Author: Kirk Straughen
Synopsis: John Luther comes to the aid of Captain Jack Innes when his attacked in the dingy back alleys of Jade Harbor. But this act of bravery has far reaching consequences for it draws our hero into a perilous adventure on a time-lost island. Pirates, monsters and a fortune in emeralds are the ingredients of this wild tale.
Edit History: Minor editorial changes were made to this story on 12 July 2021.
John Luther threw a final insult over his broad shoulders as he was shoved unceremoniously out the rear door of the Golden Hawk and into the inky night that choked the dingy back alleys of Jade Harbour’s notorious waterfront.
“The gutters are cleaner that that rat infested hovel you dare to call an inn,” he cried. “I wouldn’t stay another night if you paid me.”
“It’s you who haven’t paid me,” snarled the proprietor of the slatternly establishment. “If the gutters are cleaner then by all means sleep in them.” Then the gross fellow laughed and slammed the door in Luther’s face before he could think of a devastating reply.
The young man growled a low oath, straightened his tall muscular frame and walked off into the dark. To say his mood was fouler than the grimy ally along which he strode would have been an understatement. His entire possessions consisted solely of a few coins and the clothes he wore, all else having been pawned to keep him fed and lodged, and very poorly fed and lodged at that.
As he strode through the foetid air that swirled around him, Luther ruminated darkly on the circumstances leading to his desperate plight. Ian Thorn, his uncle, had invited him from England to visit Jade Harbour and invest in his trading company Eastern Star. The lure of the Orient held the promise of excitement more exotic than that which could be found beneath England’s grey skies, so he’d come with enthusiasm to this port on the island of Italoa in the South China Sea.
His globetrotting uncle had waxed lyrical on the possibilities of wealth his venture would generate. In addition to these seductive words there was also the exoticness of Italoa’s melting pot of cultures. His uncle had described in detail the gilded Buddhist temples and their chanting saffron robed priests, Chinese joss houses from which swirled pungent incense, Indian spice markets and the narrow streets crowded with colourful throngs clad in the national dress of half a dozen oriental nations. With thoughts of these things and even more he had been easily convinced.
But then after several months had passed treachery crept upon him like a thief – his uncle had vanished with all the money leaving him penniless and marooned in a culture where English was virtually unknown. His ignorance of foreign tongues was a bar to employment, and now he was destitute. Luther wanted to thoroughly kick himself. It had always been rumoured that his uncle was a ruthless conman, and where there was smoke he should have known there’d be fire.
What the hell am I going to do now? He thought. Become a beggar? The young man shook his head. Some pride was still left in him. But like the handful of square copper coins in his pocket, it was going fast.
A sudden strangled cry broke through the bleakness shrouding Luther’s mind. The young man jerked his head in the direction of the sound, which had come from an intersecting way to his left. The Englishman tensed. The waterfront alleys were no place to be in daylight let alone the dead of night. Peering around the corner he dimly glimpsed figures struggling in the gloom. Two men held their victim; the third pressed a glinting blade against his neck.
“Where are the map and the emerald?” growled the knife-wielder in Chinese accented English. “Speak, or by the Eighteen Hells I’ll carve you like a roast.”
Silence was the only answer. The knife flashed. The victim moaned. Blood spurted from the burning gash upon his cheek.
“Why don’t you cut off his balls and shove them up his arse,” suggested another thug. “That’ll make the old goat talk.”
The knife-wielder grinned. Luther had seen and heard enough. He darted around the corner. His fist crashed against the blade-man’s nape and sent him sprawling to the cobbles. Another mighty blow drove the second thug against the wall. The third drew a dagger as his accomplice tumbled to the ground.
Luther jumped back, barely avoiding the gutting stroke. The would-be victim leaped forward, pinned the bravo’s arms in a crushing bear hug.
“How’s this for an old goat!” he cried as the Englishman hammered the startled ruffian’s jaw with a straight right that would have made Jack Johnson* proud.
Luther spun about at the sound of footsteps, but it was only one of the thugs stumbling off into the night. Outfought and now outnumbered the bravo was fleeing like a cowardly rat. The Englishman turned back to the “old goat” and appraised him.
The man’s seamed, weather-beaten face split into a grin of triumph. He wore a captain’s uniform, a bushy beard to match, and stood with one foot on his erstwhile assailant as if the unconscious villain was downed game. In the dark Luther couldn’t accurately judge his age, but correctly guessed he was in his early fifties.
“Captain Jack Innes,” said the “goat” by way of introduction. “Your intervention was a godsend. I thought I’d eluded those cutthroats in the dark. If it hadn’t been for you, lad, I’d be dead. Well done.”
“John Luther. Glad to be of help,” replied the Englishman as he shook the American captain’s strong hand. “We’d best be off before these fellows wake.”
“Aye lad and you’d best ship back to England quick. That is an English accent isn’t it?
“You’re right and I would if I could. But I’m virtually penniless,” admitted Luther as the captain swiftly led him from the scene. “Who were those thugs?”
“They’re not ordinary thugs, lad - they’re vicious pirates: members of the Black Skull’s ugly gang –well know hereabouts. You can tell by the death’s head each one has tattooed on the palm of his left hand. Oh, I know its 1909 and you’d think buccaneers would have vanished from the modern era. But in the waters of the South China Sea they’re as thick as fleas upon a mangy dog.
“I could do with an extra crewman aboard my ship. I’ll start you off on simple duties. If you save your money you’ll earn enough for a passage home in a couple of years. I’m sorry I can’t do more than that. What do you say?”
Luther inwardly groaned. A sailor’s wage must be pitiful indeed. Still, it was a job and he was near to starving. His parents were dead, and his uncle had made off with his foolishly invested inheritance. He was alone in the world. The Englishman smiled an ironic smile. He’d wanted an adventure and now it seemed he’d have one.
“I accept your offer, Captain Innes,” replied Luther. “But I’m curious to know why the Black Skull’s men were after you.”
“Ah, lad; it was a slight misunderstanding, nothing more. You needn’t concern yourself about it.”
How wrong this statement was soon shown to be.
**********
It was Luther’s first day aboard Seaspray, Captain Innes's vessel. The craft was a packet ship – sturdy, full bodied and somewhat tubby in appearance. The Englishman, now dressed in patched seaman’s clothes, was swabbing the deck in the heat of noon. He paused, wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted up to gauge the sun.
Two masts towered over him, their square rigged sails billowing in the steady wind that drove Seaspray across the calm and glinting waters of the South China Sea towards the Philippines. Luther shifted his gaze to Captain Innes. The man had been standing for the last half hour at the ship’s stern peering through his telescope at something in the distance.
Luther mopped his way towards the captain, sensing something was amiss. Innes, at the sound of his approach, lowered his brass spyglass and turned. The Englishman saw he wore a troubled look upon his face.
“We’re being pursued,” stated Innes, who gestured with his telescope at a vessel some leagues away. Normally, a captain wouldn’t take a lowly deckhand into his confidence, but the Englishman had saved the fellow’s life and so there was a special bond between them.
Luther felt the tingle of excitement mixed with fear come upon him as he gazed at the strange craft through the spyglass. She had batten sails and her sail plan was spread out between multiple masts from which red flags hung. Her stern was horseshoe-shaped and supported a high poop deck, and her bottom was flat with a leeboard to prevent sideways slippage. Even from a distance the ship had the look of lean efficiency to her.
“Pirates, captain?” he asked almost breathlessly.
“Aye, the pursuing ship is a Chinese junk, and I can see swivel guns mounted upon her deck railing - armament no honest craft would have. Junks are easy to sail and fast, faster than this old tub. I’m truly sorry, lad. It looks like I’ve saved you from the frying pan only to have dropped you into the fire. Excuse me while I give orders to break out arms.”
**********
With each passing hour, and despite every trick of sailing Captain Innes had employed, the pirate had drawn steadily closer until now she was a mere hundred yards away. Luther’s grip tightened on his shotgun as he gazed across the ever narrowing distance. He could now see the cutthroats upon the junk – a motley crew of hard faced, cruel eyed men. Sunlight glinted from a miscellany of exotic weapons – Chinese hooked swords, Malaysian kris daggers, Philippine balisong knives and antique flintlocks.
A sudden boom rolled across the waves, then another in quick succession. Smoke billowed from two swivel guns mounted at the pirate’s bow. Shot crashed against Seaspray’s helm. The ship’s wheel was blown apart in a spray of splinters, the hapless helmsman torn to gory rags of flesh.
Captain Innes cursed, shouted orders to the white faced sailors crouched at the rail. “Hold your fire, they’re not near enough.”
Luther wondered if he was going to die. He forced the thought aside and dried his sweaty palms upon his trousers. The gap narrowed slowly but steadily, the pirate drew broadside. At seventy yards her swivel guns roared, spraying grapeshot. The man next to Luther was flung back, half his skull blown away.
The Englishman managed to control his sickening fear. He raised his head. The junk was swathed in clouds of gun-smoke, its cutthroat crew temporarily blinded. Captain Innes grinned, shouted a single order: “Fire.”
Guns roared. The twelve gauge kicked against Luther’s shoulder. Across the waves sea-wolves screamed as a cloud of screaming buckshot raked the pirate. One man toppled overboard, others raised thick hardwood shields. A ragged volley of musketry sounded and another of Seaspray’s crew went down, gurgling blood.
The sound of shotgun fire was now almost constant as Innes’s crew laid down a heavy barrage of streaking lead. The roar of the pump actions was deafening. Luther fired and fired, only pausing to reload. Buckshot slammed into the pirate in a hail of slugs, but the thick wooden shields proved effective and not many of the enemy fell. The Englishman could see the junk drawing nearer, closer – they were going to board.
The moment came. A score of grappling hooks were flung across Seaspray’s rails. Luther snatched up the axe at his feet, hacked at the line. A musket ball creased his cheek. He ignored it, severed the rope. Captain Innes was beside him, swinging an axe at another line. Other sailors poured lead into the enemy; then the pirate fired her swivel guns point blank and blasted a dozen men to bloody ruin. The cutthroats cheered, shouted insults in half a dozen tongues as they hauled on the grapnels. The two ships ground together and in an instant screaming buccaneers boiled onto Seaspray’s deck, dealing bloody murder left and right.
A huge one eyed brute leapt at Luther through clouds of gun-smoke, his Chinese broadsword swinging in a skull cleaving arc. The Englishman parried the blow with his axe, chopped the man across the throat. The fellow went down in a welter of gore. Another buccaneer came at him, twin kris flashing in a whirl of deadly, confusing steel. Luther fell back before the spinning blades, slipped in blood, tumbled. The cutthroat gave a yell of triumph as his daggers plunged down on the helpless man.
* Endnote: Jack Johnson was the first African American world heavyweight boxing champion (1908 – 1915)
Luther rolled. The plunging blades stabbed planking, stuck fast. The Englishman got to a knee, splintered the pirate’s ribs with his axe. He shot erect as his foe writhed out his life at his feet, and saw Innes hard pressed by two pirates. Despite his age the captain was giving a magnificent account of himself. He swung his axe lustily, bloodying the cutthroats with a score of biting wounds.
The Englishman ran to his aid. Luther’s axe flashed and sent one snarling foeman to the gory deck. The second pirate tried to leap away, but the two men closed in upon him. The cutthroat screamed shrilly as their axes chopped him down. More howling buccaneers closed in upon them as they stood back to back, their axes whirling in deadly strokes that sent the foe reeling back as the battle for the ship swirled around them in a chaos of blood and ringing steel.
Time lost all meaning as the conflict raged. Men howled, screamed, died. Swords clashed, musket-fire punctuated the hellish scene. Shouts, curses, and yelled commands added noise upon noise to the gruesome sight. Luther was drenched in sweat and blood, some of it his own, most of it that of his foes who lay strewn at his feet in gory, dismembered mounds.
A voice, sharper than a sword, suddenly cut through the noise of battle, first in an Oriental tongue, then in French accented English: “Quarter; give them quarter. Back you bloodthirsty curs. Back I say.”
The pirates fell back to form a ring about the panting, blood splattered pair. Luther looked defiantly at the glaring foe that encircled them like a noose about the throat of a condemned man. His body was trembling with fatigue. He had strength enough to stand upon his feet, but not for much else. Captain Innes leaned heavily upon his axe, gasping like a beached whale. Neither one of them could last much longer, so why the call for quarter?
A buccaneer stepped through the ring of cutthroats and Luther’s face mirrored the shock he felt. The fellow was slim and of medium height, but it was his apparel that set him apart from the rest of his motley crew. The man was dressed in black, tight fitting garments. High boots, also black, encased his legs to the knees. He wore a black mask resembling a balaclava upon which had been embroidered with considerable artistry a white skull face. A broad belt supported an Indonesian parang* at his left hip, while on the right was holstered an automatic of American design.
“Well, if it isn’t the Black Skull himself,” murmured Innes. “I should have known it was him.” And then to Luther: “Quiet lad, let me do all the talking.”
Black Skull swaggered forward with a strange kind of elegance that seemed out of place when contrasted to the coarse features of his fellow ruffians and the ill kept state of their miscellaneous attire, or so the Englishman thought.
“The map and emerald if you please, Captain Innes,” demanded the swashbuckler in an easy voice that somehow accentuated the deadly, unspoken threat behind it.
“Certainly, Black Skull, in exchange for the lives of my crew, of course,” replied the captain with such calmness that one would have thought he was merely discussing the weather.
Black Skull laughed. “It’s an easy price to pay since the two of you are the only ones left alive.”
Luther saw Innes’s face muscles twitch and his lips thin slightly, but apart from this the captain gave no further sign of the burning hatred he felt for Black Skull and his murderous pack of cutthroats.
“Here is the jewel,” he replied evenly as he removed a small oilskin wrapped package from his blood spattered jacket. “The map is wrapped about it,” continued Innes as he tossed it to the cocky rogue.
Black Skull caught the parcel. “Throw them in the brig,” he ordered in Cantonese. Then in English to his captives: “Cooperate and I’ll set both of you ashore when the treasure’s mine.”
“Don’t resist, lad,” warned Innes as the brooding pirates closed in on them. “I’ve bought us time, and when you have that there’s still hope.”
Callous hands hustled the captives aboard the pirate junk. The prisoners were forced below decks and along a gangway to the brig at the vessels bow. Here, they were thrust unceremoniously into a narrow, grimy prison-like cell. A leering cutthroat slammed the grillwork door, locked it. The fellow must have made some witty remark, for Luther heard the others laugh uproariously as they moved off down the gangway to set about the task of looting and scuttling Seaspray.
Luther settled himself on the hard narrow cot next to Captain Innes. He looked at the man, questioningly.
Innes returned his stare with a troubled expression. He sighed heavily. “I suppose I’d better start from the beginning.”
“It might help,” replied Luther, blandly.
“About a month ago we found a white man at sea,” commenced the captain. “He was drifting on a bamboo raft and very near to death when we took him aboard. I made him as comfortable as possible in my cabin, and did everything I could for him, but the poor fellow was too far gone. He died about an hour later. When he passed I went through his pockets to try and find some identification that would enable the authorities to inform his relatives. That’s when I found the treasure map... and an emerald the size of a hen’s egg.”
“So, that’s what Black Skull was after,” mused Luther. “Little wonder then that he attacked us.” The Englishman gave the captain a hard stare after that remark.
“Ah, lad,” continued Innes shamefacedly. “I know, I know. I should have handed everything over to the authorities at Jade Harbour, but the temptation was too great. I planned to return to the States and sell the jewel. No one in this quarter of the world – not even the King of Siam - could offer me the price it’s truly worth.”
Innes sighed. “But I’ve a weakness for liquor and loose women, and the stews of the Orient are too great a temptation for me. I fear I must have drunkenly blathered too much to a doxy in Black Skull’s employ. Well... you know the rest.”
Both men sat in meditative silence for many hours. Slowly, it dawned on Luther that he really couldn’t blame the captain for what had happened to him. After all had not a certain amount of greed caused him to invest in his uncle’s scheme when he should have known far better? The Englishman looked wearily around their grimy prison, and clearly saw freedom was a far greater treasure than wealth could ever be.
Luther’s contemplations were interrupted by the sound of padding feet. He looked up and saw, through the bars of the cell door, an Indian boy whom he guessed to be about fourteen carrying a large bowl of fish stew in one hand and an oil lamp in the other. Night had fallen and so he deduced this must be the evening meal.
The boy knelt, put down the lamp and slid the bowl through a small aperture beneath the bars of the cell door. Luther’s face set in a grim expression as he gazed at the lad. The youngster was dressed in a dirty turban and ragged, ill fitting kurta at least twice his size. His effeminate features wore a look of haunting worry, and there was an ugly bruise upon his cheek.
“Your food, sahibs,” said the boy in flawless English.”
“It’s all right,” soothed Luther as the youngster started at his approach. “I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”
“Rama, sahib” replied the wary, wide eyed youth. “I am the ship’s cook, and as much a prisoner as you.”
“Then we must help each other,” whispered Luther. “I’m John and my friend is Captain Innes. If you can find a way to get us out of here we’ll take you with us.”
The boy gasped. He looked around in evident terror as if expecting a dozen cutthroats to leap upon him from the shadows. He snatched up the lamp and quickly left without another word.
“It was a nice try,” observed Innes. “But you saw that bruise. Those bloody devils have got him cowed. He won’t help us. He’s too scared.”
“Perhaps,” replied Luther as he passed the bowl to the captain. “But at least I’ve given him something to think about.”
**********
Eight days had passed. The junk had dropped anchor, but the prisoners remained ignorant of their location. Occasionally, a pirate had looked them over, but apart from these cursory inspections they had no contact with the cutthroats. Black Skull, however, had questioned Innes extensively about the chart, and had seemed satisfied as to the truth of the captain’s answers.
Neither man, though, was fooled by the suave rogue’s promise of freedom. The only thing they’d receive would be a dagger in the back once their usefulness to the buccaneers was at an end.
“Do you think we’ve anchored off the island on your map?” questioned Luther.
“Probably,” replied Innes, glumly. “I think we’ll soon be as dead as the poor soul I fished from the sea. I never did find out who he was – possibly a sailor who, on night watch, fell overboard from a passing ship and sought safety on the isle’s shore.”
“Don’t give up hope,” consoled Luther, who was also finding it very difficult to maintain his spirits under such trying circumstances. “It’s possible the boy might aid us yet. The only thing that seems impossible is the garbled story that dead man scrawled on the chart’s back: a wild tale of monsters and a fortune in precious gems – it sounds like something right out of a H. Rider Haggard novel.”
“Maybe,” admitted Innes in sombre tones. “But this I do know, lad: Chinese sailors don’t call it Èmó Dǎo, meaning Demon Island for nothing. A French expedition of 1904 ignored local legends and tried to survey it. Their ship was found at anchor with a crew of dead men aboard, and not a mark upon any of them to give a clue as to how they met their end. Even if Rama finds a way to free us the only place we can flee to is the island and whatever terrible secrets it holds.
“Call me a superstitious fool if you like, but the world often proves to be a stranger place than we imagine. The poor fellow was certainly desperate enough to brave the open sea on a flimsy bamboo raft. Something made him chance it. No, lad; a fortune in emeralds isn’t worth the danger to an old salt like me. That’s why I was satisfied with a single stone come by so easily. But Black Skull... well, the villain’s greed knows no bounds.”
It was now night and Luther heard Rama approaching with the evening meal. What was going through the boy’s mind was impossible for the Englishman to tell - every time he’d brought their meals since their first meeting he seemed in a deeply introspective mood. Conversation with the lad was virtually impossible.
“Curried fish again tonight, Rama?” questioned Luther with a friendly grin that he desperately hoped would break the impasse.
The boy looked furtively about; then slowly smiled. “Curry with a difference, sahib. I’ve added an extra herb that will put the crew to sleep. Do not eat what I now give you.”
“By God,” gasped Innes in elation as he jerked up from the bunk. “You mean you’re going to help us.”
“Quiet,” warned Rama as he put down the bowl. “The killers are not yet sleeping. Take this,” he continued as he removed a package from beneath his kurta and passed it through the bars to Luther. “I will return when the herb has done its work. Remain here until then.”
“The boy has more courage than I credited him with,” softly observed the captain as he watched Rama go. “What’s in the wrappings?”
Luther held up a key and two daggers. “Freedom,” he exalted.
**********
There seemed an eternity in the hour that dragged by after Rama’s parting. Both prisoners feared something had gone amiss, but at last the two chafing men glimpsed the glow of the Indian’s oil lamp coming towards them. His effeminate features were tense in the soft illumination of the lamp, which trembled slightly in his hand, but Luther, vastly relieved, could also see firm resolve in his steady gaze.
“It is done,” the boy quietly said when he drew near the brig.
“Thank God,” murmured Captain Innes as Luther unlocked their cell. “What now?”
Rama motioned for them to follow in utter silence. The trio moved down the gangway and heard faint snores coming from several cabins. The boy grinned, led them on. In but moments they had climbed the ladder to the deck and stood beneath the stars.
In the distance Demon Island bulked large against the heavens. It rose from the sea like an immense mesa. Rugged cliffs, crowned by thick forest, frowned down upon a narrow strip of beach whose white sand glistened in the moonlight. The ship rode at anchor, rocked by the gentle swells that laved the isle’s shore some hundred yards away in foaming surf that sung its lullaby to the night wrapped world.
For a moment the trio looked upon the peaceful scene, each finding it difficult to believe that beneath such beauty lurked hidden danger. Rama was the first to speak.
“Captain Sahib,” he whispered. “Before we leave shall we lower the longboats and set them adrift so the pirates cannot follow us ashore?”
“Brilliant idea, lad,” Innes eagerly replied. “Let’s set to it at once.”
In utter stealth and in a relatively short time the task was done until only a single longboat remained – one set aside for their escape. Rama moved towards it. He stepped gingerly around a pirate slumped upon the deck. The others followed as he led them noiselessly to the remaining craft. But then disaster struck – Innes stepped upon a creaking board whose sound seemed like thunder in the star gemmed quiet.
The men tensed. The buccaneer awoke. For a moment he stared groggily in drugged confusion at the escapees; then screamed a piercing warning cry as Luther kicked him in the head. From all about the ship other pirates began to stagger up, shouting startled queries. The Englishman swore. The drug the boy had used had been of insufficient strength, and now the roused and murderous cutthroats were about to fall upon them in a storm of wild rage.
* Endnote: A parang is the Indonesian equivalent of a machete. It is a useful tool, and also a deadly weapon in skilled hands.
A drug affected pirate staggered forward, drawn blade swinging. Luther blocked the clumsy stroke with his dagger, kicked the man in the groin. Another buccaneer rushed at Innes as the Englishman’s opponent collapsed to the deck. The captain ducked the fellow’s wild slash. The corsair screamed as Innes stabbed him in the thigh. He stumbled away, blood spurting from severed arteries.
Rama leapt back to avoid the third attacker’s sweeping blade, but the curled-over tip of his elephant trunk sword caught the boy’s clothing. Rama’s threadbare kurta tore in two as he was jerked off balance. The lad crashed to the deck, the fall striking him unconscious.
The callous villain towered over him, Chinese sword raised for the skull splitting blow. Luther hurled his dagger. The pirate gasped, fell lifeless to the boards as the other roaring buccaneers charged the escapees en mass.
“Over the side,” cried Innes as the Englishman jerked his dagger free from the corpse. “No time for the longboat.”
Luther swiftly thrust his dagger into his belt and caught up the limp boy. Both men plunged overboard. They hit the water in a mighty splash and struck out for the shore, dragging Rama between them. A flaring musket exploded in the night, then another. Both shots whistled wide of the swimming men.
By moonlight Luther saw dark figures staggering around the deck, drawn blades glinting. The cutthroats were awake but the soporific herb was still having a debilitating effect upon them. The men were clumsy. They got in each other’s way. Several fights broke out as toes were trodden on, which added to the general confusion.
The longboat was lowered ineptly, further delaying the chase. Then a pirate fell overboard and crashed head first into it, holing the craft. In but moments the only practical means of pursuit had sunk and all the raging buccaneers could do was hurl ineffectual curses at the fleeing escapees.
“I don’t think we can expect trouble until morning,” panted Luther as he carried Rama from the waves and staggered up the beach. They’re in no condition to swim.”
“Aye,” gasped Innes who stumbled after him. “We’ll rest by the cliffs and then try and find a way up. I don’t fancy climbing in the dark, but if they catch us on this narrow beach at daybreak we’ll be sitting ducks for their swivel guns.”
The two men reached the soaring escarpment and sagged gratefully to the soft sand. Luther laid Rama next to him and looked the boy over. The lad’s turban had come off and the long hair that it bound flowed down to his waist. The Englishman wasn’t unduly surprised – he’d heard members of the Sikh religion didn’t cut their hair. What did concern him though were the heavy bandages about the youth’s chest that could be seen through his rent kurta. No doubt a fresh injury had been inflicted upon him by the brutal pirates.
“The lad’s still unconscious,” said Innes, worriedly. “We’d better check his injuries. Who knows what those devils have done to him.”
Luther nodded. Both men removed Rama’s kurta, unwound the bandages about his chest, and then gasped at what their eyes beheld, for beneath the bandages was not the pectorals of a boy but the shapely breasts of a young woman that had been compressed to flatness by the binding cloth. Both men looked at each other in astonishment for a moment, and then Innes eased the loose fitting and light weight draw string trousers over the youth’s hips.
The captain cleared his throat. “Well, its conclusive then. We’ve a cleverly disguised young lady on our hands and not a beardless boy. I’d say she’s about eighteen.”
“What the hell are we going to do?” cried Luther in utter consternation as Innes pulled the girl’s trousers back on her. “If those pirates capture us ...”
The girl moaned, cutting off the Englishman’s words. Both men looked worriedly at her as her eyelids fluttered open. Innes tried to cover her with the rent kurta. The girl saw the state of her undress, assumed the worst. She cried in terror and scrambled madly out of reach.
“Easy, lass,” soothed Luther. “We saw the bandages and thought you badly injured. We were only trying to help. Neither of us will harm you. What’s your real name?”
The girl knelt on the sand, both arms flung protectively across her youthful breasts. Fingers of wind played with her midnight hair, lifting it about her like strands of ebon silk. Her large doe-like eyes regarded Luther with a competing mixture of hope and fear, and the Englishman wondered how he could have been so foolish as to mistake her for a boy. But still, who could have guessed that beneath those oversized and soiled garments was hidden this jewel of Eastern femininity.
“I am Sita,” replied the girl. “Throw my kurta to me and turn your backs that I may dress. Do this and I will know you mean me no harm.”
“Of course,” replied Innes as he tossed the ruined garment to her. Both men turned around. They heard the rustle of clothing, then the sound of sprinting feet upon the sand.
“Damn,” cried Luther as he saw the girl’s white garments fluttering in the wind as she ran. “She didn’t believe us.”
A roaring boom ripped apart the night. Sita stumbled, fell. The Englishman cursed. In an instant he knew the fluttering white clothing, illuminated by moonlight, had drawn the pirate’s vengeful fire. Luther was on his feet. He dashed towards the girl. Another blast shattered the stillness. Grapeshot whipped above Luther’s head. He dropped beside Sita as she tried to rise, pushed her down as Innes flung himself prone next to her.
“Your white clothes are an easy target in the moonlight,” he explained to the girl as he ripped the remains of the kurta off her back and flung the cloth away.
Sita fought him, struck at his eyes with claw-like hands, but was no match for his strength.
“You little fool,” he growled as he tore at her trousers. “It’s either nudity or death for all of us.”
Swivel guns roared. The night was cut by a multitude of flying shot. A hurtling slug grazed Sita’s leg. The girl screamed from pain and fear as Innes and Luther ripped her trousers off. Both men grabbed the weeping girl and half dragged half carried her along the line of cliffs.
Sita looked back. She saw the place where they had lain erupt in a spray of sand as the patch of beach was hammered by screaming grapeshot. The girl felt shamefaced. Both men had been trying to save her after all. Now she ran with them, hurling her lithe body in a racing sprint along the moonlit sand.
“Over there,” gasped Luther as he ran. “I think I see a way up.”
The trio slowed their headlong flight and stood panting heavily at the foot of a narrow trail that wound its way up a series of ledges in the towering cliffs. Innes followed the path with his eyes until it was lost in the shadows high above the straining man.
“They’ve stopped firing,” observed the captain. “But the devils might start again at any moment. This beach isn’t very long – maybe a hundred yards - and a lucky shot might get us. We’ll have to ascend in the dark, hazardous though it is.”
Both men turned to the girl. Sita stood slightly apart from them, one hand across her breasts, the other covering her loins. Luther’s heart went out to the girl as he thought of what she’d been through. It must have been a living hell trapped aboard the pirate ship and knowing what would happen if her disguise was penetrated. Considering what they’d been forced to do she no doubt thought that awful fate had reached its dire climax.
The girl tensed as Luther removed his seaman’s shirt. “Here,” he said, hoping his act would reassure her. “Take this and clothe yourself as best you can.”
“Thank you, sahib,” Sita replied, her face eloquent with gratitude as she took the proffered garment.
After all had caught their breath, the trio began their ascent. Captain Innes was in the lead, claiming his mountaineering experience would enable him to judge the safety of the path. Sita followed with Luther at the rear.
They struggled up the steep and perilous path. Moonlight but dimly illuminated the trail, and in places the way was obscured by impenetrable shadow. Innes tripped several times and came near to falling off the narrow ledge and plunging to his death. They pressed on. The switchback path steepened and grew even more dangerous.
Sita’s feet slipped on a stone loosened by the captain’s tread. She toppled back with a startled cry. Luther swiftly grabbed the falling girl about the waist, but her momentum overbalanced him. The Englishman fell with the girl in his arms. Knifing fear stabbed him as they rolled towards the edge, went over. He flung out an arm. His hand caught a rock, clung fast. Sita gasped in terror as they swung above black emptiness.
“Hold fast,” cried Innes as he slid down towards them.
A loose shower of pebbles from the captain’s hasty descent struck Luther’s face. The Englishman winced. His arm trembled with the terrible strain of supporting his weight and that of the terrified girl. He was drenched in perspiration from the effort and he could feel his sweating fingers begin to slip. Innes would never reach them in time.
“Grab the edge,” he gasped to the girl.
Sita clawed the ledge, pulled. Luther heaved. She slid painfully onto the path as Innes arrived in a further shower of stones and muttered oaths. The panting captain grasped the trembling girl, jerked her to safety. The Englishman fought the searing pain of his tortured muscles. He grabbed the edge with his other hand, dragged himself back onto the narrow way and collapsed as waves of agony coursed through his trembling limbs.
“God,” gasped Luther. “My life just flashed before my eyes.” Then with a wry grin: “And what a boring thing it was until just now.”
It was some time before the three could resume their ascent. It was incredibly hazardous but the lights from the pirate ship far below were like a warning beacon that spurred them onwards. They forced their weary bodies at a snail’s pace up the winding trail. The journey was agonizing in its slowness and tension – all were anxiously aware that another slip might be their last.
With the passing of another twenty minutes they reached the cliff top and staggered to the safety of the night dark forest. Here the trio collapsed on the loamy soil and then sank almost immediately into exhausted slumber.
**********
It was early morning. Captain Innes lay some distance away, soundly asleep. Luther leaned against a tree observing the slumbering girl. Sita lay on her back, both arms up around her head. The girl’s face was turned slightly towards him, and he gazed in raptness at her delicate features as fine as the cameo of a master jeweller.
The Englishman’s gaze was drawn downward by the hand of Eros. Several shirt buttons had been torn off when Innes had dragged Sita to safety. A bare breast lay exposed. Luther touched the girl’s large dark areolas with a lingering glance of tingling desire. His eyes passed onward to her loins, now exposed as her shirt had ridden up during sleep. One graceful leg was straight, the other bent at the knee. Longing came upon him as he glimpsed her womanhood that peeked enticingly through the silken threads of her wispy pubic hair.
Sita sighed. She stretched with sensuous grace. Her eyes opened and she caught Luther in his act of observation. The girl blushed as she quickly straightened her apparel. The Englishman looked away, now shamefaced that he’d taken advantage of the sleeping maiden.
There was a moment of awkward and embarrassed silence; then Luther blurted out a heartfelt apology.
“I’m truly sorry. Your beauty drew my gaze as light draws the eyes of a man lost in darkness. I pray your forgiveness is as great as your loveliness, and that you may absolve my moment of mortal weakness.”
The girl smiled. “Your graceful words bespeak a noble heart. A poet is easily forgiven. But please, sahib, see that it does not happen again.”
Luther nodded. “How did you come to be on that pirate ship?” he asked, wishing to change the subject.
“It is an Eastern custom for unwanted baby girls to be abandoned in the gutters,” explained Sita, bitterly. “A Catholic mission in Italoa rescues them, and as they mature they are trained as domestic servants for the wealthy. I am one of those who were saved.”
“You’re a Catholic, then?” he asked.
“I was,” she replied. “But I converted to the faith of my ancestors whilst working in the household of a high caste Hindu family. I made no secret of it, for most of the priests at the mission are kindly and tolerant,” she continued, “but others as I was to discover, are as wicked as the devil. As I grew to womanhood I drew the lustful gaze of Brother Joseph.” The girl shuddered for a moment as she recalled that fateful evening.
“Until we are married we live on the grounds of the mission. Brother Joseph came to my room at night, several months ago. He tried to rape me. To defend myself I struck him on the head with a heavy brass candlestick. I ... I didn’t mean to kill him.
“When I realised he was dead I panicked, disguised myself as a boy and fled. It was night. I was alone and frightened, wandering the streets. The lamps of a tavern were an island of light in the darkness. I went in. It was crowded with rough seamen. One bought me a drink. I was too scared to refuse. The cheap wine must have been drugged because when I woke up I was aboard the Black Skull’s ship. Then you came and saved me,” she concluded with a sob.
Shanghaied, thought Luther. Poor girl, it’s been one nightmare ordeal after another. The Englishman placed a comforting arm about the weeping maiden, realising she’d been overcome by the remembrance of the horrors she’d endured. “It’ll be all right. You’re safe now,” he soothed.
Sita raised her teary eyes. Her heart was moved by his comforting touch, his gentle words, which roused long suppressed passions. Each felt drawn to the other by the genesis of desire. Their lips met in a spontaneous act of mutual longing.
Then an explosive hiss broke the morning stillness and shattered all hopes of love and safety with its savage sound.
The couple broke apart. Captain Innes jerked awake. All stared at the creature thrusting through the ferny undergrowth. The thing looked like a crocodile in general appearance. Its legs, however, were long and powerful and it lacked the sprawling gait of the reptile it superficially resembled. The bony head was ant-like in appearance with huge shearing mandibles that snapped hungrily and oozed green drool.
The back and flanks of the beast was covered in a tough hide, grey-green in colour and with the texture of pineapple skin. A yellow stripe ran down the monsters back to the tip of its lashing tail. The thing was horror incarnate and it was rushing at them with all the fury of a charging boar.
“Run,” cried Luther as he hauled Sita to her feet.
The couple fled, Captain Innes in the lead. Leaves and branches tore at the trio as they fought their way through the dense undergrowth. Behind them they heard the creature swiftly following. The thing was hot upon their heels and the hindering verdure impeded swift escape. Luther knew it would be only a matter of time before the drooling horror overtook them.
The Englishman ducked behind a tree, drew his dagger. He waited tensely for the beast, knowing what he was about to do was suicidal, but prepared to sacrifice himself for the others. Sita sensed Luther wasn’t following. She looked back; tripped on a root, fell. The girl crashed to earth, struggled up. The creature burst through a clump of ferns. She screamed as it bore down upon her, its vicious mandibles snapping like monster shears.
Luther leaped on the creature as it hurtled passed his hiding place. He crashed down on its back, locked one brawny arm about its neck and his legs around its girth. The monster bucked madly, startled by the sudden impact. Sita jumped clear. She saw the maddened beast spin about, crash against a tree.
The Englishman hung on with the tenacity of a limpet. He struck at the creature’s eye with his dagger, missed. The beast rolled, tried to crush him against the ground, but the loamy soil cushioned its weight and Luther plunged his blade deep into its bulging eye. The thing uttered a piercing screech, convulsed in agony. It shook its body like a dog and flung the Englishman away.
Captain Innes, who had halted at the sound of the commotion turned and saw the monster lurch erect. He dashed towards the Englishman to offer aid as the creature’s scissoring mandibles darted for the man. Luther barely avoided the thing’s clashing mouthparts by madly scrambling to the beast’s blind side.
Sita tore a stone from the soil, ran forward and hurled it at the creature in utter desperation as the thing sought Luther with its fearsome jaws. The missile struck the monster’s ugly head. The beast turned on her in utter savagery. The girl leapt clear of its snapping jaws. Luther flung himself upon the beast as it prepared to charge the Sita. He plunged the dagger deep into its remaining eye. The thing stiffened as the blade penetrated its brain. It staggered for a moment, then collapsed and died with a final convulsive twitch.
Luther rose from the bloody corpse, his limbs trembling from delayed reaction to his horrifying ordeal. He caught Sita in his arms as the sobbing girl flung herself upon him.
“I thought you were going to die,” she cried as she drew comfort from his warm embrace.
Innes stumbled to a halt beside the couple, his arrival forestalling their intimacy. The captain leaned against a tree. He was breathing heavily as he looked at the dead creature with a mixture of fascination and revulsion.
“God, what a devil of a beast,” gasped Innes. “See, lad; there’s more truth in that dead man’s tale than you imagined.”
Luther could only nod in breathless agreement with the captain’s statement, and wonder what other perils they’d have to face.
**********
About an hour had passed – a wearisome age of struggle through thick rainforest, stifling humidity, draining heat and swarms of biting insects that only added to the trio’s torment. Luther now stood on a slight acclivity and despite his tiredness looked in wonder at the city and its surrounding fields that stretched out before him.
The metropolis was laid out in a neat plan of streets that were a pleasing geometry to the astounded Englishman’s eyes. Each house was built on a stone platform several feet in height, and raised further on timber pillars carved in the likeness of stylized plants. Pyramidal roofs of thatch overhung broad columned galleries that provided abundant shade from the tropical sun. The walls were of woven bamboo and the unglazed windows were shielded by latticework. Intricate staircases gave access to the homes.
Luther’s gaze was led by the major thoroughfare to the centre of the city. Here the architecture was predominantly of pearly hued stone, and its grandeur had all the hallmarks of the seat of power. The dominant building, possibly a palace or temple complex, was raised on a massive rectangular stone platform at least fifty feet in height, six hundred in length and three hundred in width. Soaring, graceful columns sculptured in the likeness of palm trees prevailed architecturally.
The massive pillars, inscribed with bands of unknown hieroglyphics picked out in blue and gold, supported a shallow, stepped pyramidal roof of burnished and lacquered copper tiles. Smaller stepped pyramids of stone that were decorated with mosaics rose at each corner of the huge platform, and between them broad stone stairways descended to the surrounding plaza, the boundary of which was marked by square ponds whose central pyramids shot jets of water from their gilded apexes.
“Lord,” gasped Luther in astonishment. “It’s a city, and with pyramids reminiscent of Egypt. But how could this be?”
Captain Innes, who had also been gazing thoughtfully at the metropolis, offered a conjecture based on his interest in ancient history and the origin of civilization.
“Aye, lad; the architecture does have the look,” confirmed Innes. “Augustus Le Plongeon, a French antiquarian and traveller,” continued the captain, “theorised that in the distant past there existed a continent called Mu, which sank beneath the Atlantic Ocean. According to Le Plongeon ancient Egypt was founded by Queen Meaux who, with others of her people, survived the cataclysm.
“Personally, I’ve always felt that Mu was located in the Pacific, and what we see before us seems to support my idea. My guess is that this is the remnant of Mu’s ancient civilization, which survived the disaster and has somehow maintained its isolation from the modern world.”
“Incredible,” gasped Luther. “Who could have guessed ...”
The Englishman’s remaining words were cut short by Sita’s sharp warning.
“Quiet,” cautioned the girl. “I think I hear something coming up behind us.”
Both men quickly turned, scanned the dense undergrowth. Luther’s wariness increased as he heard the rustle of a body passing through the greenery. Innes touched his companion’s shoulder and pointed at a movement in the bush.
“Behind that tree,” whispered Luther to Innes and the girl. “We may yet elude the thing.”
But this sound advice was too late - the undergrowth was thrust aside, and a wild figure in barbaric finery burst upon the scene. In an instant the Englishman absorbed the sight. The warrior’s loincloth was a hide of leopard-like appearance. His fantastic ebony mask was crested with a fan of feathers that would have been the envy of a peacock. In one hand he held an oval shield striped in black and orange, and in the other he grasped a short spear whose leaf-shaped head was bronze. Leather sandals clad his feet, and a necklace of ivory and amber beads completed his apparel.
For a moment a startled tableaux ensued, then the savage warrior leapt forward with a wild cry and thrust his spear at Luther. The Englishman jumped aside, winced as the darting weapon grazed his ribs. Innes came to his aid, hurled himself at the foe, dagger stabbing in a killing stroke that was foiled by his opponent’s shield.
The warrior’s foot lashed out, smashed against the captain’s shin. Innes cursed, stumbled back. Luther yelled. He dashed at their savage foe before he could finish the hobbling man. The snarling warrior spun round and met the Englishman’s wild charge with a swift spear thrust. Luther parried the darting weapon and slashed his foeman’s arm with the dagger. The warrior grimaced, slammed his shield against the Englishman and sent him crashing to the ground.
Luther lay stunned upon the earth. The warrior loomed over him, spear raised for the fatal thrust, a wild cry of savage triumph upon his lips. Innes lurched at the Englishman’s opponent, but knew he’d never reach his friend in time. It was then that Sita stepped from behind the breadfruit tree and hurled its fruit into the attacker’s face.
The warrior grunted as the large breadfruit splattered against his mask. It was a brief distraction, but enough for Luther to gain the upper hand. The Englishman grabbed his assailant’s ankle, jerked his leg and felled him to the ground. The fellow cursed furiously as the three adventurers piled on him and pinned him to the earth.
“Don’t kill him,” Luther urged as they struggled with their writhing foe. “We’ve got him. He’s helpless now.”
Helpless he may have been; but not so the other watching figures who lay hidden in the undergrowth. No sooner had Luther spoken than the savage band exploded from concealing greenery in a wild rush. A net was hurled. It fell upon the trio and their captive. In an instant Luther, Innes and the girl were surrounded by six masked warriors who pressed sharp spears to their flesh and stilled their struggles with warning pricks and shouts.
“Clever devils,” muttered Innes as their hands were being bound behind their backs after the removal of the net. “That fellow distracted us while his companions got behind us during the commotion. Satan take me, I should have realized there’d be more than just one of them.”
Luther was deaf to the captain’s words. It was Sita he was worried for – bound and helpless and in the hands of what he feared were brutal savages. Wild emotion gave rise to horrid scenes – the girl pinned to the earth, screaming piteously as she was ravaged by her bestial assailants and he, forced to watch, utterly powerless to save her. He met her eyes and saw the look of fear in them. It wrenched his heart.
The girl forced a brave smile. “I’ll be all right,” she said with more calmness than she felt.
Further conversation was cut short. They were hauled to their feet and forced to march towards the city while one warrior raced ahead to inform the authorities of their capture. Luther settled a little. It appeared Sita wasn’t in any immediate danger for the moment, so he took the opportunity to observe his surroundings and gather as much intelligence on the enemy as he could.
Their captors were olive in complexion, though darkly tanned by exposure to the sun. Their wavy hair was long, coal black, and worn in a queue similar to the Chinese. Hidden by masks, the Englishman couldn’t be sure of the warrior’s features, but felt that if their coloration was any guide then their physiognomy would be more European in appearance than Oriental.
Shortly, they came to the fields of the city and were marched down one of the many dirt roads dividing them. Peasants, naked but for loincloths, were reaping wheat-like crops, others were loading the harvest into carts hitched to pygmy elephants, each no larger than a pony. Scattered about the fields were the huts of the serfs - round houses with conical roofs of thatch. A nearby group of harvesters looked up from their reaping and Luther gazed at stolid faces of Mediterranean appearance.
They passed on through the fields towards the city, entered its broad avenue and traversed its cobbled length, enduring the curious stares of the colourfully dressed populace as they went about their daily business. With the passing of another twenty minutes they were mounting the stairway of the administrative complex in the heart of the metropolis. Officials, their heads shaven and tattooed with blue patterns, moved purposely about, ignoring the captives with an air of supercilious pomposity.
Luther looked curiously about. The architectural style was even more impressive close up, and despite his predicament he couldn’t help but marvel at the artistry of the soaring gilded columns, dynamic frescoes and rich mosaics his wandering eyes beheld. They moved into the building and down an impressive colonnaded hall, arriving shortly at the public audience chamber of the complex, which was illuminated by skylights.
Here, the trio were marched towards a dais at the room’s further end and beheld a figure sitting on a mahogany throne carved in the likeness of stylized felines, upon each side of which were huge paintings of wild battle scenes. As they drew near they saw the throne’s occupant was a withered greybeard dressed in purple robes trimmed with gold. He eyed them coldly as the warriors forced them to kneel before his haughty presence.
“I am Kapre, supreme ruler of Mutu,” announced the ancient in strangely accented English. “Know you that it is forbidden for foreigners to set foot on our sacred shore.”
“You ... you speak English,” gasped Luther, in unbridled amazement.
“You are not the first to come upon our soil,” explained Kapre in steely tones. “There was another – a sailor who fell overboard from a passing ship. It has been many centuries since someone from the outside world has come to Mutu, for a golden poisonous gas regularly rises from the ocean floor around our island, killing all who sail too close to our shore. I spared the seaman’s life and learnt his language so I might know what transpires beyond my realm. But I should have killed the fellow for he stirred up dissent with his wild ideas, and then escaped with gems he had stolen from the temple.”
“The sailor I rescued from the sea,” murmured Innes to himself.
“Silence,” shouted Kapre, as he raked them with a furious gaze.” Then a wicked smile came upon his narrow lips as his rheumy eyes fell upon the girl. “Ah, what exotic beauty is this that the sea has cast upon our land?” he ruminated. Then, gesturing to a warrior: “Bring her to me so I may better see,” he ordered in his native tongue.
Fear seized Luther as a warrior dragged the struggling girl towards Kapre. The Englishman tried to rise but was forced back down by sharp spear points. Both men could only watch in sick horror as the ancient reprobate traced the lissom figure of the girl with his lustful gaze. Sita screamed as the king tore her tattered shirt away and clasped her youthful breasts in his withered bony hands.
Sita’s shock swiftly turned to hot outrage. The girl cursed the king. She stomped upon his toes. Kapre howled and clutched his foot in a most unroyal manner. Fear rode Luther as the warrior hurled the girl to the floor and pressed his weapon against her naked breast. The Englishman tried to struggle up but again hard spear points shoved him back upon the floor.
“Keep still,” warned Innes. “You can’t help her if you’re dead.”
Both men could only watch in breathless silence as Kapre raged with vile oaths. Luther silently cursed the monarch when he spat upon the girl. A wild look came upon the Englishman’s face and Innes feared his friend would make a suicidal move. Luther quivered with rage, barely held in check. He vowed he’d wring Kapre’s neck like a chicken if he ever got the chance.
At last Kapre's verbal tempest began to wane. The king sat panting upon his throne as he glared with all the venom of a deadly serpent at the girl. Sita, though terribly afraid, managed to return his stare with dignified disdain. To her he was a king in name alone.
“She-devil,” spat the king whose pride was more badly injured than his foot. “You could have been a favoured concubine. But now you shall be condemned along with your companions to the Labyrinth of the Serpent God and all its horrors.
“Abandon hope of mercy and succour,” he continued, viciously. “Warriors have already been dispatched to kill any other landing party from the ship that must have brought you here.” The king laughed cruelly. “That is if the poison gas hasn’t already done its work.” Then, speaking to his warriors in their mother tongue: “Take all three to the Temple of Sisutu.”
The prisoners were hustled roughly from the presence of the king. Luther looked at Sita with admiration, but in his heart there was fear of the unknown but no doubt dire fate she’d have to face.
“What you did was very brave,” he said. “But perhaps it would have been better if...”
Sita’s sharp look cut off his words. “I will not be a prostitute to any man,” she decried. “Would you have me play the whore to save my life? If the king favoured handsome men would you submit to his defiling embrace, sahib? Ah, I see by the look upon your face that you would rather die.”
The Englishman fell silent at that telling rebuke as they were marched along another colonnaded hall which led to the rear of the expansive building. Clearly, Sita’s time among the pirates had given her some degree of worldly education. Shortly, they emerged into a park-like garden, and here the captives saw another platform similar but smaller to the one the palace complex was built upon. Both platforms were connected by a graceful bridge of arches that spanned a hundred yards of intervening space.
A circular temple had been built in the centre of the smaller platform whose corners bore rearing serpents twenty feet in height. Luther gazed upon the building with a mixture of awe and trepidation. The structure was of black marble as were the serpents. Its roof was a scaled dome of gold. Gilded ophidians entwined its many soaring columns. Their eyes – each one a huge emerald – seemed to glitter sinisterly at the Englishman in a most unsettling manner. There was no doubting the craftsmanship and artistic skill of the builders, but to Luther the overall effect conjured up all those visceral fears to which mortal flesh is prey.
The masked warriors herded them through the flowering garden, across the bridge and to the imposing temple’s portico where four priestesses awaited the prisoners’ arrival, alerted to their coming by some unknown means.
Luther gasped as he looked upon the youthful women. All were completely nude and entirely bereft of hair. The only decoration each maiden bore were serpentine tattoos as black as night that wound about breasts, belly and thighs in coiling and erotic configurations.
“My word,” murmured the captain. “They’re snake worshippers, if I’m not mistaken.”
The men’s more than passing interest in the women must have shown, for Sita nudged Luther with her toe and raked him and Innes with a scathing glance as hot as molten iron.
“Sahibs,” she hissed. “Do you think these women plan to entertain you? Their hands will bring you death, not pleasure. You should be thinking of escape.”
This dark appraisal was like a bucket of icy water in the face. The prisoners tensed as the priestesses approached. The foremost girl bore a snake entwined sceptre. She held it beneath Innes’ nose. The captain flinched when green gas erupted from its gaping mouth. He coughed, reeled, collapsed to the ground.
Fear struck Luther. He felt he had nothing to lose – the gas was obviously a deadly toxin. The Englishman’s foot lashed out as the priestess approached Sita. He had to save the girl. The votaress uttered a startled cry as the sceptre was booted from her hand. The warriors pounced. One went down, felled by Luther’s vicious knee to his groin, the others grabbed the Englishman, hurled him to the earth.
Sita screamed, fought. Three priestesses grabbed her by the hair, forced her down. Luther kicked, bit. Fists pounded him. The sceptre was shoved in his face by the outraged votaress. Green vapour enveloped him. Its biting odour made sneeze. He gasped air. Veils of darkness swept cross his vision as the gas began to take effect. Luther’s brain reeled. Blackness closed over him like the waters of an inky sea. All thought was blotted out.
**********
Luther regained consciousness. For a moment he simply lay where he was, surprised that he was still alive. The gas, it seemed, had simply anesthetized him. Thoughts for the others spurred him to action. He sat up and looked dizzily about. Light, passing through a heavy grill set in the middle of the high ceiling, illuminated the hexagonal chamber whose mosaic floor was a complex pattern of interlocking serpents.
The six walls of the room each had a central door sealed by a massive stone slab with a serpent’s head carved upon it. The overall impression of the chamber was that of a subterranean vault.
A soft moan made Luther turn. He saw Innes and the girl behind him. Like him they had been stripped of all apparel. Sita sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“Where are we?” she mumbled groggily as the captain awoke with a muttered oath.
“You are in the Labyrinth of Sisutu, the Serpent God,” replied an unknown voice.
Luther turned with a start. He saw a shadowed figure rise from a corner of the room. The Englishman scrambled erect. He tensed. Their fellow prisoner stepped into the dim light. It was a woman, full figured and about forty years of age. Luther’s countenance became grim as he gazed at the serpent tattoos emblazoned upon her shameless nudity.
“Peace,” continued the woman as she smiled and held her palms outward in a gesture of friendliness. “I am Amuna, former High Priestess of Sisutu,” she continued, addressing the trio. “I mean you no harm, and am familiar with the land from whence you come.”
“How can it be,” asked Innes suspiciously, “that a High Priestess finds herself imprisoned?”
Amuna’s charming smile disarmed the captain. “I understand your doubts,” she replied. “A sailor was washed upon our shores. Kapre, our king, learnt his language as did I. His name was Thomas More, and he expanded my horizons with his knowledge of distant lands and new ideas. All of this made me to question my beliefs.
“I sought to introduce reforms to our society based on what Thomas told me. The king opposed my efforts. He tried to assassinate Thomas whom I helped escape about a month ago. Since then there has been a standoff between myself and Kapre that ended yesterday when I was overthrown by priestess Irisu in a cunning coup.”
Amuna’s pretty face hardened at the mention of that woman’s name. “I’ve long suspected that she-devil coveted my position. No doubt she conspired with the king to overthrow me and thus assume the role of High Priestess.”
“But what will happen to us?” questioned Sita. “As High Priestess you must know many things that can help us escape from our predicament.”
“I fear we must face the end as bravely as we can,” replied Amuna. Prisoners are lowered through the locked grating in the ceiling. Each door of this room opens upon a short passage leading to a subterranean maze beneath the temple courtyard. I know the way to freedom, true, but the labyrinth is infested with giant serpents that are incarnations of the god. Without weapons we are powerless against them.”
“Good Lord,” exploded Luther. “You mean we’re to be sacrifices!”
“Yes,” answered Amuna solemnly. “None have ever escaped. It is proof that the enemies of Sisutu cannot triumph, and in Mutu the king derives his right to rule from the power of the god.”
“The usual dangerous combination of religion and politics,” observed the captain, wearily. “I’ve often wondered...”
Innes’s further speculations were cut short by a hissing voice that seemed to come from all about the chamber and made the captives nape hairs stand on end with its uncanny weirdness. Sita, despite her embarrassing nudity, drew near to Luther. The Englishman placed a comforting arm about the girl as Amuna translated the unseen speaker’s words.
“Know oh enemies of Sisutu that you cannot triumph. The god will crush your bones in his coils. You shall be devoured. Stay where you are or tread the maze. Your fate shall be the same – a warning to all those who oppose the will of Mutu’s righteous deity.”
A gong rang out its brassy tones. Amuna fell silent. All six doors began slowly sinking into the chamber’s floor disclosing the dark portals, each as inviting as an open grave, each one leading to the snake infested maze. A cover was slid over the grill in the ceiling and the room was plunged into utter blackness.
Luther spoke to the others. “Although the odds are stacked against us, I say we go forward rather than wait here for the snakes.”
“I agree,” responded Innes. “Positive action in the face of death is the best antidote to fear. Amuna, will you lead the way?”
A fancy speech, thought Luther. But I fear one rather hollow when we have to face the end. The Englishman kept these depressing thoughts to himself as they linked hands and followed the former High Priestess as she groped towards a doorway.
“Place your left hand against the wall as I do and follow it,” advised Amuna. “This is the secret of finding a way through any labyrinth. If it weren’t for the serpents,” she added wryly, “the god would be thwarted every time.”
They passed onward into further darkness. It closed about them, black and forbidding as they wended through the twisting bowels of the subterranean maze. The walls were dry and cold to their touch, the atmosphere oppressive, claustrophobic. Luther sensed Sita’s fear. He gently squeezed her hand.
“It will be all right,” he said.
The girl smiled in the darkness. “Thank you, sahib,” she replied as they moved onward through utter blackness.
Innes was ahead of them following Amuna. The two were conversing in low tones, the captain relating their adventures that had led them to being on the island when the woman suddenly called for silence. All tensely froze. Through the impenetrable blackness came a slithering sound – something large and heavy was moving across the floor towards them.
Chill fear shot up the Englishman’s spine. At the sound the full realization of their predicament crashed down upon him. They were blinded by darkness, trapped in a maze with hideous man-devouring serpents and without weapons to defend themselves. He wanted to scream, to flee in mindless panic. His mind was a whirl of mad thoughts.
Luther felt Sita press something into his hand. To the Englishman’s surprise it felt like a clasp knife, slightly moist. His fingers fumbled with it, freed the blade. The elation of hope came upon him – it was a weapon, but where could she have possibly concealed it?
The slithering of the serpent grew louder, more rapid. It had sensed them through the darkness and was coming for the kill. There was no time to question the girl. Only later did the answer dawn upon him.
“I’ve a knife,” he shouted to the others. “Press against the wall and let me pass.”
Sita clutched him. She kissed him passionately. Luther clasped her slim form against him, felt the swell of her youthful breasts, her racing heart which matched his own. How ironic that they should find love with death so near.
“Hurry,” called Innes. “The brute is almost upon us.”
He released the girl, unfolded the blade, and groped passed the others to the lead. Something cold and scaly suddenly brushed against his foot. Luther’s skin crawled at the touch. He struck downwards with the knife. The blade hit stone in a sparking miss. A coil was flung about his legs. The Englishman cursed, fell and dropped the knife.
Crushing steel cables seemed to have wound themselves about his calves. The darkness was filled with the horrified shouts of his helpless companions. Luther felt the constrictor wind its body about his thighs, his stomach. The pressure was intense, agonizing. His senses reeled. A greater darkness threatened to engulf him. The Englishman struggled, thumped the serpent with his fist, but in his heart knew that he was doomed.
Luther’s hand flailed in agony, struck something hard and sharp. He grasped the object more by instinct than conscious thought. The familiar outlines of the knife impressed themselves upon his mind. Calling on the dregs of strength, he struck savagely in a wild assault of frenzied blows.
The constrictor hissed in agony, writhed. Luther gasped as its fangs sunk into his arm, latched on. He struck at its head, but could feel his blows rapidly weakening. Blood spurted. His companions’ anguished cries echoed in the narrow confines of the stygian passage as he battled in a life and death struggle with the monster.
The knife slipped from his hand. He was spent. All the brute had to do was give a final squeeze with its mighty coils and he was finished. He lay limp, helpless, awaiting the end. But the end didn’t come. The constrictor was flaccid, dead. His last stab had penetrated its brain, killing it instantly.
“Sahib... Oh, John,” cried the girl in the sudden silence. “He’s dead,” she sobbed, “he’s dead.”
“I... I’m all right,” gasped Luther. “It’s the snake that’s dead.”
Sita stumbled to his side. Her groping hands felt the sticky wetness on his skin.
“Oh, you’re bleeding,” she cried as they embraced.
“It isn’t all my blood,” he explained as the others helped the girl unwind the dead serpent from his body. “I’ll be all right. I just need a moment to catch my breath.”
The party rested for a while, then moved on through the gloom with Luther in the lead, guided by Amuna. With the passing of about an hour three other serpents had fallen victim to Luther’s avenging blade. The brutes were huge, powerful and had the benefit of darkness; but in the end they were dull witted creatures not used to their prey fighting back. If it hadn’t been for this and the advantage of the knife the Englishman knew they wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Fifteen minutes had passed since the slaying of the third constrictor when Luther paused for a moment and searched the darkness.
“Is it my imagination,” he asked Amuna, “or is it getting lighter?”
“You are not mistaken,” confirmed the woman. “The light is filtering down from the labyrinth’s exit. We must be careful now. Don’t race ahead in eagerness - there may be other serpents in front of us.”
The party advanced with silent caution. Shortly, they came upon the lowest tread of an upward leading stairway. Here the illumination was stronger, and when Luther looked above he saw a grillwork door of intertwining serpents through whose apertures passed the blessed light. The sight was like a balm to the Englishman’s soul after having endured the terror of what seemed interminable blackness and the frightful denizens of the labyrinth.
His joy, though, was short lived. A murmur of many voices also filtered down from above and sent his hopes plunging into an abyss of dejection: a multitude was above them – probably guards. A single warrior perhaps they could have overcome, but an entire company of well trained men... Well, that was impossible. Luther looked back at his companions and saw in their faces his own sense of hopelessness, and the thought struck him that for their sake he could not give way to despair.
“I’ll go up and see,” he said. “Things may not be as bad as they seem.”
“John is right,” agreed Amuna. “I will go with him. The rest of you stay here.”
The two crawled up the stairs and in but moments were peering over the highest tread and across the door’s threshold to the bedlam in the room beyond. The chamber was crowded with twenty priestesses, all in evident distress. Some lay upon the floor, bloodstained bandages wrapped about their injuries, others moved about in a daze while many wept. Clearly, something was terribly amiss.
Luther tried to pull Amuna down when she sought to rise. “I know what I’m doing,” she responded, sharply.
The Englishman let go and watched anxiously as she stood and moved to the door. Luther went cold when the woman called out in her own tongue to her people. He prayed Amuna’s judgement was sound. She called again and a hush fell over the priestesses. A moment of amazement ensued; then the women rushed to the door in a babble of voices.
Luther tensed as they crowded around the exit. Anything might happen when a throng is at fever pitch. Amuna spoke, called for calm. Gradually they settled and a conversation began in saner tones, which cumulated in the opening of the door.
“It’s all right,” Amuna called to her companions. “Come out. My followers will not harm you.”
“What has happened?” queried Luther as Sita and the captain began their ascent.
“From what I gather Black Skull and his pirate crew have attacked the city. The king has been captured along with Irisu, who deposed me. My priestesses have barricaded themselves in this chamber to escape the marauder’s violations and now look to me for succour. The enemy has weapons of fire and thunder that kill at great distances. Our warriors, armed only with swords and spears, have been thoroughly routed.”
“How?” gasped Luther in amazement. “Aha, they must have built a makeshift raft and come ashore on that. That I can understand, but Mutu’s population must be thousands strong – far more than a shipload of buccaneers.”
“You forget,” explained Innes who had overheard the conversation as he came up beside his friend, “that Cortez and his conquistadors subjugated the Aztec Empire, and they were armed with nothing more than swords and primitive firearms. Black Skull and his men have modern weapons - those shotguns and the ammunition looted from Seaspray - which makes their bloody task so much easier.”
A sudden crash and the sound of splintering timber drew the jumpy throng’s anxious gaze. The girls babbled out their terror. Amuna gave an order. The crowding priestesses fell silent, stood aside. Amuna passed through their midst followed by Luther and the others. The Englishman saw a massive door of polished wood at the room’s further end, glimpsed it vibrate under another heavy blow.
“It’s the pirates,” explained the former High Priestess. “They’ve brought axes and are chopping through the door.”
“Is there another way out?” asked Sita as more savage blows were rained upon the quivering portal. Her voice was edged with fear; for she knew full well the horrid fate of all when those brutal reprobates burst within the room.
“Follow me,” beckoned Amuna as she swiftly walked towards a high backed, throne-like chair of intertwining serpents which faced the exit of the maze. “Here,” she explained, “is where the High Priestess used to await those condemned to Sisutu’s labyrinth, should by some miracle they survive, but it has been centuries since anyone has bothered with the ritual.”
Amuna pressed a hidden catch upon the seat as the chopping of the axes increased their keen tempo. Luther heard a faint click and saw the chair swing outwards from the wall in the manner of a door to disclose the dark entrance of a secret passageway.
As the hidden exit was revealed the room’s door splintered under the cutthroats relentless, savage blows. The sound was like the cracking of a whip. It sent the priestesses rushing for the open bolthole. They piled up against the exit, jammed the way. Luther cursed, Amuna called for calm. More wood splintered and an axe head protruded through the rapidly failing portal. The pirates uttered wild cheer of savage pleasure. The women panicked even more at this dark presage, tore at one another in blind dread as the frenzied lash of terror fell upon them.
Another wild blow tore a ragged hole in the chamber’s door. A hairy hand thrust through. It groped for the latch like a questing spider. Luther swore, dashed for the portal. He stabbed viciously. The pirate howled, jerked back his bleeding limb. A shotgun was rammed through the breach. The Englishman leapt aside, barely avoiding its roaring discharge.
Luther, driven by almost suicidal desperation, leapt forward. He dropped his knife, grabbed the barrel of the gun, jerked with wild strength. The pirate holding the weapon was yanked forward. His head collided solidly with the door. The man let go the gun, collapsed. The Englishman pulled the weapon through and sent a roaring blast of buckshot back among the crowding enemy.
Pirates screamed, fell. The survivors attacked the door in a fury of flying axes. Timber splintered like matchwood under their wild assault. Luther went cold. The buccaneers were berserk with unbridled lust and rage. They meant to breach the door regardless of the cost and take revenge on those within the room.
The Englishman threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Amuna had brought order to the chaos and most of the women were within the secret passage. The door splintered further under the pirates’ furious attack, drawing his worried gaze. Luther aimed through the gap at a glaring face. He squeezed the trigger, swore when the weapon clicked empty, then slammed the gunstock into the bearded countenance. The pirate staggered back, blood gushing from a mouth full of shattered teeth. Luther snatched up his knife, ran. A shotgun roared. Buckshot plucked his hair. The Englishman sprinted for the bolthole.
“Hurry,” cried Sita who had hung back. “They’re almost through.”
The portal shuddered, buckled. Luther put on an extra burst of speed. The door crashed down. The howling pirates burst within the chamber as Luther reached the entrance of the secret way. A shotgun was raised. Sita and Amuna grabbed the staggering man, jerked him forward. The weapon roared and blasted splinters from the chair as it swiftly swung closed against the wall.
Luther leaned heavily against the cool stone of the tunnel and let Sita wipe the sweat from his brow as Amuna pulled a lever that lowered a bronze door which secured the passageway from within.
“That was a very brave thing you did,” said the Indian girl. “But I nearly died from fear for you. Please, John, do not take such wild risks.”
“For you I’d risk everything,” he replied. Then, gazing at her exotic beauty he was suddenly swept by overriding passion that made him kiss her with fervent desire. Sita’s inhibitions fell away. She pressed her lithe body against his own with urgent need, responding to his rising passion.
Captain Innes cleared his throat. “You know lad, this passageway isn’t as dark as the labyrinth.”
The couple broke apart. Both were flustered and embarrassed by their moment of unrestrained ardour.
“We must move swiftly,” explained Amuna, focusing the group’s attention on more important matters. “According to my fellow priestesses the bulk of the pirates are looting the temple’s inner sanctum. We must go there and see what can be done to stop them.”
The party set off down the hidden way whose ceiling had been painted with a luminescent substance that shed its wan light upon the dusty passage. With the passing of about ten minutes they had arrived at their destination. Luther moved to Amuna’s side as she gazed through a spy-hole to the room beyond.
They’re in there,” she whispered. “More are coming through the door to the inner sanctum. Some are wounded – the pirates who just attacked us, I imagine.” The woman stood aside. “Have a look,” she said to Luther.
The Englishman pressed his eye to the door’s Judas hole and peered within the temple’s inner sanctum. The room was a colonnaded circular chamber illuminated by shafts of sunlight slanting through round skylights in the domed roof. Statues of mythical beasts – scaled feline creatures with flaring cobra heads – sat before each column. An ouroboros – a serpent with its tail in its mouth – encircled the room, and had been depicted in tessellations of white and gold upon the black marble floor.
A kind of apse formed part of the inner sanctum, and here stood the solid gold idol of Sisutu. The statue was six feet in height. The body was man-like. The head, though, was that of a serpent with emeralds for eyes. The eidolon stood stiffly erect, its poise reminding Luther of a Greek Kouros. The idol’s serpentine phallus was also as rigid as its body, for it was used in the strange orgiastic rites of the god’s nubile devotees.
On either side of the idol were large urn-like censers of pure gold encrusted with emeralds that would have put even world famous gems to shame. Here were gathered the bulk of the buccaneers, busy prizing the gems from their settings as they laughed and jested with one another at their good fortune. Luther’s eyes narrowed as his gaze fell upon Black Skull. The cocky rogue stood apart from his ribald fellows, regarding them behind his mask with sardonic amusement.
The Englishman’s expression became even grimmer. At the pirate leader’s feet lay Irisu, Amuna’s enemy. The High Priestess lay unmoving. Her wrists had been bound to her ankles. Her thighs were spread apart. It was clear what had been done to her. Next to her, bound hand and foot was Kapre. The king’s head moved slightly indicating that he, at least, was still alive.
At least thirty brutal pirates occupied the room, each armed with a miscellany of deadly weapons. Luther silently raged. What could they possibly do against such odds, armed only with a single puny knife between them?
A click drew Luther’s eye from the spy-hole. He gasped in utter horror. Amuna had opened a secret door and had stepped within the room. One pirate saw her, shouted. In an instant the eyes of every buccaneer were upon the woman.
Black Skull was no exception. His gaze devoured her Junoesque nudity with the rabidity of a depraved satyr.
“A hundred emeralds to the man who brings the wench to me,” he cried.
A dozen burly pirates charged the woman, leering catcalls erupting from their throats.
Cold fear came upon the Englishman. Amuna had inexplicably exposed them all to overwhelming danger and there was nothing he could do to save the day.
As the buccaneers swept down upon Amuna the woman did the very thing they least expected – she raced towards them with all the speed of a sprinting antelope. Luther watched in disbelief her suicidal move. The gap narrowed. Black Skull grinned evilly at the thought of laying grasping hands upon the fullness of her bouncing breasts. A god-like sense of power came upon him. With his men and modern weapons he could do anything – plunder the city, rape its women, set himself upon the throne as king.
Suddenly, Amuna veered aside. She sprinted to the statue of a serpent headed feline, and managed to press its eye just before three pirates seized her from behind. She screamed, writhed as their molesting hands tormented her. Then the others joined their debased comrades with indecent glee.
Luther had seen enough. The sight of Irisu’s violated corpse had jolted him to the core. He couldn’t stand by and let this happen to another woman. He had a knife and in their eagerness to seize Amuna the pirates had left their guns behind. The Englishman charged out the door, ignoring the protests of Sita and the captain. His only thought was to drag Amuna back within the safety of the secret passage.
The Englishman fell upon the buccaneers in a rush of savagery. His knife flashed. One man fell, blood gushing from a mortal wound. The others let go the woman, turned on him like snarling hounds. Luther swung his blade in a hissing arc. The pirates leapt back. One cursed as flashing steel slashed a bloody line across his midriff.
“Run for the passage,” he cried to Amuna as Black Skull spewed oaths and ordered all his men to fall upon the loan defender.
The woman scrambled up. One pirate grabbed her arm. Luther leapt swiftly at the brigand as he struggled with Amuna. Another pirate hurled himself on the Englishman. Both went down. More buccaneers piled on him. Hands clamped about his throat as the bulk of the savage band charged forward to aid their wild comrades.
Sita sprang from the secret way. She had to save the man she loved – her bravery a sharp contrast to the huddling, frightened priestesses in the passage. Innes cursed, followed swiftly at her heels. Both raced madly for the Englishman as Black Skull’s motley crew of cutthroats bore down upon them in a howling rush.
Luther gasped for breath. Faces ugly as awaiting death leered at him. It seemed the end. He glimpsed Sita and Innes rushing to his aid, with the wild throng of buccaneers but yards away. He wanted to cry out, to shout at Sita to retreat, but his throat was clamped to breathlessness by choking hands.
All seemed lost when a whirring sound impinged upon the ears of Luther’s brutal assailants. Several buccaneers looked up. They screamed – the snake headed feline had reared upon its feet. Terror jolted the cutthroats attacking Amuna and the Englishman. They lurched to their feet, stumbled back in mindless terror and collided with the other mob of pirates who had skidded to a halt in utter shock. Men cursed, tumbled in a tangle. The thing’s head moved with a mechanical clicking. Its crystal eyes fell upon the buccaneers as they madly scrambled up.
The cutthroats paled under the chill inhuman gaze of those glassy orbs of darkness. Several panicked, fired wildly at the automata. Buckshot bounced of its silvery adamantine scales like peas off armour plate. Then, to add to the invader’s panic the nine other serpent-cats whirred to life, and arose to confront the horror stricken men who huddled in a frightened and cowering knot.
Amuna flung herself on Luther as he, too, sought to flee before the terror of what seemed like ancient magic that could bring inert statues to unholy life.
“Stay down,” hissed the woman. Then to Sita and the captain who were but yards away staring in frozen, wide eyed shock at the animated sculptures. “Keep still. The guardians – relics of Mu at the height of its brilliance - will attack anything that moves.”
Luther’s gaze fell upon the pirates. He had calmed sufficiently to realize the guardians were powered by sophisticated machinery, but not so his credulous enemies who were in the thrall of terror of the supernatural. A serpent-cat took a step towards the frightened cutthroats. A venomous hiss exploded from its gaping jaws. It was the final straw for the overwrought enemy. The panic stricken men dashed in wild undisciplined flight for the exit.
Black Skull watched in disbelief as the grotesque serpent-cats sprang upon his fleeing men with all the swift agility of living tigers. Monstrous jaws closed upon the buccaneers. Men died screaming horribly, impaled by the mechanisms sabre fangs. Others fell to bloody ruin beneath the automata’s ripping, scythe-like talons.
In but moments the temple’s inner sanctum had become a charnel house of horror. An automata, as large as a draft horse, stalked passed Black Skull. In its mouth was the mangled corpse of a pirate that dripped blood gruesomely. The mechanism looked directly at the pirate captain. It was the paralysis of terror that saved him. Up til now the murderous rogue had never known true fear.
The serpent-cat, not sensing any movement, swung its baneful gaze away. The automata’s glittering eyes fell upon the surviving pirates who jammed the exit in a wild tangle of desperate and frightened men who screamed and shouted like the crazed inmates of a madhouse. The mechanism dropped its gruesome burden, bounded with its brothers towards the struggling mob of pirates, and fell upon the hapless looters in a raging storm of steely fangs and disembowelling claws.
Black Skull tore his gaze from the scene of wild carnage in which his men shrieked out their lives in a hellish drama of blood-soaked butchery. His eyes locked upon Luther and his companions at the chamber’s further side. All the pirate captain’s plans, his hopes, his dreams of wealth and glory had come to ruin at their interfering hands.
The hellfire of burning rage infused him. The unholy thirst for vengeance drove away all fear. His wild eyes dated back to the rampaging automata, now fully occupied with their gory task of rampant slaughter. The king lay at his feet, bound and helpless. Kapre saw death in Black Skull’s stabbing gaze. The sovereign’s pleading cry was silenced as the ruthless pirate crushed his throat with a brutal stomp. Black Skull grinned as he watched his victim choke to death, taking pleasure in the savage act which was an entree to his coming feast of dark revenge.
No eyes were upon the pirate captain as he slipped behind a pillar and then darted to another. Closer he came to his unsuspecting victims, nearer still until he stood but yards away behind them. His cruel and crafty gaze fell upon Sita. A devilish plan had formed in his cunning mind. Black Skull drew his dagger. He pounced from behind the pillar and fell upon the girl like a rabid wolf. Sita screamed. Her hair was grabbed, her head jerked back. Cold steel was pressed against her throat. Luther cursed, made a move to aid his love.
“Keep back, or she dies,” hissed the pirate captain; then he laughed evilly at the Englishman’s distraught expression.
It took all of Luther’s self control to master his wild fear for the girl. “You’ve lost, Black Skull,” he said, desperately. “Look – your men are all dead. Release Sita, and we’ll let you go unharmed.”
Again, the pirate captain uttered a derisive laugh. “It is you who shall die,” he hissed. “I’m not a fool. Those statues are driven by machinery. I see they attack only those that move; now, all of you on your feet and walk towards them.” The buccaneer chuckled. “I shall enjoy... how do you English put it? Ah, yes... seeing you hoisted by your own petard.”
“Don’t,” cried Sita, desperately. “He’ll kill me anyway.”
Black Skull swore. His dagger flashed. Sita screamed. Innes cursed. Luther looked in horror as blood dripped from the slice across her breast.
The Englishman stood. His face was pale, his expression grim. The others rose to stand silently beside him.
Black Skull grinned behind his mask. “Good,” he gloated. “Now walk towards your death.”
The trio turned, moved towards the automata. Luther’s mind was a raging storm of emotions. The woman he loved was in the hands of a ruthless fiend. No matter what they did the callous pirate would kill her in the end. All they could do was gain some time for the girl by obeying the bastard’s order, and hope that somehow she might escape on her own.
Luther desperately wracked his brain for some means of saving Sita, but no plan came to his churning mind. He looked at Amuna. The woman seemed strangely serene, enviably so, as if she was walking through a garden rather than towards a gruesome end. Luther glanced at Innes. Sweat beaded the captain’s brow, his face was pale and his step a little unsteady, but his eyes were fixed bravely on the serpent-cats as he walked towards them.
The mechanism’s looked up from the bloody corpses. A rush of fear shot through Luther as their inhuman eyes fixed upon him. The things advanced, their gore stained jaws agape. Closer they stalked, nearer, now mere yards away – the essence of utter menace. The things crouched, prepared to pounce. Black Skull laughed, Sita cried in fear. The Englishman prepared himself for the bitter end.
Then a strange thing happened – the automata’s movements slowed. The soft whirring of their inner mechanisms died away. Silence and stillness came upon the scene. The powerful springs that actuated their incredibly complex clockwork had finally wound down.
Amuna turned to the cursing pirate. “Your ploy has failed.” She calmly pointed out. “Release the girl. Take what jewels you wish and go in peace.”
“Do you think I’m a fool?” he cried, angrily. “Why should I be satisfied with the handful of gems in my pockets when I can have it all? I’m not beaten yet. I’ll gather more men, return and have my revenge.” Black Skull uttered an ugly laugh. Sita cried as he pressed his blade to her throat and drew more blood. “Back you fools. Let me pass or the wench dies.”
The trio watched in helpless rage as the cunning rogue edged towards the door. Each knew that with Sita as his shield they were powerless to act against him. Luther was in a state of utter turmoil. If he rushed the pirate then the girl would die. But if he did nothing... well, a worse fate undoubtedly awaited the woman he loved. The Englishman groaned in an agony of indecision. He fell to his knees, overwhelmed by raw emotion.
Black Skull’s derisive laugh jerked up Luther’s head. He sprang erect, a feral look upon his face. Again, the ugly vision of Irisu’s violated copse burst upon him. It was far better for Sita to suffer a clean death. But it was all too late – the irrepressible buccaneer had passed through the door and vanished from sight.
Luther yelled wildly. Innes leapt upon him as he ran after the escaping pirate. Both went down in a tangle of threshing limbs.
The Englishman screamed like a maniac. “Let me go,” he cried. “Let me go.”
Innes pinned the struggling man with a wrestling hold. The captain slapped him. The shock of the heavy blow tamed Luther’s wildness.
“You’ll only get her killed,” warned Innes. “If we can ambush the blackguard in the jungle we’ve a better chance of saving her. Pull yourself together, lad. Only clear headedness can save her now.”
“I... I guess you’re right,” panted Luther as the captain helped him to his feet. “But how can...”
“There is a tunnel that leads to the cliff top pathway,” informed Amuna. She quickly divulged the location of the passage and concluded: “I cannot come with you. The king is dead, and the city is in turmoil. I must stay and bring order form the chaos. Go swiftly, and may your gods be with you.”
Luther and Innes departed with a brief farewell after having hastily armed themselves with shotguns and daggers from the dead, and clad their nudity in pantaloons from the slain. Both men raced through the secret passageway, tore passed the frightened huddle of young priestesses and sprinted down a diverging path. Fear was a burning spur to the hurtling Englishman. A scourge of sickening visions drove him on – the woman he loved, naked, pinioned beneath Black Skull, his brutal thrusts tearing horrific screams from her writhing body.
It was a nightmare journey for the running man. Tormented by wild thoughts, he raced through the featureless passage that gave no indication of the nearness of his goal – the succour of the fair Sita.
Luther, after an interminable time of sweat drenched effort, staggered to a halt beside an upward leading ladder. He leaned upon its bronze rungs as Innes stumbled to a stop beside him. Both were panting like spent greyhounds, and it was some time before each man had regained sufficient strength make the climb.
“Come on,” said Luther, fiercely, as he craned his neck and gazed above. “God, I hope we’re not too late.”
Both men began a hasty ascent, the Englishman in the lead. In but moments Luther came to the stone trapdoor. He slid back its heavy bronze bolt and shoved against the barrier. He cursed – it wouldn’t budge an inch. The Englishman began to sweat. The door was ancient. With the passing centuries who knew how much accumulated soil lay upon it – an inch, a foot, more?
Grim determination came upon the man. He hadn’t come so far to fail the woman he loved. Resolutely, Luther gathered his strength. His muscles bulged with effort as his corded arms and thighs exerted desperate power against the stubborn barrier. The Englishman groaned, heaved. The door gave a little. A thin trickle of soil rained down upon Innes. The captain muttered a seaman’s oath as Luther, with a wild cry, flung his full strength against the mulish portal.
The door exploded outwards in a spray of dirt and humus. Luther levered himself from the shaft, breathing heavily. He extended a hand to Innes and helped the captain out. Both men stood, looked about. Luther grinned. They had emerged near the cliff top path, and in the bay below he could see the pirate ship at anchor.
“We’ve made it,” he said, exultantly. “Thank God – the ship’s still there.”
But the Englishman’s joy was short lived; for no sooner had these words passed his lips than two wild buccaneers – sentries left to guard the path - burst from the surrounding greenery and fell upon the pair in a storm of whirling blades.
Both men leapt apart, ducked. Whistling swords missed their heads by inches. Luther flung himself on his opponent in a desperate tackle – there was no time to reach the gun slung across his back. The pirate went down cursing. They crashed to earth. The Englishman grabbed his foe’s sword arm. They wrestled desperately, head butting each other with the ferocity of wild bulls as they rolled upon the ground.
The pirate got on top of Luther. The grinning cutthroat broke the Englishman’s hold and swung his weapon with a savage cry of triumph. Luther desperately jerked his head aside. The sword's heavy pommel grazed his ear as it crashed against soil. A rush of wild fear lent Luther strength. The Englishman grabbed the snarling fellow’s sword arm with a pinning hold; thrust his fingers into his opponent’s eye.
The buccaneer howled, dropped his blade and jerked away. Luther reared up. His fist thudded savagely against the cutthroat’s jaw and sent him crashing to the ground. The Englishman snatched up his enemy’s sword. The pirate’s despairing scream turned to a bubbling gurgle as razor steel swiftly sliced across his throat.
Luther turned from the bloody corpse. He saw Innes pinned to the ground, struggling desperately with his burly foe. His antagonist had drawn a dagger, now inches from the captain’s throat. The Englishman darted forward, sword thrusting. The pirate glimpsed his sudden movement, rolled away and leaped to his feet.
The two protagonists came together in an angry clash of ringing steel. The desperate buccaneer blocked Luther’s singing blade, dodged another wild cut. The Englishman advanced on his crafty foe. The pirate stooped, flung a handful of dirt into his opponent’s face. Innes cursed as he saw Luther stagger back, blinded by the cunning trick. The buccaneer advanced, grinning evilly, dagger poised for a gutting stroke.
Innes hurled himself at the man. The pirate turned, distracted from his prey. Luther stepped forward, swinging wildly, blindly – a desperate move. The pirate screamed as the whistling sword, more by luck than skill, struck him in the temple. The dagger slipped from his nerveless fingers. He collapsed to his knees, and sprawled lifeless upon the ground.
“You got him,” cried Innes as he leapt away from the still madly swinging Englishman.
Luther desisted. Both men were breathing heavily. The Englishman squatted and cursed in pain as his streaming tears slowly washed the dirt from his eyes.
“I’ll look for water,” said Innes, worriedly.
“There’s no time,” replied Luther as he carefully wiped away the soil. “Drag the bodies into the bush and cover any blood with dirt and leaves. Black Skull might be here at any moment. He mustn’t suspect a thing.”
Innes quickly set about the task and by the time he’d finished Luther could see again. Then both men concealed themselves in the shrubbery from which their erstwhile assailants had sprung, and settled down to wait.
Time passed with intolerable slowness. Luther fretted, assailed by all manner of frightful worries for the girl. Several times he was on the verge of racing off through the jungle in a desperate search for Sita, and it was only by an extreme effort that he managed to reign in his wild impulse. Black Skull had to pass this way in order to reach his ship. But if he, Luther, were to tear madly off into the bush he might easily miss the pirate.
More long minutes crept by, then a rustling sound impinged upon the alert ears of the waiting men. Luther’s head jerked up. He tensed. Innes held up his hand in warning and shook his head. A birdcall sounded – a signal to the now dead sentries Black Skull had left behind. But Sita’s rescuers had anticipated this - Luther and the captain began to snore in imitation of heavily sleeping pirates so the lack of counter-sign would not arouse suspicion.
When Black Skull heard the sounds of slumber his temper exploded at duty’s dereliction. He stormed through the undergrowth, cursing venomously. Luther and Innes waited breathlessly. The Englishman’s face was tense with worry. This was probably the only chance they’d get to rescue Sita. If something should go wrong ... He forced the thought aside, peered through the concealing bush and glimpsed the wrathful pirate captain rapidly approaching.
Luther’s knuckles whitened on his shotgun. His body was like a coiled spring, Black Skull now but yards away. Fear pricked the Englishman – there was no sign of the girl. Had she escaped or was she dead? Luther signalled Innes, Bothe men burst from the shrubbery, weapons raised.
Black Skull halted, amazed. Then two other pirates – survivors of the automata’s bloody rampage - emerged from the greenery, dragging the stumbling girl, now bound and gagged to stifle her weeping cries. The pair, like their leader, stiffened at the sight of menacing guns, their hands frozen in the act of pawing Sita’s naked breasts. A rigid tableau ensued for a breathless moment – the pirate captain and his men caught off guard by the ambush; Luther and Innes startled by the unexpected appearance of additional foes they hadn’t countered on having to deal with.
The wily pirate captain was the first to recover from the shock. He dived for the shelter of a shrub whilst shouting an order to his henchmen. One pirate jerked a pistol up; fired at the same time Innes swung his shotgun at Black Skull’s hurtling figure. The stillness was shattered by roaring gunfire. A bullet slammed into Innes’ ribs. His shot went wild, shredding greenery. He tumbled to the ground in bleeding agony.
Luther cursed. He had hesitated to fire for fear of hitting the girl. It was a split second delay, but enough for his enemies. The second pirate had torn the shotgun from his back and thrown it to his shoulder. Sita threw herself against the man before he could squeeze the trigger, knocking him to the ground.
The Englishman was desperate – Innes was down, possibly dead. He was outnumbered and outgunned. The pistol wielding pirate had flung himself to the ground. Luther leapt. His foe’s weapon exploded. A slug grazed his arm as it whistled passed. There was barely enough space between Sita and her captors. The Englishman was forced to fire.
The pirate screamed as buckshot ripped into him. Luther turned. He saw the surviving buccaneer grab Sita by the ankle as she tried to kick him in the head. The girl fell, her leg jerked out from under her. Luther raced madly towards the pair, gun raised like a club – if he fired this time he knew he’d kill his love for sure. The Englishman brought his weapon down as the pirate swung his up. The two guns struck each other. A deafening roar erupted; then a searing flash of pain, and Luther knew no more.
**********
Luther opened his eyes. He was dazed and weak from loss of blood, and his bandaged head throbbed abominably. It took him several moments before he could comprehend the sight of the weeping girl kneeling over him, her long hair veiling her face from his confused gaze. Though now clad in the ill fitting, bloodstained garments of a pirate, the Englishman thought her a vision of angelic loveliness. He reached out and gently touched her arm as he spoke: “Sita, are you hurt?”
Sita looked up. “Oh, John,” she cried. “You’re awake at last. No, I’m not injured,” she continued and smiled as he wiped away her tears. “I weep only from worry for you. Vishnu be praised that you live.”
“And praise whatever other gods there are as well,” added a familiar voice.
Luther turned his head and saw Innes leaning against a tree. Blood-soaked bandages – strips of cloth torn from the garments of the slain – bound his ribs. He looked haggard but very much alive, much the Englishman’s joyful relief.
“One of my ribs deflected the slug,” explained the captain. Then, ruefully: “I’m afraid I fainted from the shock and pain, and when I came to the fight was over. All I could do was free Sita. It was she who saved your life – kicked in the head of the blackguard who shot you and also bandaged our wounds.”
Luther touched his injury. He vaguely remembered the stock of his gun striking the barrel of his foe’s weapon. It was pure luck that the blow had deflected the pirate’s aim. He had come within a hair’s breadth of death. The wound to his skull stirred up memory.
“Black Skull,” he gasped. “Where is he? ... Dead, I hope.”
“Escaped,” replied Sita, who was then was forced to restrain her wounded sweetheart. “Neither you nor captain Innes are in any condition to pursue that brute. Besides, it is too late. I glimpsed him slip down the cliff side trail and row the raft to his ship some time ago.”
Luther uttered a lurid profanity. “Help me stand,” he said. “I’ve got to see what that devil is up to.”
Sita looked worried, but readily assisted the Englishman to his feet. They walked slowly to the cliff edge, but did not approach too closely, for Luther’s wound made him most unsteady upon his feet. Innes, more seriously injured, had sense to stay where he was, merely asking his companions to relay what they saw.
The Englishman looked across the ocean. From the vantage of height he easily saw the pirate junk moving out to sea, her sails billowing in the steady breeze. Luther silently cursed. Black Skull was escaping with the skeleton crew he’d left aboard his ship. An ugly vision arose within the Englishman’s mind – the ruthless buccaneer returning with more cutthroats, better armed and equipped, all funded with the emeralds he’d already stolen.
Luther shuddered at the thought of the rapine they’d inflict on Mutu’s defenceless populace whose Bronze Age weapons (for they had fallen far from the sophistication of their forbears) were but child’s toys when compared to modern armament. Inwardly he raged at the horrid visions that arose in his churning mind – a city in flames, the streets strewn with dead, the screams of women as they were gang-raped by laughing piratical psychopaths.
Sita suddenly pointed, spoke; her words cutting through his horrid musings: “Look, what is that?”
Luther saw it now, too, and gasped in astonishment. He relayed the sight in response to Innes’ sharp query as to what they beheld.
“Why... why the sea looks as if it is boiling,” he cried in bewilderment.
It was a true enough description: The pirate ship, now about two hundred yards from shore, was caught in a roiling belt of water, perhaps a quarter mile wide, that arched about the isle’s rugged shore. As Luther squinted at the fantastic scene he saw the ocean boiled not with heat, but with bubbles – countless billions that rose up from the depths of the turbulent sea.
Consternation had broken out aboard the junk. The wondering Englishman saw pirates running about the deck, others peering anxiously over the side at the golden mist that had risen from the sea with the bursting of the myriad bubbles. Buccaneers muttered, pointed uneasily at the scintillating vapour whose wind whipped tendrils, beautiful yet somehow sinister, began enveloping the ship like the phantom tentacles of a ghostly kraken. It was then that Luther remembered Kapre’s description of the strange gas that had been the doom of many ships and their crews.
Death came swiftly, horribly. Men clutched their throats, staggered. They tumbled to the deck like swatted flies. Black Skull watched in fear and disbelief as his cutthroats perished before his eyes. The pirates were seized by fits. Their heels drummed an awful dirge upon the boards. Their eyes popped like fish. Their mouths foamed like rabid dogs. They gibbered madly as if their brains were seared with demonic visions from the blackest pit of Hell.
Black Skull looked wildly about. The sea was thick with vapours. Mist crawled across the deck – golden, deadly, implacable in its unstoppable advance towards him. There was no escape. The pirate captain drew his automatic. He looked at the weapon for a long moment, irresolute; then glanced at the corpses strewn about the deck. His destiny had been narrowed by pitiless fate to a choice of deaths – swift and clean, or agonizing.
In those brief and yet lengthy seconds he thought of all his stillborn dreams – dreams that would never be. A bitter laugh escaped his lips as slowly he raised the gun... A single shot rang out. Then the vapours covered the scene with their golden shroud, and all was still.
**********
Luther sat upon a palace balcony overlooking the metropolis of Mutu, and reflecting on the events of the last few days. Thanks to Amuna’s tireless efforts order had been restored to the city, which was now governed by the former High Priestess at the behest of the other nobles, for Kapre had died without fathering a successor, and it was deemed by many that her ability as an effective leader had been amply demonstrated.
Innes, at this moment was with Amuna. The two seemed to enjoy each other’s company, and Luther felt that something more than just friendship was developing between the pair. He was happy for his friend, for they were trapped on the island, not by the inhabitants, but by the unpredictable deadly eruptions of the mysterious and unknown gas that might snare them in its toxic vapours at the very moment of their leaving.
Sadness came upon Luther. He would, in all probability, never see friends and relatives again. They would morn for him, forever wondering at his mysterious disappearance. He grew despondent at the poignant thought of their suffering. Grief was a heavy weight upon him. His shoulders slumped in dejection.
The rustle of garments made him look up. Sita stood before him, clad in a diaphones robe of white and pale blue, breathtakingly beautiful. Her presence was a balm to this troubled soul. The girl approached and sat on the bench beside him. He gazed upon her and read compassion and love in her gentle smile.
They embraced, and his troubling thoughts were banished by the enchanting warmth of her endearing kiss.
THE END