Excellent chapter! (nm)

Posted by Tessa from 1Cust10.tnt1.bloomington.il.da.uu.net on December 22, 2000 at 21:19:37:

In Reply to: Indiana Jones and the Black Book, Chapter 6 posted by Michaelson on December 22, 2000 at 13:20:09:

: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to continue this tale. For those who aren't aware of the story line, you'll have to scroll WAY down on this page to find the first 5 chapters. Hopefully I'll get more done this holiday season and continue the story. I have it lined completely out...just not all on paper.

: Chapter 7

: The first of the four Constellation's large piston engines coughed, belched smoke, then caught, the propse gaining speed with each revolution. Indy stood at the loading gate, tightly holding the brim of his fedora, his topcoat flapping furiously in the prop wash. He had already handed his cuit case to a baggage handler to load aborad the big aircraft. The pretty young stewartess took his ticket, then indicated to him to board the plane by pointing toward the steps, as conversation was useless with the increasing volume of the four engine start ups. Indy ran up the steps two at a time, closely followed by the outside personnel. Indy was quickly shown his seat as the door was colsed behind them, the steps rattly away from the now departing plane.
: After take off, and permission to remove their seatbelts was given, Indy removed his hat and coat, resumed his seat and opend the brief case he had been carrying under his arem, removing a brown envelop and his work journal.

: It had been a VERY fast 24 hours since he had met Morgan at his shop. the meeting had been brief and to the point. Indy had requested a ticket to England, which to hi ssurprise Morgan had already obtained. Indy also asked for the name of the coven contact in London, but was told that he would be met, and they could not give a name out for their own safety. After leaving Morgan, Indy returned to his apartment to pack. He called the hospital to check on Michaelson, only to find out his friend had still not regained consciousness, and more tests were being scheduled. They would keep in touch.
: Indy began packing his travel worn suitcase, tossing in his leather jacket, whip and bag. he opened his desk drawer and considered wheter he should take one of his handguns. The old practice of open carry was not exactly smiled upon oversears by the local constabulary as it had once been before the war. Though not exactly legal, the discrete carry of a concealed firearm was considered a practice of a practical man, though that opinion was strictly off the record. Indy pulled out a 4 inch barreled K-frame Smith and Wesson revolver and tossed it into his case. It's physical size wasn't as large as his 45's, but the new technologies developed during the last 10 years had produced some very powerful firearms and ammunition in much smaller packages.
: While Indy packed, a special messanger came to the door and delivered an envelope. It was from Michaelson, and was postmarked the previous day. Ind it was found Steve's translation notes from that morning. Indy scanned through the pages, and read nothing that should have sparked Michaelson's apprent concern and subsequent phone call that evening. He must have made a discovery that afternoon. "Well", thought Indy, "At least these pages didn't fall into the hands of his attackers!"

: Indy shifted his position in his seat as the plane's engines continued their climb to the correct crusing altitude towrd their North Atlantic crossing. Indy looked out the window and could just see the white caps on the ocean below. He, along with many other, missed the old Pan Am "Clippers" passenger seaplanes, but last year several land locked cities clammered for an airliner to be produced that would allow inland airports to compete with coastal cities in providing access to transatlantic routs. The big four engine "Constellation" was the successful response to those demands, and in 1948 they began New York to London to Paris routes that Indy now found himself strapped in. he also had recently read that it was projected that Boeings new "Stratocruiser" would soon be in service and start new routes all over Europe. Indy still felt more secure in the old flying boat, should an ocean landing becomre necesary. Indy was a believer in progress, but some old established beliefs were difficult to discard so easily.

: Indy slowly leafed through Michaelson's notes, taking words from that work and filled in blanks had had left in his own journal translations. It seemed to be a continuation of the giberish litenany, just creating more questions than answers at this time. Indy looked up from his work to accept the offered drink form the stewartess held out to him. Indy had accepted the story that the Morgan coven had told him, but with a great deal of cynticism. The most glaring inconsistancy in their story was specifically that of the control of the 5 books. When the books were originally created an dthen scattered, they were in control of the dark sect, or so Morgan had told him, and yet now the watchers or gardians were in possession of the books, with the Dark Sect apparently on the outside trying to work their way back in. Indy briefly attemped to draw this information from Morgan in their last meeting, but Morgan claimed to not know how or when the books exchanged hands, but someone else up the chain shoudl know. This much Indy believed....He would need to have that answer before he could successfuly complete his objective. Who exactly did he need to watch out for?

: Indy jerked awake as the landing gear made contact with British soil. Once all personal belongings had been gathered and checked through customs, Indy stood in the London aerodrone waiting area, his suitcase in hand, topcoat over his arm, his eyes searching the passing crowd for any signs of his promised contact.

: "Dr. Jones?"

: Indy turned and a short cabbie stood at his elbow.

: "Gad afternoon, Gov! I'm here to take you to the pub!" said the cabbie. He reached for Indy's suitecase, then turing on his heel, lead Indy to a waiting taxi.

: As they pulled into traffic, Indy asked where the pub was located, and who had sent him.

: "I wuz just paid to look out for a bloke just off the New York flight matching your description and answering to Dr. Jones. You fit the bill."

: After a harrowing 20 minute ride, they pulled up in front of a small pub. A weather sign swung on a post on the wall, proclaiming this to be the establishment "Bullpups, established 1778". Indy swung open the door, his suitcase in hand. The cabbie pointed toward a booth, tipped his cap, then walked back out the door. The locals eyed Indy suspeciously, and turning back to their ales, continued speake in low tones, occasionally glancing back toward Indy. Indy approached the booth to see a rather dishoveled individual, consuming a large lager beer. Indy stopped in surprise.

: "Ted? Ted Paludan?!"

: The older man lowered his gladd, the foam of the brew still on his thick mustache. "Indy, old man! How are you?!" He jumped up and clapped Indy in a bear hug, squeezing the air from Indy's lungs.

: "I never connected you with this business. I was expecting your father!"

: Indy smiled at his old friend. Dr. Thedore Paludan was an old English antrhopology professor based at Oxford who had known Indy and his father for many years. Indy kept in occasional contact, and only when his field work brought him to conduct bisness with the British Museum. Paludan was the official museum representative "go between" for foreign visiting archaeologists and British controlled sites world wide. Paludan found his duties becoming less each year with the continuing weakening of British colonial control.

: "Come on now, Ted, at Dad's age he's happy to make it from his house to the office. No, I'm the Jones you're stuck with. Now tell me, how are YOU involved in this? You're not a member of this English "watchers" group, are you?" asked Indy.

: "Good heavens, no!" exclaimed Paludan. "Member, no, point of contact, well, yes."

: "Contact? In what way?" asked Indy.

: Paludan smiled. "Come on, let's find a quieter place to talk". Rising from his now empty beer stein, Paludan lead Indy out the door into the developing evening London fog. Londoner's continuing practice of buring low grade coal for heat and industry was catching up with it, and the fog was in it's usual thick, flowing consistency. This evening's version was quite yellowish in color. they walked a short distance when Paluden indicated a three story building that reminded Indy of a New York City brownstone. As Paludan juggled a large ring of keys, Indy thought he heard the sound of a shoe scrapping the curbe behind them. He saw a quick motion out of the corner of his eye, along with a glint of metal. He quickly turned, throwing his arm up that his top coat was wrapped around to shield his face. As he turned, he swung his suit case with his full weight behind it in the direction of the on coming motion. He felt several heavy blows against his coat, and a startled grunt, and gasped curse in a Cockney accent when his suitcase landed solidly into the gut of a large man. The man quickly stumbled away in a half run, back into the swirling fog. Indy looked down and saw a large switch blade knife laying on the sidewalk. He held his topcoat up to the dim light of the front street lamp and surveyed the tattered remenents. The knife had sliced through the heavy material like melted butter.

: "Well, apprently they know you're in London", said Paludan, barely concealing his anger.

: "Apparently so", said a grim faced Indy, looking out into the rolling, thickening yellow fog.

: End Chapter 6

Follow Ups:

From you, Tessa, I consider that a HIGH compliment! Thank you. Chapter 7 soon. Regards. (nm) Michaelson 22:31:00 12/24/2000 (3)
- You wanna post all the chapters so I can start at the beggining Michaelson? [nm] the Fiddler 17:01:34 1/05/2001 (2)
  - They're all compiled below by Goodsport. Hopefully he'll get them ALL together here soon. Regards. (nm) Michaelson 13:47:36 1/07/2001 (1)
    - Re: I dunno, he only seems to post on birthdays and holidays and such anymore. [nm] the Fiddler 22:44:26 1/10/2001 (0)

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: : I'm sorry it's taken me so long to continue this tale. For those who aren't aware of the story line, you'll have to scroll WAY down on this page to find the first 5 chapters. Hopefully I'll get more done this holiday season and continue the story. I have it lined completely out...just not all on paper.

: : Chapter 7

: : The first of the four Constellation's large piston engines coughed, belched smoke, then caught, the propse gaining speed with each revolution. Indy stood at the loading gate, tightly holding the brim of his fedora, his topcoat flapping furiously in the prop wash. He had already handed his cuit case to a baggage handler to load aborad the big aircraft. The pretty young stewartess took his ticket, then indicated to him to board the plane by pointing toward the steps, as conversation was useless with the increasing volume of the four engine start ups. Indy ran up the steps two at a time, closely followed by the outside personnel. Indy was quickly shown his seat as the door was colsed behind them, the steps rattly away from the now departing plane.
: : After take off, and permission to remove their seatbelts was given, Indy removed his hat and coat, resumed his seat and opend the brief case he had been carrying under his arem, removing a brown envelop and his work journal.

: : It had been a VERY fast 24 hours since he had met Morgan at his shop. the meeting had been brief and to the point. Indy had requested a ticket to England, which to hi ssurprise Morgan had already obtained. Indy also asked for the name of the coven contact in London, but was told that he would be met, and they could not give a name out for their own safety. After leaving Morgan, Indy returned to his apartment to pack. He called the hospital to check on Michaelson, only to find out his friend had still not regained consciousness, and more tests were being scheduled. They would keep in touch.
: : Indy began packing his travel worn suitcase, tossing in his leather jacket, whip and bag. he opened his desk drawer and considered wheter he should take one of his handguns. The old practice of open carry was not exactly smiled upon oversears by the local constabulary as it had once been before the war. Though not exactly legal, the discrete carry of a concealed firearm was considered a practice of a practical man, though that opinion was strictly off the record. Indy pulled out a 4 inch barreled K-frame Smith and Wesson revolver and tossed it into his case. It's physical size wasn't as large as his 45's, but the new technologies developed during the last 10 years had produced some very powerful firearms and ammunition in much smaller packages.
: : While Indy packed, a special messanger came to the door and delivered an envelope. It was from Michaelson, and was postmarked the previous day. Ind it was found Steve's translation notes from that morning. Indy scanned through the pages, and read nothing that should have sparked Michaelson's apprent concern and subsequent phone call that evening. He must have made a discovery that afternoon. "Well", thought Indy, "At least these pages didn't fall into the hands of his attackers!"

: : Indy shifted his position in his seat as the plane's engines continued their climb to the correct crusing altitude towrd their North Atlantic crossing. Indy looked out the window and could just see the white caps on the ocean below. He, along with many other, missed the old Pan Am "Clippers" passenger seaplanes, but last year several land locked cities clammered for an airliner to be produced that would allow inland airports to compete with coastal cities in providing access to transatlantic routs. The big four engine "Constellation" was the successful response to those demands, and in 1948 they began New York to London to Paris routes that Indy now found himself strapped in. he also had recently read that it was projected that Boeings new "Stratocruiser" would soon be in service and start new routes all over Europe. Indy still felt more secure in the old flying boat, should an ocean landing becomre necesary. Indy was a believer in progress, but some old established beliefs were difficult to discard so easily.

: : Indy slowly leafed through Michaelson's notes, taking words from that work and filled in blanks had had left in his own journal translations. It seemed to be a continuation of the giberish litenany, just creating more questions than answers at this time. Indy looked up from his work to accept the offered drink form the stewartess held out to him. Indy had accepted the story that the Morgan coven had told him, but with a great deal of cynticism. The most glaring inconsistancy in their story was specifically that of the control of the 5 books. When the books were originally created an dthen scattered, they were in control of the dark sect, or so Morgan had told him, and yet now the watchers or gardians were in possession of the books, with the Dark Sect apparently on the outside trying to work their way back in. Indy briefly attemped to draw this information from Morgan in their last meeting, but Morgan claimed to not know how or when the books exchanged hands, but someone else up the chain shoudl know. This much Indy believed....He would need to have that answer before he could successfuly complete his objective. Who exactly did he need to watch out for?

: : Indy jerked awake as the landing gear made contact with British soil. Once all personal belongings had been gathered and checked through customs, Indy stood in the London aerodrone waiting area, his suitcase in hand, topcoat over his arm, his eyes searching the passing crowd for any signs of his promised contact.

: : "Dr. Jones?"

: : Indy turned and a short cabbie stood at his elbow.

: : "Gad afternoon, Gov! I'm here to take you to the pub!" said the cabbie. He reached for Indy's suitecase, then turing on his heel, lead Indy to a waiting taxi.

: : As they pulled into traffic, Indy asked where the pub was located, and who had sent him.

: : "I wuz just paid to look out for a bloke just off the New York flight matching your description and answering to Dr. Jones. You fit the bill."

: : After a harrowing 20 minute ride, they pulled up in front of a small pub. A weather sign swung on a post on the wall, proclaiming this to be the establishment "Bullpups, established 1778". Indy swung open the door, his suitcase in hand. The cabbie pointed toward a booth, tipped his cap, then walked back out the door. The locals eyed Indy suspeciously, and turning back to their ales, continued speake in low tones, occasionally glancing back toward Indy. Indy approached the booth to see a rather dishoveled individual, consuming a large lager beer. Indy stopped in surprise.

: : "Ted? Ted Paludan?!"

: : The older man lowered his gladd, the foam of the brew still on his thick mustache. "Indy, old man! How are you?!" He jumped up and clapped Indy in a bear hug, squeezing the air from Indy's lungs.

: : "I never connected you with this business. I was expecting your father!"

: : Indy smiled at his old friend. Dr. Thedore Paludan was an old English antrhopology professor based at Oxford who had known Indy and his father for many years. Indy kept in occasional contact, and only when his field work brought him to conduct bisness with the British Museum. Paludan was the official museum representative "go between" for foreign visiting archaeologists and British controlled sites world wide. Paludan found his duties becoming less each year with the continuing weakening of British colonial control.

: : "Come on now, Ted, at Dad's age he's happy to make it from his house to the office. No, I'm the Jones you're stuck with. Now tell me, how are YOU involved in this? You're not a member of this English "watchers" group, are you?" asked Indy.

: : "Good heavens, no!" exclaimed Paludan. "Member, no, point of contact, well, yes."

: : "Contact? In what way?" asked Indy.

: : Paludan smiled. "Come on, let's find a quieter place to talk". Rising from his now empty beer stein, Paludan lead Indy out the door into the developing evening London fog. Londoner's continuing practice of buring low grade coal for heat and industry was catching up with it, and the fog was in it's usual thick, flowing consistency. This evening's version was quite yellowish in color. they walked a short distance when Paluden indicated a three story building that reminded Indy of a New York City brownstone. As Paludan juggled a large ring of keys, Indy thought he heard the sound of a shoe scrapping the curbe behind them. He saw a quick motion out of the corner of his eye, along with a glint of metal. He quickly turned, throwing his arm up that his top coat was wrapped around to shield his face. As he turned, he swung his suit case with his full weight behind it in the direction of the on coming motion. He felt several heavy blows against his coat, and a startled grunt, and gasped curse in a Cockney accent when his suitcase landed solidly into the gut of a large man. The man quickly stumbled away in a half run, back into the swirling fog. Indy looked down and saw a large switch blade knife laying on the sidewalk. He held his topcoat up to the dim light of the front street lamp and surveyed the tattered remenents. The knife had sliced through the heavy material like melted butter.

: : "Well, apprently they know you're in London", said Paludan, barely concealing his anger.

: : "Apparently so", said a grim faced Indy, looking out into the rolling, thickening yellow fog.

: : End Chapter 6

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