Indiana Jones
and the
Unicorn's Legacy
Rob MacGregor
Discover the ADVENTURES of INDIANA JONES
In 1981 a new hero like no other burst upon the scene. Over the next ten years and three films we grew to know and love the legend that is Indiana Jones: bold adventurer, swashbuckling explorer, he lives forever in our imaginations, unraveling the mysteries of the past in a time when the world was at war and dreams could still come true. Now, in an all-new series of novels officially licensed from Lucasfilm, we will learn what shaped Indiana Jones into the hero he is today!
DON'T MISS ANY OF INDY'S EXCITING ADVENTURES IN
INDIANA JONES AND THE
PERIL AT DELPHI
INDIANA JONES AND THE
DANCE OF THE GIANTS
INDIANA JONES AND THE
SEVEN VEILS
INDIANA JONES AND THE
GENESIS DELUGE
"What do you think of it?" Indy asked as Mara gazed in awe at forty feet of wall covered with woolly mammoths, deer, bears, and bisons. On the opposite side were more animal paintings, as well as several handprints, outlined in paint, and an array of strange symbols.
"It's fantastic, just fantastic," she replied in a hushed voice. "But are you sure they're really ancient?"
"No question about it," Indy answered. "Enough of these caves have been found around here. You're definitely looking at paintings from the Ice Age."
"Do you think this is a really important discovery?" Mara asked.
"That depends on what else is here. At a minimum, we've found some fascinating Paleolidiic cave art that's comparable with what's already been discovered."
Mara moved closer to the wall, and pointed to a four-legged animal that seemed to have a single horn growing from its head. "Look at that one. It's a unicorn."
Indy laughed. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."
"I believe in unicorns," she said quietly. "They really did exist."
Bantam Books by Rob MacGregor
Ask your bookseller for the books you have missed
INDIANA JONES AND THE PERIL AT DELPHI
INDIANA JONES AND THE DANCE OF THE GIANTS
INDIANA JONES AND THE SEVEN VEILS
INDIANA JONES AND THE GENESIS DELUGE
INDIANA JONES AND THE UNICORN'S LEGACY
INDIANA JONES AND THE INTERIOR WORLD (Fall 1992)
INDIANA JONES AND THE UNICORN'S LEGACY
A Bantam Falcon Book / September 1992
Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission
to reprint from the following:
Wind in the Rock by Ann Zwinger.
Copyright © 1978 by Ann H. Zwinger.
Reprinted by permission of the author.
FALCON and the portrayal of a boxed "f" are trademarks of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1992 by LucasJUm, Ltd.
Cover art by Drew Struzan.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted m any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.
* * *
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
* * *
ISBN 0-553-29666-3
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
* * *
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10103.
* * *
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
OPM 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
An S522 eBook conversion
For T.J. and Alison
Special thanks to Dick Beaupre and John Riglesberger for the translations.
It was Greek to me!
Now I will believe
That there are unicorns...
—William Shakespeare, The TempestIII, iii
Save me from the lion's mouth; for thou hast heard me from the horns of unicorns.
Psalms 22:21
Prologue
Yorkshire, England—1786
Jonathan Ainsworth hardly recognized his father. After five months in his damp, shadowy cell, Michael Ainsworth looked like a different man. He'd lost twenty-five pounds, and his hair was gray and motley. His shoulders were slumped.
"Father?"
Michael Ainsworth slowly raised his head as the jailer unlocked the cell. For a moment, Jonathan feared his father wouldn't know him, that he'd lost his mind. He hadn't seen him since the day after the trial had ended. Then Jonathan saw a faint smile and a glimmer of light in his father's bloodshot eyes, and he knew that, despite the conditions, Ainsworth still maintained his sanity.
The cell door slammed shut, and the noise echoed eerily along the hallway. The smile on his father's face changed to a look of concern. "Jon, you shouldn't have come here. It's not a place for a boy."
"It's all right. Don't worry about me." His father still thought of him as a child, but he was a grown man of twenty-one and the head of the house. "I wanted to visit sooner, but..."
"How are the young ones taking it?"
Jonathan sat down on the bench next to his father. "Mary had a hard time. She still cries for you. I think Charles has accepted it. Of course, he's a little older."
"And your mother?"
"She's doing her best." Jonathan wanted to tell his father that there was a particular reason why he and not his mother had come today, but he couldn't do it, not yet.
Michael Ainsworth coughed, a deep, wracking cough that took possession of his body and throttled it. "Is there trouble?"
Jonathan shrugged. "They can't do anything more to us than they've already done, Father."
Ainsworth grasped his son's wrist with surprising strength. His eyes flared. "What have they done? Tell me everything."
Jonathan explained they were losing the house. They couldn't make the payments any longer. They couldn't get credit. People didn't trust them. It was worse than that: People were openly hostile. But Jonathan didn't want to burden his father. He only wanted him to understand that they had to move to London where no one would know them, and that Mother wouldn't be able to visit him as often.
"Talk to Mathers. He said he was so concerned about you children. Maybe he'll help you find work."
Like Michael Ainsworth, Frederick Mathers was a barrister. They'd been partners until a couple years before Ainsworth's arrest. In the trial, Mathers had testified to his partner's good character, but it had been a weak plea for leniency and the judge might as well have been stone deaf. "He can't do anything more for us. We have to leave, Father. It's no good for us here."
The elder Ainsworth nodded. "You're right. But now listen closely to me, Son."
Jon leaned toward his father, whose raspy voice was barely audible. He hoped this wasn't going to be a confession. Although Jon knew that his father was guilty as accused, he didn't want to hear him admit it.
"My trunk in the closet."
"The authorities went through it, Father. They went through everything we own."
Ainsworth shook his head. He explained that i
t had a false bottom, and told Jonathan to tear it out. He would find some money. Not much. But it would help.
"Why didn't you tell me this before? We could have used the money for your defense."
Ainsworth shook his head, and said it wouldn't have done any good. "You'll also find what looks like a staff made of twisted ivory and gilded silver. It's an alicorn. It's very beautiful, but you must destroy it. Do you understand?"
Jonathan shook his head. "What's an alicorn?"
"A unicorn's horn. It's what has caused all of my problems. All of them. And yours as well. Do you hear me?"
"How could a staff, an alicorn, do that?"
"You'll find a letter I wrote that explains everything. Read it, then break the wretched thing into as many pieces as you can and scatter them. That will break the spell."
"Yes, Father. I'll do as you say."
Ainsworth held up a finger. It shook as he spoke. "I know this probably sounds like nonsense, but please believe me. The staff is evil. Its powers are unfathomable."
"I'll do what you say, Father."
Jonathan left the cell convinced that his father had gone stark, raving mad. He'd blamed all his troubles on some old walking stick. It was horrible to see him this way. But the money would help. They needed every cent they could get. Maybe he could sell the staff, if it was really made of ivory and silver, if it even existed. But it might not be any more real than unicorns.
1
Diving into the Ice Age
Montignac, France—1924
Indy stepped into the frigid water that flowed into the dark cavern and mentally prepared himself for what lay ahead. He glanced along the riverbank to make sure no one was around, then waded into the cavern.
The water was colder than he'd expected, and he winced as icy fingers lapped at his groin. "Are you sure about this, Jones?" he asked himself in a whisper. "It's worth a shot," he answered. "Worth a shot." He grimaced as his bare foot stepped on a sharp stone. "I hope."
A hundred feet into the cavern, he paused in waist-deep water. In front of him, the roof sloped down to meet the river. There were easier caves to explore in the foothills of the Pyrenees. At least a dozen had been found that contained evidence of Paleolithic inhabitants, who had painted the walls with surprisingly detailed drawings. In fact, he and the others had already visited a couple of them near Le Tuc d'Audoubert. However, the group had hoped to stumble on a new cave during their ten-day excursion to southwestern France. Today, their final day of prowling the hills near the Trois Freres region, was their last chance before they headed back to Paris.
Indy figured it was this cavern or nothing. Even though it was less than a mile from camp, no one had bothered with it after they'd seen how the cave ceiling dipped into the water. Yet, the more he'd thought about it, the more he'd become convinced that there were caverns inside. The late Ice Age, after all, had been cold and dry so that the water level must have been lower. That meant there was a good chance the cave had been inhabited like others in the region.
He sucked in his breath, filling his lungs, then ducked under the surface. The water was so cold that he shot to the surface and sputtered. C'mon, Jones. Either you do it or you get out of the water.
He took another deep breath and dove. When he was a kid, he could easily hold his breath for three minutes. If anything, his lung capacity was larger now. So was his body, of course, but he had a plan to avoid trouble. He'd swim for a minute and surface. If the ceiling was still underwater, he'd turn back. He'd have two minutes to make it back. He could do it.
He took leisurely strokes, letting the current do most of the work. Thirty seconds... forty. The current was stronger than he'd suspected. He wondered how difficult swimming against it would be. Maybe he'd better surface. He swam up and almost instantly struck his head against a wall. He ran his hand over the smooth surface and noticed how quickly he was drifting downstream. Suddenly and unexpectedly, a streak of terror raced through him. He was losing more ground and running out of air. He wanted air. Now.
No. You can make it back. He turned upstream, losing another few yards in the process. Then he kicked hard against the current, and one foot shot through the surface and splashed. Indy's mind was as numb as his body, and it took a second for the significance to register: A splash required air. He arched his back, twisted, and shot through the surface. He drew in a deep, reviving breath.
He treaded water and continued drifting in an envelope of darkness. He reached for the ceiling, but couldn't touch it. He could be inside an immense cavern and he wouldn't know it. He worked his way across the current until he found a wall, which was worn smooth by the water.
"Hello," he shouted as he continued drifting with the current. His voice echoed as if he were in a large chamber, but a few seconds later his head struck the ceiling. "Ouch!"
He didn't know how much longer the pocket of air would last, and he had no reason to drift any further. He swam against the current, his heart pounding in his chest. He was gasping for breath and his head was above the surface. He'd never last three minutes underwater. He reached out, touched the wall, and found a handhold.
He rested and regained his wit. He was doing fine, he told himself, and slowly worked his way upstream along the wall until the ceiling touched the water again. Nothing to worry about. He'd make it out easily. He'd even come back with candles and matches and find out what was here.
It was time. He took a deep breath, dived, and swam furiously. The deeper he swam the less the current seemed to pull on him. But he knew he couldn't stop or even slow his pace. A minute passed. Then another. He kept swimming. His lungs were ready to burst, but he refused to give up. Then his stomach scraped bottom. He pushed off and his head punched through the surface and into the light. He was back.
"Jones, what are you doing?"
Indy slogged out of the cavern and squinted against the bright sunshine. Roland Walcott, the lab instructor who was officially in charge of the trip, was standing on the riverbank, his hands on his hips.
"I think I found a cavern."
"You think you did, or you did?"
"I've got to go back with candles. I couldn't see. You've got to swim underwater a ways before you can surface."
Walcott gave him an odd look. "I heard you were a bit daft. Now I believe it." He shook his head and turned away, giving neither support nor disapproval of Indy's plan to venture back into the cavern.
"Friendly guy," Indy muttered, and he walked back to the camp alone. Walcott was nearly thirty years old, a perpetual student who couldn't seem to finish his Ph.D. Indy had heard that the pompous Englishman spent most of his time drinking in the boites and lacked ambition. And yet, he was nosy and competitive, and thrived on one-upmanship, taking advantage of his experience. On this trip, Walcott seemed intent on doing as little as possible, which was preferable, Indy supposed, to dealing with someone who set all kinds of limitations on what he could do.
"Indy, you're all wet. Where've you been?"
"Hi, Mara. I was swimming in the river, where it goes into the hills," he said.
Mara Rogers, an American attending graduate school at the Sorbonne, was the only student among them who was not working toward a Ph.D. in archaeology or anthropology. She was an art history student, a rangy, good-looking woman with clear blue eyes, a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and full lips, and a mane of blond hair tied in a ponytail. She was, so to speak, Walcott's special guest.
"You mean you followed it underground?"
"That's right."
"What happened?"
Indy looked around the makeshift kitchen. "Got anything left?"
"I saved some lunch for you."
"Swell. Let me change out of these clothes, then I'll tell you what happened."
A few minutes later, Indy described his feat to Mara as he ate a bowl of beef stew. When he finished his tale, he was surprised that she didn't seem to consider it particularly unusual.
"Are you going back?" she asked.
"Sure, and this time I'm going to be better prepared."
"Does Roland know what you're doing?"
He better watch what he said now, Indy thought. He didn't know exactly how close Mara was to the lab instructor. "Sure. I saw him down by the river."
"Can I come with you? I'd like to see the cave."
"Oh, I don't know. It's sort of dangerous. You'd have to have to be a pretty strong swimmer."
"They used to call me the blond mermaid when I was a kid. I'd swim every day for an hour or two in the San Juan River. There was a great swimming hole close to Bluff, Utah, where I grew up."
Indy liked Mara just fine, but he didn't want her messing up his plans. "What about Roland? He might not like it."
"I don't need his approval for everything I do. If I want to go for a swim, I'll go."
But if Walcott saw them together, he might order Indy to stay away from the cavern. He was trying to think of a way to discourage Mara from joining him without offending her when four of the other students approached.
"Hey, either of you seen Roland?" one of the men asked.
"He's off somewhere by himself," Mara answered.
Indy expected Mara to tell the others about his venture in the river, and he saw his discreet plans vanishing. Everyone would want to join him, and Walcott would nix the whole thing. But Mara didn't say a word about it.
"Well, if you see him, tell him we're going to follow the gully for a few miles."
Indy and Mara wished them luck, and watched them walk off. "Thanks for not making a big deal about the cavern."
"No reason to. We don't know if anything's even there yet."
By the time he finished his lunch, Walcott hadn't returned and Indy was resigned to taking Mara with him. He figured she'd probably change her mind once she stepped into the icy water, or they would cross paths with Walcott before they reached the cavern. In that case, Indy planned to keep going and leave Mara and Walcott to their own devices.
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