Tom Swift and His Electronic Retroscope (18 page)

After contacting his father from the paraplane and giving an account of the discovery, Tom spent the rest of the day reading further about the early Mayas and the invading Toltecs in the books he had brought with him in his pack. Inasmuch as the resident expert, Hutchcraft, had left the village to continue his jungle investigations, Tom was able to discuss his questions and observations with Dr. Liu. "There is almost no use in discussing a vague history that you yourself may be rewriting, Tom," said the Chinese-Hawaiian. "I only hope—it is selfish of me—that some of your findings in that tomb will have bearing upon my own theories."

Tom asked if Dr. and Mrs. Liu had yet derived anything from their studies of the Huratlcuyon dialect. "Alas, nothing definitive," was the rueful answer. "Soon I think we shall be moving along to the next settlement."

Tom smiled in sympathy. "Don’t give up, Dr. Liu."

Bud Barclay spent the afternoon learning a traditional game of the Yucatan cultures from the village’s young people. It involved two small oblong balls that could bounce and roll every whichway, four goalposts arranged as the points of the compass, and a great deal of strenuous running about in the dull late-day heat. He was happier than he’d been in weeks.

Finally an amber twilight arrived, and the native cookfires were again glowing in the dusk. Chow had prepared an appetizing meal as a treat for the entire village, which everyone ate with a hearty appetite and a good deal of praise.

"You say,
señor,
that this way of eating in El Norte is called
babbak-yuqeen?"
asked one of the women in Spanish, which Chow understood.

"Shor is, Imyal—
barbecuin’!"
the cook confirmed. "Right pop’lar, an’ it’s a specialty of mine."

After supper, as Tom and Bud stood up to stretch, Bud nudged his pal and gave a nod of his head. Mrs. Liu was approaching them, somewhat stealthily. "There is something I must tell you," she said to Tom in a near whisper. "My husband does not encourage me to do this. He says what I saw may be innocent. But on this occasion, I do not agree with him."

"I’ll keep in mind that it’s uncertain," Tom promised. "What did you see, ma’am?"

Jiang Liu explained that the matter involved Wilson Hutchcraft. "I saw him not far from where I was working this afternoon. My husband was then far away. Looking between the trees I saw this man take something from beneath his shirt, like a bundle of black cloth. Then he knelt down and lifted up a flat rock. From under it he took a thing like a pouch, an envelope, and put the cloth into the envelope. Then he set it down and put the rock over it again." She described the location of the rock, then continued, "Because the man I saw by your airplane wore black, I thought I should tell you of this."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Liu," Tom said, while giving Bud a look that said:
Don’t spout off until she’s gone!

As Mrs. Liu walked away, Bud pounded a fist into the palm of his hand. "Now we know what that snake’s been doing when he goes off to ‘dig’! He’s been working with the skinny guy and those other bandits all along!"

Tom mulled this over. Should he confront the man at once, or merely watch and wait for further developments? Bud was all for an immediate, forceful showdown with the Bostonian.

Tom shook his head. "We should go see what’s in that envelope first," he said. "Mrs. Liu might be jumping to conclusions. Though of course, we have no right to pry into Hutch’s personal property, Bud."

"Well, at least let’s go look at the
outside
of the envelope," Bud begged. "If he had anything to do with sabotaging the paraplane, we have a right to protect ourselves, don’t we?"

"True. Okay, we’ll do some sleuthing."

Night had fallen, and Hutchcraft, who had returned for supper, was lounging on a mat in the hut. The two youths, carrying flashlights, headed into the forest without telling anyone where they were going. The jungle lay shrouded in drowsy silence, broken occasionally by the eerie calls of night birds in the faint glow of moonlight.

They halted about a hundred yards from the site of Magnificent Max’s cave. "This is it, skipper," Bud pronounced, focusing the beam of his flashlight on a crumbled slab of flat stone barely visible in the jungle grasses.

As Bud lifted the stone a few inches, Tom pulled out a flat, watertight plastic pouch, carefully sealed against the elements. He held it close to the light.

"There’s nothing written on it," Bud muttered. "Let’s go ahead and open ’er up!"

His friend sighed. "All right," he said reluctantly.

The next moment he was holding a jet-black head-cowl in the flashlight beam. The light glowed eerily through a pair of slitted eye-holes.

"Just like the bandit gang wore when they attacked the workers’ camp," Tom muttered. "Of course, Hutchcraft will deny that this pouch is his. But maybe we can get around that."

Tom hastily outlined a plan. After stuffing the cowl back into the envelope and replacing it under the stone, the two hurried back to the village. Slowing to a casual walk, they found Hutchcraft sitting on his bedroll in the open air.

"You seem all worked up, fellows." He grinned at them mockingly. "And on such a pretty night. Don’t tell me you’ve found another buried temple!"

"No, but we do have something to show you," Tom replied. "It’s a secret. I’d like you to come and have a look before we tell Castillez about it—you may be able to tell us exactly what it is."

Hutchcraft became intensely curious despite himself. His eyes gleamed with sudden interest. "What sort of thing is it? A carving?"

"We’re not quite sure," Bud put in. "You’re the archaeologist, Hutch. Come and see for yourself!"

The Bostonian needed no urging. Obviously intrigued by Tom and Bud’s mysterious manner, Hutchcraft accompanied the Shopton youths eagerly. They led him across the forest and stopped beside the flat stone. Bud pointed to it. "Any idea what’s under here, Hutchcraft?"

In the glow of the flashlights, the man’s face suddenly showed suspicion. "Under the rock? I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said nervously. "What’re you boys up to? A prank?"

"I guess it
is
a kind of prank, Hutch, old bean—in a way." Bud grinned at the man as he tilted up the rock. Tom reached under the stone and yanked out the plastic envelope.

"Suppose you explain this!" Tom demanded angrily.

"That?" Hutchcraft made an effort to pull himself together. "I tell you I know nothing about it!" he snarled. "Now I get it. You fellows are just trying to trap me into a phony confession or something. You’d like to blame your problems on me, is that it? Well, I don’t intend to stand here and listen to any trumped-up charges."

He tried to dart away, but Bud grabbed the linguist and swung him around angrily. "You’ve had this coming for a long time!" the copilot growled. His fist shot out and caught Hutchcraft squarely on the jaw.

The man crumpled under the blow. With a moan he struggled back to his feet as Bud stood over him with clenched fists.

"Don’t hit me!" Hutchcraft blubbered in fear. "I paid a thousand dollars for this lower plate of mine! I’ll tell you anything I can—just don’t hit me again!"

"We don’t plan to hurt you," said Tom quietly. "But it’s time you told us about your relationship with the skinny guy who’s been shooting those diamond-tipped arrows at us. This is what he wears over his head, isn’t it?"

"Or is this one yours?" Bud spat out.

Wilson Hutchcraft looked frantically from face to face. "Now listen—just listen to me—please."

"I’m listening, Hutch," Tom said.

"Please believe me, I don’t know
anything
about this mask, not a thing. I’ve never seen it before!"

Bud snorted. "No?
You
were seen putting it under the rock this afternoon, when you claimed to be out archaeologizing around in the jungle."

"No!" insisted the man. "I was nowhere near here. And tell me this—why would I hide just this
one
article of clothing here, anyway? What good would it do me? Where’s the rest of the disguise?"

Bud groaned in disgust but Tom put a restraining hand on his pal’s arm. "You know, Hutchcraft, my retroscope camera can take this fabric and read-off the image of whoever wore it or handled it."

Hutchcraft was slowly calming down. "No, Tom, you’re just bluffing. As of now you have no proof of anything. You can report your absurd suspicions to the police if you want, but you have no right to take the law into your own hands. I’m going to go back to the village now. I can’t move on until my ride returns for me—but I’d just as soon sleep somewhere else." Tom and Bud did not interfere as he stood. Before stalking off into the jungle, the man said bitterly, "To think I saved your lives twice—the jaguar by your plane, and just this afternoon. You’re pathetic!"

The youths stood still until the sound of Hutchcraft crashing away through the underbrush had faded. Then Bud faced Tom furiously and growled: "He wiggled out of it. He may be sharp as a tack, genius boy, but he’s a bald-faced Bostonian liar!"

"I know, Bud," said Tom Swift. "And I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of him—or his skinny friend."

THE NEXT day Tom tried hard to put the previous night behind him and focus his attention on investigating the hidden tomb. He, Bud, and Chow arrived at the mound-opening early and greeted Ahau Quetzal and his fellow villager.

"The night was quiet," reported Hu-Quetzal. "We heard nothing, not even the yawn of Lord Jaguar."

Tom thanked the men, and they returned to Huratlcuyon. Tom then secured a strong rope ladder from the expedition’s supplies that he had carried with him, and a second rope to lower a floodlight, which would be plugged directly into the retroscope’s battery power supply. "I’ll watch my end up here, boss, jest like you said," promised Chow. "Ain’t nobody getting’ by old Chow, not even one o’ them big cats!"

The boys clapped him on his broad back. "Thanks pardner!" said Tom, and Bud added: "If you see any animal that looks like Hutchcraft, chase him off!"

"Shor will!"

They descended to the floor of the structure, and Chow carefully lowered the floodlight to them.

"Got it—thanks!" Tom shouted up.

A moment later the yellow electric glow illumined the underground chamber. Tom and Bud shouted in astonishment at the sight that leapt out of the darkness at them from every side!

The high-sided chamber, perhaps one hundred feet square, was lined with rectangular stone slabs, cracked, moss-covered, and in various states of disrepair. They were covered with elaborate carvings of animals, birds, human faces, and what seemed to be purely decorative motifs in a style that Tom recognized as classical Mayan. If the slabs had once been carefully placed in position, they were no longer so, leaning inward at ominous angles as if about to topple in on the youths.

Along the bottom of the walls, to the right and left, were carved insets creating benchlike ledges of solid stone. Dozens of the skeletons of the tiny Mayans sat along these ledges, manacled hand and foot and about the chin. Some of the skeletons had fallen to pieces and many of the skulls were strewn about the mud-covered floor, but most of the ghastly remains were still intact. With their gaping jaws and black, empty eye-sockets, the ancient captives seemed to be staring at the two invaders in horrified surprise.

But these sights were not what drew Tom and Bud’s eyes. The tomb-chamber was dominated by a fantastic bas-relief carving of a man, turned sideways, his face in profile.

"Good night, Tom!" choked Bud. "That’s got to be fifty feet tall!"

The gigantic figure was dressed in a swirling cloak, and his head was adorned with a strange feathered helmet, part of which incorporated a representation of the serpent-head of Kukulcan. In one hand the man held up something round.

"What’s he holding?" Bud asked. "A shield?"

"From what I’ve read, it’s a sort of combination calendar and history book," replied Tom. "The significant events of particular eras of time, determined by the positions of the stars and planets, were represented by picture-symbols."

The youths walked closer, their shadows elongated in the worklight beam. Tom touched the rock with his fingers. "Pal, the stone of this slab looks to be much, much older than the others. Look at how pitted and weathered the surface is! It must have already been exposed to the elements for a thousand years before those Proto-Olmecs moved it into their structure." Tom suddenly looked at his friend with eyes that gleamed with excitement. "Matter of fact, the whole structure could have been built around it, for ceremonies honoring something sacred from the distant past, perhaps something no one could understand!"

"What a find!" Bud muttered, awestruck.

Suddenly Tom gave a fresh cry of excitement.

"Bud! Look!"

The copilot turned. Tom was pointing to a series of dim markings carved into the slab next to the huge figure. "More space symbols!" exclaimed the scientist-inventor.

"Can you translate them, Tom?" Bud asked eagerly, staring at the wall markings.

"No… not yet," was the answer. "Most of them are too faint and worn. We’ve got to get the retroscope working!"

For more than an hour Tom and Bud labored to restore the tangled and scratched, but largely unharmed, electronic camera. They periodically shouted up to Chow, who reported that he had seen no sign of trouble so far on his watch.

Finally the work was completed. Tom activated the battery unit and focused the emitter-detector tube on the giant carving. "The time dial reads A.D. 396—that’s when the image itself was carved."

Bud looked at the reproducer screen over Tom’s hunched shoulders. "Looks like you’re getting a lot of new detail," he pronounced. "But let’s take a gander at the space symbols!"

Tom shifted the focus slightly, using a minutely graduated adjustment wheel. Turning to the screen, he sucked in his breath.

The retroscope revealed that the entire wall was covered with space symbols!

"Now it’s starting to make sense," breathed the young inventor as his eyes passed back and forth across the tiny screen. "It’s going to be a fantastic story, Bud. And more incredible, the inscriptions were carved long before the figure." He looked up. "The time dial reads about
1000 B.C.!"