By Monkey

Chapter 16

British Museum (Part 2)
    

     “Nazis,” Jones said the word with a simple sternness that conveyed a myriad of emotions and images; none of them good.

      “Yes Mr. Jones, Nazis.”  Davies echoed him as he looked down upon the Nazi code book on the table before them.

      “But who in the world is this Queen Nefertiti that you mentioned in your telegram, and that you talk about now?” Marcus asked, “Good heavens man, Queen Nefertiti has been dead for over three thousand years!”

      “Obviously Mr. Brody it is not the real Queen Nefertiti that sits in our jail as we speak.  But it is a woman who has claimed to be her.”

      “Perhaps I can explain Marcus,” John Allenby leaned forward in his chair with a slightly pained expression on his face, as if about to reveal something he’d rather not.     

“I wish someone would,” Indy said.

      Allenby paused for a moment, but the pained expression remained, “You see gentlemen, well, Lord Malboury always had a tendency toward the sensational.  He believed in such things as clairvoyance, the spirit world, and such.  In the past though, he just had a mild interest, more as a hobby, or a diversion really than anything else.”

      Allenby scanned the blank faces of Jones and Brody and realized he needed to come to the point a bit more efficiently.  He let out an exasperated breath, “I don’t know,” he shook his head, “maybe it was his obsession with his research.  Sometimes I think he pushed himself too hard. I don’t know what it was, but somehow Lord Malboury made the acquaintance of this woman who claimed that the spirit of Queen Nefertiti spoke through her.”

      “And he believed her,” Marcus said.

      “Yes Marcus, he did.” Allenby nodded his head, “Before long she was a regular fixture at his side, ‘assisting’ him with his research, coming here, and working with him in this museum.” Allenby was now shaking his head, “It came very close to being outright scandalous!”

      “Yes, yes, I can imagine,” Marcus said.

      “But who is this woman?” Jones spoke up, “What do we know of her?  And is she a Nazi?”

      Davies spoke, “Well Mr. Jones to answer your questions in turn: she’s a gypsy tart, we know very little about her, and I think that code book on the table speaks for itself.”

      “Did you say she was a gypsy?” Indy asked.

      “Yes, a gypsy.  And besides the code book, we also found a small wireless set in the trailer in which she lived, near Watford, on the outskirts of London.  There’s a small trailer village of the bastards out that way. It paints a pretty clear picture.”

      “Bastards?” Jones looked over at Davies, surprised to hear the man use the off-color expression.

      Davies threw back a look that was both cold and sardonic, “bastards, pikeys, gypsies, call them what you like.  They’re a bunch of whores, thieves, criminals and parasites, and this particular one also happens to be a spy.”

      Indiana Jones was a bit taken aback at the blunt nature of Davies’ reference to the woman, and gypsies in general.  It was as if the man had momentarily let down his guard of respectability to reveal something ugly inside.

      “Did she live alone?” Jones asked, “Was anyone else arrested with her?”

      Davies gave what Indy thought was an almost imperceptible little chuckle, “Well, there was an old woman with her in the trailer when we arrested her, but unfortunately the crone died of heart failure right there on the spot.  Pity, we might have been able to get some information out of her.  The young woman we arrested has been singularly stubborn and uncooperative.”

      “Heart failure?” Indy said, a little surprised at the way Davies described someone’s death with so little regard.

      “I guess she couldn’t take all the excitement,” he answered coldly.

For a few short moments no one spoke, and all that could be heard was the sound of the cold wind outside rattling the window glass and the warm fire crackling away on the oversized hearth.  Then Davies spoke again.

      “Have any of you gentleman ever heard of a man named Von Steudl?”

      “Fritz Von Steudl?” Marcus asked.

      “Yes, Fritz, I suppose that’s his first name, yes.”  Davies answered.

      “Fritz Von Steudl is a German archaeologist.” Indiana Jones said.

      “So he’s another one of ….you gentlemen?” Davies said with an almost accusatory tone.

      “I thought I’d already told you about Professor Von Steudl Inspector,” Allenby said.

      “Yes, so you had,” Davies said, “but I wanted to know if your two American colleagues knew him as well.”

      “Professor Fritz Von Steudl was a distinguished German archaeologist,” Indy spoke to Davies, “Like a lot of other German archaeologists he did a lot of fine work in the past.  But, you know, since 1933, well….”

      “You are referring to Herr Hitler’s ascension to power Mr. Jones?”

      “Yes Inspector, Herr Hitler.  Since he and his Nazi henchmen have come to power all of the arts, sciences …and everything else in Germany are poisoned by their ideology.  Every scientist, including every archaeologist, tows the party line.  If they don’t, then they don’t work, or worse….  And Herr Hitler has a particularly keen interest in archaeology.”

      “You seem sure about that.”

      “Oh yeah, I’m sure.  I’ve run into those guys before.” Jones said.

      “Well you’d be interested to know that about two months before his disappearance Lord Malboury corresponded by mail with this Von Steudl.”

      “Are you insinuating that Lord Malboury may have Nazi sympathies?” Allenby was indignant.

      “No Mr. Allenby, I’m not.”  Davies answered, “But I find it interesting that it was shortly after this correspondence that our gypsy Queen Nefertiti showed up.”

      Indiana Jones nodded, seeing the clear correlation.

      Marcus spoke up, “Richard Malboury was always a very trusting man.”

      “Gullible might be more like it,” Davies said, “and it may have been his downfall.”

      “So Scotland Yard thinks that Malboury was kidnapped by the Nazis in order to help them find these …Sun Tablets?” Jones said, using the new term for the first time.

      “Yes.  Well, we theorized that he had been taken for his archaeological knowledge, and now that Mr. Brody has explained about these Tablets, it seems to be the most logical and likely theory.”

      The wind outside blew harder on the windowpanes and a few flakes of light, dry, dusty snow swirled through the naked branches of trees that bent sorrowfully with the wind.  As Indiana Jones stared out through the rattling window he felt a strange sympathy for the trees; doomed to live out their lives in one place, bearing the burden of winter, never able to come inside and warm their limbs by the fire, a fire fueled by the broken pieces of their own dead brethren.

      A vision of the pyre of forsaken souls in the Inca death pit flashed through Jones’ mind for an instant, and then was gone.

      “Mr. Brody, since you worked closely with Lord Malboury on this research into these…Sun Tablets…, perhaps you could tell me in what direction your research was taking you.”

      Marcus cast his thoughts back, “Well, it has been some time, but I remember that one of the critical links we were searching for were the writings of a certain Roman historian, Grachius Calvertus.”      

“Roman?”

      “Yes, as I told you earlier Inspector, the story of the Sun Tablets was passed down through the Pharaohs, all the way to the time of the Roman conquest of Egypt.  Grachius Calvertus was a Roman historian who traveled throughout Egypt in the century before Christ.”

      Davies furrowed his brow in thought for a moment, “forgive me if my arithmetic fails me, but wouldn’t that be more than a thousand years after the reign of Akhenaton.”

      “Your arithmetic does not fail you Inspector.  Indeed it would be more than twelve centuries after Akhenaton and Nefertiti ruled Egypt.”

      “So how does this Grachius fellow figure into anything?”

      “He was an historian.”  Marcus stated, “He traveled throughout Egypt.  He was fascinated by its history and monuments and he wrote about it for the Roman populous who had quite a fascination for the great empire that preceded their own.”

      Marcus paused for a moment to sip his tea, and then continued on, “Grachius Calvertus wrote about the Sun Tablets of Akhenaton and Nefertiti.  In fact, Grachius even said that he had been taken to see their location by a certain mysterious Greek-Egyptian named Spyropo who claimed to be descended from the blood line of Queen Nefertiti.”

      “So where were the Tablets?” Inspector Davies spread his bony hands, “or rather where are they?”

      “That is the question Inspector,” Marcus answered, “Lord Malboury and I searched through as many records of Grachius Calvertus as could be found, but could only find a few vague references.”

      Davies pulled another cigarette out and affixed it to his long, thin, holder, “But I thought you’d said that this Roman fellow had written about them.”

      “Yes, he did, but most of our evidence is gathered from bits and pieces.  One of the most compelling evidences that we do have is a writing from Calvertus’ friend, the playwright Brutus Dorsius.”

      “Wasn’t he the lad who killed Julius Caesar?” Davies asked.

      Marcus smiled, “No Inspector that was a different Brutus.”

      Davies lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply, “well, what of this writing?”

      “Well Inspector, my memory is good, but not quite that good, so if you’ll please accompany me to the library I will endeavor to answer your question.”

      With that the four men stood up and proceeded as a group back out into the spacious, cathedral-like library.

     Marcus Brody led the way.  There was a certain sparkle in his eye as he walked among the towering shelves lined with such immense numbers of books; each a capsule of knowledge waiting patiently and uncomplaining for a human hand to come and open the doors to wisdom that they alone held the key to.  Like a person at one with his element Brody walked through the halls of shelves, glancing up, down, and around as he went.  Like a sea captain reading the winds, waves and swells of the sea, Marcus navigated his way through, and finally came to a stop before one of the ubiquitous walls of books and looked up.

      “Indy, could you fetch me a ladder?”

      “Sure Marcus,” Indiana Jones walked a short distance and with his one good arm pulled over one of the many wheeled ladders provided for browsing the higher shelves.

      “Watch your step there old man!”  Allenby joked at Marcus.

      “Who’s the old man here?” Marcus answered back with a smile as he ascended the ladder’s steps, “you’ve seen more birthdays than all of us here put together John.”

     Allenby and Jones chuckled.  Davies pulled hard on his cigarette and watched as Marcus reach for an old, leather bound book and then descended back down.

      “Right where I last left it,” Brody said with a grin.

     Marcus flipped open the volume and fingered his way rapidly through its pages with a practiced efficiency.  A few moments later he found what he was looking for.

     Marcus spoke to the other three men, “Alright now, understand that this is a passage from one of Dorsius’ plays.  It’s actually more of a soliloquy, with Dorsius himself answering a series of rhetorical questions of his Greek slave Nikos.

      ‘NIKOS: And what of the power of the Gods?  Should not Man possess the powers of the Gods if they are within his reach?  Should Man not take for his own that which the Gods have foolishly allowed to fall into the hands of Man?

     DORSIUS: That which belongs to the Gods belongs to the Gods.  That which belongs to man belongs to man.  The wise man knows the difference and resists the temptation.  Take my good friend Grachius Calvertus, wise and knowing man of letters.  In the land of the pharaohs did Grachius come upon the power of the sun itself, shown to him by one of your own half brothers.  Grachius documented this sacred place on a fine papyrus, determined to bring news of it to Rome.  But along the way the wisdom that had escaped him returned, and he buried the scroll in the temple, returning to the Gods that which belonged to the Gods.

     Marcus slowly closed the book.

      “What temple?” Davies asked appearing slightly vexed again.

      “What temple indeed,” Marcus answered simply, “it is a question that occupied me and Lord Malboury to great lengths, without an answer.”

Davies lit yet another cigarette and inhaled deeply.  As he spoke he let the smoke out along with his words, “Let me see if I understand correctly.  This Grachius fellow drew up some kind of a map of sorts to where these…Sun Tablets are located?”

      “We believe so, yes,” Marcus said.

     Davies continued, “But then he grew superstitious or whatnot and he buried the scroll in some temple somewhere?”

      “Apparently.” Marcus answered simply.

      “Look gentlemen, this has been quite an interesting trip into the past, but unlike you learned scholars of the Ancients I must concentrate my thoughts upon the present.  And presently that means trying to get to the bottom of the disappearance of Lord Malboury.  I’m not so sure that today’s interesting conversation has brought me any closer to that,” Davies said as he walked back towards the study to collect his coat and hat.

      “Just a moment,” Allenby said, raising his finger up and drawing all of their attentions.

     The other three men turned to the British Museum’s Egyptian antiquities curator.

      “I hadn’t mentioned it before because I didn’t think it was worth the bother.  I really didn‘t see how there could possibly be any connection, but now that you’re talking about Roman playwrights and historians, well……”

      “Yes?” Marcus said.  

      “Well, what is it man?” Davies appeared impatient.

     Allenby continued, “Last week, just a couple of days before Lord Malboury disappeared the museum received some Latin papyrus scrolls.  They were hand delivered by an Italian man directly to Lord Malboury, and as I recall he seemed rather excited about receiving them.  But as I was rather busy that day with the 4^TH Dynasty sculptures I really didn’t give it a second thought.”

     Indy looked at Marcus who looked back at him, and then at Inspector Davies.

      “Where are these scrolls now Mr. Allenby?” Davies asked him.

      “I don’t know.  Perhaps in Malboury’s office, if they’re still here at all.”

     Before the words were out of Allenby’s mouth Davies was striding towards the door of the library.  As lead Investigator he knew exactly where Malboury’s office was.  Jones, Brody, and Allenby followed.

     It was past closing time now.  The short winter day was fading as the sun set to the west; or as the ancient Egyptians believed, the god Re was preparing for his daily descent, and passage through the Underworld.

     The corridors of the museum were now dimly lit by the electric lighting alone. The mens’ footsteps echoed off a menagerie of glass display cases holding a fabulous multitude of priceless treasures.  After a lengthy journey through the hallowed halls of the museum they descended a curving stairway that led down into the museum’s basement.

     The basement of the British Museum was itself like some kind of immense and labyrinthine tomb.  Its walls, shelves, and corridors were lined with a multitude of artifacts that sat mute and collecting dust; whose value was either deemed unworthy of display above, or as was sometimes the case, whose value was not yet recognized.  Many artifacts displayed above with much fuss and gaudy lighting had spent years being ignored, in penance, in the basement of the British Museum.  The private offices of several museum staff were also located down here, among them that of Lord Richard Malboury.

     Malboury’s office was not very big.  It reminded Jones of his own office at Barnett College.  All of the trappings one would expect of an archaeologist’s office were there, right down to the roll-top desk; except that Malboury had a telephone, Jones did not.  A framed photograph of a smiling Malboury standing before the Temple of Karnak hung on the wall.

     The four men fell upon the office like a pack of bloodhounds.  Though it had been carefully searched before, no one at that time was looking with any keen interest for any Roman papyrus scrolls.  But it didn’t take long for the men to come up empty handed.  There were no scrolls to be found.

      “Yes well I’m not surprised,” Davies said after they were finished searching, “As I said before gentlemen, this has been quite interesting,” he glanced at his pocket watch, “but I must be getting back down to my own office at the Yard.  Among other things I’ve got to write a daily report.  You gentlemen are welcome to continue your search through the past, but I’ve got to return to the twentieth century.  If we’re to find Lord Malboury then we need to know where to look.  I was hoping that our discussions today might have shed some light on that, but I do believe that if anything I am slightly more confused than before.”

      “I’m sorry Inspector,” Marcus said sincerely.

      “Oh don’t worry chaps, there’s always tomorrow isn’t there.”

      “I hope there is for Malboury,” Indy mumbled under his breath.

      “I trust that you gentlemen can be in my Scotland Yard office by ten tomorrow morning.  I expect you’ll be able to assist me in drawing up some kind of plan for finding our missing man.” Davies said as he walked toward the door of Malboury’s office.

      “Certainly,” Marcus said.

      “Ten o’clock,” Allenby nodded.

     Jones just nodded his agreement, then as Davies turned to leave he called after the Scotland Yard policeman, “Inspector Davies.”

     Davies turned, “Yes?”

     Jones hesitated for a moment and then said, “I want to meet Queen Nefertiti.”

     Davies looked curiously at Indiana Jones for a moment and then said, “Why is that Mr. Jones?”

      “I guess I want to see if she’s the real thing.”

      “You know Queen Nefertiti personally then?” Davies asked with a hint of sarcasm.

      “Maybe,” Jones answered.

     Davies cocked his head slightly with one raised eyebrow and then nodded to Indy, “Alright, I’m sure it can be arranged,” then he walked out the door.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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