Chapters 1-2 of Indiana Jones and the Black Book

Posted by Goodsport from adsl-216-102-199-185.dsl.snfc21.pacbell.net on July 01, 2000 at 00:46:49:

Chapter 1

---by Michaelson

The commons clock struck the half hour, its Westminster chimes rumbling through the walls of the old college library. The small assistant librarian slowly walked up the narrow metal stairs of the "stacks", the loosely piled book shelves casting long ominous shadows from the bare fluorescent lighting spaced on every other aisle across the floor. She made her way up to the thirteenth floor (an unlucky number in her opinion for a library, but the builders didn't care about that sort of thing), and she made her way down the cluttered book aisle to the small cramped end study carol. She could see the silhouette of a man hunched over a large volume, staring intently at its dusty pages.

"Dr. Jones, it's time for me to leave. Just lock up behind you when you're done."

She saw the man wave his hand absentmindedly in the air, but received no response. She let out an exasperated sigh and turned to retrace her steps.

Dr. Henry Jones, Jr., or Indiana to his friends, was staring intently at the Latin text that was spread out before him. The year was 1949. The war had been over for a few years now, and things were definitely booming at the college with the veterans returning with the GI Bill paying for their education. Indy was only able to perform the one thing he really didn't care about doing, research, in the wee hours of the morning, when all the students finally cleared out of the building.

Indy leaned back, removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes, then looked back at the book he had been translating from. His father had pointed him in this direction. Dr. Jones, Sr. had long since retired from the Medieval and Renaissance Studies department, but holding the status of tenured and retired professor, he still worked adjunct professorship. He also still badgered Indy on his responsibility to his job requirements, that of having to publish papers for the college based on new research. Indy was a field man! This was pure drudgery, but he knew his dad was right.

Dr. Jones pointed Indy in the direction of an area of the library least used by the librarians... that of the donated manuscripts from "unknown" benefactors. Most were hand scribed in Medieval Latin or French, and though the resident ancient text scholars were well versed in the craft, this type of "grunt" work requiring the labor intensive work of translation of new acquired text was always saved for the poor graduate assistant or doctoral student. You rarely saw a full professor getting their hands dirty on the original text translations, though they did make themselves fully available when a discovery was made, and of course took full credit for the discovery! Only old Dr. Jones Sr. ever did his own "dirty" work, and though no student ever wanted to take his courses, they did respect him for doing his own research. He expected Indy to do no less.

Indy pulled his gold Hampden pocket watch out of his pocket and opened the case. The time was quarter of two in the morning! He'd been involved with his translation for over six hours! He fingered the watch chain on the watch, and gazed at its face again. He rarely wore it, as it was one of the only things he still owned that he had received from his mother, and he only wore it when on campus. He paused in thought, then returned to the job at hand.

Indy began his research on a topic that was not only one of unpopular content, but so little was available to research with. Indy thought, with a grin, that it was such an intense first effort study that he should apply for a second doctoral degree, but then he shuttered at the thought.

The topic was historical witchcraft, or specifically what happened to the open practice of witchcraft between the time of the Spanish Inquisition, and its reappearance at Salem, Mass. at the time of the infamous Salem witch trials. There was no written record, no sources, no journals as all the survivors had gone underground during those hundreds of years between the two happenings. A 300+ year old vacuum existed in the historical records regarding this particular group.

Indy pulled himself closer to the small study table, and once again leaned over the large volume in front of him. The then moved his journal aside that he had been writing the translations into. The book itself was not that eye catching, though for its apparent age it did not seem to have the usual musty odor or dry rotted appearance that most old manuscripts had. It was quite large, approximately four inches thick, and the overall size was 24 inches by 14 inches closed. All his father would say was, "Give it a look, but don't linger." Cryptic, as usual. And yet, why?

The first translations seem to be praise prayers to the "dark one", but no specifics as to whom the "dark one" was, though Indy could surmise. There were several sections that seemed to hold the usual spells that he had read in other texts relating to the Greeks and Romans and their priest hoods. This text, nonetheless, seemed to have a darker and more sinister feel to it. Indy just couldn't pin it down.

Indy looked over to his thermos and reached toward it to pour himself a cup of coffee, when he saw a reflection in the chrome top of the cup. He turned, but saw no one there. He looked as far back into the darkness as his eyes and the glare of the overhead bulbs would allow, but no one could be seen, and in the silence of the old building nothing could be heard. He turned back to the thermos, paused, then poured his coffee. As he began to lean back toward the work at hand, he felt a slight breeze on his neck and quickly turned around. Just out of the edge of the light, he could just make out the outline of a shape - not exactly human, but exactly what?

"Who's there?" Indy demanded, in a tone that reflected his startled concern at being approached so easily without detection.

The figure was still for what seemed an eternity, then slowly moved forward. It was a young girl. A very beautiful young girl in a hooded cape. He could not detect any details, as she stayed just far enough back in the shadows to hide her identity.

"Good evening, Dr. Jones"

"Good morning, Miss...?"

"It isn't of importance, Dr. Jones. We have been watching you and your progress with great interest. Have you been able to successfully translate any of the great book?"

Indy could detect a sense of urgency in the tone of her voice. It surprised him, almost as much as her unannounced arrival.

"Yes. You spoke of a 'we'. Who are you, and why would this translation be of any interest to you, or to anyone else, for that matter?" Indy asked.

"We are but a few in this area. But there are many more that have been without guidance. We kept this book, one of several handwritten copies, with considerable care, waiting for the right person to translate the words. We had this copy donated to this library and have waited for so many years for it to be found. I am pleased to have found you at your work on my watch tonight."

Indy looked at her in amazement.

"You've been watching this book? Why didn't you just take it to the linguistics department and have it translated?"

"It had to be done by someone who was intent on the knowledge of the research. The research would allow for the correct translation of the text. We needed an expert with the knowledge and the will to bring forth the knowledge, not a technician who just looked at the words."

Indy sat back in this chair. The young woman still stood at the edge of the light, just in sight, just out of detailed sight. Indy started to say something, when the young woman interjected.

"We would like to invite you to a meeting. After you have accomplished more of your work and can give further details of your translations, one of us will return and guide you to the meeting. Our coven will be pleased to receive you."

Indy started forward in his chair. "Coven!" he exclaimed.

She smiled and stepped back into the darkness. Indy jumped up out of his chair, knocking it backwards, and leaped forward to grab her before she was able to escape - only to find no one there. Indy stopped and listened. No sounds, no footsteps, no breathing... only the quick beating of his heart.

He turned around and looked back at the small study table that he had left. His chair was upright in front of the desk again, and his journal had been reopened, ready for his next entry. The hair on the back of Indy's neck stood on end...

*************************

Chapter 2

---by Michaelson

"Honest to God, Steve, I don't have a clue where she came from, or even went to! It makes me doubt if I should ever venture into the field again. I'm getting as absentminded as old Marcus was before he passed on!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Indy" laughed the listener of Indy's emotion-filled harangue. Dr. Stephen Edward Michaelson sat in his oak desk chair, dangerously balancing on its back legs and leaning against the office wall. Puffing on his short briar pipe, he gazed across his desk at Indy through his thick, black-rimmed glasses.

Indy and Michaelson had once co-authored a textbook in their early years at the college concerning their combined studies of a dig outside Hazelton. Steve was one of Indy's oldest established associates at the school, and after Marcus' passing of a few years before, had become one of Indy's few sounding boards and confidants located on campus. Steve Michaelson was a research man, pure and simple. Indy was quite the opposite, more at home in the field in his fedora and leather jacket. Not Steve Michaelson! He much preferred the book and pen to trudging around in the dust, heat and cold. He and Indy were like a well matched set of complete opposites, if such a thing existed.

"You say they want to invite you to a meeting...of 'the coven'?" Michaelson asked.

"Thanks right. But after I've translated more of the book," replied Indy.

"Should be quite educational."

"You're not seriously suggesting I should go through with this, are you?"

"Absolutely," replied Steve, through a cloud of the aromatic Danish pipe tobacco. "If anything, you can always site them as sources for your paper. That way it saves you from having to dig so deep for pre-published material to plant in your paper."

"Sure, but who in the world am I going to find to jury this paper? Using a 'coven' as source material isn't exactly the cup of tea for any of our esteemed college professors," Indy wryly remarked.

"Hummm… the three witches from MacBeth come to mind," grinned Steve.

"You're a big help!" Indy said, shaking his head.

"Seriously, Indy, if you'd like me to plod on with the book translation while you're out poking about in the field, we could co-author the paper and help each other out. I'm currently between research projects, and I could always use the extra publishing credit this term," said Steve.

"Actually, Steve, you read my mind. But let me tell you, I'm really acting more like Marcus everyday. I have a strange feeling about this book. To paraphrase a statement that Marcus made during a situation in our past, 'It's like nothing I've ever gone after before' - but in this case, I've ever dealt with before," replied Indy.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing I can put in words. It's just a gut feeling. Like I said, I can really use the help. But old buddy, if I wave you off from this one, believe me, I have very good reasons. Just stop what you're doing and wait on me."

"Understood," said Steve, "I'm not one to make work anyway." Michaelson tipped his chair forward and reached for his matches as Indy rose to leave.

"I'm serious, Steve. If I say walk away, no arguments, no discussions, no questions, just walk and don't look back."

As Indy closed the door of Michaelson's office, he left behind a very perplexed researcher, absently pulling at his cold pipe.

*************************

Michaelson, we are anxiously awaiting your Chapter 3! :)

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: 
: <h1>Chapter 1</h1>
: ---by Michaelson

: 
:     The commons clock struck the half hour, its Westminster chimes rumbling through the walls of the old college library. The small assistant librarian slowly walked up the narrow metal stairs of the "stacks", the loosely piled book shelves casting long ominous shadows from the bare fluorescent lighting spaced on every other aisle across the floor. She made her way up to the thirteenth floor (an unlucky number in her opinion for a library, but the builders didn't care about that sort of thing), and she made her way down the cluttered book aisle to the small cramped end study carol. She could see the silhouette of a man hunched over a large volume, staring intently at its dusty pages.

:     "Dr. Jones, it's time for me to leave. Just lock up behind you when you're done."

:     She saw the man wave his hand absentmindedly in the air, but received no response. She let out an exasperated sigh and turned to retrace her steps.

:     Dr. Henry Jones, Jr., or Indiana to his friends, was staring intently at the Latin text that was spread out before him. The year was 1949. The war had been over for a few years now, and things were definitely booming at the college with the veterans returning with the GI Bill paying for their education. Indy was only able to perform the one thing he really didn't care about doing, research, in the wee hours of the morning, when all the students finally cleared out of the building.

:     Indy leaned back, removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes, then looked back at the book he had been translating from. His father had pointed him in this direction. Dr. Jones, Sr. had long since retired from the Medieval and Renaissance Studies department, but holding the status of tenured and retired professor, he still worked adjunct professorship. He also still badgered Indy on his responsibility to his job requirements, that of having to publish papers for the college based on new research. Indy was a field man! This was pure drudgery, but he knew his dad was right.

:     Dr. Jones pointed Indy in the direction of an area of the library least used by the librarians... that of the donated manuscripts from "unknown" benefactors. Most were hand scribed in Medieval Latin or French, and though the resident ancient text scholars were well versed in the craft, this type of "grunt" work requiring the labor intensive work of translation of new acquired text was always saved for the poor graduate assistant or doctoral student. You rarely saw a full professor getting their hands dirty on the original text translations, though they did make themselves fully available when a discovery was made, and of course took full credit for the discovery! Only old Dr. Jones Sr. ever did his own "dirty" work, and though no student ever wanted to take his courses, they did respect him for doing his own research. He expected Indy to do no less.

:     Indy pulled his gold Hampden pocket watch out of his pocket and opened the case. The time was quarter of two in the morning! He'd been involved with his translation for over six hours! He fingered the watch chain on the watch, and gazed at its face again. He rarely wore it, as it was one of the only things he still owned that he had received from his mother, and he only wore it when on campus. He paused in thought, then returned to the job at hand.

:     Indy began his research on a topic that was not only one of unpopular content, but so little was available to research with. Indy thought, with a grin, that it was such an intense first effort study that he should apply for a second doctoral degree, but then he shuttered at the thought.

:     The topic was historical witchcraft, or specifically what happened to the open practice of witchcraft between the time of the Spanish Inquisition, and its reappearance at Salem, Mass. at the time of the infamous Salem witch trials. There was no written record, no sources, no journals as all the survivors had gone underground during those hundreds of years between the two happenings. A 300+ year old vacuum existed in the historical records regarding this particular group.

:     Indy pulled himself closer to the small study table, and once again leaned over the large volume in front of him. The then moved his journal aside that he had been writing the translations into. The book itself was not that eye catching, though for its apparent age it did not seem to have the usual musty odor or dry rotted appearance that most old manuscripts had. It was quite large, approximately four inches thick, and the overall size was 24 inches by 14 inches closed. All his father would say was, "Give it a look, but don't linger." Cryptic, as usual. And yet, why?

:     The first translations seem to be praise prayers to the "dark one", but no specifics as to whom the "dark one" was, though Indy could surmise. There were several sections that seemed to hold the usual spells that he had read in other texts relating to the Greeks and Romans and their priest hoods. This text, nonetheless, seemed to have a darker and more sinister feel to it. Indy just couldn't pin it down.

:     Indy looked over to his thermos and reached toward it to pour himself a cup of coffee, when he saw a reflection in the chrome top of the cup. He turned, but saw no one there. He looked as far back into the darkness as his eyes and the glare of the overhead bulbs would allow, but no one could be seen, and in the silence of the old building nothing could be heard. He turned back to the thermos, paused, then poured his coffee. As he began to lean back toward the work at hand, he felt a slight breeze on his neck and quickly turned around. Just out of the edge of the light, he could just make out the outline of a shape - not exactly human, but exactly what?

:     "Who's there?" Indy demanded, in a tone that reflected his startled concern at being approached so easily without detection.

:     The figure was still for what seemed an eternity, then slowly moved forward. It was a young girl. A very beautiful young girl in a hooded cape. He could not detect any details, as she stayed just far enough back in the shadows to hide her identity.

:     "Good evening, Dr. Jones"

:     "Good morning, Miss...?"

:     "It isn't of importance, Dr. Jones. We have been watching you and your progress with great interest. Have you been able to successfully translate any of the great book?"

:     Indy could detect a sense of urgency in the tone of her voice. It surprised him, almost as much as her unannounced arrival.

:     "Yes. You spoke of a 'we'. Who are you, and why would this translation be of any interest to you, or to anyone else, for that matter?" Indy asked.

:     "We are but a few in this area. But there are many more that have been without guidance. We kept this book, one of several handwritten copies, with considerable care, waiting for the right person to translate the words. We had this copy donated to this library and have waited for so many years for it to be found. I am pleased to have found you at your work on my watch tonight."

:     Indy looked at her in amazement.

:     "You've been watching this book? Why didn't you just take it to the linguistics department and have it translated?"

:     "It had to be done by someone who was intent on the knowledge of the research. The research would allow for the correct translation of the text. We needed an expert with the knowledge and the will to bring forth the knowledge, not a technician who just looked at the words."

:     Indy sat back in this chair. The young woman still stood at the edge of the light, just in sight, just out of detailed sight. Indy started to say something, when the young woman interjected.

:     "We would like to invite you to a meeting. After you have accomplished more of your work and can give further details of your translations, one of us will return and guide you to the meeting. Our coven will be pleased to receive you."

:     Indy started forward in his chair. "Coven!" he exclaimed.

:     She smiled and stepped back into the darkness. Indy jumped up out of his chair, knocking it backwards, and leaped forward to grab her before she was able to escape - only to find no one there. Indy stopped and listened. No sounds, no footsteps, no breathing... only the quick beating of his heart.

:     He turned around and looked back at the small study table that he had left. His chair was upright in front of the desk again, and his journal had been reopened, ready for his next entry. The hair on the back of Indy's neck stood on end...

: 
: *************************

: 
: <h1>Chapter 2</h1>
: ---by Michaelson

: 
:     "Honest to God, Steve, I don't have a clue where she came from, or even went to! It makes me doubt if I should ever venture into the field again. I'm getting as absentminded as old Marcus was before he passed on!"

:     "Don't be so hard on yourself, Indy" laughed the listener of Indy's emotion-filled harangue. Dr. Stephen Edward Michaelson sat in his oak desk chair, dangerously balancing on its back legs and leaning against the office wall. Puffing on his short briar pipe, he gazed across his desk at Indy through his thick, black-rimmed glasses.

:     Indy and Michaelson had once co-authored a textbook in their early years at the college concerning their combined studies of a dig outside Hazelton. Steve was one of Indy's oldest established associates at the school, and after Marcus' passing of a few years before, had become one of Indy's few sounding boards and confidants located on campus. Steve Michaelson was a research man, pure and simple. Indy was quite the opposite, more at home in the field in his fedora and leather jacket. Not Steve Michaelson! He much preferred the book and pen to trudging around in the dust, heat and cold. He and Indy were like a well matched set of complete opposites, if such a thing existed.

:     "You say they want to invite you to a meeting...of 'the coven'?" Michaelson asked.

:     "Thanks right. But after I've translated more of the book," replied Indy.

:     "Should be quite educational."

:     "You're not seriously suggesting I should go through with this, are you?"

:     "Absolutely," replied Steve, through a cloud of the aromatic Danish pipe tobacco. "If anything, you can always site them as sources for your paper. That way it saves you from having to dig so deep for pre-published material to plant in your paper."

:     "Sure, but who in the world am I going to find to jury this paper? Using a 'coven' as source material isn't exactly the cup of tea for any of our esteemed college professors," Indy wryly remarked.

:     "Hummm… the three witches from MacBeth come to mind," grinned Steve.

:     "You're a big help!" Indy said, shaking his head.

:     "Seriously, Indy, if you'd like me to plod on with the book translation while you're out poking about in the field, we could co-author the paper and help each other out. I'm currently between research projects, and I could always use the extra publishing credit this term," said Steve.

:     "Actually, Steve, you read my mind. But let me tell you, I'm really acting more like Marcus everyday. I have a strange feeling about this book. To paraphrase a statement that Marcus made during a situation in our past, 'It's like nothing I've ever gone after before' - but in this case, I've ever dealt with before," replied Indy.

:     "What do you mean?"

:     "Nothing I can put in words. It's just a gut feeling. Like I said, I can really use the help. But old buddy, if I wave you off from this one, believe me, I have very good reasons. Just stop what you're doing and wait on me."

:     "Understood," said Steve, "I'm not one to make work anyway." Michaelson tipped his chair forward and reached for his matches as Indy rose to leave.

:     "I'm serious, Steve. If I say walk away, no arguments, no discussions, no questions, just walk and don't look back."

:     As Indy closed the door of Michaelson's office, he left behind a very perplexed researcher, absently pulling at his cold pipe.

: 
: *************************

: 
: Michaelson, we are anxiously awaiting your Chapter 3! :)

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