Two and a half weeks ago:

“It’s just a rumor.”

Indy grinned at Penelope, dipping his pickle in a smear of mayonnaise. “Oh, really?”

“I’m with Indy on this one,” Remi added. Across the rickety galley table they’d dragged out onto deck, the historian pursed thin lips in thought. “You can’t just dismiss the evidence of that many eyewitness accounts.”

“Oh, you want to talk about eyewitness accounts?” Dumont pounced. Wind toyed with the hair he’d dyed jet-black, harsh sun glinting off the silver stud in his bottom lip. “All the first-class passengers and officers insisted she sank in one piece -”

“Did you even look at Jack Thayer’s drawings?” Indy pushed copies across the table to the underwater archaeologist-turned-Goth. “Look! Engineers confirm that it is possible; she was over forty-five thousand tons! Half that weight suspended without support at an angle of -”

“The ship didn’t break in half,” Penelope snorted. The archaeologist, expert on White Star Line, and reigning queen of debate lifted her hands over the vanquished remains of lunch to illustrate. “Maybe if they hit the iceberg head on they might have been able to make it into port for repairs, like the SS Arizona -”

“Records from Officer Landry’s surviving logs suggest they turned, and didn’t think they’d hit it at all,” Theo interrupted. A smile graced his round face as he added fuel to the argument raging between the archaeologists. “Until, of course, they checked below-decks.”

Dumont slammed one palm against the dinky table situated on the foredeck, many rings clanking against the metal. “The iceberg ripped a massive gash in the starboard side of the hull, under the waterline; it must have, for her to have gone down so fast. How else do you explain such a rapid -”

“You’re delusional,” Penelope retorted, tying chestnut curls up and out of the mischievous breeze prancing over the deck. “Next you’ll be trying to convince us that the Heart of the Ocean is actually the Hope Diamond.”

“Oh, no, it’s down there,” Charlotte said blithely, chiming in for the first time and ducking a potato chip flung from further down the table. France colored all of her words with the gentle lilt of Languedoc. “IFREMER thinks so -”

“So it must be true,” the French half of the scientists chorused, grinning in unity despite the many sides of the argument they supported.

“Can you think, if we actually found it, though?” Veronique had been quietly watching the squabbling, finishing her soup before speaking. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful?”

“We’ll find it,” Indy said with certainty.

“We’re thirteen nautical miles from the “official” resting place of Le Titanic,” Justin cut in, wry smile gracing his face. “I think we need to go closer to where it’s reported to have sunk.”

“Well I think you should read the captain’s logs again,” Veronique shot back. “The RMS Carpathia’s log of the weather that night showed strong northeasterly trade winds. It’s not impossible to think that the surviving lifeboats drifted from the site of the sinking in the hour and forty minutes since the ship went down.”

“I’d be surprised if they hadn’t drifted more,” Indy dragged the copies of Thayer’s drawings back across the scarred tin surface of the table.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Justin declared, pushing away from the table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do.” He staggered only a little as he tromped toward the stairs leading down into the ship.

“Watch those sea legs,” Dumont teased, voice carrying across the deck.

As he disappeared down the hatch, Justin turned, good-naturedly flipping them off. Indy grinned amid the faux-shocked gasps of Veronique and Charlotte. He reached out, snagging another handful of chips.

They crunched at leftovers in companionable silence, the French and the American scientists basking together in the sun and salt-sea breeze. “Think if we did find it,” Theo said dreamily. “We would finally know what happened.”

Penelope, draped over her chair, abandoned the relaxed pose to sit forward, popping on a pair of sunglasses to avoid squinting into the glare. “Think of the history. No one has laid eyes on her since the night she sank. We could be the first to see her in seventy years. . .”

“And we’d finally have IFREMER satisfied, no longer breathing down our necks,” Charlotte added, throwing a dash of reality into the mix. For a quiet woman who didn’t speak much, she seemed to see everything with a cynical eye that impressed even Indy.

“Oh, the trials and tribulations of the archaeologist,” Veronique sighed. A twitch of her fingers slipped the drawings from Indy’s grasp; green eyes lingered over finely sketched lines. “Funding, funding, funding.”

“Salvage rights,” Remi’s lips twisted in disgust. Rubbing his hands free of chip-salt on worn slacks, the historian jabbed a finger on the thin metal table, eyes snapping. “The despoiling of our history, the ravaging of irreplaceable, limited founts of knowledge, and all for what? Money? Fame? To those who do not even appreciate the greatest of human endeavors but for it to be turned into the almighty coin? Blasphemous, evil -”

“Mon Dieu, someone please, stop him now,” whined Theo pitiably.

Penelope raised a brow, mouth opening to object. Indy winced. And here it comes . . .“White Star line does have -”

“And on that note, I think it’s time I got back to my – something,” Indy said hurriedly, jumping up from his chair. Can only take so many debates in one day.

“Weaseling out on us, hey?” Dumont flashed him a peace sign with two heavily-ringed fingers. Boos and a chorus of jibes followed him as he made his escape from the resurrection of what had already become a hefty argument in the four days they’d been at sea. Tempers were still under control, but only just. I think I’ll let Dad deal with it.

The thought made his lips curl in amusement as he ducked into the cooler belly of Le Suriot. Watching his dad sort out a group of archaeologists arguing like disgruntled children – that, he would pay money to see. Indy took the corner quickly, eager to find out what Justin was up to with the underwater subs.

And came face-to-face with the second mate, Nefis. Adrenaline pumped; Indy swerved abruptly, just barely missing barreling into the shorter man. And banged up against the wall of the cramped hallway. “Jeez!”

The second mate of the ship had hauled himself backward and to the side; the two men found themselves pressed against the walls in surprise. Better than ending up on the floor. “I am sorry,” Nefis was recovering from the surprise. “Are you quite alright, Dr. Johnson?”

Gulp in air. Breathe. “I’m fine,” Indy offered. “You?”

“A little surprised, but then, that is the sea,” the other man laughed it off. “Are your fellow archaeologists truly so frightening, then?”

He’s got to be kidding. Indy threw his mind back, searching, and then realized. “You weren’t in the mess for the fight two nights ago, were you?”

“My sleep shift,” Nefis shrugged, dark eyes twinkling.

“Well, you missed the spirited debate on the origins of the Heart of the Ocean legend, and the likelihood that the stone is down there,” Indy grimaced, running a hand through his hair as he remembered. Imminent bloodshed, and stonily polite voices. “Penelope with a steak-knife is a truly frightening sight.”

“Oh, that one!” A grin darted over the man’s angular face. “I was more interested in the legend, truth. I have not heard of the Heart of the Ocean outside grand sailor’s yarns.”

“Remind me to give you the real account someday,” Indy grinned, and double-checked that the door leading abovedecks had latched behind him.

“I will take you up on that,” Nefis agreed. “But doubtless you, as I, have work that needs doing, no?”

“Oui,” Indy agreed, testing the limits of his French. He laughed when a pained grimace crossed the second-mate’s face. “I know, my accent’s pretty bad.”

The man shook his head, feet already taking him down the corridor towards the bridge; Indy’s route brought him deeper into the workspace for the scientists, submarine experts, and archaeologists. Ducking into a room filled to overflowing with books, references, and a computer that took up a wall, he found a surprise waiting for him. Two surprises. “Ben? Ned?”

"Hi," Ben smiled at him from under a fringe of blond bangs. "Ned and I thought we'd see what was going on." At his side, the black Lab's head bobbed in a nod, tongue lolling.

"Nothing exciting," Indy said frankly, a little surprised. He settled into his chair, rolling a little across the deck. "I've been going over a few of the reports on the weather the night of the sinking, trying to narrow down where precisely the lifeboats drifted after she went down."

Interest kindled in blue eyes. "Can I see?"

Pulling out his glasses, Indy paused. "If you like." He passed the papers over, watching in amusement as the boy spoke quietly to his dog, who whined and licked, nodded and sneezed in response. Gabriel said, but it's something different to see it. "He talks to you?"

"Yes," the boy nodded, settled on the floor with a large chart. "I can hear him, in my mind, and he can hear me. But it's nice to not have to worry about someone watching."

Too serious for his age. Well, maybe not if the kid really was a few hundred years old, but something twinged behind his ribs to see such aged thoughtfulness in the young face. "Did Gabriel ever tell you about the time he and I met up in New Orleans during Mardi Gras?" Indy knew for a fact the hunter hadn't. That was one trip Gabriel "Bateman" would be more than willing to forget. He stifled a snicker.

Ben met his gaze, clearly curious. Ned's head shook, ears flopping.

Gabriel might gut him for rehashing this story, but Indy could see it would be worth it. "It was in 1956, if I remember right. Mardi Gras is the biggest party in the American southeast, and I'd decided that as an anthropologist I needed to observe the culture. Mingle with the natives, that sort of thing." It was half true, anyway, but the grin Ben cast him was a little too knowing. "Anyway, I got there . . ."

"Gabriel?"

Hazel eyes met his, surprised. "Indy. What are you doing here?"

He couldn't stop his eyes from following the brightly-colored crowds, laughing and happy and drunk, with less clothing than was normally considered proper. "Just . . . taking in the sights. You?" He didn't look away from one particularly attractive woman whose shirt was more than a little wet and see-through.

"Hunting," came the bland response.

"Right," Indy nodded, the sign outside one hole-in-the-wall establishment catching his eye. "Always hunting. Thirsty work. Come on." He latched onto one wrist, dragging the reluctant hunter as he headed across the street packed with dancing, joyous people. Kiss for Beer, the sign read.

A giggle of anticipation pulled him from his storytelling; Ben’s face was alight with laughter, and Ned’s tail wagged mischievously. Indy tossed them a wink, and kept going.

“Mmmph!”

Wide, surprised eyes met Indy’s over the head of the girl who was currently attached to Gabriel at the lips. The archaeologist grinned.

A second later she bounced back, brown hair swinging over her shoulders, green eyes a little disappointed. “Huh. Not here for the celebration, are you?” No sign of Louisiana in her voice; not local, then.

The hunter blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“A kiss like that, you should be,” she muttered, hands propped on hips. “What’s a girl gotta do to -”

A hand on her arm reeled her back in, and lips descended to swallow the rest of her sentence.

Indy stared.

Gabriel bent the girl gently back over the arm he’d snugged around her waist, bodies pressed together, head tilted and mouth plundering. One of her hands snuck into his hair, pulling dark strands free of the clasp at the base of his neck; as Indy watched, the hunter shifted impossibly closer to her, deepening the kiss.

The first catcall came from a large black woman hefting a sweating pitcher. Indy joined in, whistling loudly and clapping only a few feet away, and the two broke apart as the café around them broke into wild cheers. He snickered to see the blush high on his friend’s cheeks.

“And Mama Ntombi gave us the entire pitcher,” Indy reminisced, the remembered taste of cool, home-brewed beer on that hot night filling his mouth with water.

A delighted giggle again broke against his reverie, and Indy looked up to see the clouds in blue eyes chased away by laughter.

“It gets better,” he assured the boy.

“Better than that?” A bark accompanied the question that barely made it out from between gasping chuckles.

“I haven’t even told you about the hunt.” Indy settled further into his chair, feet popping up to settle atop scattered scrap paper on the tiny table he used as a desk.

“There!”

He strained his eyes, the whirling, colorful crowd getting in the way. “Where?”

“Come on!” Fingers dug into Indy’s wrist, dragging him through dancing mobs and confetti showers, beads slapping his face from one woman’s particularly enthusiastic throw.

The ghostly figure wove through the masses, untouched by the chaos of the Mardi Gras celebration. They raced after her, darting between the shifting hordes, chasing the fluttering tatters of her Victorian-era dress.

He saw Gabriel throw out a hand, reaching –

“Hey!”

Indy gaped; for a ghost, she was remarkable substantial. The woman, pancake makeup smeared thickly over her face, blood streaming artistically from a gash on her neck, glared at them. “Who are you? Did Brad call in sick again? I swear, amateurs who don’t read the script -”

Gabriel was just as stunned. “What?”

“Look, you done a lovely job and all, but you’re not supposed to catch me until we reach Central Square,” she admonished, white-painted hands with dagger-like nails propped on her hips. “In five minutes, because the fireworks start in fifteen. Honestly, didn’t Jim go over this with you?”

“No,” Indy jumped in, after watching the hunter flounder for a minute. “Last-minute replacements, you know how it is.”

She snorted, tossing tangled black hair back over one shoulder. He got a good look at the ‘wound’ covering the left side of her neck. “You’d think with all the effort he went into getting people to put up graffiti and getting the cops in on the deaths, he could at least find a ghost-buster who showed up on time!”

“So, the Curse of the Voodoo Priestess -” Indy started, feeling a grin creeping in at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s me,” she said proudly, red-painted lips smiling wide.

“Turns out the whole thing was orchestrated by the city of New Orleans for the Mardi Gras celebration.”

Ben had both hands clamped over his mouth, whole body twitching with giggles. Ned had rolled onto his back, all four legs and tail waving with glee.

Indy folded his hands on his lap, chuckling. “You should have seen his face when -”

Tap tap.

The door slid open, a dark-haired head leaning in. “Hey Indy, have you seen -”

Ben burst out laughing, wiggling hysterically on the floor next to the Black Lab, who was rolling back and forth with the rocking of Le Suriot.

Puzzlement crossed Gabriel’s face at the hilarity that greeted him. “What's so funny?”