up.'
But Doumas didn't react fast enough, and the rope snapped taut with a twang.
Dorian leaned over the crevice, and called down to Jones. He answered after a moment that he was all right, but that he had lost his torch. Another one was quickly fastened to the rope that was intended for the tablet, and sent down. When Jones signaled that he had the torch. Doumas and the others resumed lowering him.
'Be careful with him,' Dorian cautioned. It wasn't long before Jones called out that he had spotted the tablet, and they slowly lowered him the rest of the way.
Dorian paced back and forth along the crevice. If Jones was lucky, he might be able to complete the job and return to the surface within half an hour. A lot depended on how difficult he found the work. If her primary concern had been the tablet, she would never have let him go after it. Although he had a good mind and was surprisingly well informed about archaeology, he lacked experience. Of course Doumas had been right about him; he was unquali fied. She'd chosen him for the task, though, because she realized that she had to create a challenge for him, or his interest would fade and he might return to Paris in disgust.
She couldn't let that happen. Not now. He was too much a part of her plan.
She was near the far end of the chasm when she heard an excited exchange of words between Doumas and the others. Jones couldn't have loosened the tablet already. Not that fast. Not unless it was cracked and had broken. When she reached the men, Doumas was holding one of the ropes in his hand as it dangled loosely above the hole.
'What happened?' she yelled.
'Dr. Belecamus. The rope broke. I don't know how it happened.'
'Which rope?' she demanded.
'The one Jones was on,' Doumas answered.
'What? No!'
She dropped to her knees and peered into the chasm, but she could see only blackness. She grabbed the rope from Doumas and quickly pulled it to the surface. It looked as if it had been cut partway through, then rubbed in the dirt to look as if it were frayed. She stood up and held out the rope accusingly. The bastard Grigoris was smirking. She swore he was, though his expression was blank. And Doumas? He rocked from side to side as though he would tumble over if he didn't keep adjusting his balance. Then she suddenly remembered the other rope. Maybe Jones had grabbed it when the first one snapped. She scanned the ground, but it wasn't there. 'Where is the other one, the other rope?'
Doumas glanced at Grigoris. 'He lost it. In the excitement.'
Just then she heard a sound, a sound she couldn't believe, coming from the crevice. She dropped to her knees, and cupped her hands at her mouth. 'Indy, can you hear me?'
His voice sounded distant, strained. 'Yeah. 1 can hear you.'
'Are you all right?'
He didn't answer for a moment. 'Not really. Get me a rope. Fast.'
'Okay. Where are you?' she yelled. 'Hanging on the tablet, but I don't know how much longer it's going to hold me.'
Dorian glanced over her shoulder at Doumas. 'Stephanos, hurry. A rope.'
Doumas looked around as if he expected to see one lying nearby. 'I'll have to go back. There's one in the stable.'
'Well, don't stand there, damn it. Get it. Fast.' 'Run to the stable, Grigoris,' Doumas said. 'Quick. Get the rope hanging on the hook by the door.'
'I didn't tell you to send him for it,' Dorian snapped, but Doumas was already waddling after the villager who had scampered away. Close behind him were his assis tants. Neither of them apparently wanted to stay with her. She wondered why not.
Shaking her head, she turned back to the hole. 'It's coming, Jones. In a couple of minutes.'
She should have gotten the rope herself. She didn't trust any of them.
There was no reply. 'Jones. Are you okay?'
Again no reply.
If he had fallen, wouldn't he have yelled?
'Indy, answer me!'
'Yeah,' a faint voice responded after a long moment. 'Hurry.'
14
LAST GRASP
Indy straddled the tablet as if it were a saddle. He pressed his face against it, and wrapped his arms tightly around it. He could feel the etched lettering against his cheek. How much longer would he have to wait?
He tried to take his mind off his precarious situation by going over what had happened. He'd no sooner finished scribbling the translation of the tablet when the rope had started unraveling. He'd desperately pulled himself up the rope, but it had snapped just as he'd grasped the end above the fray. He'd dangled a moment, then felt a jerk from above, and the rope had slipped through his grasp. But his free hand had been reaching up, and as he fell he'd snagged the other rope and slid down it onto the tablet. He'd yelled, and the rope had gone slack and tumbled down, nearly knocking him off his precarious perch.
Indy's thoughts were interrupted by a creaking as the tablet slipped downward under his weight. It tilted at a forty-five degree angle and it was getting difficult to maintain his grasp.
He realized that he was still wearing the knapsack with the tools. Nothing like digging your own grave.
He didn't need the weight. He carefully shed the pack, one arm at a time. He was about to let it drop when he realized that the pick might still come in handy. He slipped his hand into the pack, felt its sharp tip, and pulled it out. Then he dropped the pack, and a moment later heard a clatter as it crashed against something. Must have bounced off the wall, he thought. He listened for it to strike bottom. He shook his head when he didn't hear anything.
'No bottom. Swell.'
Talking aloud seemed to ease his fear. 'Gotta do some thing. But what?'
He felt the tablet slip another inch. He closed his eyes. He remembered Dorian stressing the use of the pick and how he should attach the rope to the tablet. She should've been more concerned about what was going on at the other end. Hell, she should've inspected the damn rope before he went down. And what about Doumas? But there was little time to ponder what had happened. He was too busy trying to stay alive.
He felt the net beneath his legs, and wondered if he should unhook the rope to lighten the load. No, that would require too much maneuvering. A good jolt now and the tablet might break loose. Besides, he was the excess weight, not the rope.
'That's it. I've got to get off.'
If he could carve footholds and handholds with the pick, he might be able to balance himself on the wall.
But for how long?
'Better to die trying to save my ass than doing nothing,' he muttered.
The tablet groaned and slipped again. It wouldn't hold much longer. Slowly, he worked his way up the tablet toward the wall. A few more inches, he told himself. Patience. Finally, he was close enough to touch the wall with the pick. 'Now, get some leverage.'
He stretched his hand above his head and slammed the pick at the wall. But to his surprise, he struck something, and the pick flew from his hand. The tablet groaned, tilted even further, and he slid down several inches before he caught himself.
Christ, he'd hit the torch holder. He'd forgotten about it. It was still there, secured to the wall by four prongs. Now it was his only hope. He had to get back up to the wall, and get a hand on it. If he distributed his weight between the base of the tablet and the holder he might save himself yet.
He imagined himself a feather-light acrobat gliding up the tablet and effortlessly balancing himself. The tablet groaned again, and he forgot about acrobatic maneuvers. He froze, but the tablet was shaking, and he was sliding back. He cursed. He thought of his whip still coiled on the wall in his room back in Paris. If he had it now, he could lash it around the torch holder with an easy snap of his wrist. He swore that if he lived to go on another archaeo
