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5 Part 6Noise exploded suddenly in the dank room.
A dark form burst through a window, rolling as it hit the ground. It stopped and looked around cautiously.
Indy rose, picking glass shards out of his leather jacket, and straightened his fedora hat. "All right, Jones, how are you gonna find the statue in all this junk?" he said as he curled the thick bullwhip back. He surveyed his surroundings, which were starkly chaotic against the dusty beams of sunlight from the window behind him.
Jonesī predicament was understandable. All around him, archaeological artefacts of unbelievable variety were strewn carelessly over benches, in shelves and by pillars, in fact wherever there had been room. The attic itself was not considerably large, insofar as Indy could make out while his eyes adjusted to the gloom, but getting from one end to the other without breaking anything could prove tricky.
Indy looked around, indecisive. What should he be looking for?
He recalled the German who'd come to see him about the artefact - what was his name again? Probably something like Uberfrauten or Weidershen. The German visitor had actually seen Marcus first, but Marcus knew when to abdicate responsibility, and recommended Indiana Jones as the man to find the artefact the German was seeking.
This artefact, then, what was it?
The German had described it to him, in quite specific detail. It was a statue, possibly bronze or copper, and about half a span high. The statue was a representation of a man - or a god. The lower legs were fused together, and the arms raised outward and upward, forming a U. The face was composed of two eyes, and a mouth, each being comprised of open triangles in the metal. At the base, further, there should be a small hollow opening, into which a key could be inserted.
The German wanted the statue. He already had the key.
Indy was still looking around the dusty collection. A slight, fresh breeze was blowing from the broken window behind him. Indy was trying to remember why he'd started his search here. The German's description had not rung any solid bells, and Barnett College had any number of better lit, more accessible collections.
Still, he was here, so why not make the best of it?
Indy walked gingerly away from the broken window into the interior of the attic, hoping to see something that coincided only slightly with the German's description. As he moved away, however, a statue on his left caught his eye. Indy turned toward it, shading his eyes from the sun. A dim shape, perhaps higher than a man, loomed in front of him. The outline looked familiar...
Indy walked forward, slowly. The statue began to coalesce in front of his eyes. A dusty, crumbling stone carving of an Egyptian Sun God, complete with ritual headdress, and arranged in a lotus position. Spiderwebs had broken out all over the statue, and as Indy drew closer he saw brown ants crawling across its face. Indy sighed a little in frustration - it was all well and good going about relieving important archaeological artefacts from the crumbling, dusty, infected caves and ruins they inhabit, but where do they end up? In another dusty, untended, unvisited chamber. Maybe I should call myself a transportation official rather than archaeologist, he wondered for a brief gloomy moment.
Indy reached out to brush some dust from the brow of the statue, when a trapdoor beneath his feet gave way, tumbling him into the darkness below.
"Oof!"
The impact as he hit the floor reverberated throughout his body. The back of his head caught the wooden floor hard, and for a moment black dots pinwheeled across his vision. Then it was just Indy, lying on his back, winded, with a sore rear end. He lay there for a minute or two, before groaning to his feet.
The room below was another collection, but far better organised - there were clearly marked shelves lining the walls. Indy walked over to one of them, rubbing the back of his head, and looked around. Pans, vases and cups from the Assyrian Era - no luck. Moving around the room, Indy found a totem pole carved by Potlach Indians, and a collection of Masai weaponry. Nothing that looked even remotely useful. Indy sighed, and walked across the floor to a small square hole, from which light was welling up. He came to the edge, and looked down, already knowing what he was going to see. The floor below was Caswell Hall library, still in its traditional dishevelled state. The scene below of well lit shelves and heavy treatises was so familiar to Indy that he merely acknowledged them, and straightened up. This is enough, he thought suddenly. Why don't I just go down, tell him I couldn't find it, and be done with it?
His attention was caught by a thick hessian rope by the trapdoor. With a little work, he could easily climb down using it.
Indy pulled the rope.
It snagged, pulling against the totem pole which squashed it to the ground - then, with a slow creak, the totem pole overbalanced, glancing Indy on the shoulder as it fell past. Indy staggered, put a foot out for balance - and stepped into space.
This time, he landed on his side, and managed to avoid any direct harm to particular bones. He lay there for a while, lost in thought.
Indy's blood was getting up. He knew a hunt when he saw one, and this particular expedition seemed to be fulfilling the main categories. The German might want this statue, but Indy was starting to want it too, if only because of the physical pain he was going through.
Still, there was something about the German, mused Indy. He had a certain stance and occasional nuance about him that suggested to Indy that the German was a fighting man. Indy should know - he was one himself, of sorts. Marcus always said so, anyway. It made you wonder why the German wanted the statue, now, of all times. What if... nah. The Nazis would have more important things to do with their time.
But he didn't look like a scholar.
Indy raised himself gingerly to one knee, trying to appease his mutinying tendons. "I could use a pretty good massage right about now," he muttered, before standing up and assessing his location in the library.
Here was the general reference section - it was undergoing an overhaul over the long break. That explained the piles of boxes and books, building equipment and even school desks that occupied the aisles. But no workmen - day off. After a moment of envy, Indy began exploring the shelves. These were still in their original places - books on tools, books on weapons, books on pots.
Indy came to a lone bookshelf, set against the exposed boarding of the library walls. His brow furrowed. "These don't look familiar," he mused, and reached out to pick one out.
The book came out easily in his hand, but before he could catch the name, he became aware of a lengthening shadow on the floor behind him. Indy looked up, but the slow creak told him all he needed to know. "Not agai-" was all he had time to say before the bookshelf hit his chest and rode him onto the floorboards. There was a crushing weight momentarily, and then the floorboards beneath him gave way.
Indy decided he was never going to pick up anything ever again in his entire life. No matter how innocuous it looked. Pain was the only thing you got from it.
Taking even more care in getting up, Indy was at last on his feet, and only occasionally racked by muscular spasms. The room here was dimmer, because this wasn't a public exhibit area, but a storage area for some of their more exotic paraphernalia. On his right, Indy saw large storage shelves, and collections of crockery under thick tarpaulins. In the centre of the room, the only artefacts not packed away, were four cat figurines on a table. Indy approached them cautiously. He reached out gingerly to touch one - and felt his fingers slide across a slick goo on the surface. Wax.
The floor did not give way.
Emboldened, Indy brought his hand out to touch the second cat.
As he made contact the hairy surface beneath his finger jumped alive, as with a startled, frightened hissing squeal the cat arched its back and bared its fangs menacingly.
Indy jumped back, startled, unfortunately landing right in the coal chute. Indy tumbled down the slight incline, catching his head several blows on the smooth steel. He fetched up in the coal bin, fell out, hit his head again on a step and came to rest in front of the central heating furnace. Warmth began to spread over his body.
I could lie here all day, thought a bruised Indy, until messages began arriving from his right foot that it, personally, could only last about two minutes before it started smoking. Indy jerked to his feet, and stood still for half a minute, grimacing, as his joints queued up to complain. This was, as Indy suspected, the furnace room. It was the smallest of the rooms he'd been through on his quest through Caswell hall to find the missing statue. It was also fairly empty. Apart from the coal bin and furnace, the only other items were three lockers, by the exit door. Indy looked at the lockers. Three - that was a good number. Good things always happened in threes - bad things, too. Ancient mystics paid a lot of homage to numbers such as three and seven. Many of the best archaeologists managed their big finds by preguessing the ancients - assuming that if legend holds it to be true, then legends have to start somewhere.
There was a procedure, too, when one was faced with a situation something like this.
Indy lurched over to the left locker, and pulled it open. Empty.
He turned to the right locker, and opened it. Empty.
Unaware he was holding his breath, Indy opened the middle locker.
On the top shelf there was a small bronze statue, a homunculus, with all the features as described by the German. The blood in Indy's veins seemed to be liquid gold, vibrating with energy. He lived for these moments. Sure, most of the time archaeology was poring over illegible texts, making concordances, following leads that lead nowhere, and getting myopia. But just sometimes, you got the scent of a hunt - and sometimes, you bagged the prize.
"Strange looking thing," said Indy. "I wonder where Marcus picked it up?" He reached out to take the statue, and put it into the inside pocket of his jacket, next to the bullwhip. Walking slightly less stiffly now, he opened the metal door and exited the furnace room.
As he walked from Caswell Hall to Barnett College, he tried to place the style of the statue. He couldn't.
Marcus and the German waited inside, in silence. Marcus was trying not to show it, but the visitor was disturbing him. He was disquieting. Excessively mannered, for one thing. Thus when Indy's voice cried out "I'm back!" from the corridor outside, Marcus felt a wash of relief and turned to the door.
"Indy?" he replied querulously.
Indy pulled the door open excitedly and came in.
"You don't look at all well, Dr Jones," said the German.
"Exploring our collections can be dangerous, Mr, uhh... What did you say your name was?"
"Smith," said the German.
Indy felt a twinge of unease, and dismissed it.
"Tell me," said the German, "did you find a lock to match my key?" His voice had a measured, arrogant tone to it, which, no matter what the words were, told you - I am superior. Please bow down. This was in part reinforced by his appearance, which was pure Aryan, shaven blond hair and blue eyes, in a green/brown overcoat.
"You bet I did, said Indy proudly. "Take a look." They gathered around the statue.
It was indeed as Mr Smith had described it - a small metal homunculus, with a hollow opening at the base, tapering to a conical head with horns.
"What are you waiting for?" asked Mr Smith crossly. "Let's open it!"
"Well, why not?" countered Indy. "It's an obvious fake." He tensed for the reaction.
"You may think so, Doctor, but I believe we're opening a new chapter in history!" Mr Smith took out his key, a small circular bronze carving, and handed it to Indy. Indy took the key - again that tingle! - and inserted it into the base. There was a satisfying click. Indy turned the key clockwise, and pulled it out. From the interior of the statue a small orange pellet fell into his hand.
"Good Lord, Indy, a small metal bead!" said Marcus. "Jewellery perhaps?" Indy ignored his words, still staring at the glowing orange bead, a perfect sphere nestled in his hand. W here had it come from? Who had made it? How long ago? He was aware of Mr Smith on his left leaning over his shoulder, also taking a long look.
Indy turned to him. "I still think it's a fake."
Mr Smith smiled.
He stepped back and pulled a small handgun from the folds of his overcoat. Indy felt a sudden, sharp, stab of fear. "Then you won't mind if I take it!" barked Mr Smith.
Indy hurriedly handed over the bead and statue, and backed away with Marcus.
"REALLY, Mr Smith," said Marcus reproachfully.
"I hope you've got a getaway car waiting," said Indy angrily. "You'll need one."
"Hmmm," said Mr Smith lost in thought. He turned to the window. "Wo iz Fritz?"
Indy was already running. Mr Smith had barely turned back halfway when Indy hit him with a piledriver in the chest. Mr Smith tumbled to the ground. Indy rolled over, flailing his right fist. Mr Smith dodged the punches - Indy had already lost the element of surprise. This German was quick. Indy lost his grip and tumbled over, Mr Smith catching him in the eye. With Indy rolling around on the floor Mr Smith got up and jumped to the open window. Indy rose after him, snatching at his overcoat. There was a tearing sound.
Mr Smith hit the grass and took off running.
Indy turned back to Marcus, holding the overcoat in his throbbing right hand.
"He got away," said Marcus.
"But we got his coat, Marcus," replied Indy somewhat defensively. He laid the overcoat out on the desk. Almost immediately he found something in the inside pocket.
Indy took out a passport and security clearance and laid them beside the coat. It contained a picture of Mr Smith. And a Nazi stamp.
"Klaus Kerner, eh?" said Indy.
"Good Lord, Indy, the man's some sort of agent from the Third Reich." Marcus paused briefly. "What does a spy want with a phony statue?"
Indy didn't immediately answer, but instead turned to the window and sighed. The park was deserted. He turned back. "I lied, Marcus. I don't think it's a fake. I can't place the style, but it's old."
Marcus rifled through the pockets while Indy thought. "Look what else our friend was carrying," he said, holding up a news article.
Indy looked at the headline. ICELANDIC ANTIQUITIES.
"An old copy of National Archaeology," continued Marcus. "And there you are in Iceland."
"Yeah," said Indy. "Field supervisor for the Jastro Expedition. My first real job."
"Who's the woman?" enquired Marcus.
Indy stared at her picture. There were a lot of memories associated with that picture, not many of them particularly good. "Sophia Hapgood," replied Indy matter-of-factly. "She was my assistant. A spoilt rich kid from Boston, rebelling against her parents."
"Where is she now?" asked Marcus.
Indy smiled wryly. "She gave up archaeology to become a psychic. Can you believe that?" He shrugged his shoulders.
"How odd," said Marcus evenly.
Suddenly Indy strode off past Marcus, over to a small side door leading to his wardrobe. Marcus, well used to the eccentricities of his fellow colleagues, let this behaviour pass and read the article. As he reached the bottom, a disturbing thought occurred to him.
"He found you, Indy," he said through the door. "What if he finds her? We should warn the woman."
The door opened and Indy strode out, decked out in suit and tie. You'd be hard put to tell that this man had been held at gunpoint only minutes before. "You're right," he said. "I want to know more about that statue!" Indy took the article from Marcus, folded it, and strode off to the door.
At the door he turned to Marcus. "You know, Marcus, the coldest year of my life was the one I spent in Iceland with Sophia." Marcus made no comment as Indy opened the door and left.