She looked baffled. 'Why should I ask about the tablet? It was lost, wasn't it?'
'Someone was down there before me and cleaned it off.'
'What?' Her expression turned incredulous. 'Are you sure?'
'I even had time to translate it.'
'You did? What did it say?'
'I'll read it to you.' Indy swung his legs over the side of the bed, and straightened his nightshirt. He reached under the bed, and gritted his teeth as he felt a stab of pain in his side. Then his hand touched the knapsack, and he pulled it out.
'How did you get that?' Dorian asked, suspiciously.
'Oh, I sent for it,' he said evasively.
He reached into the side pocket, and found the note book. He could barely make out his handwriting.
Consid ering he'd scribbled it while suspended in near darkness, it wasn't surprising. Slowly, he read his translation. The legend began with a question, and was followed by a response.
''We must know. Will Pythia always be?
This question is asked by each generation and the answer is always the same. Wide is the power of Apollo's Oracle but only as long as belief exists.
Indeed, the day will come when the last Pythia departs sacred Delphi. Only then will fade the great power of Apollo and crumble to dust the works of his followers.''
He looked up from the notebook at Dorian who remained quiet, pensive. 'There's more.' He turned the page to where he had written the second question and response.
' 'O Pythia! We pray thee reverence these boughs of supplication which we bear in our hands, and deliver to us something more comforting concerning the fu ture of the oracle. Else we will not leave thy sanctu ary, but will stay here till we die.
True it is what has been said. Only when the Oracle is a distant memory, will there be hope. Now lift thy hearts and journey happily home for upon the restoration the oracle will return and its great secret will be revealed.''
Dorian put a hand to her throat. 'Interesting, very interesting,' she murmured. She stood up and ran her hands down her gown, pressing out the wrinkles. She smiled weakly. 'Too bad we weren't able to recover it. Well, you'd better get ready. It's getting late. I'll have a carriage in front of the hotel in twenty minutes.'
'Twenty minutes? Gee, thanks for the advance notice.' But she didn't respond; she was already out the door.
He winced as he shrugged on his shirt, then carefully slipped into his pants. He didn't have many clothes with him so his khaki pants, white cotton shirt and a tie would have to do for the reception. When he was dressed, he pulled on his leather coat and hat. He looked around the room, and saw the moly. He picked it up off the table and turned it over in his hand. He didn't consider himself superstitious. Moly was garlic, and garlic was just that— garlic. But then again, it couldn't hurt having it with him, he thought, and stuck it in his jacket pocket.
The lobby of the Delphi Hotel was anything but grandi ose. It was a shabby parlor with a worn rug, a couch that had seen better days, and a couple of straight-backed chairs. On one side was the check-in desk, and to the rear of it beneath the staircase was a cot where Nikos was lying on his side. When he saw Indy, he bolted to his feet.
'What are you doing out of bed?'
'I'm going to the king's reception.'
'But—'
The door to the street opened, and Dorian peered in. 'There you are. Come on. The carriage is waiting.'
'Okay.' He glanced at Nikos and shrugged. 'Talk to you later.'
As they headed out of the village and up the mountain to the clip-clop of hoofs, Indy tried to get comfortable. But he was jostled from side to side, and his ribs ached. He wished he'd stayed in bed, and almost told Dorian he wanted to turn back. 'When are they going to get automo biles around here, anyhow?'
'You're not in Chicago, Indy. Besides, a buggy ride is as smooth as a Model T on this road.'
'You're probably right,' he said. 'By the way, why are you going to this reception? I'm surprised you were invited, or even wanted to attend.'
'Come now, Indy. We are not barbarians.' She laid a hand on his arm, but only for a moment. 'It is the 1920s, after all. We have protocol like any civilized people. The king will show respect toward me, and I will do likewise toward him. My political opinions won't be discussed.'
He was tempted to rest a hand on her thigh, and test her reaction, but he thought better of it. Sure, he wanted things to be as they were before they arrived in Delphi, but then again, if she did change her attitude, he wasn't in any condition to do anything about it. At least, not this evening.
'Tomorrow morning, Indy, I'd like you to join the king's entourage when he visits the ruins.' 'Why?'
'Why not? I was thinking it would be a good time for you to tell him about the tablet. He'll be very busy this evening.'
A few minutes later, the king's retreat came into view high above the road. The massive structure was made of stone and seemed almost to grow from the mountain itself. Both mansion and mountain were painted shades of red and orange by the last rays of sunlight. As they turned off the main road, he noticed groups of tiny figures on the veranda, then the mansion vanished from sight.
They stopped at a security post, and a guard consulted a list when Dorian gave their names. Then they were waved through. The carriage brought them to the front door. As they climbed the steps, another guard manning the en trance looked them over. He frowned at Indy's outfit, then reluctantly waved them through. Dorian ignored him, but Indy appraised him with the same stern demeanor. 'Straighten your tie, fellow.'
Then they were inside. The room was crowded with guests and waiters in white coats carrying drinks and hor d'oeuvres. There were at least a half dozen fireplaces in the room, fires blazing in each of them.
'You ever been here before?' Indy asked.
'Just once. It's a lovely place.'
'Big, I bet.'
'Thirty-four rooms, including fifteen bedrooms. Just average for a king, I'd say.'
'Lots of places to lie down at least. Maybe we could borrow one. It's the 1920s, after all.'
She tipped her head towards him, and spoke tersely. 'Don't be silly, or flirtatious, and whatever you do, don't say anything foolish to the king.'
'I think I can handle myself.'
Indy spotted Doumas moving through the crowd to ward them—just the person he didn't care to see. The roly-poly archaeologist either was incompetent or had intentionally allowed him to be lowered on a frayed rope. 'Look who's coming,' he said to Dorian. 'I don't feel so well.'
'Jones, on your feet already? Remarkable recovery. I'm amazed at your resilience.'
Suddenly, they were good friends. Wonderful. 'So am I.'
'Now what's this you were saying about a black stone?' He busily munched on a plateful of hors d'oeuvres as he spoke.
Indy frowned. 'I don't remember saying anything about it.'
'Well, whether you remember or not, you did,' Dou mas said. 'When we pulled you out of the hole you mumbled that you had found a cone-shaped stone and you wanted to go back and get it.'
'Did I say that?'
'You were out of your head,' Doumas said. 'But what exactly was it you saw?'
Indy glanced at Dorian. She watched him intently. 'Just what I said. It had something covering it like rope that had been petrified. And I would like to go back for it.'
'Why?' Dorian asked.
Indy didn't know, but he'd been thinking a lot about the stone. In fact, he couldn't get it out of his head.
'I just think it's worth going after, especially since we lost the tablet.'
'You're not really in any condition to do it,' Doumas said. 'Don't you agree, Dr. Belecamus?'
Dorian spoke sharply. 'I'm not sure that you are, either, and I don't want
