ruins.
"There's Randy," Deirdre said.
The horse and carriage with the kid perched atop the driver's seat waited for them near the heel stone. Indy expected to hear a surprised remark from the kid about their garb. Instead, Randy told them something that made Indy forget all about the druids.
"Indy, Deirdre." He grinned. "I'm glad you found me. "Do you know a man named Freddie Keppard?"
"No," Deirdre said, just as Indy said, "Yes."
"You do?" Deirdre looked confused.
Indy spoke under his breath. "That's the name of one of Jack's heroes. A cornet player back in Chicago." He turned to the kid.
"He's looking for you," Randy said.
"Where do we find Kep?" Indy asked, knowing that it was Shannon himself.
"The old convent. C'mon with me. I'll take you there."
20
The Convent
Randy parked the carriage in a grove of trees a short distance from the convent. He jumped down, and signaled them to follow. "C'mon. Your friend wanted me to take you in the back way."
Indy looked around warily. There was no one in sight, but he still felt exposed and vulnerable. If Shannon hadn't used Keppard's name, he wouldn't be here. He knew that much.
"I don't know about this, Indy," Deirdre said as he held open the door. "This is the last place I'd expect to find him."
"Me too, but maybe that's exactly what Jack was thinking. It would be just like him. Besides, the message must be from him. No one else would use Keppard's name."
They cut through the grove, then stopped as the convent came into view. "This place is legendary, you know. Queen Guinevere sought refuge here after abandoning King Arthur's court, and remained until her death."
"And Arthur found her here, and bade her farewell before his last battle with the Saxons," Deirdre added.
Indy looked over at her, and smiled. He'd never met a woman before who could respond so quickly and knowledgeably to one of his mythical allusions. They moved ahead toward the convent and passed under an archway, then Randy opened the door at the rear of the building and motioned for them to enter.
Indy peered down a long, dank corridor with a high, arched ceiling. "Swell place to hide, Jack," he said to himself as they stepped inside.
The sound of Indy's boots on the flagstone floor echoed in the corridor. At the end of the hallway, Randy motioned to the right, and th
ey headed down a shorter hallway until they reached a large oak door with a rounded top.
Randy rapped on it, and assured them they would see Shannon soon. The kid's solicitous tone tipped him off; Indy sensed something was wrong. Then the door opened, and he saw a middle-aged man with strawlike hair, a craggy face, and protruding ears not unlike Randy's. The man stared at them, then gestured for them to enter. Indy took a step forward. The man crossed the room, and opened another door. "Wait here," he said, then closed the door behind him.
Indy walked over to the door the man had exited, and tried the handle. "He locked it."
The door they'd entered slammed shut behind Deirdre. The bolt slid into place. "He locked us in," she exclaimed, pulling on the door. "I knew something was wrong about this."
"He suckered us."
"I can't believe he did this to us."
"I can't believe we let him." Indy looked around. The room was long and narrow, about ten feet wide and twice that in length. There were two small openings high on the wall through which gray daylight filtered. Candles were stuck in several holders on the walls. An aged table with two chairs were the only furniture. It looked like a waiting room, or maybe it had once been used for storage.
Suddenly, the inside door opened and Shannon walked into the room. He looked haggard, but Indy didn't have time to even greet him. Right behind Shannon were two men, Narrow Eyes and Ears.
"Well, give the mouse a little cheese and he walks right into the trap," Narrow Eyes laughed.
Indy reached for the Webley, but Narrow Eyes was ready for him. He lifted a hand, and aimed a gun at Indy's head. "Drop the gun and the whip on the floor, and I'll take that knife on your belt, too."
Indy did as he was told.
"What's going on?" Deirdre demanded.
Narrow Eyes uttered a short choking sound, part laugh, part scoff. "I'm not the man with the answers, lady, but I can tell you that before long you'll wish that you died like your mother in that cave."
Ears scooped up the whip and knife, and the two men left.
"Sorry," Shannon said after the door slammed shut. "They were onto me right away."
"Us too, I guess," Indy answered.
"Did a blond kid bring you here?" Shannon asked.
"He sure did."
"That no-good little bastard. I gave him a message for you just before they got me. He was supposed to tell you to go to Salisbury. That's where I was headed. It would've been safer to stay there."
"And you used Keppard as your alias."
"You got it."
"I guess the kid doesn't know the good guys from the bad ones," Indy muttered, and he paced the room, which now seemed smaller. "Speaking of bad guys, who was the one with the ears?"
"Williams," Shannon answered. "He's the caretaker of the convent, but he's working for Powell now. Does whatever he says."
"Swell. Is there anyone else here?" Indy asked.
"Just Powell's men. He convinced the mayor that he's here to see if Parliament should provide money to fix it up. He's got the run of the place."
Deirdre slumped into one of the chairs, and crossed her arms. "He can do just about anything he wants."
Shannon paced back and forth as Indy leaned against the wall next to Deirdre. "They've been tearing the place apart looking for that scroll. But I think Powell's getting worried. He wanted to find it by today."
"For the eclipse," Indy said, and he told Shannon about their excursion to the ruins, and Powell's talk. "If he doesn't get the scroll by tonight, he's going to let down a lot of druids. They'll see him as a failed leader, a false prophet, and there won't be another festival for nineteen years."
"Why do they have to wait nineteen years?" Shannon asked.
"That's when they say Apollo returns," Deirdre said.
"It's also the time it takes for the solar year and the lunar year to realign on the calendar," Indy added. "In other words, it takes nineteen years before the moon is full on the same date again. It's called a metonic cycle after Meton, an ancient Greek astronomer."
"But if he finds the scroll now, everyone will know he is the chosen leader," Deirdre said. "Am I right, Indy?"
"That sums it up pretty well," he answered.
Shannon continued pacing. "Whether he finds it or not isn't going to matter much to us. Either way our futures are not exactly going to shine. Not if Powell has his way."
Deirdre found a box of stick matches by one of the candle holders. "Maybe if we get ourselves a little more light, things won't look so bad." She lit one of the candles. "Who knows, he may just let us go when the festival is over."
Shannon leaned against the wall and kicked it with his heel as if to make one final protest of their situation. "Not much chance of that. We know too much."
Deirdre lit the candles in the holders. A yellow glow filled the room. "You're right. He's been cleared of murdering my mother, but I know he did it and I won't let him get away with it."
Shannon didn't answer. He'd dropped down to one knee and was examining the wall.
"What is it?" Indy asked.
"This stone's loose. Too bad it's an inside wall." He stood up, kicked it again, and turned away.
But Indy didn't take his eye off the stone. He knelt down, ran his fingers over it, and scraped away the crumbling cement around the edges. "I wish I still had my knife. I'd like to see what's behind this wall. It could lead us to another way out."
Shannon reached inside his boot, and pulled out a knife with a four-inch blade. "Try mine. They didn't search me very well."
"Great," Indy said. "Deirdre, hold the candle down here."
"What if they come back?" she asked.
"We'll say it's mice."
Carefully, Indy inserted the blade between the stones. He twisted it back and forth, then pulled it out. "The cement isn't very thick. It shouldn't take long to see what's on the other side."
He stabbed at the cement, chipped at it. When most of the cement was cleared away, he pulled on the block of stone, but couldn't get a good grip. Instead, he pushed, and it moved. Shannon placed a hand on the stone and they both shoved, and with a heavy thud it dropped onto a stone floor on the other side of the wall. Indy glanced toward the door, but no one opened it. He guessed that no one was standing guard.
Deirdre, meanwhile, squatted down and peered through the dark hole, holding the candle in front of her. "It's another room, but I can't see much."
She moved back, and Indy tested the stones above and below the one they'd removed. He decided the top one would break free more easily. "If I can get one more loose, I should be able to squeeze through."
"And if you can't, I will," Deirdre informed him.
He stripped off his leather jacket, then stabbed at the crumbling cement. After a few minutes, he stretched out on his back and kicked the stone again and again. Finally Shannon moved in and grabbed hold of it. With one quick thrust, he shouldered it into the next room.
Without even raising himself up from the floor Indy worked his legs through the opening, and crept forward until his waist was through the hole. "Now, if I can just get my chest and shoulders through, I'm in."
He extended his hands over his head, and sucked in his breath as Shannon pushed him by the shoulders. He'd almost made it when he scraped his armpit. "Ouch!"
He jerked his head and it bounced against the underside of the wall. Cement crumbled onto his face and hair. "Hold it, Shannon," he hissed. "Stop pushing."
He closed his eyes, and wriggled the rest of the way through the hole until he was sitting up in the other room. He gingerly touched the sore spots on his head and under his arm. The room smelled dank, and he couldn't see any better than he had with his eyes closed. Then Deirdre passed the candle through the opening, followed by his jacket and fedora.
The room was larger than the one he'd come from, and devoid of furniture. The walls were bare. The only ornament was a stone fireplace on the opposite wall. Nothing else. "Not much here. Not even a door."
> "A room with no doors," Deirdre said. "Let me see. I'm coming through."
She crawled headfirst through the opening. Indy helped her up, slipped an arm around her, and kissed her. In spite of their predicament, he was glad he was here with her. But if he was going to have a life with her, it meant getting out of the convent alive.
"You okay?"
"Fine. Didn't even bump my head." She lit a candle from the one in Indy's hand and moved along the walls. "You're right. No doors."
Shannon grunted as he crawled through the hole, but he was skinnier than Indy and made it with ease.
"I'd guess that the entire wall we entered through was added to close off the room," Indy said. "That's why the other room is such an odd size."
He bent down in front of the fireplace, and closely examined the floor and walls of the hearth. He held the candle above his head and craned his neck. Without saying another word, he ducked inside the hearth and stood up inside the chimney.
"I wonder why they'd close it off?" Deirdre said. "Indy... where are you?"
"Bight here."
"Where?"
Indy squatted down and stepped away from the fireplace.
"What's up there?" Shannon asked.
Indy held out a hand. "Take a look at this."
"What is it?" Deirdre asked.
"Dust."
"I'm impressed," Shannon said. "He found some dust."
"Right, dust, but no soot. The fireplace is a fake. There's an iron ladder inside the chimney. My guess is that it leads to a trap door on the roof. It was an escape route."
"Why would they need that in a convent?" Deirdre asked.
"Keep in mind how old this place is. The Saxons weren't the kindest warriors. They didn't draw the line at killing nuns."
"Who cares why it's here," Shannon said. "Let's get out of here."
"Not so loud, Jack," Indy said. "You two go ahead. I'm going to put the stones back in place to slow them down."
"Can we help?" Deirdre asked.
"No. I'll get it."
Indiana Jones and the Dance of the Giants Page 17