Dorian shook her head. "Jones, if you're going to be come an archaeologist, you have to learn patience.
The age of the treasure-hunting archaeologist-adventurer is over. Archaeology is a slow, painstaking process. We study the most minute details, the fragments, the rubble, the garbage of the ages. That is how we advance our under standing of the past."
"I'm sure that's true. But in this case, we've got to look at the geological point of view. The longer we wait, the greater the chances of losing the tablet to an aftershock or another quake."
"I'm well aware of that." Her voice had gone hard and cold. "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to tie a goat near the fissure and we'll watch its reactions."
"A goat?" He laughed. "That's appropriate." In the legend of the original Delphic Oracle, a goat had first inhaled the fumes of the rotting carcass of Python, and gone crazy. Later, shepherds discovered the fissure and many of them, intoxicated by the fumes, had fallen into the crevice.
"I thought you'd like that."
But Indy wasn't through challenging her. So what if she got angry with him. It would be better than being ignored. Ever since their arrival, she'd been cool towards him. Not only had she ceased being his lover, but she barely acknowl edged him. He wondered if there was another man, possibly someone who lived in the village. After all, she'd worked here for years before moving to Paris.
"I bet you're hoping these gases are the real thing, that they cause people to go into trances and see the future."
"Jones, you're insolent and you also underestimate me. I have no preconceived notion about the vapors.
I'm not trying to prove anything."
"What if the goat doesn't react?"
"Then we'll get on with our business."
"Which is?"
"I've decided that you should be the one to go down into the crevice. Of course, you don't have to do it if you
don't want to. It's up to you, I'm giving you the first opportunity."
"I'll do it," he said without hesitating. "The sooner the better."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it." Her dark eyes sought his, and he felt as if she were staring through him. In a softer voice, she added: "I'm sorry if I've ignored you, but I've been very busy."
"That's understandable. I guess. Do you have many friends in the village?"
"Why do you ask?"
He shrugged. "You said you've been busy."
"Busy working, not socializing. If you haven't noticed, most of the villagers are very aloof from those of us who work at the ruins."
"Why is that?"
"It's a tradition of sorts that goes back to when the village was moved from the ruins to allow us, the archaeol ogists, to excavate."
She smiled and was about to say something when he took a step closer to her and reached for her hand.
She abruptly drew back, and addressed him in a formal voice. "You can go to dinner now. The moussaka is great tonight. I'll take over the watch until morning."
Still cold, he thought and even though she had warned him how she would act toward him, it still hurt. He watched as she retreated to the hut. He was about to leave, but decided to wait. He knew she wasn't quite through with him for the evening. It didn't take more than a few seconds.
"Jones," she yelled. "Why is it smokey in here?"
He walked over to the hut as she stepped out and told her what had happened.
She nodded, hands on her hips, and walked around the outside of the hut. Then she moved close to him.
"You should have let it burn," she whispered. She leaned forward, kissed him lightly on the lips, and the barrier that had risen between them wavered for a moment.
"You'd better go."
"All right. Let me get my books just in case the fire starts again."
She laughed, and he felt closer to her than he had since they had arrived. He stuffed the books into his canvas knapsack and paused at the entrance of the hut.
"You anxious about the king coming here?"
"Anxious? Why no, I'm elated."
11
TAVERNA INTRIGUE
As he ate dinner, Indy paged through his books, taking care not spill any of the spicy casserole onto the pages. Until the tablet was recovered and cleaned, he wanted to spend every spare moment studying old Greek script. He would prove to Dorian that her choice of an assistant was a worthwhile one.
Occasionally, he picked up scraps of conversation from the villagers dining around him. Most of it was about the king's visit, how long it had been since he was last here, and possible reasons why he had waited for an earthquake to return. The villagers, for their part, cast curious glances Indy's way from time to time, but otherwise ignored him.
As he was finishing his dinner, he took out a pencil and made some calculations. If the vapors continued rising at the same intervals, they would appear again at 1:08 a.m., at 5:43 A.M., and then at 10:24 A.M. Dorian had said she would send the goat into the vapors early tomorrow. So 5:43 must be it, and he would be there. Nothing would keep him from missing it.
It was almost eleven when Indy gathered his books to leave. Despite the hour, several tables were still occupied. Across the street at the taverna, he heard the wail of a wind instrument he didn't recognize. He was tempted to go over for a drink, but he decided against it. Even though he'd spent hours doing very little during his stint in the hut, he was tired and ready for bed. Slinging his knapsack of books over one shoulder, he gazed upward at the twinkling constellations and headed down the road. He imagined himself an ancient Greek scholar en route to wondrous Delphi. And what would the ancient scholar learn from the oracle? That he would create a great work of scholarship, marry the daughter of a king, become a great teacher? But why wouldn't the bright young scholar realize that the oracle was a tool of the priests, that what he was told was nonsense? Probably because he didn't want to know, didn't want to pay the price of knowing.
As Indy was about to enter the Delphi Hotel, the door swung open and a slender but muscular kid of about fifteen stepped out. His hair was short-cropped; his fea tures classical Greek. "Hello, Nikos."
"Indy, you're not going to your room yet, are you? It's Saturday night. Come to the taverna with me."
"You're a little young, aren't you?" His dark eyes darted about, taking in everything on the street. "What do you mean?" Nikos asked.
Indy frowned at the kid. Back home it was illegal for anyone to drink. Here, a teenager was heading to the taverna at eleven o'clock. "You like retsina?"
"I don't drink," Nikos answered. "My father won't let me. But I can still join the music and dancing.
Please, come with me. You will see how we enjoy ourselves."
Nikos was a desk clerk at the hotel, which was owned by his father. He had grown up in the tiny village, but had been exposed to numerous foreigners and had learned English, German, and French.
Indy glanced back toward the taverna, hesitating, but Nikos insisted. "Give me those books. I'll put them be hind the counter. And you can have some fun, too."
He shrugged. "Okay. But just for a few minutes." He handed the kid the knapsack and watched him disappear back into the hotel.
Indy didn't want to offend Nikos. He was a valuable source of information, and almost the only person who said much of anything to him. Besides, a drink before bed would be fine, but one would be enough. He wanted to be in his room by midnight at the latest.
Nikos spoke English with Indy and asked a lot of questions about America. One time he'd wanted to know if it was true that there were cities with streets filled with automobiles, and if every house had a radio.
Another time he'd asked if America was larger than Greece and Turkey together. Indy answered his questions as best he could, and in return Nikos had provided him with some inside information about what was going on in the village and at the ruins.