barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
Quinn watched the longboat pull away from the pier, wondering if he'd made the right choice. With him stood Black, Anacoana, the mulatto Dras and the injured Lieutenant Davis. They stood on a narrow wooden pier extending from the gravel shore of Firewatch Island, a tiny spit of rock and sand of the north tip of Barbuda. The Ascot Marine lay off shore, awaiting the return of the longboat.
Bobo the monkey had explained things very clearly.
"The island's home to a black son-of-a-dog who stole my hard-gotten gains some time ago."
There was something deeply terrifying about the high-pitched voice speaking with such seriousness. His words were punctuated with occasional yelps and squeals.
"You'll go ashore, you'll find my riches, and you'll have them waiting on that pier by sunrise tomorrow. Or we start throwing your friends overboard."
And now they stood with their backs to the decrepit structures of Firewatch. They turned as one to contemplate a walled compound, within which lurked a leaning, vine-covered building of two stories with a bell tower on one side. The compound lay between the two spurs of rock that rose up out of the ocean here and formed the island itself. Beyond the buildings they could just make out the shore of Barbuda itself, a desolate-enough-looking place.
"Let's find a place to get the Lieutenant comfortable," said Black, offering the injured man a hand to lead him towards the walled compound. Dras and Quinn moved ahead while Ana helped Black with Davis. Slowly the little group crossed the tough grasses of the island soil, making their way towards the compound.
At first Dras had thought the gates were open. Which they were, after a fashion. The compound wall allowed entrance through a single arched gateway, which lay open -- the gates half-shattered and strewn about the inside of the compound. Dras and Quinn shared a glance and immediately drew their pistols.
Between them and the building two rows of unhealthy-looking apple trees rose, twisted and still carrying the ripe sweetness of spring. The front door of the building inside faced them beyond the trees. It, too, had been broken down. There were no signs of life.
Ana knelt and studied the splinters of the gate. She looked up at the others.
"This hasn't been broken very long. A day or so at most."
"I don't like this. Let's leave the Lieutenant here while we look inside."
Black and Ana guided the injured sailor under one of the apple trees and then they and the other two moved towards the front door. They stood looking in for a few seconds. The doors here, heavy oaken panels, had been splintered inwards as though by a battering ram.
Black studied the wreckage for a second.
"Somebody was trying to shore this up. There was a fight here."
Quinn spat.
"Let's hope it's over."
They moved inside, stepping over jagged panels of blasted oak. Beyond the entrance they found themselves in a broad chamber that reached up to the ceiling, surrounded by a wooden balcony reached by a flight of stairs.
Ana pointed at the flagstones. Masses of blood lay pooled here and there, and footprints tangled all about.
Dras turned and peered through a half-open doorway. With a quick motion, the mulatto led the others into a kitchen. The youth tucked away the pistol and immediately set about opening cupboards and assembling ingredients.
The others stared.
"Dras, what are you doing? This is no time for a meal."
The mulatto pointed outside where the sun slowly approached the horizon.
"Sun's going to be down soon," Dras' voice seemed higher-pitched than normal, "and Agwe likes his dinner at sunset. I'm going to cook him up something. Agwe tried to warn us once already, friends. Maybe we ought to thank him for that. Could be we'll be glad we did."
The others continued staring. Black spoke.
"I have no idea what you just said, lad, but you be about it right sharp. Very good." Nodding to the others, he indicated the rest of the building. "Let's have a look around while the lad... does whatever he's doing."
The stairs creaked as they mounted to the balcony. A number of doors led out from here, and they creaked their way along the unsteady timbers to the nearest. All three looked at each other, and shrugged.
Black pulled the door open. And yelled immediately, as something dug into his ankle.
His yell got even louder as he looked down and saw the top half of a wizened man clawing at his leg. Black recoiled so violently he nearly went over the railing.
The top half half of a wizened man began crawling towards him.
"Holy Mary preserve us. What in the name of -- "
There was a thunderous crack as Quinn leaned down and discharged his pistol into the thing's head at point-blank range. It slumped to the floor.
Quinn looked up.
"If it wasn't dead before, it sure is now."
Black could only nod, still trying to get his heart to slow down. He bent to study the thing.
The top half of a wizened man appeared to be exactly what it was. His flesh was weathered and hardened like driftwood. Its fingers ended in bony claws and its teeth, to Black's horror, had been filed to sharp points.
And it was the top half. There was no sign of the thing's hips or legs. Black peered past the horrible thing into the room. He and Ana and Quinn advanced inside.
It appeared to be a bedroom. There were signs of a struggle -- furniture broken and strewn about, drawers pulled out and dumped, and a number of broken bits of bone and flesh. Possibly enough to make the bottom half of a wizened man.
"What the... What sort of place is this?" wondered Black. "And what was that thing?"
Ana shuddered. "Zombi."
Quinn and Black studied the Arawk woman for a second. Then nodded.
"Yep. Zombi."
They looked through the room. Black browsed a bookcase and pulled out a slim volume bound in black with a French title.
"Le Roy Danz Leh June? Either of you speak-- "
Black's voice stopped suddenly and the former shipping inspector collapsed to the floor. Ana and Quinn turned to study his limp form. Ana caught sight of the book's cover and shuddered, giving an involuntary cry and springing back. Quinn frowned and tugged the book from under Black's leg.
The cover seemed to shift weirdly before his eyes, and Quinn was filled with the sort of unreasoning horror that the sight of maggots inspires. With a shudder he dropped the book and kicked it under the bookcase.
"Black? Come on, sir, there's a good fellow. The book's gone now."
Black uncurled himself and staggered to his feet.
"Can't honestly explain that, friends. The book seemed to... well, I don't quite know."
"We saw it, too."
"Should we look at the rest of this bookshelf?"
Quinn shook his head.
"No, I think we should not. I think I don't need to see anymore."
Ana reached out and took out a roll of parchment from the case. She unfurled it and read intently.
"The Mist of Xibalba. Wasn't Xibalba a place that Balaam was talking about it?"
Quinn nodded.
"That's right, ma'am. Xibalba. Hell. Where the Demon Lords live."
Ana studied the scroll a little more closely.
"I think this is supposed to protect us from them."
"Let's keep it, then. Just, you know, in case of Demon Lords."
Black looked around the room, filled as it was with strange totems and fetishes, shrunken heads, icons and symbols of unsavoury appearance.
"Who on earth lives in this place?"
*****
In the kitchen, Dras stirred a sizzling pan filled with sliced onion and garlic. With a heavy mortar, the youth pounded some peppercorns into powder and shook that into the pan, smiling at the pungent aroma released.
The fire in the stove was burning merrily, flames licking up through gaps in the cast-iron top. Dras reached out for some sliced carrots and threw those in, tossing them quickly as the edges browned in the hot oil.
Dras had learned to cook as a child, in the ghettos of Port Royal, and had found the skill a handy one for getting aboard ships bound hither and yon. One dark hand brushed the rapier's hilt. Father's sword. Dras had gone back to England, looking for Father. Father hadn't been happy to see his half-negro child.
Dras left England, swearing never to return. Aboard the Ascot Marine. And now, cooking on an island full of dead bodies.
With a frown, Dras looked around. Not so much full of dead bodies as... empty of dead bodies. Plenty of blood lay pooled around, but there was no sign of any dead bodies anywhere. The frown darkened.
Dras had acquired the habit of speaking to the stove while cooking.
"Where is everybody?"
"I don't know."
Dras screamed.
Bobo the monkey had explained things very clearly.
"The island's home to a black son-of-a-dog who stole my hard-gotten gains some time ago."
There was something deeply terrifying about the high-pitched voice speaking with such seriousness. His words were punctuated with occasional yelps and squeals.
"You'll go ashore, you'll find my riches, and you'll have them waiting on that pier by sunrise tomorrow. Or we start throwing your friends overboard."
And now they stood with their backs to the decrepit structures of Firewatch. They turned as one to contemplate a walled compound, within which lurked a leaning, vine-covered building of two stories with a bell tower on one side. The compound lay between the two spurs of rock that rose up out of the ocean here and formed the island itself. Beyond the buildings they could just make out the shore of Barbuda itself, a desolate-enough-looking place.
"Let's find a place to get the Lieutenant comfortable," said Black, offering the injured man a hand to lead him towards the walled compound. Dras and Quinn moved ahead while Ana helped Black with Davis. Slowly the little group crossed the tough grasses of the island soil, making their way towards the compound.
At first Dras had thought the gates were open. Which they were, after a fashion. The compound wall allowed entrance through a single arched gateway, which lay open -- the gates half-shattered and strewn about the inside of the compound. Dras and Quinn shared a glance and immediately drew their pistols.
Between them and the building two rows of unhealthy-looking apple trees rose, twisted and still carrying the ripe sweetness of spring. The front door of the building inside faced them beyond the trees. It, too, had been broken down. There were no signs of life.
Ana knelt and studied the splinters of the gate. She looked up at the others.
"This hasn't been broken very long. A day or so at most."
"I don't like this. Let's leave the Lieutenant here while we look inside."
Black and Ana guided the injured sailor under one of the apple trees and then they and the other two moved towards the front door. They stood looking in for a few seconds. The doors here, heavy oaken panels, had been splintered inwards as though by a battering ram.
Black studied the wreckage for a second.
"Somebody was trying to shore this up. There was a fight here."
Quinn spat.
"Let's hope it's over."
They moved inside, stepping over jagged panels of blasted oak. Beyond the entrance they found themselves in a broad chamber that reached up to the ceiling, surrounded by a wooden balcony reached by a flight of stairs.
Ana pointed at the flagstones. Masses of blood lay pooled here and there, and footprints tangled all about.
Dras turned and peered through a half-open doorway. With a quick motion, the mulatto led the others into a kitchen. The youth tucked away the pistol and immediately set about opening cupboards and assembling ingredients.
The others stared.
"Dras, what are you doing? This is no time for a meal."
The mulatto pointed outside where the sun slowly approached the horizon.
"Sun's going to be down soon," Dras' voice seemed higher-pitched than normal, "and Agwe likes his dinner at sunset. I'm going to cook him up something. Agwe tried to warn us once already, friends. Maybe we ought to thank him for that. Could be we'll be glad we did."
The others continued staring. Black spoke.
"I have no idea what you just said, lad, but you be about it right sharp. Very good." Nodding to the others, he indicated the rest of the building. "Let's have a look around while the lad... does whatever he's doing."
The stairs creaked as they mounted to the balcony. A number of doors led out from here, and they creaked their way along the unsteady timbers to the nearest. All three looked at each other, and shrugged.
Black pulled the door open. And yelled immediately, as something dug into his ankle.
His yell got even louder as he looked down and saw the top half of a wizened man clawing at his leg. Black recoiled so violently he nearly went over the railing.
The top half half of a wizened man began crawling towards him.
"Holy Mary preserve us. What in the name of -- "
There was a thunderous crack as Quinn leaned down and discharged his pistol into the thing's head at point-blank range. It slumped to the floor.
Quinn looked up.
"If it wasn't dead before, it sure is now."
Black could only nod, still trying to get his heart to slow down. He bent to study the thing.
The top half of a wizened man appeared to be exactly what it was. His flesh was weathered and hardened like driftwood. Its fingers ended in bony claws and its teeth, to Black's horror, had been filed to sharp points.
And it was the top half. There was no sign of the thing's hips or legs. Black peered past the horrible thing into the room. He and Ana and Quinn advanced inside.
It appeared to be a bedroom. There were signs of a struggle -- furniture broken and strewn about, drawers pulled out and dumped, and a number of broken bits of bone and flesh. Possibly enough to make the bottom half of a wizened man.
"What the... What sort of place is this?" wondered Black. "And what was that thing?"
Ana shuddered. "Zombi."
Quinn and Black studied the Arawk woman for a second. Then nodded.
"Yep. Zombi."
They looked through the room. Black browsed a bookcase and pulled out a slim volume bound in black with a French title.
"Le Roy Danz Leh June? Either of you speak-- "
Black's voice stopped suddenly and the former shipping inspector collapsed to the floor. Ana and Quinn turned to study his limp form. Ana caught sight of the book's cover and shuddered, giving an involuntary cry and springing back. Quinn frowned and tugged the book from under Black's leg.
The cover seemed to shift weirdly before his eyes, and Quinn was filled with the sort of unreasoning horror that the sight of maggots inspires. With a shudder he dropped the book and kicked it under the bookcase.
"Black? Come on, sir, there's a good fellow. The book's gone now."
Black uncurled himself and staggered to his feet.
"Can't honestly explain that, friends. The book seemed to... well, I don't quite know."
"We saw it, too."
"Should we look at the rest of this bookshelf?"
Quinn shook his head.
"No, I think we should not. I think I don't need to see anymore."
Ana reached out and took out a roll of parchment from the case. She unfurled it and read intently.
"The Mist of Xibalba. Wasn't Xibalba a place that Balaam was talking about it?"
Quinn nodded.
"That's right, ma'am. Xibalba. Hell. Where the Demon Lords live."
Ana studied the scroll a little more closely.
"I think this is supposed to protect us from them."
"Let's keep it, then. Just, you know, in case of Demon Lords."
Black looked around the room, filled as it was with strange totems and fetishes, shrunken heads, icons and symbols of unsavoury appearance.
"Who on earth lives in this place?"
*****
In the kitchen, Dras stirred a sizzling pan filled with sliced onion and garlic. With a heavy mortar, the youth pounded some peppercorns into powder and shook that into the pan, smiling at the pungent aroma released.
The fire in the stove was burning merrily, flames licking up through gaps in the cast-iron top. Dras reached out for some sliced carrots and threw those in, tossing them quickly as the edges browned in the hot oil.
Dras had learned to cook as a child, in the ghettos of Port Royal, and had found the skill a handy one for getting aboard ships bound hither and yon. One dark hand brushed the rapier's hilt. Father's sword. Dras had gone back to England, looking for Father. Father hadn't been happy to see his half-negro child.
Dras left England, swearing never to return. Aboard the Ascot Marine. And now, cooking on an island full of dead bodies.
With a frown, Dras looked around. Not so much full of dead bodies as... empty of dead bodies. Plenty of blood lay pooled around, but there was no sign of any dead bodies anywhere. The frown darkened.
Dras had acquired the habit of speaking to the stove while cooking.
"Where is everybody?"
"I don't know."
Dras screamed.
