Indiana Jones and the Dance of the Giants

by Rob MacGregor

"He may not be the greatest physical specimen, but I guarantee you Jack can handle himself."

  "You think we'll have trouble finding him?"

  "We made a plan. He was going to leave a message at the first inn he came to when he left the station."

  As they disembarked, a kid with an unruly thatch of blond hair and protruding ears came up to them, and asked if they wanted a carriage ride to the ruins. He looked to be eleven or twelve, but was big for his age.

  "Not right now," Indy said and kept walking.

  "You won't find a room," the kid yelled after them.

  "Smart aleck," Indy muttered.

  They headed down the main street of the village. Most of the white-walled houses were trimmed in pale blue, red, or black and provided the only contrast under the slate gray sky and dull brown plain. They found the first inn two blocks from the station.

  An old man was seated at a desk behind a wooden counter in a cramped lobby. Thick muttonchops rimmed his jaws like silver fur. He was drinking tea, and didn't look up until Indy cleared his throat. "You're lucky, young man. We've got one room available for the weekend. Someone canceled."

  "Only one room?" Deirdre asked.

  "Good," Indy said. "Do you have a message for Henry Jones?"

  "Henry Jones." Muttonchops scowled, and walked over to a wall of cubical cubbyholes. "Let me see here," he said, reaching into a corner one.

  Deirdre looked over at Indy. "Henry?" she mouthed.

  "My undercover name," he whispered.

  Muttonchops moved back to the counter, carrying his tea. "No, not a thing here today."

  "How about yesterday or the day before?" Indy asked, unperturbed.

  "Well, I did have a message for a Mr. H. Jones, but that couldn't be you."

  "Why not?"

  "Because Jones already picked it up."

  "He did? What did this Jones look like? I think I might know him."

  Muttonchops studied Indy a moment, then shrugged. "Can't remember."

  Indy reached into his pocket, and placed a few coins next to the bell on the counter. "You sure about that?"

  Muttonchops eyed the money. "Come to think of it, I do remember something about him now. A nice-looking fellow, real friendly. A good dresser. He had a little dimple in his chin,"

  Powell. No doubt about it. "Thanks. Is Mr. Shannon in his room?"

  Muttonchops rubbed his jaw, and looked over at the cubbyholes as if Shannon were hiding in one of them, then back at the coins on the counter. "Shannon, Shannon. The name does ring a bell."

  Indy added a few more pence to trigger his memory. "He's the one who left the message."

  "Oh, of course. He canceled. Stayed one night, paid for three. That's why I've got a room."

  "Did he give a reason?" Deirdre asked.

  "Didn't say. It was Jones who canceled for him actually. Picked up his belongings and took them with him."

  "Is Jones staying here?" Indy asked, and added the last of his coins to the pile.

  Muttonchops set down his tea. "You know this Jones fellow?"

  "Sure. He's my brother."

  "Why didn't you say so? He's at the old convent. There's a whole crew of 'em over there."

  "What are they doing there?"

  Muttonchops scowled at him. "Didn't he tell you?"

  "Not all the specifics," Indy answered. "I got the feeling he's going to put me to work, and I just want to find out what I'm getting into."

  "Smart thinking. They're inspecting the whole structure, foundation, everything. Been closed for years. Now seems some money may be coming along for restoration, but they've got to know what shape the old place is in."

  "That's nice," Deirdre said. "I mean that someone wants to fix the place up."

  "Whole thing came up real fast." He leaned forward, tapped the coins, then made a face. "Crafty politics, if you ask me."

  "If my brother's involved, I can understand that." Indy turned to Deirdre. "Why don't we go over and take a look?"

  The old innkeeper peered curiously over his wire-framed glasses at them. "Might you not be needin' that room first? All the inns are booked full. Know that to be a fact."

  "Why's that?" Indy asked. The village didn't seem

  particularly flooded with visitors. In fact, Indy had seen few people that he could identify as outsiders.

  "The festival."

  "A festival?" Deirdre asked.

  "Once every nineteen years, the druids hold a great festival and people come from all over Britain and the continent." He leaned over the counter, and held a hand to his mouth. "Superstitious folk, you know, that sort. They take over Stonehenge for two nights."

  "When is it?" Indy asked, wondering if the festival had something to do with Powell's plan for the gold scroll and the Omphalos.

  "Started last night. Went on till dawn."

  "How many people were there?" Indy asked as he signed the registry.

  "Hundreds, I hear. This one, they say, is special because it comes along at the same time as an eclipse of the sun. You see, they think those old stones were placed there to watch the stars. Heard that all my life. It may be true. They come here for the solstice, too. They're out there every June twenty-first before dawn, watching the sun rise right over the big rock on the outside, the one they call the heel stone." He leaned forward, winked. "Hell stone, that's what I call it."

  Indy was familiar with the summer solstice ritual, but that didn't interest him at the moment. "Where are all these druids now? I didn't notice many people on the street."

  "They're all back out there again. Slept a few hours, then went right back. They're serving a meal before the eclipse, I heard."

  "When's the eclipse?" Indy asked.

  Muttonchops looked over at the grandfather clock behind him. "Three-twenty-two. About two hours away."

  Indy glanced at Deirdre. "Why don't we have a look before we visit my brother at the convent?"

  "Good idea."

  "You wouldn't get me out there, least not at night with those folks," Muttonchops said.

  "Why not?" Deirdre asked.

  "The last time they had one of these festivals, nineteen years ago, two boys from the village about your age snuck out there. They came back, but they were never the same again. One killed himself a year later. Smashed his head against one of the stones out there. The other one has been in some asylum in London for years."

  Indy picked up their bags. "Thanks for the tip."

  The old man handed Deirdre the key, and scooped up the coins. "Room's at the top of the stairs on the left."

  "What about Jack?" Deirdre asked as they climbed the stairs.

  "If I know Jack, he probably got wind that Powell was onto him and disappeared before they got him. Maybe we'll find him at the eclipse."

  Indy unlocked the door and they stepped inside the room. He looked with disappointment at the two single beds, then set the bags on the floor.

  "What about the message he left?"

  He sat down on one of the beds, testing the springs. "Powell probably picked it up when he found out Shannon was gone." At least, that was what he hoped had happened.

  "But then Adrian must have known we were on our way. Why didn't they have someone waiting to nab us?" she asked.

  "The eclipse, that's why. We must have arrived at the right time."

  "Maybe we should go to the convent instead, if everyone's at the ruins."

  Indy thought about it. "We could, but what if Powell's already found the scroll and has it with him? It may be our only chance to stop him."

  "But how?"

  He stood up. "Let's just see what happens. If we can somehow get the Omphalos away from him, everything else might just come together on its own."

  He was about to open the door when Deirdre touched his forearm. "Indy, will you answer me truthfully about something?"

  He turned, leaned against the door, and slipped his hands around her waist. "I'll try."

  "Do you really believe me when I say I never slept wi
th Adrian?"

  He laughed, squeezed her shoulders. "Of course I do."

  She hugged him. "I was so worried before that you were thinking... I don't know. That I was unclean or something."

  "Deirdre, forget about it." He pushed back her hair, then stroked her cheek. Her head tilted back, and he kissed her.

  Her lips parted; she pulled him closer. Indy opened one eye and looked at the bed just steps away. "No sense getting out there too early," he whispered in her ear.

  She smiled. "It could even be dangerous if we got there much before the eclipse."

  He nodded, walking her back toward the bed. "I agree, wholeheartedly."

  19

  Eclipse at Stonehenge

  Stonehenge was two miles west of the village, but Indy had no idea if they were heading toward the ruins or away from it. He just wanted to find a ride, but Amesbury wasn't London, and of the few cars parked along the road, none looked like taxis.

  "If we have to walk there, we're probably going to miss the eclipse," Deirdre said.

  Indy gazed skyward. The solid gray cloud cover was unchanged. "It's not going to be much of an eclipse. I'm sure it's just a partial one, and with the clouds we might not even notice it."

  At the moment, he didn't care whether they made it to the ruins or not. He was still soaring from his love-making with Deirdre. If Shannon turned up right now, he might even consider forgetting about Powell and the druids and going back to London on the next train. They could report what happened to Joanna to Scotland Yard and tell them that the local investigation had been a sham. That, he supposed, was the civilized way to handle it, but he also knew that Powell would probably get away untouched.

  Just then they heard the clopping of hoofs, and turned to see a horse and buggy approaching at a slow gait. Indy stopped and was about to wave down the driver when he saw it was the blond-haired kid.

  "Stonehenge now? You can still get there before the eclipse."

  "You're just who we're looking for," Indy said as the kid bounded down from his perch and opened the carriage door.

  "You're not druids, are you? Didn't think so," the boy quickly added, answering his own question.

  "How can you tell?"

  "You're not carrying any robes, and they're all out there by now."

  "Lots of business today, I bet," Deirdre said as she climbed into the carriage.

  "No. The druids walk." He shook his head as if druids were synonymous with nuisance. It was the same sense that Indy had gotten from the old innkeeper. They were tolerated, but not particularly liked by the villagers.

  "Is it okay for us to go out there?" she asked.

  The kid laughed, shutting the door after Indy. "You won't be the only tourists there. You just have to stay together on one side."

  Like hell, Indy thought.

  "Drive carefully, please," Deirdre called up to the kid as he mounted the buggy, and picked up the reins.

  "I've been driving carriages half my life," he said in a weary voice that no doubt was supposed to sound grown-up.

  Indy smirked. "He'll be ready to retire before he's twenty-one."

  The kid looked back at them. "Three more years and I can get a car. They say that one of the these days the cars are going to push the horses right off the roads here just like they've done in the cities."

  "That's progress, kid," Indy said. "Let's go."

  "My name is Randolph, but you can call me Randy. Everyone does, except my father."

  "I'm Deirdre. This is Indy."

  Indy gave her a sour look. "Nice going. Tell everyone we're here," he said under his breath.

  As the carriage rolled forward and left the village behind, Indy strained to see the ancient embankment and megalithic remains that bordered three sides of the village. But most of the massive, crude stones had been broken up and carted away long ago, and the site was hardly as impressive in appearance as their destination.

  A few minutes later, Indy spotted Stonehenge. The stones rose across Salisbury Plain like an assemblage of towers reminding him vaguely of a castle. Yet, the circle of stones looked small and isolated, not the center of the world, but a misplaced relic, lost in time, out of place, like a shipwreck in the desert.

  As they neared the ruins, he saw a line of lilliputian figures garbed in billowy white robes moving beneath the looming stone pillars. As they drew closer, he realized the hooded figures were full-grown men and women who were dwarfed by the massive stones. The buggy circled to the right, veering toward the tail end of the line. He could see that some of the druids carried oak branches, others held long trumpets, and a few held incense burners surrounded by clouds of smoke. None of them seemed to pay the carriage any heed.

  He estimated there were between two and three hundred druids present, and he was almost certain they represented several different orders. He recalled that when the owner of the property turned it over to the national government in 1918, at least five orders of druids had requested permission to hold ceremonies here. He also knew the orders coexisted in a shaky alliance and that misunderstandings were threatening to tear it apart.

  They stopped near the heel stone, a huge rock that looked like a gigantic potato standing on end. Several other buggies were parked close by, and gathered around the stone were a cluster of spectators, outsiders looking inward toward the circle of stone. Two robed druids, both massive men with full beards that hung over their chests in the traditional druidic style, kept an eye on the spectators.

  As he climbed out of the carriage, Indy surveyed the crowd. Shannon wasn't among them, and somehow that didn't surprise him. He paid Randy, and left his fedora on the seat. The kid said he'd be back in an hour. With that, he turned the buggy around and left. "Guess he doesn't care to stick around for the eclipse."

  "He did seem sort of anxious to leave. So now what?" Deirdre asked as they walked over to the crowd at the heel stone.

  "Let's play it by ear."

  "You just made it here in time," said a woman wearing a large, floppy hat and a purple, ankle-length dress. "Eclipse starts in less than fifteen minutes."

  Indy ignored her. He walked over to the pair of druids. "We overslept, and we were in such a hurry we forgot our robes. Any extras?"

  Neither looked anxious to help. One of them frowned at Deirdre, then looked at Indy. "Who are you with?"

  "Order of the Bards... and Ovates." He remembered reading the name and thinking that they probably accepted women in their membership since ovate was related to egg.

  "There are no extra robes," the man growled.

  Indy stepped forward, his hand inches from the whip attached to his belt, and the Webley pressed against his lower back. He stared the man in the eye. "We are here to honor Adrian Powell, chief of the Order of Hyperboreans, and if we are not allowed to enter you will be responsible for a schism that could damage all druids." He tapped his index finger against the man's chest, and added: "Vae victis!"

  The last two words, Latin for "Woe to the vanquished," made the men uneasy. They looked at each other, then with a shrug one pulled off his robe. The other man did the same.

  "This is better than the eclipse," the woman in the floppy hat said. "Just fascinating how these people relate to each other."

  Indy handed one of the robes to Deirdre. "Here, one size fits all." They quickly slipped into the robes, and pulled the hoods over their heads. "Ready?"

  "Do I have a choice?" Deirdre was lost in her voluminous robe. She picked up the sides with her hands and they hurried away. The end of the processional was passing through the main axis of the sarsen circle by the time they caught up. The druids were murmuring a low, repetitious chant that sounded like a swarm of angry bees.

  Indy glanced at Deirdre. Her eyes were wide; he could tell she was frightened. "You've got a way of getting involved in some of the strangest things," she whispered.

  He smiled, hoping to reassure her, then turned his attention to the stone pillars ahead of them. The procession was curving around the insi
de of the circle and he gazed in awe at the nearest trilithon. He knew that the upright stones weighed up to forty tons, and the sandstone lintels resting atop them each weighed ten to twelve tons. He was enthralled just at the thought that the structure dated back at least thirty-five centuries.

  "Look, Indy!"

  He saw that the front of the procession had circled the stones, and the white-robed marchers were gathering around one of the stones that was lying flat. The slaughter stone. Just as druids did not build Stonehenge, the slaughter stone was most likely not a site of ancient sacrifices. It was simply one of the stones in the sarsen circle that had fallen over. But the history of druid rituals and the imaginations of early researchers had left their imprint, and Indy wouldn't be surprised if the druids actually considered the stone a place of ritual sacrifice.

  "Let's take a closer look. Maybe we'll find Powell."

  They broke off from the tail of the procession and moved around the inner horseshoe of trilithons until they were amid the growing crowd of chanting druids. Indy tried to make out the words. He kept hearing the phrase, axis mundi over and over, but there was more he didn't understand. Then he listened closely to a bearded druid standing near him. Axis mundi est chorea gigantum. So that was it. The center of the world is the Dance of the Giants.

  "You see Powell anywhere?" Deirdre whispered.

  He shook his head.

  The light was already noticeably dimmer, but clouds obscured the sky and the vanishing sun. Now the last of the procession arrived and the crowd spilled out from the slaughter stone, filling the space around the inner horseshoe. The place possessed an eerie feel to it, Indy thought, as though the very texture of the air itself had changed.

  Suddenly, as if orchestrated for the benefit of the crowd, the clouds parted and pellucid rays the color of a tarnished gold artifact flooded the ruins. Cowled heads turned upward. The chanting stopped. Crows cawed from their nests in the stone pillars. Three quarters of the sun had blackened; dusk fell on the ruins.

  The crows lifted abruptly from their perches, lifted in a thick flock, their wings beating the dusky air, their cries a strange paean to unknown gods. Goose bumps crawled up Indy's arms. Deirdre reached for his hand and he held hers tightly, not entirely certain who was drawing comfort from whom.