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An Internet
CASPAK PASTICHE In Monthly Serialization by David Bruce Bozarth Copyright © 2000 Serialized from July 2000 to March 2001 |
THE LAND THAT DARWIN FORGOT I so thoroughly enjoyed participating with and editing the first Internet Barsoomian serial WHEN THE PRINCESS DISAPPEARED that I knew it was only a matter of time before I got involved in another serial pastiche. I have created a tale which addresses the "between the lines" background adenture that surely must have happened in the course of The Land That Time Forgot trilogy penned by Edgar Rice Burroughs in 1916. Mr. Burroughs, of course, is part of the expedition aboard the Toreador which entered the frigid South Pacific to locate and bring back Bowen Tyler, Jr.—the son of a powerful West Coast ship-building tycoon who built submarines used by combatants of what we now call World War I. Young Tyler, a survivor of a torpedoed passenger liner—along with Ms. Lys La Rue—joins the crew of an English tugboat and members of a German submarine. Together they experience an incredible adventure in a land that time forgot. All were eventually rescued by the Toreador expedition; but what was never detailed was the adventures the rescue expedition! The Mr. Burroughs found in this narrative is loosely modeled after the character described in Edgar Rice Burroughs' ficticious and humorous autobiography. I thought we needed to explore that avenue as well. I hope you enjoy The Land That Darwin Forgot as much as I have writing it. |
CAST OF CHARACTERSMR. BURROUGHSCLEMENS MR. LEINSTER DR. HEINLEIN JOHN HENRY MICKY MACDONALD IVAN ROKOFF JOHN RUNNING ELK HIRO NAGAMICHI HERMANN VON BORST CELESTE |
Chapter 2 - September 6, 2000
Chapter 3 - October 6, 2000
Chapter 4 - November 6, 2000
Chapter 5 - December 6, 2000
Chapter 6 - January 12, 2001
Chapter 7 - February 4, 2001
Epilogue - March 4, 2001
CHAPTER 1
November 29th, 1917
On board the Toreador
South Pacific, off the
coast of Caprona
My Dear—
Of all the confounded luck! Here I sit in a canvas deck chair wrapped in coat and muffler, despite the fact it is Summer in the Southern Hemisphere at this time of year. We are so far South that Antarctica's infernal cold and icebergs chill and menace us continually. You know why I am here. I am part of the rescue mission to find Bowen Tyler's son–and that because I found his manuscript in a bottle floating off the coast of Greenland. Over the last few months we assembled–I say "we," though nearly all of the planning and effort was done by the most able Tom Billings–a ship, crew, supplies, and even a seaplane, then sailed for nearly a month before locating Caprona.
Tom Billings, who is more of a general manager at the Tyler shipyards in Santa Monica than the personal secretary of Bowen Tyler, Sr., took off in his seaplane to examine the interior of the island, which is completely surrounded by incredible cliffs rising perpendicularly from the cold Pacific waters. Not long after he disappeared over the crest we heard his Vickers machine gun give several bursts, then silence. That occurred two months ago.
The captain of the Toreador, a stalwart and inventive man, immediately ordered the crew to begin an ascent of the cliffs near the point where Billing's plane had crossed into Caprona's interior. Expending painstaking and near Herculean effort, the crew scaled the cliffs by drilling and securing steel rods into the dense rock. This was not an easy task and several weeks passed before the last spike was driven and man could stand on the divide that lay between the cold, restless Pacific and the tropical hell that is the heart of Caprona.
I can tell you that the ascent, regardless of safety line and the extraordinary path breaking done by the brave sailors, is terrifying to several extremes. By the time I reached the summit with navigator Clemens, Dr. Heinlein, and crew chief Leinster, my heart beat was so accelerated the good doctor bade me sit while Leinster directed the hauling up of supplies and firearms.
In all, our group comprised ten men, including the heroic-figured and always jovial John Henry, the ship's black cook who, though his family has been American for several generations, claimed his great-grandfather was a Waziri chief and his great-grandmother was the beautiful daughter of a fierce desert Taurag prince. John Henry's many stories during the voyage had been highly amusing and quite filled with ferocious savagery, but when I saw the primitive heart of Caprona, I was certainly glad he was among our company! He exhibited no lack of bravery while working with his shipmates to scale the cliffs, and his strength and matter-of-fact manner–all the while joking with his mates–inspired confidence in us all.
Dr. Heinlein had been a horse and buggy doctor in Missouri for more years than he cared to remember. He is elderly, but not old. This is a fine distinction, I realize, but there is a difference. Heinlein's medical knowledge was honed over several dozen years of delivering babies, tending farm accidents, burn victims, at least six different epidemics from smallpox to cholera, war injuries for returning Spanish-American war casualties, and a long time personal interest in how diseases were transmitted from one human to another. His mind is brilliant–it cannot be said other than that. His physical frailties are no more severe than my own, and I am considered quite robust and athletic by my peers–including you! Dr. Heinlein's first glimpse of Caprona from the summit of those cliffs was the only time I saw the good doctor's jaw drop agape. At the time he said: "This is something to tell the imp grandchild." From that moment on, however, nothing he saw or found in Caprona fazed him.
Mr. Leinster is, I suppose, the best organized of us all. His position on the Toreador is somewhere between super-man and Second Mate. His actual title is Crew Chief, but this does not describe his position or his talents by one iota. He had served with the major passenger lines as Purser, Chief Engineer, and First Mate–-though he was contemptuous of the uniforms and "politics" of such organizations. He also holds an engineering degree from a university you'd recognize instantly if I revealed it to you–-but I shall not since Mr. Leinster is not pleased to have been the off-spring of decadently wealthy parents who, though they tried their best at every opportunity, had not yet managed to squander the Industrial millions of Leinster's grandfather.
Clemens–-no first name known—always greets the question: "Are you Mark Twain?" with a raised eyebrow and a delicate sneer that can cut more sharply than a hot knife through room temperature butter. "The only thing that fellow and I have in common is we both piloted paddle boats on the Mississippi when we were young and stupid." Clemens is a crack shot with a rifle. I have seen him bring down an albatross with a clean shot through the bird's eye from the heaving deck of a steamship and REPEAT the same demonstration when others scoffed. His skills as a navigator are reportedly legendary and his services were added to the expedition by Tom Billings' plea: Clemens had been just hours away from sailing to Europe to join the British navy to combat the Hun.
Also with us on that wind tortured summit were Hiro Nagamichi, a small-boned Nipon with straight black hair and serious mein. Nagamichi carried a prized family treasure; a razor-edged Samurai sword, in addition to a rather ordinary but quite deadly revolver. I had seen his sailor work in the rigging of the Toreador during the voyage and no man alive, other than my friend in Africa, is more agile or dexterous aloft than young Hiro.
Ivan Rokoff surprised me. He is the 16 year old bastard son of a Russian agent my friend Lord Greystoke knew most unhappily in recent years. He is the youngest among the crew working as the Toreador's cabin boy. Ivan was raised by his American mother, a young New York City woman who had thought she was in love with a dashing foreigner and been used most foul, though the boy loved her intensely and he seemed of good character. He was man-sized and worked hard without supervision and despite his age, and from what I knew about his father, Ivan was a welcome asset.
John Running Elk, on the other hand, is a series of perplexities. He was of the Sioux who had not long before ruled the tall grass of America's wild interior–-a savage race which had never seen water greater than lakes, rivers and streams. He is a tall, fierce-looking Indian who seemed to have mystical visions on a regular basis and was, by all accounts, a crack horseman employed by Tom Billings on the Tyler ranch.
Hermann von Borst, a six-foot giant who laughed with Teutonic gusto whenever the unfortunate similarity of his name with a sausage was noted–-and whose family had crossed the Atlantic long before Lafayette came to the aid of the American colonies–-was the ship's gunnery officer. Though the Toreador was of civilian registry, the Tylers never ventured into pirate-ridden South Pacific waters without an experienced gunner on board. Several times in the past the expertise of von Borst had either driven off or sunk attacking ships.
Michael "Micky" MacDonald, is as scrappy and determined an Irishman I've ever met. His principle talent lay in a near-encyclopedic knowledge of primitive languages; and the fact that he had never been bested in two-fisted combat in 20 years of sailing the Pacific rim from east to west.
This digression in my letter of woe–-for I have opened with the statement "Of all the confounded luck!"–-is meant to acquaint you with the principle individuals in the following events. What we experienced, what we discovered during our journey that rivals Dante's travails in Hell, is something I shall remember for the rest of my life.
"Hiro!" Leinster barked. "Find a way down. Ivan, coil the ropes, and mind you they run free when we need them. Running Elk–-go with Hiro. Wait–-take a rifle!"
Leinster turned away from the haze-shrouded interior. His business lay in getting the group ready for the descent. Von Borst was already making packs from the supplies lifted from the Toreador. Dr. Heinlein was inspecting his medical supplies with a critical eye.
Clemens stood to one side, compass out, and scowling fiercely that the device behaved in an erratic manner. We had experienced the same odd behavior earlier while trying to locate the island. He lifted his head from time to time to make sure what he was transferring to a sketch book was accurate, for our lives might depend upon his efforts at some future time.
Micky, among the smallest of us, though by no means the weakest, tested the packs prepared by von Borst. Mine he handed to me, saying, "You've got the corned beef in tins, sir. 'Tis my favorite, try not to lose it."
I discovered I also carried 50 rounds of high-calibre rifle ammunition, 100 revolver reloads, an eight-inch knife with a sturdy carbon steel blade, a hand axe with a hammer surface on the reverse, two canteens, a change of clothing–-whose I could not immediately tell—, two packets of beef jerky, a pound of dried apricots, a half-dozen onions, matches, compass (useless!), flint and striker, a quart of lamp oil, a bottle of Schnaps (von Borst's most likely), a flask of Scotch–-with which I fortified myself instantly and re-packed–-a poncho, a coil of rope perhaps thirty feet in length, binoculars in a separate case, a well-used machete and a King James Bible. The latter was something I had read several times over the years, but could not subscribe to on a personal level, but if carrying it would comfort one of the others on this venture, then so be it. You might ask why I felt that at the time and the answer is simple: von Borst's preparations were based on our personal ability to carry what had been delivered. He was carrying a pack nearly twice the size of mine, as well as a brace of large calibre rifles. Ivan's pack, which included a large tent, was almost half-again the size of von Borst's. Hiro and Running Elk's packs lay on the ground, significant, to be sure, but much lighter than the others. They, it appeared, were to be our points and needed to travel much farther and faster than the rest of us. Micky, always contentious, complained that his pack only included the two oil-fueled lamps and the oil-stove.
Leinster, voice serious, eyes smiling, said, "Given that you're such a clumsy fellow we could not allow you to carry anything important. Besides," he added before the Irishman could find his temper, "you'll be right flank and I expect your eyes and your rifle to be working overtime."
Mollified, and also sensible when faced with facts, MacDonald growled. "And who will it be o' watchin' our left flank?"
"Clemens. Do you have a problem with that, you feisty little devil?"
Micky looked to the long figure of Clemens with a critical eye. "I knows he can find his way through a fog, but can he shoot?"
Clemens looked from his sketching and claimed my eye. "Let me have one of your onions, sir. I shall place it upon yon disbeliever's head and shoot it off, blind-folded and facing backwards."
MacDonald shouldered his pack, scowling fiercely. "You'd be wastin' a good onion, sir, as well as the bullet." His voice changed imperceptibly, indicating the shrewd mind and dedication to the effort. "What do you see, Clemens?" he asked, looking to the soupy atmosphere below the rim. "Damn if I can make heads o' tails of it all."
"We've a good elevation," Clemens replied. Standing, he raised a hand to indicate his observations. "There's a huge river there to the left, obviously it must exit into the ocean via subterranean avenues, but we knew this already from the manuscript sent by Mr. Tyler. Between our position and the edge of the immense lake is approximately fifteen miles, but that does not include whatever vertical distance we must traverse. In the mists to the north you can just barely see the shoreline of a rather large island. To the right is a terrain that is between fifteen and thirty miles in width, densely forested. According to Mr. Tyler's manuscript, he must be on the east side of the island and that will be our direction."
All of us turned our gaze to the direction indicated by the upraised arm. I saw a land of tortured configuration, much of it cloaked in a verdure so intense it appeared a single living mass. Into the far distance the shoreline of the inner lake was a line of windblown surf, a white line between the green-blue depths of the lake and the blue-green depths of the jungle.
John Running Elk came from below, appearing in an instant without sign or sound of his passage. "Hiro Nagamichi awaits." Without instruction from Leinster, the Indian picked up his pack and the Nipon's. Turning on his heel without backward glance, the Sioux led the way down.
Dr. Heinlein and myself formed the central core of our party. Both of us were determined to not be the slowest members, yet the reality of our ages betrayed us. We were not a burden to our fellows, else I doubt the captain of the Toreador would have allowed us to join the expedition, but we were not the most hearty, nor the most swift in the bunch. However, we were spry old gentlemen used to hard times and our descent of the first 1,000 feet was made with reasonable dispatch.
That first 1,000 feet, however, left us sweltering in the growing heat of the island's interior. Caprona, obviously from shape and configuration, was the visible part of an extraordinarily large volcano rising from the ocean floor. Beneath the surface of the lake and the land itself, must be forces most Vulcan to induce such atmospheric heat in these Southern latitudes. We stopped to shed the cold weather garments, coats, sweaters, and mufflers, and tied them to our packs.
Running Elk and Hiro Nagamichi descended further into the interior as we caught our breath well above the timber line. Dr. Heinlein occupied his time examining a lichen growing on one of the dark rocks which surrounded our stopping place. Clemens, with pencil in hand, added to his sketch of the terrain, constantly checking landmarks and inserting them onto his map.
Leinster spoke to each of the other men, checking to see if their loads were traveling well and how they were doing. Von Borst's "Hell, sir, it's more work making sausage" brought a smile to our faces.
John Henry, who carried the largest pack of us all, had not yet generated a sweat. "I think back to my Waziri ancestors, looking at all that is before us, and maybe it is like coming home to the land of my fathers."
Henry, I might add, has a college education from a school you'd also recognize and might probably smile with a bit of disdain. I am not like you, old friend, to so casually dismiss a man's efforts to better himself, and John Henry is of a long line of over achievers who made the most of their freedom as slaves in 1816, one hundred and one years earlier.
"Ivan–how are you holding up?"
Young Rokoff turned his head away from the vista below. In his hands a rifle was tightly gripped. "Just fine, sir. What is that over there?" All of us looked to his gesture. There was a glint in the trees below.
Leinster studied it for a moment, then said, "It's metal. Might be Mr. Billings' machine." Clapping a hand on the big youth's shoulder, he added. "You've good eyes, son. Keep using them."
Mr. Leinster hurried down about 100 feet and called out the names of Running Elk and the Nipon. Hiro's face showed, a light olive yellow flash floating in a mass of dark green brush and scrub growth. The Nipon nodded when Leinster pointed the direction to the metallic glint. We gathered up our packs and made the descent.
An hour later we reached a forested level and, guided by Clemens' directions from his constantly updated map and natural navigation skills (sun, distance, wind?) to a particular tree in a forest of unknown size and quantity of trees. Suspended in the growth of this massive tree was Billings seaplane. The aeroplane showed significant weathering, even from our vantage point on the ground. Hiro scrambled aloft like a monkey to report there were no human remains on board.
Leinster questioned the Nipon more thoroughly when Hiro joined us at the base of the immense tree. "Are you sure? He might have died there and been consumed by scavengers–"
Nagamichi immediately shook his small head. "No bones. No clothing. Mr. Tom left the airship. Broken branches below plane. He come down."
Leinster pursed his lips in thought. After a long moment he said. "Billings survived. He descended. Now what? Gentlemen, I am without a clue as to where we go from here. Running Elk?"
He need not have asked that worthy. The Indian was apart from us, seated on the ground tailor fashion, his eyes closed and a small rattle making occasional sounds as he shook it to the four winds. Though his hair was long-ish, it was unbound, and no feather headdress sat upon his head as did the Indians of the dreadful Dime Novels, yet there was something about the man's entire demeanor that indicated his closed eyes were seeing things we could not see. Ivan started to say something, but fell silent when von Borst's ham-like hand gripped his arm. Dr. Heinlein cocked his graying head to one side as a grizzled hand stroked his chin, supported by a crossed arm across his breast.
Three times did John Running Elk shake his rattle to the four winds. He sat in silence for several minutes. Suddenly his eyes opened and he gestured a direction.
Clemens said, "North."
Leinster narrowed his eyes, not sure what he had witnessed. Abruptly nodding his head, the man said, "That's as good a direction as any. Von Borst, Clemens, flanks, Hiro, point. Running Elk, rear. Ivan, you stick with me. Let's go."
Ivan, dear lad, flushed ruddily to have been named explicitly, and I quite agreed with the boy's discomfort. He had done nothing to garner Mr. Leinster's personal recognition. However, all personal interaction became moot about an hour later when we entered a glade with a pool that was occupied by some sub-human, or perhaps ape-like, females.
Von Borst, large and bristly with weapons at the ready, stepped forward. His weapon was leveled at a group of males beyond the pool. The rest of us stood ready. Running Elk, damn him for appearing like a shadow when no shadows exist!, whispered in Leinster's ear. Leinster held up his hand. "Hold your fire, but be ready. Okay, Injun, see what you can do."
The Sioux gestured for the Irishman to come forward. Together they advanced, not upon the pool where the females had retreated to a distant corner, but to the obviously belligerent and growing fractious males. Dr. Heinlein seemed more interested in the pool itself as we stood side by side, though his hand was firmly gripped on the butt of the revolver strapped about his waist. I noted the doctor's interest, but kept my eyes upon the posturing males, noting they were quite similar to the mangani my friend Greystoke had described on many occasions.
The males were largish, about human size, and quite hairy, They were long in the arm and short in the leg, but the torso was substantial and well-muscled. Beneath a heavy brow-ridge dark eyes, close-set, seemed to become more inflamed as the minutes passed. The group was quite vocal, in fact the volume was discomforting to the ear, yet Running Elk and MacDonald continued to advance in the face of the group's display.
Micky suddenly uttered a handful of sounds that sounded like grunts and squeals to my ears. Had he done this at a restaurant table in Boston I'd have had him thrown out for making a nuisance of himself, but in the present reality, his vocalizations brought about a complete and instant cessation of cacophony.
One of the males stepped forward by several inches, though his manner remained threatening. A spate of animalistic jabbering followed, which Micky seemed to listen to with intense concentration. The creature then pounded upon the ground with doubled knuckles and bared fangs that gleamed white in the gathering dusk and seemed quite suitable to rending flesh from bone.
Ivan gasped when MacDonald threw off his pack and assumed a position that was half-crouch, half-kneeling, and thumped the back of his hand upon the ground while shrieking most abominably. Dr. Heinlein gripped the boy's shoulder, never taking his eyes off the scene before us.
The lead creature paused, seeming startled to have a response, then embarked on a long tirade. The Irishman, pacing back an forth in the same manner as his opposite, listened for a time, then suddenly picked up a stick and threw it at the apish figure!
The words MacDonald then hurled at the group are something I cannot put down on paper, though I shall never forget their utterance. MacDonald's harangue lasted perhaps five minutes, though it seemed longer, and his figure arched and pranced, jerked and stood semi-erect, and his voice rose to a fever pitch. His punctuation was a short run toward the males while Running Elk stood calmly to one side, a revolver in his brown hand.
A chorus of hideous shrieks reverberated throughout the jungle. The females evacuated the pool as the male contingent, perhaps twenty in all, evaporated into the dense forest. Running Elk remained vigilant as the Irishman picked up his pack. I now noticed, as he came from the right, that Hiro's blade was exposed and held in capable hands. Leinster, rifle at the ready, walked forward until he was a pace or two away from MacDonald.
"What the hell just happened?"
MacDonald shrugged into his pack. "Damn if I know, sir. Treated them like you treat the old man in the forest in Borneo. I mean the orangutans, sir. There's a kind of language the apes understand. I don't know what I said, but I didn't give an inch. I think I was tellin' them we'd kill 'em all and all their kin, but I don't know. Anyways, sir, they run for it. I suggest we find a place we can defend, sir. Night's a comin' on."
Leinster looked to Running Elk. "What have you to say?"
"Heap big magic," the Indian said. Then, with an accent as American as Cleveland, Ohio he added. "Micky scared them. They are not us, not people, but near enough like us to be frightened. That fright will not last long. Micky is right, we need to find a place."
Hiro stepped forward. "Two miles. Good place. Easy defend."
Clemens drew forth his notebook. "Left or right?"
Leinster ignored the latter byplay. "Von Borst, Ivan, MacDonald, main body. The rest of you keep your eyes and ears open. Lead on, Hiro."
We traveled quickly, but the going was rough. Ivan and von Borst had to hack a trail through something that looked like bamboo but was infinitely tougher. How Hiro Nagamichi found his way though this maze of vegetable matter I cannot imagine, but his directions were quite accurate.
Just as twilight was on the verge of becoming full dark, we saw our first Dinosaur! John Henry immediately killed it, it was not a large dinosaur, and that is what we had for dinner.
Dr. Heinlein identified the object of the pot as one of the egg-stealing dinosaurs which current archaeology suggests. The creature was about twice the size of a Rhode Island hen, and not nearly as tasty. John Henry, however, elevated the gamy critter into something that was more than edible. What magic this descendent of the Waziri tribes used I cannot say, but I know that my famished body, and my pack lightened by two onions, was quite pleased.
Leinster, after the meal and in the dimming light of our fire, recounted our accomplishments of the day. "We're in. We're on the trail, providing our far-seeing Indian is on the mark. We have encountered our first inhabitants of Caprona." He looked at Dr. Heinlein. "Any thoughts, sir? Damn primitive land if you ask me."
"More primitive than you might guess, Mr. Leinster," the doctor replied. "I have catalogued at least 50 species of plant and animal life I know to have been extinct for millions of years. I've also noted something else that grabs the attention of a medical scientist, but I'm not yet ready to offer an opinion until it percolates in this aging brain for a while." The man's finger tapped the side of his skull with a smile. "All I can say at this moment is we are in new territory. What should have been dead for millions of years seems to be alive and kicking, and, if I'm not far off the mark, Darwin is eventually going to roll over in his grave."
Clemens, exhibiting a vein of humor we had not seen before, said, "North?"
I laughed with Heinlein and von Borst, who seemed most interested in the conversation. "Is it north, my Teutonic friend?" I asked.
The man's mirth subsided for a moment as his eyes scanned the party. "North or not, I cannot say. What I do know," he said, lowering his gaze to the fading fire, "is that I am honored that you treat me as you do, considering there is a war on-going in Europe and I am descended from those beasts."
Ivan Rokoff leaned forward. His young face was clear of line or dissipation. "My mother told me 'we are us.' I guess that means we are who we are. You're a good man, and no different from the rest of us. I–" Young Rokoff's voice failed, embarrassed to find every eye upon him.
For a long moment there was a silence as dense as the foliage about us–though only to the west and south as Hiro's "defense" place was marginally above the tree line and bordered on two sides by rock walls. John Henry, passing out sugar biscuits prepared in the iron skillet he carried, offered the following in a deep basso:
"There's niggers in any race, boy, you have that right. Your mama taught you right. Von Borst is no more German than I'm the Pope," John Henry crossed himself as Catholics are wont to do.
John Running Elk, his eyes fixed on the less defensible perimeters of our camp site, said, "The land defines us. The land is us."
Dr. Heinlein and I exchanged glances. He was a man of science. I am a man of the real world. Between us we both recognized the validity of the words spoken. I cleared my throat.
"There is a war being waged by Germans at the moment, but not all Germans, or," I looked to von Borst, "Germans by descent agree with this war. The world is a small place, no matter what there is left to be discovered, as we are discovering this place called Caprona, but it is our world and we have to live within it."
Leinster stood up. "Running Elk, Clemens, first watch. Rokoff and me will take second. Micky, you and John Henry."
"What about Dr. Heinlein and myself?" I asked.
"Get whatever sleep you can if you can ignore the insects and jungle noises."
"I protest, sir. I can stand a watch with the rest..."
Leinster almost smiled. "I am sure you can, but I know these other fellows can shoot. No disrespect intended."
It was left there, to my mortification, and remained so for the next five days as we clawed our way through the southern jungles of Caprona. I tried to engage Dr. Heinlein over this mistreatment in duties, though he studiously avoided any commentary in this regard. I had a feeling that the good doctor was one who learned long before to go with the flow of any situation; whereas I have always been one to take the bull by the horns.
Mr. Leinster paid no attention to my aside protests during our venture to the north on the east side of the lake. Most particularly he paid no attention to me while we were killing extraordinary lizards which Dr. Heinlein identified as Tyrannosaurus Rex. The latter and I had several interesting disagreements, to the entertainment of the fellows around the evening fires, that two of the three killed–at an enormous waste of ammunition!–were Allosaurus instead of the more terrific Tyrannosaurus.
The Schnaps bottle eventually vanished from my pack. I did enjoy a dram or two from that at von Borst's magnanimous sharing. I was amused that young Ivan Rokoff had his first hangover on our fifth day out, and felt that Mr. Leinster was most accurate in hounding the young man to execute his duties despite the physical deficiency accumulated by intemperate indulgence.
I say this with minor tongue-in-cheek. I drained the Scotch rather early in our adventure because I was scared as hell. Von Borst made me angry when I threw the bottle away. He picked it up and tucked it inside my bodice.
"You will keep this, sir. And you will fill it with water the next chance we get."
Part of me wanted to say "Damn the Hun," but the reality is he made sense. Too long had I heard the idiot statements of the Kaiser and it was refreshing to hear a German tell me something that realistic–and then I realized that von Borst was German in name only. He was as American as the proverbial Apple Pie.
On more mornings than I care to remember I started out with a hangover. In this regard Ivan and I became good friends as we continued north under the direction of the Indian and his "vision." Ivan kept me from tripping over my own two feet and his blind belief that John Running Elk's mystical powers could lead us to Tom Billings or Bowen Tyler is amusing. It was the council of Dr. Heinlein that reminded me of where we were and what we were about.
"Ed, get a grip," he said one afternoon as we rested after traveling some eight miles through horrendously thick forest. "You're on the verge of collapse, old man. Out here we cannot have personal opinions as regards the skills of others, we have to rely upon each and every one of us. I fear you are too old and set in your ways. You should have stayed on the Toreador."
My response was rather rude. I lived a rather significant part of my life in the Orient where mysticism has been elevated to a high art—but that so-called high art has always been based in chicanery and manipulation. In essence told the good doctor to: "Mind your own business."
That same day young Ivan Rokoff took a savage's spear meant for me, and that damn girl came out of nowhere!
CHAPTER 2
Leinster had kept us moving throughout the hot days inside that monstrous volcanic crater. We knew it was monstrous–measured in hundred plus miles as we had seen from our first day's vantage point–but for us, on the ground amidst the biting insects, the lesser reptiles and snakes that scurried away, the heat and humidity and the eternal muck which sucked at our rotting boots, Caprona was now merely the next step we could take and the next breath of air we inhaled.
Nagamichi and Running Elk ranged well beyond the main troop advance, yet one or the other would rejoin us approximately every half hour to make sure we were still on the trail. These men seemed tireless. Equally tireless was that mountain of brawn John Henry. Always chattering, nearly always amusing in his chatter, the big black carried a load that would have staggered two men, and did so with seeming effortlessness. Clemens and MacDonald carried on a running verbal feud that, for all the vicious slanders exchanged was as innocuous as a schoolyard ballyhoo. Clemens and the Irishman kept us supplied with fresh meat, and usually did so without expending a round of ammunition. Both seemed extraordinarily well versed in the use of knives.
Ivan remained a faithful satellite, always at my shoulder, always there with a respectful hand when I needed it. For several days I had talked with the young man–he was too big to be called a child even though he was just sixteen–to discover his family background. The boy was embarrassingly frank with his replies at times. He knew he was born out of wedlock and that his mother had suffered terribly in her previous social circles, and had been disowned by her family for the affront. He knew nothing of his father, other than the fact that he was Russian. Ivan's mother had judiciously, it appeared, given the boy the minimal necessary information so that he might have an identity that every child needs, but shared nothing more as regards the activities of the father.
I could have told Ivan volumes as regards his father. Yet, I so admired his strength and good character that it was impossible to speak truths that I knew. Ivan's only fault was being the seed of Rokoff–and that fault was more than mitigated by his upbringing and his own good nature.
"Mr. Burroughs," Ivan said when we stopped for the noon day repast at the bottom of a slope crowned with trees, "you don't look well."
I glanced around to see who was near. All were setting aside their packs and gathering around John Henry who was carving up a creature without name or classification that Clemens had brought down an hour earlier. MacDonald and Leinster were building a fire.
"Ivan," I said quietly admitted, "I am not as spry as I used to be, but I suggest, as you have already learned, that strong drink is the culprit as regards my current condition–that and my stupendous lack of discipline in consuming same. Fortunately, for us both," I winked, drawing the lad closer, "all recreational alcohol disappeared last night. Dr. Heinlein will not dispense his remaining medicinal stock so both of us, you and I, will not be tempted henceforth."
I was about to continue the joking conversation when Ivan's eyes grew round as saucers and he physically threw me to the ground. An instant later I heard a sickening thud and saw Ivan stagger as a primitive spear entered his leg. His shout was both pain and a cry of alarm.
I rolled over, my right hand drawing the heavy revolver at my hip in the same instant. Charging down the slope between the boles of the trees was a horde of half-men chasing a young white girl. My pistol was not the first to fire as the camp took defensive positions. I dodged a cast spear and fired, the pistol producing a blossom of flame that produced a blossom of liquid red on the leading savage's shoulder; the savage spun abruptly to the left and fell to the ground.
Ivan tore the spear from his leg and stood erect, face white and perspiring. In his fist a pistol bucked as he threw out an arm and abruptly drew the running girl to his side. At the same moment John Henry hurled his great bulk forward and tackled a primitive about to close with Ivan and girl. The Negro used his gleaming carving knife with deadly effect.
Clemens and the little Irishman savaged the oncoming horde with deadly rifle fire. From the left flank Nagamichi entered the fray. His sword, brilliant in the reflected light, made two glistening arcs, and in less time than it took to write these words he had slain two; beheading one and a savage cleft through skull to breast bone for the other. The Nipon's sword was temporarily fouled in the body of the latter and, if not for John Running Elk, the Japanese might have perished. The Indian, with only a knife patterned after Jim Bowie's, gutted one of the attackers and ham-stringed another, protecting Nagamichi.
Dr. Heinlein and Leinster stood in the middle of the camp, heroically erect figures firing revolvers as if they were on parade ground. Heinlein shot a savage about to attack John Henry from behind. I then shot a savage about to attack Heinlein. Leinster killed at least three and then it was over as quickly as it began.
"Where'd they go?" Micky screamed, his face florid, the grip on his rifle intense.
There was silence all around. We could detect no movement in the trees above. The only movement, as we viewed the battleground, was blood running from inert bodies.
"Doctor Heinlein!" I cried, rising from the ground to put a shoulder beneath Ivan's as the lad sagged earthward. Ivan swayed, but did not fall, nor did he release the wild-eyed girl he gripped with fierce determination with his left arm. Only when Heinlein arrived did Ivan relinquish his protection of the girl. We placed the youth upon the ground, a few of us gathered anxiously as the rest watched the trees.
Slitting the boy's trousers, Dr. Heinlein set to work immediately. Some of the medicinal alcohol was used–and I begrudged none of it! A few moments later the doctor offered a smile to Ivan and the rest of us. "You'll end up with a pretty scar, my boy, one you can boast to the ladies."
Ivan was in pain, of course, but hearing Heinlein's words did ease it somewhat. "The girl," he said, looking at the frail creature who had not run away, "is she all right?"
All of us looked at her. In my private opinion she was not only all right, she was very all right. A beautiful girl, slim, brown-haired, clean of limb and feature. I guessed her age to be near that of Ivan's, but as an old man I have to admit that I cannot always judge the age of youth accurately. She was clad in a crude garment that seemed a mixture of cloth and animal skin, but that as only about her waist. Her budding breasts were covered with scratches and dirt, her hair was matted and heavy with sweat, but beneath all that she was a very attractive young lady.
She was also very frightened.
Leinster barked a command. "Hiro, Running Elk–make sure they have retired." They of course, were the savages. Like twin shadows the grim-faced men vanished into the forest above us.
John Henry, his forearm red with blood, cleansed his knife in the dirt at our feet and sheathed the weapon. He made a hand gesture to the girl, offering her a place by the fire. She surprised us, however, by kneeling at Ivan's head. She put her tiny first about the hilt of a bone dagger.
I laughed. I could not help myself. "Ivan, thank you for saving my life. By the same token, you are the luckiest man who ever walked the face of the earth."
Young Rokoff frowned, then winched as Heinlein firmed his bandaging. "What are you saying, sir?"
Clemens burst out with a chuckle. "The only white woman we've seen since we arrived on Caprona and it turns out she is yours."
"Mine?"
We all fell into silence when the girl said: "I belong no one. He my friend."
Leinster arched a brow as he reloaded his weapons. "Speaks English, Burroughs. What do you make of that?"
Before I could reply MacDonald cradled his rifle across his breast and asked the girl, "Who is your friend?"
She drew her little knife and inched closer to Ivan. "Him. Strong! Come near, I kill!" The girl leaned closer to Ivan and spoke other words, words I could not understand.
"That's French!" The Irishman exclaimed. He spoke in a burst of words that startled the girl. She replied, eyes wary, her grip as determined as ever on the knife. He spoke again. We listened as she replied again. The resulting conversation tested Leinster's patience.
"Speak up, man, what does she say?"
Micky ignored the crew chief, waving him aside as he talked to the girl. Heinlein listened as well, standing back after his duties were done. When Leinster started forward the good doctor placed a restraining hand upon the man's shoulder, slowly shaking his head to indicate forbearance.
Nagamichi and John Running Elk returned. Their silence indicated we are presently safe from further attacks, but their arrival seemed to remind MacDonald that it was time to reveal what he had learned. "She's orphaned," he said. "Jean is her father, Marie is her mother. Both are dead at least two years if I understand her correctly. Jean was a pirate fleeing the English in the waters to the west–most likely the South Seas. They landed upon Caprona before she was born. They built a house, or is it a cave? I am not sure. Up on the heights above. The Sto-lu, Band-lu and Kro-lu have been their enemies. What are these, I ask? But she can tell me only they are bad men."
Ivan, much recovered, raised himself from the ground. "What is her name?" Ivan and the rest of us are astonished when the girl offered her support, holding Rokoff across her bended knees.
MacDonald asked the question.
"Celeste."
Before we could comment, John Running Elk interjected a stern suggestion. "Eat now. They will return."
Nagamichi, his small yellow hand wrapped about the hilt of his Samurai sword, instantly agreed. "They lose face. Will come to erase stain."
Heinlein packed his bag. "Ivan, the girl is your responsibility since she has made your hers. Get her to put the knife away. And test that leg. I have a feeling we need to make some distance and pretty damn quick." The doctor rose and carried his bag back to the center of the camp. John Henry was already boiling whatever it was we had for the pot.
Ivan faced the girl for the first time. She looked at him. Rokoff smiled and gestured that she put the knife away. I'm not sure who was more surprised–Ivan, the girl, or me, when she blushed and returned the bone knife to the rude sheath tied about her slim waist. She did not eat with us until Ivan ate. She did not accept us until she saw that Ivan was of the company. She did not allow anyone to approach her, though she was never far from Ivan.
Leinster spoke to MacDonald. "The girl knows this area. Ask her if there is a safe place for the night."
The conversation was relatively short. By the time we had hurriedly eaten the half-burned animal and two cans of fruit Micky had produced from his pack we had an answer. The Irishman said, "I'm guessing as to distance since Celeste does not seem to know measure as we do that there is a place about two miles north."
The Crew Chief inclined his head towards Nagamichi and Running Elk. "That's our direction, men. Scout it."
A half hour later we were on the trail, leaving behind the bodies of the savages who had attacked us. Between us Celeste and I supported Ivan during the trek. I was thrilled that Ivan was not permanently injured, and equally thrilled that he was of sturdy stock for he did not complain or unduly hinder us. Equally important was the fact that the injury was not that severe, a "mere flesh wound, painful, but not debilitating" as Dr. Heinlein reported.
John Running Elk dropped back twice during the long afternoon to direct us around tepid pools where savages congregated. We learned, via Micky's conversation with Celeste that these were "sacred places" amongst the savages of Caspak. Dr. Heinlein made notes in his small book he carried in his breast pocket, then laid a firm hand to assist Ivan over an obstacle in the trail. Celeste turned a possessive eye towards the good doctor that boded no good will as she supported Ivan from the opposite side.
She was a strange girl. Her name, obviously, indicated that she was not of Caprona's rude stock, but where she came from was a mystery. Celeste was tall—by golly she was taller than me! Slim, attractive in a plain sort of way, she was small-breasted and brown-haired and afflicted with a nervous energy that no woman of my acquaintance had ever exhibited.. Next to Ivan she seemed dainty, for he was a strapping lad well over six feet in height.. I noted that he leaned more on me than the girl, yet his eyes where rarely far from hers. She had blue eyes, a blue so light to be almost ice.
We all fell in love with her.
"This way! This way!" Celeste directed when we came to a fork in the road. It was up towards the massive cliffs which ringed the island.
Leinster frowned. He was standing next to the trail mark either Nagamichi or Running Elk had made upon a tree. "The way goes there," he said, gesturing.
"My way up there," she replied, inclining her head to the slopes above. She did not relinquish her grip about Ivan's waist.
John Henry leaned against a tree, the first indication I had observed that the Negro's immense strength was not limitless. "Why there, Missy?" he asked.
"Home," she replied. She turned her gaze to the Irishman and spoke rapidly in French.
MacDonald approached, listening intently. A moment after she stopped speaking he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to the crew chief. "Mr. Leinster," he said, "the girl speaks of a fort or a safe place on the heights above. A place we can defend." The Irishman looked to the gathering twilight and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you decide, sir, but me, I'd be lookin' for a hole tonight."
Leinster scowled. His head turned toward the trail the Running Elk and Nagamichi had blazed, then toward the heights cloaked in trees and ferns. Chewing his bottom lip for a moment our leader, for he was that because of his strength and experience, came to a decision. "Clemens, bring in the Nip and Indian. John Henry, can you make it up there?"
Before the black could reply MacDonald took items from John Henry's overloaded pack, then shared several more to Heinlein, myself, and the young girl. Von Borst, who was already carrying Ivan's pack, offered to take more. "Just a little climb," he said.
"MacDonald, find out all we need to know from the girl. And make it quick, night is falling." Leinster added to his pack the re-distributed items while making sure the extra burden did not interfere with his revolver. Leaning against a tree was the rifle he had carried since we entered Caprona's interior. He caught it up in his strong, weathered hands.
Before MacDonald turned away from the girl our scouts, and Clemens, had returned. "Distance she dinna know, sir. But time to get there she says is short. She also says the Band-lu watch the place so we should be prepared."
The Indian and the Nipon were sent up the tree-covered incline first. Heinlein helped John Henry over the rougher parts while I assisted the girl with Ivan. Von Borst and MacDonald came up the rear. It was a shorter climb than we were led to believe, though there were two steep areas that put our hearts in our throats.
We found ourselves in a cleared area–cleared by man and an axe–and gathered before a cave which had been enclosed by the hand of man. There was a rude door, two small windows open to the elements on either side, with a hide awning over the entrance. Someone had created defensive points near the door–rocks piled high under an overhanging cliff. Leinster gestured to MacDonald and Clemens, who shed their packs and took up their posts. John Henry, meanwhile, had suddenly sat down, breathing hard.
"It's my fault," Ivan said to the black. "You're carrying my..."
Leinster's voice cut through the twilight like a knife. "Shut up, Rokoff. Henry knows—you know—I know. But what we don't know is what we face. Pipe down, pup, and learn how to survive!"
The girl continued toward the door, dragging Ivan and myself along. Nagamichi, blade drawn, entered before us. Celeste would not stop, so we met the Nipponese at the doorway, his blade down, indicating the way was clear. Inside the door was a cave perhaps 12 by 60 feet–-I could see the end wall in the red light of the setting sun. Near the windows was a rude table of rough-hewn logs and chairs with leather seats fashioned from vine-wrapped tree-limbs. To the right was a natural ledge upon which were many coconut-like shells containing that which I knew not. There were two beds, mere frames made from animal hides and grasses. We put Ivan upon the larger.
Celeste chattered with animation. Leinster called for MacDonald. "What is she saying?"
The Irishman furrowed his brow, attempting to keep up with the flow of conversation as Celeste tended Ivan's wound with her own medicine, collected from the containers on the ledge. "No fire. Flying things, she says. Band-lu and...I'm not sure, sir...Weiroo, Sto-lu and Kro-lu? Hunt this area. Bad men, she says, bad men all. Best we mount a guard this evening."
The guard mount was already in place. Running Elk and Nagamichi were exterior the cave, Clemens was down slope by 50 yards. John Henry said, "Not dark yet. Small fire inside for hot meal. The men need it, sir."
Leinster nodded. "Hot food is not important, Henry, but brew us some coffee if you can."
Dr. Heinlein spent some time looking through the girl's containers and, with MacDonald interpreting, had learned the girl's mother had been a herbal healer. To me, he said, "Native medicines continue to amaze the scientific community. Could there be a wonder drug in this girl's collection?"
"More importantly," I suggested, "can her herbal medicine make a difference?" I inclined my head towards young Ivan, who had been the beneficiary of the girl's healing ministrations.
Von Borst's bulk guarded the doorway which was still open to the setting sun. "Mr. Leinster," von Borst said, "there's deer, or something like a deer, down yonder. Permission to kill it?" A few heartbeats later the big man said, "Never mind. Nagamichi killed it with his sword. Permission to retrieve?"
Leinster nodded, taking von Borst's position at the doorway. Von Borst returned with the animal, perhaps 80 pounds in size, slung over his shoulder. Von Borst expertly gutted the creature outside the cave, casting the entrails down slope. John Henry immediately took over, swiftly carving flank and rib steaks from the hot meat.
"Burroughs..."
Dr. Heinlein's voice was soft, directed to me only. He was deeper into the cave, beckoning me to join him. He was examining some artifacts which apparently intrigued him. I rose, leaving Ivan in Celeste's nearly obsessive care, and joined Heinlein. The good doctor appeared to be holding a weathered journal in his hands. "What have you found?"
Heinlein pursed his lips for a moment as he continued turning pages in the weathered book. A moment later he asked, "What do you know of Pierre le Monde?"
I spent a moment in pensive thought. "One of the European pirates of the Pacific, correct?"
Heinlein nodded. "He was among the worst of South Pacific pirates for many years. Then he vanished about the same time a French royal yacht failed to return in 1896."
"The Ile de Parma?" I stated...I was correct, that vessel was the only French royal yacht which vanished in 1896.
Heinlein grudgingly scowled. "Your memory is impeccable, sir. I presume you also recall that Marie of the direct line was on board."
"History has treated her ill," I remarked. "One of the various direct lines who vanished before a good marriage with the Habsburgs and all that ugly interbreeding could be arranged."
Heinlein glanced toward the cave's sealed entrance. Holding the book close to his chest he said, "My French is so-so, but from what I can decipher in this log by le Monde is that he took the yacht in January 1897 and then took the Lady Marie as his wife–-the girl was apparently willing if the journal is correct–-and for a year his ship dodged French and American warships. There were several battles and a number of failed piracies that year and in the end Le Monde with only eight crewmen surviving skirmishes with the American and French units, landed upon Caprona."
I cut to the chase, short-changing Dr. Heinlein's historical discovery. "The crew, Pierre, and Marie made their way into the interior of Caprona and managed to survive and build this fortress but at horrific cost. In the meantime Pierre impregnated Marie and Celeste was their child. In the final analysis there is only Celeste to give mute evidence of their existence since all others have perished."
Heinlein's second scowl provided the answer to my real-life comment. Before the doctor could reply a hearty baritone announced: "Soup's on!" John Henry hovered over the small fire, his glistening black hulk dishing plates.
Heinlein and I silently joined von Borst, Ivan, Leinster, and the ever wary Celeste at the group table. Outside the cave MacDonald delivered plates to the Nip, the Indian and Clemens. The shadows were long and the cave quite dark by this time.
"I hear something," Ivan announced, his second bite poised between plate and mouth.
Leinster frowned. "What do you hear, boy?"
Celeste answered instead. "The Weiroo come!" She turned pale, facing the open door, the young girl tightened her tiny fist about the bone knife at her waist. "Mère! Save me!"
My plate on the table was instantly ignored, the girl's agitation was so compelling–-yet it was the sound of battle in the night outside that actually brought a sweat to my brow. I could plainly hear the Nip's battle cry and the war whoops of John Running Elk. Clemens' staccato rifle shots shattered the quiet of the cave.
Celeste drew her primitive knife. "Not this time—not any time!" she cried.
"What?" Leinster barked.
"Cos-ata-lu," Celeste spat on the floor. "No! I make my own choice!"
John Henry was already outside. His shotgun spoke twice. Leinster issued commands which merely stated that Ivan, me, Heinlein and Celeste should maintain our positions. He ran outside.
The bedlam of battle, interspersed with weird undulating cries in the darkness, made our hearts beat incredibly! Heinlein stood at my shoulder, his fist holding a revolver. In his left hand dangled the tattered journal.
Nearby on the rude pallet Ivan Rokoff had raised himself, a dense sweat wetting his brow, holding a rifle clutched in his strong hands. Celeste refused to stand behind the youth, regardless of the quick motions he made for her to do so. "Not me!" she cried. "Not ever!"
MacDonald stumbled inside, his face bloody. "Daemons! Bloody damn flying Daemons!" He fell prostrate upon the hard surface of the cave floor.
Leinster was not slow, the above occurring in seconds only. The crew chef exited the cave with revolvers blasting in both hands. I could hear his shouts and commands through the doorway and, with Heinlein at my shoulder, we raced to the rude windows. We saw strange hovering shapes apparently clad in white robes in the deep twilight and fired upon them.
"These are no angels!" Leinster cried. "Shoot the bloody beggars!"
I could see ten, perhaps a dozen, winged apparitions diving upon our group beyond the cave's entrance. In the gathering darkness I saw the gleam of long blades held aloft, descending in arcs meant to...
I fired my pistol. Heinlein's revolver echoed as harshly as mine.
An instant later it was over.
"Report! REPORT!" Leinster cried, standing tall, his long knife in one hand and his revolver in the other.
"Alive," John Running Elk bellowed from the darkness. "Well-being!" (I think) Nagamichi cried.
There was a long silence. Leinster stood forth from the cave. "John Henry!"
From the vegetated left approach came a reply. "I got me a damn bird man. White as you!"
Leinster shot a look to Heinlein. The doctor replied, "Consider it a report, damn you! What about von Borst?"
We found him unconscious to the right of the cave entrance. There were three curiously fragile, and yet obviously dangerous winged-human bodies nearby. Von Borst had a severe cut over his right temple and a rather deep cut to his left shoulder. Heinlein, Leinster and I carried the big German-American inside the cave.
Celeste shoved us aside, even Dr. Heinlein, as she bent over the massive German. "Go!" she said. "Kill them all!"
This was a curious statement. Heinlein, of course, ignored the girl and offered his expertise, but the rest of us entered the shadowy battleground to bring in the remainder of our troop. Running Elk had suffered no injuries, but there were two winged humans dead at his position. Nagamichi had three at his site, cleaved variously by his keen sword. We found Clemens buried underneath four dismembered and dead strange creatures.
John Henry, covered with blood from uncounted personal battles, jerked Clemens erect. "You ain't daid!" the Negro shouted.
"I took a nap," Clemens weakly responded.He pitifully shoved against John Henry's embrace. "Did we win? Christ! They was Harpies from Hell!"
I left the group. Returning to the cave where Celeste hovered over Ivan's prostrate body, I focused my eye and hardly hidden fear as I spoke to the girl. "Goddamn it! Is there more to come?"
CHAPTER 3
We didn't sleep that night. John Henry kept a pot brewing used coffee grounds, with a bit of Caspak bark he'd carved from trees over the last few days. It was a damn bitter brew. MacDonald's facial injuries were slight—and were dressed by Celeste at Ivan's bidding while Dr. Heinlein worked on the German-American. Von Borst came around a half-hour later, badly contused.
Leinster, his right arm bandaged above his wrist, disheveled and bleary-eyed, stood watch for the remainder of the evening. Out in the dark, which seemed more terrifying that any dark I could every recall in my life, the Indian and the Nipon stood sentry. Clemens sat with his body between the tiny fire and the windows, head hanging between his shoulders. His hands were dark—and I realized it was blood that stained them that hue. John Henry lay upon the stone floor, quietly snoring after Leinster ordered him to rest. Heinlein crouched by the dim ruddy glow of the fire, head and shoulders hunched low as he slowly read through the tattered journal. Ivan slept, his head cradled in the wild girl's lap. I watched as she, too, succumbed to sleep, her tiny form gently collapsing across Rokoff's chest.
I doubt that any of us slept well.
Von Borst leaned against the north wall, a slightly crimsoned bandage across his right shoulder. Though the hour was late the German-American winked at me. "Good fight!" he whispered. "Good fight!"
"Go to sleep," I suggested.
Von Borst grinned. "After you, old man!"
That smile, and the twinkle in the man's eye, was welcomed as one comrade to another. And I was not long in accepting his challenge.
It was daylight when I awoke—and that was well after dawn since the high rim of Caprona's east wall kept the cave in shadow until well after mid day. A few feet away Running Elk lay sleeping, his knife held in a strong hand across his breast.
Rising as silently as I could manage, I noted Nagamichi curled in a fetal fashion beneath the right window. His family blade was not drawn, but his hand was wrapped about the hilt of the sword he had used to such deadly effect these last few hours.
Ivan's bed was vacant, nor was Celeste in view. Dr. Heinlein sat cross-legged beneath the rock ledge. Before him lay a dozen of the coconut like hulls and one was held in one fist as he scribbled furiously into his little notebook with the other.
Heinlein looked up as I rose from my slumber, stiff and aching, but thoroughly glad to see the sun shining. "Amazing!" the man breathed. "I do believe these hollowed hulls might contain the cures for a dozen of mankind's maladies!"
I narrowed my gaze as I arched my back to relieve a kink or a dozen. "I am happy for mankind, Dr. Heinlein, but at the moment I am more interested in who I should have to kill to get a cup of coffee."
Heinlein smiled—one old man to another. "That would be John Henry, outside to the left. He's cooking something very like bacon from a kill John Running Elk brought in just before dawn. There's also some reasonably credible pancakes, though I believe the last of syrup disappeared an hour or so ago." Heinlein returned to his work, looking at the native cures, the journal, and his notebook, then abruptly raised his head. "Check your loads, Mr. Burroughs. This is Caprona, and we have learned how deadly it is."
"That task, sir, was done before I joined Winken, Blinken and Nod..." but I drew my pistol and checked the load just the same as I walked to the open door.
The inland sea, the coastline, and most of the slope below was hidden in a dense mist. Over my shoulder the sun's cool light was a brilliant illumination, the shadows cast were quite long. Leinster, sitting to the right of the doorway, in the shadow of the rocky overhang, gripped my arm.
"Wait a minute, sir. Give the boys a chance to see you, else risk getting shot."
Arching a brow, I turned to Leinster. "More activity?" He needed no explanation to know what "activity" meant.
"We ran them off last night, we did. And we hurt them badly. There were at least a dozen corpses after the battle but," and his eye firmly afixed mine, "nary a one could we find at dawn."
"Scavengers?" I asked, feeling a chill go up my spine.
Leinster shook his head. "No blood extra than what we spilled, no bones, not body parts, no robes or weapons. Vanished. Almost enough to make one crazy, except for the blood-stained ground. Nagamichi and Running Elk were relieved about 4:30 this morning. I have to ask them if they heard or saw anything—though I doubt much would escape those two."
I looked back toward the black doorway and agreed. "Almost supernatural how those men work, nothing would escape their notice." Locating a rock of suitable height next to Leinster, I sat down, rubbing my forehead. "Like Apaches these Wieroo have come to claim their fallen."
Leinster rubbed the stubble on his square chin. "Maybe not them," he said quietly. "Maybe the Band-lu, Sto-lu or Kro-lu. That girl is a wealth of information but it is all in French—thank God MacDonald made it through."
"Speaking of which, where is Ivan, the girl, and that fiesty Irishman?"
"Three trees down and five to the left. Picking something that looks like a plum but tastes like a peach. That boy was determined to go along as a guard and," Leinster offered a wry wink, "he's just that much bigger than I and seemingly fired by a sudden sense of brave duty, if you know what I mean."
"Celeste," I smiled.
The girl was yet a puzzle, despite the information Heinlein had gleened from the pirate's journal. If our calculations were correct, based on the dates in the journal, Celeste had just turned seventeen, and it had been a birthday celebration of one, since her mother's last entries were three years old. Of the father, we found much in his handwriting early in the book, but after reaching Caprona the hand changed, obviously that of Marie, who kept a straight-forward accounting of their time on the island, though from time to time she wept with words as to the terrors of the land, her longing for civilization, and her fears for her daughter's future. On the latter count I hoped Marie might rest easier as it appeared her future protector was now at her side.
As if the thought had been a summons, the three approached the clearing. Celeste came first with Ivan close behind, towering over her like a mobile mountain. A half dozen paces back MacDonald walked, his flaming red hair concealed beneath a faded and brown-stained kerchef.
"Mr. Burroughs," Ivan nodded as he and the girl passed within the doorway.
MacDonald rested his shoulder on the wall between the door and the window, his keen eyes attempting to pierce the slowly dissipating mist. "When there's moisture inna air—like that bloody fog below—sound is twisted and the eyes do play tricks. I thought I saw something, Mr. Leinster, on our way back, but when I looked again, it was gone. But there's something there, I ken feel it in me bones."
Leinster casually rose, not looking at the Irishman. With a whisper that scare moved his lips he said, "I've been feeling it, too. Wake the Indian and the Nipon and send them out. Warn Heinlein and Ivan—and you stay with them. And Micky," he added, walking at a pace that displayed not a care in the world, continued toward John Henry, "keep Ivan and the girl inside. Burroughs, warn von Borst at the north outpost."
I do not know which peeved me more: that I had not yet had a cup of coffee or that my palms were suddenly drenched with sweat and that my heart was pounding insanely under an adrenillin rush. The distance was twenty paces along the cliff face on a path worked by human hands in places, particularly where the slope was most steep.
Von Borst saw me before I saw him, which is a good thing as that sturdy fellow had his repeater focused on my mid-section. Before I could warn von Borst, I had to save his life.
I do not believe half of the stirring tales of gunfighters in the American West slapping leather and quick draws are true. Such gunfighting is laughable: the sheer speed of the draw, along with many various debilitating physical factors, including all the known principles of physics, would strongly suggest an inability to aim and discharge the weapon with any degree of accuracy. I do not believe these tales. I do not! But I can say it is possible, for I had to draw and fire my revolver in the span of time between one heartbeat and the next to kill the axe bearing savage who sprang from the ground not three feet from the German! The bullet smashed into the savage's face and, without a sound, he collapsed on the ground.
At the same moment a horrendous cacaphony of bestial yells broke out around our position and all along the area near the cave entrance. Von Borst's huge hand bunched the slack of my shirt above my now receding paunch, and jerked me to the ground behind a rock just as a stone axe whistled through the air where I had been standing. The axe shattered on the cliff wall.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Von Borst's rifle spoke with instant authority. Three savages lay sprawled on the slope below. Nor was his the only weapon firing from our marginally protected position. I emptied my revolver, nicking one or two severely and certainly scaring a few others into brief retreat as my bullets slammed into the brush and trees.
Crouching behind a boulder I reloaded my weapon with trembling hands. "How many?" I asked von Borst, who now held his fire. To the south there had been a furious number of discharged weapons, but now there was a chilling silence.
"We'll have to call you Wyatt Earp from now on, Mr. Burroughs! Damn fine shooting—and right between the eyes! Maybe a dozen by us. I don't know how many altogether."
I was not about to take credit for the sheer accident of luck which guided my bullet. "I was aiming at his chest. I hit one or two, you got three—"
"Six," he quietly corrected.
I arched a brow in salute. Before I could say anything further, von Borst threw his body over mine as a dozen or more rocks fist-sized and larger rained upon our position. I felt two jolts to von Borst's body, then he was suddenly kneeling, his rifle pressed to his cheek, firing and swinging the muzle in deliberate arcs and firing again.
"You are not going to have all the fun!" I cried, rising to a seated position. Whatever adrenillin had driven me before had been purged from my system. I doubt that I shall ever have another day in my life that was so clear and diamond brilliant for clarity of thought and action. I expended six rounds. Six savages expended their lives.
Von Borst cursed, turning his rifle to club a howling savage, who fell with a crushed skull. I had no time to reload—even if the three remaining rounds I had on my person would have made a difference. I barely had time to draw my hunting knife as a smelly mass of hairy humanity slammed into my body, knocking me backwards upon the ground. It was again an accident of luck that brought the savage's mid-section down upon my tightly gripped knife. Shrieking with pain he suddenly thrust himself aside, but it was no accident my blade silenced his howling forever. The thud of many sickening blows and the sharp snapping sound of breaking bones drew my attention.
Though my breathing was sorely labored and a red-mist hung over my eyes, I leapt upon the savage attempting to strangle von Borst from behind while the big German continued to rain horrendous blows upon those attacking from the front. My blade entered near the left kidney then was quickly thrust into a lung, but his ribs gripped the blade. I could not withdraw the knife as the savage sank to his knees, and worse, as he fell, the blade somehow severed the little finger from my right hand! Ignoring the pain, I picked up a rock and brained the still dangerous savage.
I staggered to my feet, the bloody rock in hand, and looked for an opening where I might aid von Borst without hitting him. I saw a chance and stepped forward with the rock raised and abruptly went down, tackled about the knees. A grinning savage straddled me, his knees held down my arms and his weight was oppressive on my chest where tortured lungs gasped desperately for oxygen. He raised the stone axe high to crush my skull. I have always stated I should not wish to die in bed of a lingering disease. It appeared that wish was to be instantly granted. I wanted to close my eyes, but I could not.
"Hieeeyyyyaaa!"
A gleaming arc of light passed above the savage, but the axe did not descend...and then it did, along with both arms and the grinning head, which thumped my nose with bruising force. A double breath later the body sagged upon me. For an instant I could not fathom the spectacle, but as I felt the flood of hot blood about my head and shoulders I did not need a telegram from God to tell me that sound and shimmer of light was the work of Nagamichi!
I shrugged the corpse aside. I made the mistake of trying to use my right hand to elevate myself from the ground and, very unheroic like, I screamed at the pain.
Leinster's voice penetrated the dark curtain affecting my vision. "Get Burroughs back to the cave. Running Elk, Hiro—hurt those fleeing bastards!"
I felt hands under my arms. I tried to shrug them off. "Von Borst? Von Borst?
An arm went around my shoulder. "I'm here, Mr. Burroughs, and thanks to you for it! Come along, let's get back to the cave before those savages try us again."
My friend, this is most painful to relate as you know I am a man of action and have seen many duty tours in the world's most dangerous places, but I am also a truthful man. Whether it was from the stress of battle, my injury, or my relief to know von Borst was alive, I fainted!
I was not out for long. It was the sound of heated argument that roused me. The cave ceiling was overhead and my back was supported by one of the rude beds. On either side, leaning above me, was Dr. Heinlein and Celeste. Both of their faces were flushed from the heat of their exchange—her's in French, his in the American idiom of the Ozarks. At this particular instant there was a tense silence into which MacDonald interjected a hurried translation of the girl's words.
"Sir, she says her medicine will fix, uh, make new," the Irishman scratched his head, "repair? She says her medicine is better than yours."
"What can this slip of a wild child know about medicine—irregardless of the many herbs and plants which have been collected in this cave?"
Glad to be alive and to be able to pass air across my vocal chords to generate audible sound, though just barely, I said, "I've a sore nose and my hand. Are there any other injuries, Dr. Heinlein?"
"No," the man knelt beside the cot, a look of relief upon his grizzled visage. "It is your hand over which we fight. She wants to put some kind of mashed vegetable matter upon your stump before I bind it up."
I was so very tired, but I could see the look on Celeste's face and the way she held a crude bowl between her hands. "What can it hurt, sir?" I asked the doctor. "If it does no good, then no harm. Let her try." I closed my eyes for a moment, then struggled to open them again. "She means well, I'm sure. I think I will sleep now."
I awoke, bedeviled by an unbearable thirst and gnawing hunger. I was wrapped in an animal skin on the cot and it was obvious that someone had recently bathed me.
Only the light of the moon and stars penetrated the windows at the cave entrance. Weaker than any newborn kitten, I struggled to prop myself upon an elbow. Almost instantly a strong hand supported my back and head.
"Who?" I whispered.
"Ivan Rokoff, sir!" The boy's whispered concern and real affection did much for my well-being. "You had us worried! Celeste said it was normal, but Dr. Heinlein said she'd poisoned you. But you didn't die and now you're awake! Can I get you anything? Celeste said you would be hungry."
"Son," I tried a laugh that almost suceeded, "if your arm should pass near my mouth I would gnaw it off to the shoulder. I am starving."
Another figure approached in the darkness, a slim form which knelt beside the cot. It was Celeste. She carried a bowl of thick soup—a cold and pasty textured liquid—but nothing I have ever consumed in my life tasted as heavenly! The dear girl fed me while Ivan held me erect. She spooned a second, and a third bowl until I could hold no more. Ivan gently lay me down upon the cot and, just before I went to sleep, I marveled that Celeste's tiny hand holding my right did not hurt at all. At that moment between awake and sleep, I thought she must be an angel.
All these months later as I write this letter to you, my friend, the eyes mist at the memory of these two children's tender care for a man who really is too old for adventures like this!
There were two more dream-like awakenings and feedings, and Ivan and Celeste were always there. On the third awakening it was Dr. Heinlein who sat at my bedside. "How are you?" he asked.
"Your bedside manner leaves much to be desired," I grinned, "but all in all, I feel pretty good!"
Those were true words. I did feel well. To prove it, I sat up and dangled my legs over the edge of the bed, letting the too warm skin fall from my shoulders. The cool air in the cave felt good on my naked skin.
"Where is everybody?" I asked. Heinlein and I were the only two occupants of the cave.
"John Henry and von Borst are outside on watch. The others are scouting for a way through the Sto-lu country to the north."
"I hope I wasn't a problem patient," I began—and it was then that Heinlein told me all that had passed.
"Five days I was out? Uh, now eight? I know I am an old man, but damn it, I'm not that old or in that bad health! What happened?" I rubbed my beard-stubbled chin with annoyance.
Dr. Heinlein, whose expression flickering through emotions ranging from relieved, to perplexed, to concerned, to—eventually—amused, placed a firm grip around my wrist and raised my right hand before my eyes.
I didn't want to look, remembering the severed finger—then did look because there were four fingers and a thumb on my right hand!
My pinky finger wasn't pink—it was a wierd reddish-orange color and smaller than I remembered, but it flexed in all the right places as I opened and closed my fist. Astonished, I probably dropped my jaw as I looked to Heinlein. "What's this?"
Heinlein let go of my wrist and leaned back, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "It appears our little wild child of Caprona has in her possession—and her knowledge—a combination of herbs and plants that will regenerate lost limbs. Do you realize how humble this one feels at the moment? A slip of a girl and her jungle lore medicine has solved one of mankind's most traumatic facts of life: the revujenation of bone and tissue and nerves and..." for a moment Heinlein's enthusiasm bollixed his command of tongue and vocalization.
I stared at my hand and that finger with equally incredulous eyes. I took a firm hand to my emotions, carefully schooling both thought and utterance. "What is the prognosis, sir?"
Heinlein chuckled. "Nagamichi lost an earlobe to a vicious bite from a savage who did not long live to enjoy producing the injury. Today his ear is normal—and the redness will disappear. Your finger, if what the girl says is true, and I now believe she knows whereof she speaks, will soon reach full size and color, and be undectable as different from your original appendage." Lowering his gaze, Heinlein's voice assumed a soft, almost apologetic tone. "For all my training and skills, and I have many, I am awed, sir. Simply awed. But what is worse," he confined, "is my having accused the girl of attempting to kill you when she only meant good. There was no way I could have known the effacy of her poltice—even now it seems so unbelievable—yet I fear I shall never be able to appologize adequately for the harsh words I said to her while you were recuperating."
I reached for the nearby stack of washed and folded clothing I had worn. Standing to put on my trousers I swayed a bit. Heinlein braced me until button and zipper were secured and I sat down. I felt no pain in the hand, though the finger itched and seemed feverish to the touch.
Buttoning the shirt, pulling socks and boots, I said, "A damn miracle of medicine, Dr. Heinlein. It's a damn miracle and we, sir, are witnesses to the birth of a new medical technology."
"Yes!" the man replied with a laugh, all the remorse, regret, and astonishment banished by a sudden enthusiasm. "You do know what makes me most ashamed? When I saw with my own eyes what she had been trying to tell me, even after I accused her of abhorrent action, the girl—I mean Celeste, she deserves that courtesy from me at the very least—showed me the combination of leaves and herbs and how to mix them together. She made packets of everything for me to take back when we leave Caprona, but more importantly, she will help me gather living specimens of each plant and herb so that we might grow them back home."
"That might be more efficient in the long run," I agreed, "but we can always find them here in Caprona—and I have no doubt, not a one, that any future expeditions into the heart of this savage land will come as well prepared as Pershing against the Mexican bandits. These savages will have to learn to step aside..."
"Step aside from whom?" Heinlein asked with a scowl. "Invaders of their land? Conquerors? Imperialists?"
The blood boiled and a heated retort sprang to my lips, but I squashed it instantly. "I spoke in the emotion of recent events—as would anyone who has been beset by war when war was never intended. I spoke of benefiting mankind, and do realize that some part of mankind will suffer for that to occur. Before you brand me too serverely, my good doctor, tell me what you would do if the plants and herbs will grow nowhere else but Caprona? What trade-off are you willing to accept to achieve your medical results?"
Fully dressed, I rose from the bed which had cradled me for eight days. I was not too steady on my feet, but I wanted to be outside, in the sun, and nothing could deter that desire. I took three steps to the doorway, brilliantly outlined by Caprona's intense sunlight, then felt a steadying hand at my elbow. Heinlein's face looked forward, his expression deliberately uncommunicative.
"You're right, Mr. Burroughs."
That was both an apology and a prediction of the future. Neither of us were satified with the future reality.
At the doorway von Borst sprang to his feet. He was bare to the waist, his back black and blue from the stones the savages had thrown, but he was whole, healthy, and embraced me with a bear hug that left me dizzy.
"For an old man you are some scrapper!" the German said, then blushed. "Not old, I mean, I—"
"Shut up, von Borst, or you'll ruin everything. You're pretty special yourself. Is that coffee I smell?" I sat down upon the first rock that was in sunlight, unable to walk further.
"Hot and black, like me!" John Henry bellowed with a grin. The Negro brought me a battered tin cup of the vilest brew I have ever tasted. I downed it in two incautious gulps and two what-the-hell gulps and asked for more. John Henry fetched it and then squatted down, his teeth gleaming in a broad smile. "See this, boss?" he showed me his upper shoulder.
I saw a ragged scar, mute evidence of a horrific injury.
John Henry explained. "Soon as we knew the girl was right, she fixed me up. Look, it works just fine!" He rotated arm and shoulder to give proof of the statement. "And I heard you kilt sixteen of those savages, and I gots to apologize, I thought you was one of those parade ground soldiers."
I easily forgave his lapse into the vocabulary of his youth, but I had to correct his information. "Six—seven," I said, remembering the one I killed with a rock. "Don't believe all you hear, John Henry." It was eight, I had killed that first savage with the quick draw, but notching kills on the butts of .45's is not my style.
Heinlein settled next to me, placing a hand on the black's shoulder. "Well you can believe this, sir. John Henry and his carving knife killed eight."
John Henry grinned yet again. "And we hauled off twenty-two you and Micky and Ivan killed at the door." Looking to me, John Henry added, "we hurt them boss."
I listened with half an ear. I was looking to a sapling which had been cut and trimmed and leaned against the wall near John Henry's cook stove. More than two dozen scalps hung from the branches. "What's that?" I asked.
Von Borst replied. "John Running Elks' coup pole—scalps. Brings them back from his patrols. Want to see Nagamichi's collection of ears?"
The sun warmed me, that I knew, but for a moment a chill passed through me and my words, and Heinlein's, echoed harshly. My voice held an edge: "Are we embarked upon extermination of these people?"
John Henry stood, a towering figure of muscle, bone, and sinew. "You've been asleep a long time, boss. You don't know what we been through. If these people want to fight, they got to pay the price. I been on that side all my life, and all the lives of my mothers and fathers back to when the Arabs slaved us to Europe and the Americas. We don't lay down and die, not even when we are slaves. Life is everything, boss, death is nothing. You pick it. Tell me what you think is best."
He didn't wait for an answer from me. John Henry stomped back to his fire, and his weapons, and sat with a scowl on his face.
Von Borst gripped my shoulder. "It has been bad, sir. Very bad. Up until three days ago we fought savages two and three times a day. You and John Henry were hurt the worst. I have counted fifty-six dead with my own eyes, and adding in the Indian's and Hiro's we're near a hundred. It is us or them, and I think us deserve to live."
Heinlein muttered, "Such a goddamn waste. Yet, there's nothing we can do."
I embraced all the of the thoughts stated. All of them. In my heart. I also wasn't about to lay down and die. I shook off the hands that Heinlein and von Borst offered and walked over to John Henry. I sat down, the empty coffee cup dangling from my left hand. "I never liked war," I said. "I've been in too many and seen all the suffering and futility of it. Politicians make wars happen when they fail to do their jobs, for war is the end result of failed diplomacy. I don't like killing, but by God, I dislike dying even more. Is that attrochious coffee hot?"
John Henry's scowl abated. He lifted the soot-smudged pot from the embers and filled my cup. Then he said: "This is the only life we get, boss. Sometimes it is good, sometimes it is not. All I know is that all of us here have good hearts even if we must do a little killing here and there."
"Don't give me too much credit, John Henry. I'm not sure where I stand in the overall scheme of things."
"Yes you do, boss," he instantly grinned. "You surely do even if you don't know it."
I needed that cup of coffee and the time needed to absorb a few thoughts expressed by my comrades—for we were all in this together.
John Running Elk was first into the camp, four days later. At his waist was a dark mass of scalps. I did not count them, nor did I wish to know how many had been taken. But I was surprised to see how reverently the Indian arranged the bits of flesh and hair upon his totem.
Leinster and Clemems headed straight for John Henry's fire as the remainder of the party entered the clearing. Leinster, with a cup of coffee that was even more horrendous than that I had imbibed the first day I was ambulatory, greeted Heinlein, von Borst and myself.
"It worked," he said, nodding toward my hand which now displayed a configuration exactly like I had at the beginning of our excursion into Caspak. "Good. Gentlemen, we have scared the holy—-What I mean to say is the native tribes have retired and I suspect will no longer test our metal. This is a good thing since our ammunition is running low.
"There is a problem we must address," the ship's officer continued. "We followed the path of Celeste's father as related in the last journal entry which you, Dr. Heinlein, most adequately translated." Leinster paused, looking toward each of us. "We found the cache," he said.
There was a thunder of silence in the clearing before the cave. Von Borst glanced to John Henry, who grinned. Heinlein said nothing, his expression guarded. I as in the dark, but the expressions on von Borst, John Henry, and Dr. Heinlein's faces intrigued me. "What cache?" I asked.
Leinster narrowed his eyes, cradling the hot coffee between his hands. "We have located the 40 millions in Spanish and French gold Celeste's father cached in the cliffs to the north. The questions is: Do we signal the Toreador and move the gold, or continue our search for Bowen Tyler and Tom Billings?"
Forty millions in gold? Now that is a head turner and a half!
CHAPTER 4
Though the excitement of all that gold was the topic of conversation around the evening fire for the next three days, our expedition was in no shape to act upon that, or our original intent—the succor of Billings and Tyler, if both were still alive in this land of horrors prehistoric and today.
I say "today" as regards the 120 pound leopard that John Running Elk had to dispatch while hunting a primitive form of deer. The cat was as modern as any I have seen in the jungles of South America or the east coast of Africa. Heinlein and I spoke quietly over the odd extremes of flora and fauna we had encountered on the island of Caprona as the evening fire diminished in flame and ruddy glow.
"Dinosaurs and early horses," Heinlein scowled.
"Horses eighteen inches high at that," I chuckled. "This is a land without rules or evolutionary history." I paused, sipping a tea John Henry had endorsed, once Celeste had shown it to him. "What do you make of it, Dr. Heinlein?"
The good doctor frowned, scratching at an insect bite that had left a drop of blood gleaming on his weathered skin illuminated by the faint fire light. "The girl speaks of mysteries—for I must call them that because her statements have little or no bearing upon current scientific thought. Her command of English is spotty at best and her French, if MacDonald is correct, is very limited."
"You don't like Celeste," I said without emotional color. "She does not fit any mold you know."
Heinlein leaned back, glancing to the girl who slept sheltered in Ivan's massive arms on the other side of the cave. "That is not quite correct," he said. "How could you not love her? She is youth and woman with an agile brain and is forthright to a fault. Celeste is a treasure that some man," we both grinned, thinking of Ivan, "will lay down his life to honor. Damn it, Burroughs, she tells me things that cannot be! Am I to revise the studies of a lifetime merely because an uneducated and quite savage little girl babbles on regarding life on Caspak, as she calls this place?"
"What if those 'babblings' are true?"
"That is what I am most concerned with," Heinlein honestly replied.
We talked into the night, quietly debating this and that, until the hour finally took its toll and we retired. We slept well, assured that Running Elk of the North American primitive mystics and Hiro of the millennia wise Orientals were on guard. Von Borst shook me awake.
"Captain Burroughs," he said, holding a cup of what we now called coffee in his massive fist, "near dawn. You asked to be awakened."
It was a bitter brew that passed my lips before I replied. "Anything happen during the night?"
"Floating shapes in the sky—Wieroos—but no interaction. I woke you early, sir. John Henry made hush puppies. There's no more corn meal left. I figured you like—"
"Say no more," I rose.
Leinster was at the sheltered fire when I arrived. The man looked ragged and I suspected that he slept damn little. He glanced toward me and the German. "We leave today," he said. "The natives have become bolder."
Another battle we did not need. "John Henry," I said, "whatever you can put on a plate, I'll eat." Sitting next to Leinster I added sotto voce, "Is it Tyler and Billings we seek or Le Monde's stolen gold?"
The man scowled so blackly that I feared the sun might never rise. "I know you are a student of human behavior, Mr. Burroughs. I doubt not that you firmly believe that our rescue mission has become a treasure hunt to the detriment of those we set out to succor." Leinster paused, his facial expression becoming more intense. "I'll not lie to you, since you'd see it most obvious in an instant that the gold does not attract, but from the beginning of this mission I have a prime course of action. I'll be honest, sir. Bowen Tyler means damn little to me. I don't know him from Adam, but Tom Billings stood at my wedding, may she rest in peace, and him I owe for his friendship and caring."
Leinster laid a hand upon my forearm, leaning close to my ear with a whisper. "By the same token, sir, while money might be the root of all evil it is also the salvation of want and need. Tom Billings and I both suffer from the same."
"Billings is Tyler's secretary. Surely he has no wants or needs."
"All men who work for other men have wants and needs. I have no doubt that you and all the others have similar situations that might be resolved by splitting up what we can carry out. We have to go north in any event. What harm can there be in picking up a few items along the way?"
I thought about it for a moment before replying. Many of my military commissions over the years had been based upon mercenary applications. I also recalled Dr. Heinlein's enthusiasm for the medical properties of certain plants and herbs. Hard currency did not seem to inappropriate.
"We still have a mission, Leinster," I said, though my voice was sympathetic to his expression. "Tyler and Billings, this we must do. But if we can also do for us all, why should we not?"
We vacated Celeste's stronghold in force. There was no going back. Tyler and Billings were the main objective, of course, and Le Monde's gold, too, but more realistically we were in a position that was subject to renewed attacks by the natives and we could not stay there. Ammunition was becoming a real concern. Dead, we could accomplish neither of the expressed goals.
At midday there was a difference of opinion. Celeste wanted to bear to the east, into the mountains were the terrain was rugged. Leinster argued with the girl. "We took the coastal route without difficulty."
"The Wa-lu lurk this shore," the girl said, eyes wide, trembling. "Much bad. Hurt all people."
Clemens chuckled. "On our first foray we saw nothing, Celeste. Have you ever been far from your parent's cave before?"
"Far enough!" she scowled, clinging to Rokoff's arm. She carried a long spear with a white-knuckled grip as she contemplated the path Leinster indicated. "Bad wa-lu! Eat people!" She stamped her little foot to reinforce her declaration.
Amused, Leinster shook his head, discounting the girl's warning. "Ivan, keep her quiet."
When Celeste tried to argue young Rokoff touched her shoulder as delicately as a butterfly upon a flower. To him she could not say no. As the young couple moved away in a breathless voice she said, "This not good."
Our entire group moved at a much slower than Leinster's original search party. We ended up on the shore of the great inland sea at dusk. I was silently relieved when Leinster motioned we make camp under the eerie moonlight, a bare score of feet from the nearly silent waves caressing the yellow sand along the shore. My wounds were fully healed, but the strenuous adventure had begun to sap my once inexhaustable reserves. It was at times like this that I regret not taking Greystoke up on his offer of some mysterious witch doctor pill that was supposed to provide immortality. Even as I wished this, merely because of my fatigue, I laughed at myself and Greystoke for surely this could never be. And then for a disquieting moment, as I recalled the loss of a finger and stared at it restored by the crude medicine of a girl who lived on a primitive island, I wondered if I had made the right decision regarding those jungle pills.
Ivan and Celeste had quietly conversed away from the group over the last few hours. Von Borst once leaned toward me with a "cute as two bugs in a rug" remark, nodding toward the pair. I refrained from commenting out loud, but I believe my wink was understood by the German. John Henry said nothing about the two youngsters, but he was kind enough to take them plates from the cook fire so they could eat together. I was puffing away on my pipe, creating a satisfactory blue haze about my head and shoulders, when the young man entered the circle of firelight. He squatted next to Leinster to say, "In a cove just north there is a boat her father made."
"Thank the girl for her information," Leinster replied with a tone that was unconsciously a dismissal. The ship officer's attention was centered upon Clemen's hand drawn map, which both men studied in the feeble light of the fire.
Celeste, angry at the snub, turned away, carrying the spear she had brought from the cave. I followed because Ivan did. The boy looked disconsolate. Dr. Heinlein tagged along because he had a few questions he wished to ask Celeste.
"What are the wa-lu?" he asked.
The four of us had settled to the shore, watching the glints of moonlight upon the gentle waves. It took several queries from Heinlein and myself before the angry girl finally responded.
"Water people," she said, looking to the full moon above. "This their time. Father said. Mother said. No hunt sea for food this time. Eat us. Shell-back. Kill spear to head." There was both superstition and bravery etched on her fine features.
"Are these Wa-lu like the Kro-lu and Sto-lu we have fought?" Heinlein asked.
"Live in sea," she said, shaking her head. Her long hair lifted from her shoulders just a little as the breeze off the water strengthened slightly. "Take to island," she added, gesturing with her spear.
I recalled the southern island we had dimly seen when we first entered Caspak. "You think they live there, Celeste?" I asked.
She did not have time to answer as a wave of forms exploded from the sea. The attackers were turtle-like in appearance, that is to say they had shells upon their backs and bellies and human-like limbs for arms and legs. Unlike turtles they moved with great speed.
Ivan and I, being nearest the shore, were immediately captured by these strange creatures with oily limbs as flexible as an octopus tentacle. We were harshly banged against their shelled bodies. I lost consciousness.
When I came around I could not say what time of day it was—only that daylight shimmered brilliantly upon the water. I could not see higher than an inch or two above the surface and it seemed the world was made of water only. There was a slight swell in the current that elevated my eyesight from time to time—and what I saw terrified me beyond description.
At least a dozen humps floated nearby, dark green and oily looking. The water was dark and filled with sediment or algae. I could see only the barest glimpses of flipper-like appendages sculling through the water. There was a grip about my neck, thankfully mostly upon the collar of my shirt, and I sensed a powerful body that not only kept me afloat but propelled me through the waters of Caspak's volcanic inner sea at some speed.
"You are awake!" Ivan's voice was filled with relief.
"Where are you, boy?" I cried, heart pounding, then coughed as a wave filled my open mouth.
"Ahead of you, sir, held between two of these horrible things. Are you all right?"
"Other than a throbbing headache and wrinkled like a prune, yes. How long as I unconscious?"
"All night. These wa-lu, if these are the ones Celeste tried to warn us about, seemed in no hurry once they took us into the water, but after the sun rose they swim faster."
"So, my young friend, what else did your girl say that we should have listened to before disaster struck? And did they take any of the others?"
"There is just the two of us. I don't know what happened on the beach, only that I have never seen anything move that fast before."
I now noticed that the creature bearing me was swimming more strongly. The beat of its flippered limbs caused a porpoising effect that alternately pulled me beneath the surface and then exposed my mouth to drag in air. I sensed that the creature had no desire to drown me, that it made sure I had learned the rhythm of breathing as it towed me. Seemingly to understand that I was aware of its intention, the speed increased to an alarming rate!
"I think," Ivan's words were disconnected, as if he spoke when his head was above water then silenced by immersion, "...waited...you awa... My god! ...aster than..."
"Save your breath!" Then I could say no more, diligently timing my breathing to the creature's swimming pattern. How long this high speed travel continued I am not sure, though it was at least a half hour but not more than two.
When I heard a gentle surf approaching the wa-lu slowed. I was once more able to breathe normally. I tried to crank my head upon aching shoulders to see where we were headed and was partly able to make out a cliff about 70 feet high to my right. Our path continued in that direction, following the cliff until a small bay opened. The wa-lu carried us toward a beach composed of bright yellow sand. Moments later we were hauled from the water.
I looked upon our captors for the first time—somehow they did not appear as horrible as they had rushing from the night-darkened sea—though they were quite the strangest creatures I have ever seen, even on the island of Caprona. Standing erect on two sturdy flippers that had a bendable knee, each wa-lu was no more than five feet in height. Their turtle-like shelled bodies were wide, almost barrel-shaped, and were colored a dark olive on back with a grayish white belly segmented with overlapping armor plates. The upper extremities were flipper-shaped at the end of rope-like arms that appeared as flexible as any Cepholopod's. Their skull, however, was quite ugly, looking something like the cross between a snapping turtle and a shark. The large mouth was filled with triangular teeth and the inch-long hooked beak appeared knife sharp. The eyes were stark white, with vertically split pupils and were on the sides of the head, equipped with three clear membranes of eyelids.
My brief study of these extraordinary creatures was cut short by a thump on my back, indicating I was to follow the wa-lu who were dragging the struggling form of my young friend. Ivan gave the pair holding him such a difficult time that a third approached with a bone club raised.
"Don't fight, boy!" I yelled, startling Ivan and the club bearing wa-lu alike. "Relax, Rokoff. We cannot fight this many and it does appear they want us alive. The next knock on your head might not be as gentle."
Rokoff scowled, but nodded his understanding. His eyes narrowed with the promise of terrible retribution should chance allow an opportunity. Viewing that expression, I would not wish to be the wa-lu that met the boy's wrath!
The beach was no more than ten yards wide. We entered into a green belt of foliage that was barely taller than Ivan's head and it, too, was narrow. Almost immediately we climbed a steep slope. Some twenty feet above the plants and bushes we stood, breathing a little heavily, on the edge of a wide ledge. Row after row of hump back shelled bodies lay in the warm sun. Near each were primitive weapons such as clubs, bone knives, or fist-sized rocks bound with curious thongs six to eight feet in length. All of the creatures were of similar size and shape, individuals as indistinguishable as one sea-turtle from another.
It was not a quiet ledge. The wa-lu spoke a hissing speech which made no sense to Rokoff or myself. Worse, it irritated the ears the same way a boiling tea kettle might. At the back of the ledge was a shallow cave and toward it we were led. The entrance had been barred by the rib bones of some large animal, most likely marine in nature. This island, despite its large size, appeared to have little vegetation except what grew near the coast. The basalt and other igneous rocks which formed the island's heart were jumbled and forbidden masses.
Inside the wa-lu jail I immediately saw two human-like forms crouching as far away from the entrance and the wa-lu as possible. Rokoff was roughly shoved inside. He lost his footing and tumbled in a heap as the wa-lu, hissing loudly in what I imagined to be laughter, secured the gate. They left one on guard then left us alone.
I helped Ivan to his feet. His pride was injured most as he dusted off his dripping clothes. "We have company," I said to him, nodding toward the natives.
Rokoff turned his head, though he had to duck slightly because of the low ceiling. "Not Band-lu or Sto-lu," he observed. "Look, their features are more regular and there is less hair on their bodies. One of them looks half-dead from starvation."
The boy's observations were accurate. Of the two men present in our cave cage one was very emaciated. His ribs and hollowed stomach were indicative of a long time between meals. The other, though slighter than either of us, was in better condition. Both were dirty and there was an odor that was offensive to the nose; however, I could not fault them for that since it was obvious that bathing and sanitation facilities were not included with the room. In my time I have stayed in hotels equally lacking, and just as lacking of having a manager to whom one might complain.
Ivan moved toward the men with open and extended hands. The heavier of the two moved away with frightened eyes. The other stayed where he was using his eyes only to look to the wa-lu then back to Rokoff. He made no move when Ivan lowered his great bulk next to him and placed a friendly hand on the man's shoulder.
I frowned as I looked at this native. I suddenly sensed the reason for his calm behavior. All my life I have had an unexplainable empathy in times of great stress that sometimes reveals the emotional state of friends and enemies. In the case of the former that empathy has usually allowed me to offer help or support as needed. In the case of the latter this sense of mine has warned when treachery or devilment was afoot. Yes, I had a flash of empathy as regards this half-starved creature.
In a quiet voice I told Ivan what I sensed. "You, my boy, are the lesser of two evils. It seems he'd rather die at your hands than the wa-lus'."
"Are you sure, Mr. Burroughs? I don't want to kill him!"
"There's something else I feel, Rokoff. Our friend has been here many days, enough days that he has starved himself into this condition."
"Why?" Ivan nodded to the other man who was as far away from us and the wa-lu guard as the cave allowed. "He's in fair shape. These beasts must feed their captives."
"It would appear so," I agreed, "but for some reason this man has chosen to starve himself to death."
Late afternoon a half-dozen wa-lu carrying clubs and the same number of trilobites, which looked like horse-shoe crabs, approached the cave. The door was opened wide enough for the wa-lu to toss in the trilobites, which they did with sufficient force against the rock wall to crack the heavy shells. The wa-lu sealed the gate then left us alone, with the exception of a new guard to replace the one who had been with us all day. I still could not tell them apart, not even after hours of studying the nearby wa-lu.
Rokoff picked up one of the trilobites, scowling. "We've eaten stranger since we arrived." He began spreading the cracked shell with strong fingers.
Our emaciated friend, who now had resigned himself to the fact that neither of us would kill him, suddenly batted the shellfish from Ivan's hand. Shaking his head as vigorously as he could, he pointed to the other human, who was feasting upon the trilobites with great appetite. Ivan, as hungry as I was, held his temper when I touched his shoulder.
"There may be a reason," I said. "Let us wait and see."
The wa-lu guard, unlike the earlier fellow, watched us intently. He saw that only the one ate while I and my companions declined. My odd empathy detected a twinge of disappointment from the creature, but that was all it was, a twinge like a minor sprain or an itch one cannot reach.
The light began to fade. I disliked the thought of sitting in that cave all night without a light.
"Look!" Ivan whispered, pointing to the ledge.
A line of glowing globes approached. A moment later I could see each was borne by a wa-lu carrying a thin slat which looked all the world like whale baleen. Impaled at the tip of each was a kind of jelly fish which emitted a pale phosphorous light.
These globes were placed in rock cairns about the cave cage and the wa-lu began to gather. Our friend began to tremble violently, backing away from the gate, seeking to hide himself behind Ivan's great bulk. Five of the wa-lu entered upon their leathery legs. Two faced us with sturdy clubs in hand. The rest rushed upon the other native and carried him out. The two guarding us exited the cave and the gate was again sealed. This time no guard was left at the gate, though it would have been nothing less than insanity to attempt a breakout with such a horrific congregation outside.
"What's going to happen?" Ivan asked. His voice was hoarse with anxiety and alarm.
I did not have to answer him as the wa-lu almost immediately demonstrated what was to be. One of the creatures leapt forward and made a terrific gash upon the native's leg. A shrill scream of terror and pain echoed from the cave's back wall. Another wa-lu did the same, then another and yet another. Within moments the native lay upon the ground, ham-strung, leg muscles tattered ribbons, bleeding his life upon the still sun-warmed rock. But he was not yet dead when one of the beasts moved forward and nipped off the native's foot as cleanly as a surgeon might have removed it, bone, flesh, and tendons.
This seemed to be the signal for a general attack and for an instant there was an agonized scream that could not have originated from a human throat, then it ceased. For several minutes all we could see was a nightmarish thrashing of hardshelled bodies writhing like maggots on rotted meat—then it was over. Where the man had lain there was nothing but a dark damp spot.
"God in heaven!" Ivan's voice rose. "God in heaven!"
I gripped his arm, jerking Ivan's eyes away from the scene. "Keep your wits, son. Do not—" He pulled away, nor could I have stopped him given Rokoff's size and strength. "Ivan?"
"This will not happen, sir," he promised. Though his eyes were yet wild from what had been witnessed, there was a touch of steel in his voice that I admired greatly. Rokoff turned to our companion. Slowly nodding his head he spoke to the native. "I understand why you wished death by human hands. I also understand why you do not eat—they," he added with a hiss, "like their food nice and fat!" Ivan spat on the ground. The native abruptly grinned his approval. He lost his uneasiness and for as long as the jelly fish globes gave their dying light, we three sat together. Though we said nothing we fully understood what the other was thinking. It is said misery loves company, but I am here to tell you today that company in misery, while love many not be found, surely do find strength in that togetherness.
The hour was well past midnight when the native went to sleep. Not long after the native slumbered Rokoff's head occasionally nodded above his broad chest. The young man made every effort to remain awake, but we had been through a lot. We were both utterly fatigued. I, on the other hand, am an old man. Long ago I learned how to do without sleep on many campaigns and safaris. I would not have slept in that cave under any event, and I hoped that Rokoff did not have a hint as to how greatly I was terrified at the prospect of being the next wa-lu buffet.
But, damn these old bones of mine, I did sleep!
I awoke when a callused hand covered my mouth and a hurried "Shh!" whispered in my ear. The hand was human, so I complied. I sensed several others in the cave, one by Rokoff and one by the native. Then I realized who knelt beside me, his upper body naked, his long hair bound in twin braids; John Running Elk!
I rose as silently as I could when the Indian tugged me erect. The native and the small form leading him were already outside the cave. I saw starlight glistening upon the carapace of the supine wa-lu guard, nor did it take a novel-length explanation for cause of the dark stain spreading from beneath the creature's half-severed throat.
Though I worried about Ivan and the other rescuer I was not given time to assure myself the dear boy followed. John Running Elk gently shoved my steps after the native and—I saw for an instant a man's body silloghuetted by the pre-dawn light—Hiro Nagamichi! I questioned not how they came to be here nor did I question over much how we were to escape... Well, I tried to drive that worry from my mind!
Silent as any church mouse on a cheese larder mission, the six of us descended the slope. Once in the vegetation I felt somewhat easier, though I could see nothing in the blackness through which we traveled. John Running Elk and the Japanese seemed to have eyes as good as a cat's, for moments later we were on the beach. At the shimmering edge of the golden beach a large dark bulk was there.
My friend, I cannot tell you how glad I was to see Mr. Leinster step from a boat, or the other faces who were there!
From above us came a sudden explosion of hissing. Rokoff, who had arrived with Celeste, spoke softly. "That tears it! I need a gun or a knife! Quick!"
Leinster demurred. "Get in the boat, Rokoff. We'll out-distance them."
"That cannot be done, sir. Best we fight them on land than in their element. All they would need do is capsize the boat then chop us to pieces at their leisure."
"He's right," I said. "And I want a gun and some light!"
An electric hand torch was turned on, then a second. Someone thrust a pistol into my hand and never have I caressed anything so sweet, not even the cheek of a lovely girl, as that cold, hard, engine of destruction.
"Away from water!" Celeste's clear voice rang out. Leinster, to his credit, did not question these sudden advisements. "Von Borst! Secure the boat so it cannot be damaged or towed away. Heinlein, Burroughs, man the torches and use your pistols. John Henry— Clemens— MacDonald, there, there and there!" He said nothing to the Japanese and the Indian. They stood nearest the foliage their blades in hand. MacDonald stood next to Leinster.
"Mr. Burroughs, how many?" the officer casually inquired.
That was an answer I could give. I had had little to do while caged in that wa-lu food larder. "Between 60 and 75, no more than that."
Leinster bellowed. "Make every shot count! We know their shells won't turn a bullet aside from our last encounter. Here they come!"
I don't know who lit the kerosene lantern, but it provided a general illumination that the hand flashes Heinlein and I used could not. I carried the lantern forward, thrilled to see the carnage that Running Elk and Nagamichi had already dealt. The wa-lu were fast, and had surprised us before, but I soon discovered that on land they were no faster than a determined human being and were more poorly armed than we. We were, however, gravely outnumbered.
There was some fighting behind us on the beach. It faded almost immediately. It appeared the wa-lu congregated on that ledge each night and the majority had been there, which was to our advantage since they had to come through the brush, which slowed them down. We were able to deal with attacks of smaller numbers rather than an overwhelming assault. Yet, even so, we were hard pressed. I could not count the thrashing hard shelled bodies at our feet, death throes which proved to be almost as dangerous as a healthy wa-lu by interfering with our combat.
One of the headless wa-lu rolled into my legs. I was knocked from my feet. A heart beat later it crashed into the kerosene lamp, breaking the glass. Instantly the wa-lu burst into flames. Never have I seen anything burn so quickly! I instantly realized the oily appearance of their shells was just that, an oil of some kind that was extremely flammable.
I saved the lantern, which wick still burned, and hunted for driftwood of any type. I found several weathered pieces and soon had them burning. I set a few more of the wa-lu corpses ablaze. We soon had all the light we could use. The driftwood had quickly burned, far more rapidly than common woods I know. The driftwood was as curiously twisted as the brush lining the shore.
The wa-lu were still coming from the foliage, only in more numbers now as new paths had been beaten through it to reach us. "John Henry! Can you throw the lantern into the brush?"
The big black, who had fallen back from the flank assault, reached down with one huge hand and heaved the lantern aloft. The wick burned brightly in a low arc then disappeared into the dark vegetation. Anxiously, as I continued to ignite fallen wa-lu, I waited. Just as I chided myself for throwing the lantern away, a fiery blaze erupted which spread with the speed of an express train. From within the fire's red heart came the tortured hisses of dozens of wa-lu. We could see their frenzied forms rushing about for seconds of time then falling, their oily shells providing more fodder for the inferno. In less than five minutes there was a raging wall of fire which extended up and down the beach as far as the eye could see.
I felt a terrific thump between my shoulder blades. I struggled to catch my breath as I turned to face my attacker. It was Leinster, grinning from ear to ear.
"We'll have to name you Jack, sir, for like that giant killer of old you have killed in one blow more than the rest of us combined. Good work, man."
While we mutually congratulated ourselves over the victory there was a sudden flurry of action on the beach near the boat. By the time we turned around to face the danger of wa-lu attacking from the water, the battle was over. To our amazed eyes we saw the pirate's daughter straddled above the dark green shell of a wa-lu shuddering its death throes. Her primitive spear twisted again and again into the creature's leathery neck. The wa-lu's dark blood stained each receding wave. Rising to her feet the girl viciously spat upon the corpse. Still watching the water, which was now turning a gray as the sun peeked above the distant volcanic rim, she moved to one side and squatted at the water's edge to vigorously scrub the creature's oil and blood from her legs.
Micky MacDonald leaned on his rifle looking as weary as a man might without collapsing. He scowled at young Rokoff, whose shirt was so tattered from near misses by sharp wa-lu beaks he might as well be bare chested. At Ivan's responding frown the Irishman explained with furrowed brow: "That's your woman. Too damn blood-thirsty savage for me."
Ivan's fist clenched involuntarily, then he saw MacDonald wink. Bursting out with a hearty laugh Ivan Rokoff agreed as Celeste came to stand beside him, her face angelic once again. "That she is, my friend. That she is!"
CHAPTER 5
I am resuming this letter after pausing for a mug of soup and a sandwich. I am appalled at the number of pages I have scribbled! It is obvious that I am re-living our adventure on Caspak and have probably offered too many niggling details; however, I am not about to go back and edit or delete the unnecessary as this would be counter-productive and might even delay the posting of this missive at our next port of call. I will, on the other hand, make every effort to mention only the high points in this writing. When we finally meet at Christie's On The Strand in Galveston next October for our annual crab and oyster dinner, I will gladly amplify any part of our expedition to Caprona—but only over a bottle of fine Port that you will purchase!
As we rowed away from that hellish island a tremendous column of thick black smoke rose above that golden shore. I hoped, with all my heart, that every wa-lu in Caprona was ascending skyward as charred ash into the dark clouds above. The native we had brought down from the ledge with us lay at the bow. A pitiful bag of bones, his bearded face looked toward the distant volcanic rim and, I swear this, there was such happiness and peace upon his countenance that I was nearly moved to tears. Leinster helmed the craft, which was about thirty-feet in length, his voice barking oar commands to the four amidships pulling on twelve-foot sweeps: John Henry, Clemens, Running Elk and Von Borst. The officer's eye returned frequently to the lowering clouds and from his expression it was soon clear to all of us that Mr. Leinster did not like what he observed.
"Pull hearty, mates!" Leinster urged. "There's weather coming!"
Even I could feel menace in the atmosphere. The temperature had dropped and the following breeze had grown stronger.
Ivan's voice, with a touch of urgency, came from the bow. "Doctor Heinlein, we need you forward!" My old friend jerked erect from an uncomfortable sleep near the aft rowing bench at Ivan's cry and went to the bow, carrying his bag. Ivan and Celeste gave room so that Heinlein could examine the native. The doctor from Missouri did not extend that examination for long. He looked up and shook his head.
There was a moment of silence, especially between young Rokoff and myself. We knew first hand what the man had experienced and why he had come to this condition.
Heinlein looked across the bent shoulders of the rowers to the man at the helm. "What do you wish to do, Mr. Leinster?"
"We have several hours to go before reaching shore," the officer replied. "I think we can wait that long. We'll bury him ashore."
The weather continued to change minute by minute. Soon white caps were visible and the following wind was both aid and hindrance. The four men manning the sweeps pulled with full heart just to keep the boat aligned with the gusts of wind, peppered with stinging rain.
"Christ!" MacDonald yelled, jerking back from the gunwale. "What was that?"
"I didn't see anything," Ivan replied, looking upon the increasingly tortured water surface.
"Like the beast of Loch Lomond it was," the Irishman replied. "A fairy beast that... Look out!"
MacDonald's rifle spoke with a sudden report as a massive head, with a jaw near a yard in length and lined with needle-sharp teeth, rose a dozen feet above our boat. The hellish creature jerked to one side and jerked again as MacDonald fired another round.
The monstrous head disappeared beneath the waves.
"Pull! Pull!" Leinster's voice rose.
A solid thump upon the keel turned the boat askew. A following wave filled the bilge. I was suddenly too busy with both hands splashing water out, with MacDonald, Heinlein, and Rokoff assisting when I saw Celeste heave the body of the native over the side.
Ivan, shocked, roared above the rising wind. "What are you doing?" He looked at the pale body floating on the surface.
"It hungry!" the girl screamed. Fifteen, twenty—thirty feet the boat passed before a terrific flurry of action created a red and white froth as the native's body disappeared beneath the waves. "See? Not hungry!" Celeste replied. The practical girl began to bail water with the rest of us who were not rowing.
The sea became a nightmare, but as I just promised I will state only the high points. We survived the blow and torrential rains and reached the eastern shore of the inland sea near nightfall—though the skies were so dark it was difficult to attribute a real time of landing.
Sodden to the skin, shivering from the chill rains and nearly blind in the darkness, it was good to set foot on firm soil as Nature raged. Lightning flashed all about, striking the trees and high ground above the shore. Running Elk, von Borst, Clemens and John Henry were worthless—that is to say they had expended so much effort in propelling the craft they were utterly exhausted.
Celeste, her hair tightly plastered by rain about her fine-shaped skull, was the first to exit the craft. She ran toward the jungle savaged by high winds, then returned. "I know this place," she yelled, though her words were nearly carried away by the rising wind. "A cave..."
Hiro Nagamichi drew his sword and followed the girl into the jungle. The rest of us followed at our best speed, carrying as much of our supplies and equipment from the battered boat as we could. About hundred yards, and perhaps thirty feet in elevation, we entered an immense cave. As soon as we were within the cave proper the elements no longer drenched or deafened us.
"What is that smell?" Clemens asked, his chest heaving as he cradled raw and blistered hands.
"Bat shit," Heinlein replied using an uncharacteristic common terminology. "Guano," he amended. The doctor looked to the ceiling above as did the rest of us. Leinster turned on his electric flash and we viewed a million or more of the flying creatures suspended upside down from ledges and ceiling, each wrapped in dark leathery wings.
Von Borst paled. "I hate bats!"
Leinster's comment: "Bats or weather. Take your choice."
Never have I slept so miserably. A raging thunderstorm outside, the noxious aroma of guano, and being pelted by bat defecation during the night was distasteful. Yet, sleeping in the open under wind and rain whipped trees was even less welcome.
The wind subsided long before dawn, but the rain continued, just short of a bucket drenching volume. Breakfast was a dismal affair—no coffee, nothing hot, and all of it spoiled by the stench of bat droppings. If I was not the first to stand when Leinster called the march order, it was only by a fraction of a second as we all rose and shouldered packs that were alarmingly light.
I trudged through the mud churned by those in front of me, head down, hiding from the rain beneath the tattered brim of my hat. Ivan and Celeste walked before me—damn that girl's near naked behind! Like a carrot before a donkey I had no choice but to follow that rain-soaked vision. Of course, Ivan's naked broad shoulders and the rifle slung across his back as he walked with arm across the girl's shoulder was equally compelling. My friend, I am not dead yet, a pretty girl I can appreciate, but I did not obtain my advanced age by testing the young bulls who have staked out their claim. In the end, however I was simply miserable as the day dragged on.
Well after lunch should have been served, my stomach rumbling most rudely, we began an ascent of a not too steep slope that nonetheless soon had us well above the level of the inland sea. The rain continued in fits and spurts as we traveled through primitive ferns and foliage to an area that was more like the outer world: hemlocks, oaks, elms, and flowering plants.
So miserable was I that when the company stopped abruptly I walked into Ivan. The lad grabbed my arm, preventing a spill.
"Shhh!" Ivan placed a finger across his lips. The boy's muscular form was crouched forward and the girl at his side held her spear firmly in both hands.
I drew my revolver, aware of two things: the forest was unnaturally quiet and I had only four rounds left—all in the chambers of my pistol. Glancing around, I saw that Clemens and John Henry were equally alert, each watching opposite flanks. Behind me the Irishman stood with rifle paused between hip and shoulder, his eyes darting left and right.
Suddenly a wild cacophony of sound erupted at the head of the column. A chorus of barks and growls, howls and whines of pain. Before I could make sense of it Dr. Heinlein relayed a command from above to run for it. Ivan already had my arm and when he and Celeste moved out I had no choice but to follow.
Thankfully I did not lose my footing in the mud, else I have no doubt that young Rokoff would have hauled me up the slope. A moment later we passed through a clearing where Hiro Nagamichi and his ancestral sword were hard pressed by a pack of hyenadons.
"Go!" John Running Elk and Leinster cried, the officer pointing the direction. Von Borst was above and helped each of us over a hummock of rock.
I shook loose from Ivan. Pausing to catch my breath, I looked back to see the magnificent Japanese addressing a dozen of the hideous beasts with his sword. Watching him at that instant I well understood what "samurai" meant. Never have I see