From Nikos he'd learned that Dorian and Doumas had argued about him. Nikos hadn't heard everything, but had told him that Doumas had complained about his being unqualified to work at the ruins and that his presence was an offense to all Greek archaeologists. Doumas had been infuriated when Dorian had held her ground. Now Indy knew the reason for Doumas' outrage. She must have told him she wanted Indy to climb into the crevice and get the tablet.
"Let's go," Nikos said as he came out the door again, "Tonight you will have some fun. Did you go to tavernas in Athens?"
Indy shook his head. "Didn't have time."
"The best ones are at the Platia Phlomouson Hetairae." Nikos strode along beside him, swinging his arms.
"The square of the music-loving courtesans," Indy said.
"Yes. Your Greek is very good."
As they neared the taverna, Indy heard the faint but shrill whine he had heard earlier. "What's that noise?"
"That's not noise, Indy. That's music. It's an askomandra, you know, kind of like a bagpipe. But it's made from a sheep skin."
"Never heard of it. They play any jazz around here, kid?"
"Jazz? What is jazz?"
Indy chuckled to himself. "Guess not. Next time you're in Chicago, I'll take you to Dreamland to see the jazz bands."
"Dreamland is in America?"
"Some people think so." Indy opened the door, and they entered the taverna.
"Good. I want to go to America," Nikos yelled above the cacophony.
In the center of the taverna, men were dancing in a circle of the thump of traditional Greek music and the wail of the askomandra. Indy glanced around, feeling out of place. But almost instantly a waiter in a white, blouselike shirt and vest appeared and handed him a drink.
"Ouzo," Nikos said when Indy held up the glass and looked at its clear contents.
"I was thinking about a beer."
Nikos gestured with his hand, moving it back and forth as he shook his head. "No beer here. Only ouzo, retsina, raki and aretsinoto."
"Of course," Indy said, and frowned at the drink. "When in Delphi, do as the dolphins."
Several men around them watched Indy. "He's from America," Nikos announced loudly. They nodded, and gestured with their glasses as if showing him how to drink.
When he took a swallow of the anise-flavored drink, two of the men slapped him on the back, as though congratulating him on some rite of passage. Nikos looked on proudly.
One of the men, who was elderly and wore a battered Greek sailor cap, stepped forward and mumbled some thing to him. Indy shook his head, unable to hear him above the din.
Nikos leaned close to Indy's ear, and spoke loudly. "He's a crazy old man. He talks about the old gods."
"What did he say?"
Nikos shook his head.
But the old man was insistent. He tapped Indy on the chest and spoke again. Indy glanced at Nikos.
"Something about Pythia."
"What about Pythia?"
Nikos spoke to the old man, who glanced at Indy, and mumbled again.
"Well, what is it?" Indy asked when Nikos didn't say anything.
"I told you he is a crazy old man. They call him the Crazy One."
"But what did he say?" Indy demanded.
"He says Pythia has you in her grasp and. . ."
"And what?"
"... and she will swallow you like a little mouse. That is what he said."
Indy grinned and leaned down to Nikos. "Tell him I haven't met her yet. But when I meet the daughter of a snake, you can bet I'll know it."
Another old Greek moved in front of the Crazy One, clasped Indy on the shoulder, and spoke in a slurred voice. Nikos said: "He invited you to visit his home to sample his homemade retsina."
"Thanks." Indy smiled and nodded at the old man. "The stuff tastes horrible."
The man, who didn't understand a word, nodded in agreement.
Indy and Nikos both laughed. "A friendly bunch here," Indy said, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, his smile faded. The circle of dancing men broke up and dispersed, and he suddenly had a better view of the other side of the taverna. Seated at a table near the wall was Doumas, and with him was a familiar looking man with curly hair. The sight of the man made Indy feel uneasy, and he tried to recall where he'd seen him. Then he knew. He was one of the men who had chased him and Dorian at the Acropolis. He was sure of it.
"Nikos, who is that talking with Doumas?"
Nikos craned his neck. "His name is Panos. He is from Athens, but he was born here. He comes to visit his mother. He brings his son with him."
"How does Doumas know him?"
"Stephanos knows everyone."
He wanted to see how the man would react to him and suggested they go over and greet Doumas.
Nikos shook his head. "I don't think that is a good idea."
"Why not?"
"Panos is not friendly, especially to people like you, foreigners I mean."
"Well, it's a big world. He'll have to get over that." Indy worked his way through the crowd, but Doumas spotted him and rose to his feet, stepping between him and Panos.
When Indy had first arrived, Doumas had made a point of showing off his knowledge of Delphi, and archaeology in general, at every opportunity. Then, by the second day, when he found out that Indy was not even an archaeology graduate student, he had simply ignored him.
"Evening, Stephanos," he said casually. "Who's your friend? Don't think we've formally met."
"Mind your own business, Jones."
Indy shrugged. "Okay." He started to turn, but instead sidestepped around the rotund archaeologist, and pulled Panos to his feet.
"Hi there."
The man looked surprised. He shook his head. "No English."
Indy poked him in the chest. "I know you," he said as the music started up again. "We were playing tag at the Acropolis just the other day."
Doumas grabbed Indy by the shoulder. "Jones, what the hell are you doing?" he shouted over the music.
He jabbed an elbow into Doumas's gut, and shrugged out of his grip. "You were chasing me and my friend. Why?" He spoke slowly and loudly, but Panos just shook his head again and tried to wrench his arm free.
"Indy, watch out," Nikos yelled, but it was too late. Indy saw a blur out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't Doumas, but someone else, younger, slender—and in that instant the newcomer's fist slammed solidly into Indy's jaw.
He staggered back, crashing through a new circle of stomping dancers. Someone caught him under the arms; he was turned around and pushed away. Voices shouted in Greek, and the wailing askomandra wrapped around him. Fragments of faces leered. Eyes and noses shifted posi tions like a cubist portrait.
Then he saw the man again, a younger version of Panos. The stranger pulled back his arm for another punch, but this time Indy reacted faster, and crashed his fist into the man's nose.
Nikos suddenly was at his side. "Come, fast, we must go."
Indy was almost out the door when the skin rose on the back of his neck as he heard a commotion behind him. He turned to see the man he'd struck charging toward him, a knife raised above his head. The man slashed as Indy raised his forearm, but his blow fell short as Doumas's meaty arms wrapped around the assailant. He was lifted off his feet, spun around, and pulled away.
Indy looked around, and saw everyone in the taverna
staring at him. He smiled weakly. "I think it's past my bedtime." He backed out the door, and felt his jaw.
Nikos hurried to his side as he walked away. "Are you all right, Indy?"
"Think so. Are the tavernas in Athens this much fun, kid?"
"Jones," a deep voice called out. Indy turned and saw Doumas standing at the door of the taverna. His face was red and sweaty, and he was jabbing a finger at him. "You don't belong here. If you want to see Paris again, stay out of Greek business."