"What?" He placed his own hand over the imprint, but the fingers were longer, thicker.
The bar. Beitelheimer. But that had just been a nightmare, hadn't it? He'd awakened in bed. He picked up his undershirt and saw that the fabric looked as if it had been shredded. He couldn't explain it. He looked at the mark on his chest again. It was lighter now, already fading.
As they headed toward the plaza, Indy told Brody about his experience at the bar.
"Are you saying it was a dream or that it happened?" Brody asked.
"A little of both, Marcus. That's the only way I can describe it."
"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to see this mark on your chest when we go back to the hotel."
"It's gone. It just slowly disappeared."
Brody frowned at Indy. "This is all most peculiar. Hopefully, Hans will be able to shed some light on these matters."
The plaza was a hub of activity with vendors selling empanadas and fresh fruit. Some of the people milled about, others crossed the plaza intent on their own business. Brody craned his neck. "I don't see him yet, but maybe if we get ourselves a couple of empanadas and take a look around... Wait. I think that's him. Over there!"
"Where?" As Indy spoke, he glimpsed a tall blond man staring in their direction.
Brody waved and they moved ahead. They hurried through the crowd and were within ten yards of the man when Indy suddenly stopped in midstride and grabbed Marcus by the arm. "Look over there."
"What are you... Oh, my word!"
A man who looked identical to Beitelheimer, except that he wore a hat, was walking along a sidewalk toward the other Beitelheimer. "This can't be," Brody mumbled. "He's over here. Now where did he go?" Brody charged ahead, but the first Beitelheimer was gone.
Indy was more intent on locating the other man, but now he couldn't see him, either. Then he spotted the Beitelheimer with the hat hurrying through a crowd gathered in front of a vendor. Indy rushed after him, but two fishermen carrying coils of rope blocked his way. He dodged around them, but a rotund woman stepped into his path. He bounced off her soft fleshy girth, lost his footing, and tumbled to the ground. The woman's empanada fell from her hand and landed on the back of Indy's neck.
He wiped it off, picked up his fedora, and crawled through several legs as the woman berated him with a barrage of curses. On his feet again, Indy searched the square for the Beitelheimers, but didn't see either one of them. Brody came up beside him. "What in the world is going on here?"
"Good question, Marcus."
Brody wrinkled his nose. "What is that?" He reached into Indy's collar and pulled out a chunk of a hard-boiled egg coated with fried onions.
"Somebody's breakfast. I think she'll survive without it."
"Yesterday afternoon we were wondering if Hans was still alive," Brody said, struggling to put matters into perspective. "Now it seems as if there are two of him."
"And one of them was after the other one," Indy added.
"I'm almost positive the first one I saw was Hans. But I only got a quick glance at the one with the hat."
"Let's go down to the harbor and take a look around." They walked at a fast clip, but still kept an eye out for the Beitelheimers.
Gulls pinwheeled high overhead, riding the current of the ten-knot breeze that rippled the harbor waters. Most of the fishermen had already left for the day. The few that remained behind were repairing nets or working on their boats. Indy and Brody split up and started asking questions. Fifteen minutes later, they met at the base of the pier.
"Nothing," Brody said. "Nobody's seen Beitelheimer, and nobody wants to talk about the Caleuche, either."
"Ditto," Indy said. He looked around and saw several of the fishermen stealing glances in their direction. "At least the word should get around that we're interested in the ship."
Brody shook his head as they headed back to the hotel. "I don't know what to think. I don't mind telling you, I'm very confused right now."
"We're both a little baffled, Marcus. But we'll get to the bottom of it."
"I'm sorry to get you involved."
"Actually, Chiloe is turning out to be considerably more interesting than I'd imagined," Indy said.
They'd gone a couple of blocks when Indy noticed a couple kissing in a doorway. He could see only the back of the woman's head, but the man's face, with its thick sideburns, was right out of his dream. "Wait here," he said, and he walked over to the couple.
"Excuse me."
The man looked startled as he pulled away from the woman. "Ahora, que quiere?"
"I just want to know one thing," Indy said. "Do I look familiar to you?"
The man stared at him. "How could I forget you? I had to carry you to your room last night from the bar. Please, don't get in any more fights with that ungodly seaman. The next time he'll kill you."
"Who is he?"
"Someone very strange. Evil. Don't look for him or his friends."
"What friends?"
"You are asking for trouble. They will find you before you find them."
The girl was still clinging to the bartender, and she looked frightened by what he said.
"Thanks."
"Now what was that about?" Brody asked.
"I just confirmed what I already was thinking. The Beitelheimer with the hat was the guy I saw last night, and it was no dream."
"What was it then?"
"A visit from a crew member of the Caleuche."
"A ghost from a ghost ship?"
"Not exactly. Let's get some breakfast, and I'll tell you what I think is going on here."
6
Mariners
As soon as Indy and Brody arrived back at the hotel, they found a table at the restaurant adjoining the bar. Although Indy felt he had already had his fill of empanadas for the day, he ordered one anyhow, along with coffee. The waiter informed them that the restaurant was the only one in town that offered coffee, and a cup turned out to cost three times more than the empanada. But it was worth it.
"Indy, I know you want to get to the bottom of this matter with Beitelheimer as much as I do, but I don't want to delay your return to Easter Island. If you want to leave—"
"Marcus, don't worry about me and Easter Island," Indy interrupted. He'd already decided not to take the next ship leaving Santiago. "You got me here, and I'm not leaving until we've figured out what's going on."
"All right. So what's your theory?" Brody asked, stirring cream into his coffee. "I can't wait to hear it."
"My guess is that the Caleuche is as real as any other ship. It's probably a pirate operation. Simple as that."
"Modern-day pirates," Brody said. "An interesting idea. But what about the look-alike? How do you explain that?"
Indy sipped from his cup. "I'm not sure. But I always like to start with the most logical possibility, and go from there."
"Which means what?"
"I'd say Beitelheimer has a twin who's involved in the pirate operation. It's probably the reason that he came down here in the first place."
"But I never heard about any twin."
Indy shrugged. "Some people keep the black sheep in the family a deep secret."
"I suppose it's possible," Brody said, as their plates of empanadas arrived.
Brody picked up one of the meat pastries, bit into it, and mulled over what Indy had said. "Your explanation misses one big point," he finally said. "The ghost ship, or at least the legend of it, has been around for five hundred years."
Indy swallowed a bite of empanada. "Very tasty. Much better than the first one. I don't consider the age of the legend a problem. A ghost ship legend, complete with a crew of witches, was passed from one generation to another, and the pirates have just put it to their own use. No doubt they occasionally kidnap islanders for their galley slaves."
"You mean like Teotoro?"
"Right. Although he probably wasn't floating around on a ship for fifty years."
"I should hope not." Brody frowned, tapping his
chin lightly with his index finger. "Well, you may be right. But do you think Beitelheimer is involved, or just this mysterious twin? And what about Fernandez's story about Hans seeing his wife on the ship?"
"I don't know, Marcus. It could be that the twin was trying to lure his brother into the operation. Or maybe Beitelheimer just lost his mind."
They were almost finished with breakfast, and considering what to do next, when an old man with thin, wispy hair and a three-day growth of beard cautiously approached the table. "You are the ones who were asking about the Caleuche?"
"That's right," Brody said.
The man looked around the restaurant, then back to them. "What do you want to know?"
"Whatever you know," Indy answered. "Sit down."
The man said his name was Antonio. His clothes were clean, but well-worn. His face was bony and interlaced with deep-set wrinkles. "These are evil times. Very evil. This past year has been the worst in my memory."
"Why do you say that?" Indy asked, doing his best not to snap at the old man. They needed specifics, not vague opinions.
Antonio leaned toward them. "The ones from the ship are active on the land, and many fear for their lives. They don't dare talk about the Caleuche to strangers."
"What about you?"
"I am eighty, maybe eighty-two. I forget. I don't have long here in this world, so I can speak."
"And what do you want to say?" Brody asked in a soft voice, as if he were the old man's confessor.
The man brought a pipe from his pocket, packed it with tobacco, and lit it. "When I was young and my parents were still alive, I saw the ghost ship for the first time. It was brilliantly colored and headed toward land one evening about twilight. My parents realized it was the ghost ship because they sent my brothers, sister, and me off to bed. But I disobeyed. I looked out the window and saw seven seamen approaching the house. They asked my father for supplies and water, and told him he would be paid in gold. And they wanted to use our house for a few days."
"What did your father say?" Brody asked.
"He told them that he'd rather be poor the rest of his life than give them even a drop of water. As long as he lived, he wondered why the crew never took reprisals. But they finally returned a few years ago."
"What happened?" Indy asked, thinking, Now we're getting somewhere.
"I still live in the same house, but now with my granddaughter and her husband," Antonio explained. "They are poor potato farmers like I was. But the crew gave them no choice. They were forced to make a pact. Otherwise, they would lose their children."
"What kind of pact?" Indy asked.
"They must leave their house at certain times and allow the crew to use it. Now is one of those times."
"You mean the crew is staying at the house right now?" Brody inquired.
The old man nodded.
"Will you take us there?" Indy asked.
Antonio puffed on his pipe. "I, too, am concerned about the children. But I know that if nothing is done, those children will be haunted all of their lives by the ship and its crew. I will take you to the house tonight. They are getting bolder now. They must be stopped."
"Why do you say they are bold?" Brody wanted to know.
"Because I saw them capture a man this morning right in the street. No one dared stop them."
"What did he look like?" Indy asked, then exchanged a glance with Brody when Antonio described Beitelheimer.
"You must know something yourselves," Antonio said. "You were asking about the ship and a missing man."
"How do you know we're not from the crew?" Indy asked.
Antonio scrutinized each of them for a moment. "Because they don't act like you. They don't ask questions. They make demands and they act." He stood up. "Go to Chonchi, and wait at the hotel for me. I will meet you there at dusk."
He turned and walked away.
"We'll be there," Indy called after him.
There didn't seem to be many more automobiles on Chiloe than there were on Easter Island. But one old Model T operated as a taxicab in Ancud, and its owner gladly drove them to Chonchi. En route, they passed plowed fields planted with long rows of potatoes, and acres of coastal mud flats where women dug for clams. Clams and potatoes, Indy thought. And a ghost ship.
It was midafternoon when Indy and Brody arrived in Chonchi. The town was smaller than Ancud, and it didn't take long for them to walk around it. Several vultures were perched on the top of a two-story brick building near the waterfront, and three men, dressed in dark clothing, leaned against the wall, watching them.
The vultures, the men's stares, made Indy uneasy. "Let's go back to the hotel and wait for dark."
"Fine with me," Brody said. They turned around and retraced their steps.
No one had lit the gas lamps yet, and the dusk had consumed the dingy lobby where Indy and Brody waited. As if on cue, they both stood up when the door opened. A matronly woman, who worked in the hotel, stepped inside, and they were about to sit back down when Antonio followed her into the lobby.
"There you are," Brody said. "We were hoping you hadn't changed your mind."
"Are you ready?" the old man asked in a plaintive voice.
"As ready as we'll ever be, I daresay," Brody responded.
A cold drizzle had begun to fall with the approach of night. They climbed aboard Antonio's buckboard and headed out of town. The horse that was pulling them looked as old as Antonio and seemed to trot in slow motion.
Brody tightened the collar of his coat. "What sort of trouble do you think we're getting ourselves into?" he whispered to Indy.
Antonio, although old, didn't seem to have any problem with his hearing. He glanced at Brody. "Maybe they will be gone. I don't know."
"I hope we're not doing this for the fun of it," Indy grumbled, tugging his fedora down so the cold rain didn't seep down the collar of his shirt.
"For many years, the ship was grounded, and we had no problems with it."
"Grounded?" Brody asked.
"It was in the shape of a huge tree trunk in a salt marsh near the village of Huidad."
"How did you know the tree trunk was the ship?" Indy asked.
"Because one day it just appeared in the marsh. There had been no wind the night before, and the sea did not reach that far inland. The trunk was ninety feet long and eighteen feet wide."
"Big trunk," Indy muttered.
"By noon, a flock of crows had perched on it and the villagers knew that it was the Caleuche. For ten years, the trunk and the crows remained there, until one day a crazy man came along and chopped into it."
"What happened?" Brody asked.
"It bled."
Sap, no doubt, Indy thought, dismissing the significance.
"That same night," Antonio continued, "the trunk vanished, and a short time later so did the man who had struck it with his axe."
Indy smiled, enjoying yet another Chiloe legend. But Brody was staring straight ahead, and from his forlorn expression Indy guessed that the museum director wished he were back in New York.
A few minutes later, they left the buckboard near a grove and walked to the top of a hill. Antonio pointed to a house near the base of the hill. It was so well lit that it looked as if it were on fire. A shadowy figure moved past one of the windows, then another, answering Indy's unspoken question. Someone was inside.
"How long have they been here?" Indy asked.
"Four days here, but they are other places, too."
Brody wiped the rain from his face. "What in the world are they doing?"
"Let's take a closer look," Indy suggested. They weren't going to find out much from up here.
"I'm too old to go crawling around," Antonio replied. "And it's not safe."
"I agree totally," Brody said.
"I'll go myself," Indy replied.
"But Indy—"
"It's best this way, Marcus."
Indy crept down the hill, watching for anyone outside the house. He stopped suddenly when he heard
a growl, then slowly turned to see a large, black dog, teeth bared. "It's okay, boy. Take it easy."
The beast didn't look convinced. Then Indy remembered that he still had a stick of dried beef in his jacket pocket. He'd been carrying it around since the train trip from Santiago. He tossed it, and the dog caught it in the air with a snap of its jaw. Indy sidled away while the animal was occupied.
He bent down next to a window and peered inside. What he saw surprised, then confused him. The floor was covered with pails, and several men sat around a table busily working with knives, gutting fish, which were being brought from another room. From what he could see, the fish were all of the same species, a prehistoric-looking creature. Then he realized they weren't gutting the fish, but only removing orange masses of eggs from the females. The fish, which weighed between twenty and thirty pounds, were simply tossed on the floor.
No wonder the old man was angry. The house was probably going to stink of fish for weeks. Real swell. I've uncovered some sort of fish-egg-gathering conspiracy. What are these guys, black-market merchants of the caviar industry? Indy never did care much for caviar, and maybe now he knew why.
Some ghosts. They were as real as he was. Probably pirates who'd hit hard times, and were feeding on any trade where they could make a quick buck. It was no doubt illegal to harvest these fish eggs in international waters and that was why they were in the business.
Something cold, wet, and sharp closed over Indy's wrist. He instinctively pulled away, but the viselike jaws of the black dog held him firmly, yet didn't bite through his skin. "Easy, boy. Take it easy," Indy whispered as saliva ran over his forearm. "I don't have any more food for you."
The dog tugged firmly on Indy's wrist, as if to lead him away. Probably right into the pirate's den. But Indy quickly realized that if he wanted to keep his hand attached to his wrist, he had no choice but to go along with the dog. He scanned the ground for a rock or a board. A knockout blow was about the only thing that was going to free him.
But to Indy's surprise, the dog pulled him away from the house and into the darkness. About fifty feet from the back door, the dog stopped and tugged Indy down to the ground. Indy abidingly crouched; he glimpsed a man pacing back and forth in front of a shed. The dog let go of his wrist and whined.
Indiana Jones and the Interior World Page 5
