'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.
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,
'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
