by Jacob Nelson
She led him to the Captain’s bridge…then, pointing to the controls insisted that he travel due west for 13 nautical miles. “I suggest you do so. I would hate to have to kill you.” She ran her fingers through his hair.
John didn’t know if they were serious, but seeing as they hadn’t done anything yet, he didn’t move. Instead, in a loud voice he simply said, “No!”
“Maybe I can convince you through the death of one of your crew…” She said, turning to look over the crew as if to assess which one of them might be the best choice.
Something seemed to snap in John. It was as if he were standing to the side, while watching the action. He heard himself yelling, “No! Never!” His hands went up and he grabbed at the woman’s throat, tightening his grip, trying to strangled her.
However, before he could even get a good grip he was hit in the back of the head with the weapon held in the second’s hand. His eyes glazed over as he slumped to the floor.
“Too bad,” she said, sounding genuinely saddened, as she tossed her black hair back and smoothed it out with one hand. Then grabbing up his head by his jaw, she looked hard at him. “You are a beaut of a man.”
He spit into her face. She recoiled, dropping his head onto the decking. Then turning to Stripes, with eyes flashing as she wiped the spittle from her, she ordered, “Make him pilot this thing.”
The last thing John saw as he rolled up his eyes was Stripes’ evil grin. The shot spread his brains all over the controls.
“Well, it looks like we need a new pilot,” Stripes dryly commented.
The woman wiped her face once again. Then she scowled, as she surveyed the mess. “You had better hope you find a pilot, or you will be driving this dump.”
The grin quickly disappeared. “I’ll find someone immediately.”
The crew could hear her as she made this statement and a deathly still came over the ship.
Walking out on deck, Stripes yelled, “Looks like we are now short a pilot for this dump… who else here knows how to drive?”
The silence reigned.
He looked back at the woman who simply pointed to her watch. Stripes gulped.
Walking up to the crewmen closest to him, he grabbed one of them by the ear. The twist of the man brought a groan from the other that was tied to him, as the noose tightened on both of them.
“Who can drive this wreck? Answer me, or you will be next,” hooking his thumb towards the prostate form of what had once been the living John.
“Les…Les can…”
“Good boy. You might survive this…” Letting go of the ear, he straightened and called out. Where’s Les. Come on… let’s not make us make another mess.” A second passed. Then another. “OK, Les. This is how its gonna work. I’m gonna kill someone every minute until you answer, starting with this guy. Let that be on your conscience.” He grabbed up a crewman.
“Over here.” A weak voice called out. “I’m Les.”
“Smart man.” said Stripes. He let go of the crewman and shot him in cold blood before heading for Les.
“Let that be a lesson to you. When we ask you something, we want you to act. Got it?” To Patches he added, “Cut him loose.”
A moment later Les’ noose was cut loose allowing him to be drug free of the other man. Les was shoved forward over the deck to the Captain’s bridge. What he saw sickened him. He suddenly regurgitated, sending a projectile of chips and liquor over the blood soaked floor.
“Hope youse enjoy the mess youse made, because for the next few hours, this is your new home,” laughed Stripes, which brought out a glower from Les. Then cutting Les’ hands free, the pirate added, “Now take us thirteen nautical miles due west.”
Les weighed the anchor. Starting up the engines, he turned the boat to run west. As he drove off into the night, he glanced down at the form of John. Les was irate over Stripes’ actions. He had known John for quite some time, and though they may have had their differences, no one deserved what John got.
Chapter 30
Six tomes had been taken down, opened, read and replaced. Six tomes filled with the writings of the First Phantom. As he replaced the sixth tome, Devil came walking up. Kit noticed him and started stroking his fur. In response Devil licked his hand. Kit decided he needed a break.
He had finally set his mind to ask Old Mozz if there was some story that might help, as his search through the chronicle of the First had as of yet revealed nothing more than new questions.
Walking outside he asked the first Bandar he came across, Murek, if they had seen the man. He had. As Murek ran off to find Old Mozz, the Phantom found a shady spot to sit and think.
Old Mozz found him sitting outside under the shade of a tall tree, a bit far from the Skull Cave, yet just far enough away that the whole of the cave was visible. The view of the valley of the Bandar was an incredible one, whereas the only view the Phantom had from his vantage point was that of Skull Cave.
It was unusual to see the Phantom sitting anywhere but his Skull Throne, yet even more so in that direction. But since the departure of his beloved Diana, the Phantom certainly hadn’t been himself. Old Mozz decided not to mention the girl. But that left room for many other topics.
“Is there something troubling you, O Ghost Who Walks?” he called as he approached.
The Phantom got up and met Old Mozz as the old warrior made his way toward the tree. “What do you know about the history of the rings, O Teller-of-Tales?” he asked the old man.
“That is a tale that has never been told me, O Ghost Who Walks.” Old Mozz replied, though a twinkle lit up his eye. “May I suggest another story for you instead?”
The Phantom noticed the change in his expression. It made him curious. He had a few moments. “Please do.”
“This is from the days before you, as the Ghost Who Walks, were among us in the living…” began Old Mozz. His eyes glazing over a bit as he searched his incredible mind for the story.
“Back then, the Bandar were not so grand. We were small in terms of the jungle villages, and few tribes even knew we lived among the Deep Woods. Those that did know of us also knew we were protected through you, O Ghost Who Walks; though you were not reborn of the flesh yet.
“However, one such tribe did know of us. They did not care that the Ghost Who Walks was among us. They were our sworn enemies. They were called the Wasaka. They lived beyond the great waterfall of the rock… past the sacred grove of trees that call out your name… on the way to the great waters.
“They would come in the night and steal our young maidens and make slaves of our children. But never before could we catch them as they roamed the jungle, without home or territory.
“One night, the Wasaka came into our camp and stole the daughter of the Great Chief.
“When the Bandar woke, the Ghost Phantom made known unto the medicine woman what had happened. Great moaning was heard throughout the Bandar land.
“When the crime was found out, the Great Chief’s first-born son swore vengeance on the Wasaka. He followed their spoor through the vast and great land. He and his many warriors continued on until they came to the great waters. A land that smelled of salt and in which the days were cool and the nights were filled with many strange bugs. Never had the Bandar been so far from home before!
“There the son of the Great Chief waged war on the Wasaka. However, he and his men were captured. Not too many days later they were able to break free of the Wasaka, but in doing so Kua, the god of the Wasaka pronounced a curse of sickness on the Bandar that escaped.
“The Bandar did not know that Wasaka had cursed them. They all felt fine, and returned with a few sick ones that were captives, but overall every warrior and the daughter of the Great Chief were healthy. They boasted in their strength and feasted well on elephant!
“But the curse was strong if slow to act. Within the changing of the half moon, many of the captives already had signs of the curse, a sickness that only came on those that had set foot in the land of the Wasaka by the great w
aters.
“The curse was an evil one. It picked its victims randomly. Not every warrior was sickened. The victims felt first hot, then cold. They said they hurt as if they had been fighting a battle. The medicine woman explained that it was so; for they were fighting the night demons and the night demons were leaving them bruised and hurt, yet without signs of battle.
“For the demons entered into their bodies through their nose while they slept, causing coughing. As the demon moved through them, they would not be able to keep food inside, not even the elephant!”
‘How the pygmies love elephant!’ The Phantom smiled at this.
Old Mozz continued, “The warriors tried to sweat out the demons, but to no avail. Sometimes they thought they would win, but every few days the curse would attack again.”
‘Sounds like Malaria,’ thought the Phantom. Aloud he asked, “So what happened next?”
“Fearing that death was stalking the tribe, the medicine woman sent out the men that were left from the safety of the deep woods to the south in search of help to find the thornless green cactus with the star on top.”
‘African peyote,’ the Phantom identified in his mind.
“They traveled for three days, asking other tribes for help in their search. By the end of the third day, the cactus was found, and the men ran back to the Deep Woods.
“The medicine woman, saved one for herself for instruction, and mixed the rest into a potion that was given the cursed to drink. The potion helped the cursed from being too hot, yet the sickness prevailed.”
Old Mozz suddenly stopped speaking as if lost in thought.
“Go on,” insisted the Phantom.
Old Mozz shyly smiled and looking down at his feet softly spoke. “We ask your forgiveness, O Ghost Who Walks, for we were desperate.”
He continued, “The curse had by that time moved to the eyes of some. The demons inside turned their eyes yellow. They were too sick to move, yet still battling the night demons.
“Though the great sickness had not taken over all the warriors that battled the Wasaka, it still took over the daughter of the Great Chief and his second-born son.
“The medicine woman was fearful for she was commanded of the Great Chief to save his children, yet everything she had tried did not cure them.
“Finally she turned to the great instructional smoke she made from the thornless star cactus. There she saw you, O Ghost Who Walks, yet you were not walking. She summoned you as the Ghost Phantom to walk among them in the flesh.”
Old Mozz looked at the Phantom to see how he was taking the news.
“I see.” said the Phantom with a half smile upon his lips.
“She told the Great Chief that you would arrive on the clouds that blew in from the great waters…that you would bring the good medicine to cure the Chief’s son. So it was that the Great Chief gathered his men to find you. They were led by his youngest son, who had not yet had the curse thrust onto him, as it did not curse every man. With a few of the men that had battled the Wasaka, together they journeyed to the great waters to find you…”
The Phantom nodded, showing he understood.
“So they arrived in time to see you come from the billowing clouds as you leapt from the fire and walked out of the water onto the land… Gracing us with your presence, O Ghost Who Walks.” At this Old Mozz dropped to his knees and prostrated himself onto the ground in reverence to his Immortal friend.
“And how did you know it was I, old friend?” asked the Phantom, as he helped the old man back up to his feet; while he tried to keep his face impassive.
“From the way you arrived… and from the belt you wore…” Here Old Mozz paused for dramatic effect, “…O Ghost Who Walks.”
“I see.”
“They took you first to the village of the Wasaka to battle their god, but you were still weak from your change from spirit to flesh. Then you taught the Bandar to make the poison arrow and freed those that were made slaves. As a reward for gracing us with your presence, you were presented with the rings you now wear.”
“And the curse?”
“Then we helped you to your home in the Deep Woods, as you had forgotten the way, and were in much need… having changed from The Ghost Phantom to the Ghost Who Walks. It is as one would describe the change from a caterpillar to the butterfly. Both are parts of the same creature, yet both look different and have different lives. The butterfly no longer crawls like the caterpillar. Neither can the caterpillar fly like the butterfly.
“There you gave good medicine to the son of the Great Chief, and to all of the others, curing them of the great sickness.”
“Well told, Old Friend!” Then adding as an afterthought, “And what do you make of my occasional memory loss, O Teller-of-Tales?” queried the Phantom, smiling broadly now.
“The greatest treasures are not with the father, but bestowed upon the son. Thus, the explanation for your memory loss has been given to me by my father, who heard it from his father, through many generations back from the first appearance of the Ghost Who Walks. Through every transition from Phantom to Phantom, a bit of the past is kept locked away to make room for the new.”
Again the Phantom smiled.
“Perhaps the question of the rings is not so unlike the question of your own memory,” said Old Mozz quietly, “for it is said, ‘Before the Phantom was, the Phantom existed.’”
The Phantom digested this. “Well, thank you for the story. It appears I have a bit more studying to do.” He nodded to Old Mozz and headed back into the shade of the trees facing the Skull Cave.
As he mused over the problem, a young maid approached, “More fruit Juice, O Ghost Who Walks?”
“No thank you,” Kit replied, as he waved her aside. As she turned to go, the Phantom suddenly jumped to his feet.
“Of course!” Kit exclaimed, snapping his fingers.
The ejaculation startled the young girl, who nearly lost her gourd of juice as she jumped from the exclamation and turned to see what the Phantom wanted… but instead she saw the Ghost Who Walks’ retreating form as he headed into the mouth of the Skull Cave. Shaking her head the young woman tottered off with the juice.
The Phantom‘s mind raced over what Old Mozz had said, “…the greatest treasures are not with the father but bestowed upon the son… for it is said, ‘Before the Phantom was, the Phantom existed’”. ‘Truer words couldn’t be said,’ thought Kit to himself, ‘for knowledge and wisdom were the gifts of the father to the son. The knowledge of who I am in terms of my ancestry, and the wisdom with which to use that knowledge.’
Chapter 31
If someone would have been looking for her, the research ship Scavenger could have been found fourteen nautical miles, more or less, due west from the Costa Rican shore. The reason for the distance was a geometric one. Due to the curvature of the earth, at eleven nautical miles, ships start to get lost over the horizon, making them appear to sink; a phenomenon that caused sailors of old to believe that they dropped off the edge of the world. At thirteen nautical miles out, the ship can no longer be seen, effectively hidden from view. Exactly what the pirates wanted.
The pirates had been waiting for them. There, in the dead of the night, the pirates had another ship ready.
Les Mann appeared nearly at his wits end by the time he was ordered to pull up along side of the other ship. He maneuvered the ship so that his ship’s gunwales washed against the gunwales of the pirate ship; exactly as he was told to do. He had seen the consequences of not obeying the pirates, and he hoped to stave off an untimely end.
As the two ships rocked into alignment, they were fastened together and pulled tight.
Two of the crew of the Scavenger were picked at random and cut free. Then with weapons focused on them, they were ordered to move the chests from the Scavenger to be secured within the bowels of the pirates’ craft.
They groaned with the first chest as they were sore from being bound, and tipsy still from the earlier consumption of alcohol, cou
pled by the fact that the chest was exceptionally heavy. They struggled with their burden, a step at a time, across the storage chamber, through the hold door, and up stair by stair to the main deck. By the time they arrived at the top of the stairs onto the main deck, the strain of the heavy chest was nearly too great for them. The last step up tripped the trailing crewman. The chest slipped from his moist hands and fell heavily onto the deck.
Stripes, the pirate with the Irish accent that was watching from below, startled at the sound. He tightened his trigger which resulted in a spray of bullets that shattered through the crewman. The body collapsed like that of a rag doll. The corpse fell heavily; sliding down the steps until it wedged itself in the passageway near the bottom.
“Oops! My bad!” the pirate called out. “Patches, get a new body to replace this one. Its not gonna be doin’ any liftin’ for awhile.”
Patches grumbled as he pulled his large military-looking knife from its sheath. Grabbing up a larger crew member, he sliced the cord that attached the man’s noose to his counterpart.
“You,” he said, pointing his knife at the larger man. “Take over.”
Then grabbing the other fellow by his ear, he dragged him over to join the other crewman. “Looks like we’re ready to get back to work, Stripes.”
“Great!” called out Stripes from below. “Send ‘em down!”
The pair took turns moving the great chests from their boat to the other, while resting in-between. Les watched them with red eyes from the relative safety of the cabin. Eventually the last chest was placed into the pirate boat.
As the last chest was finally moved over, the girl pirate made her way over to the Scavenger, to appraise the empty hull. “Good job boys. Looks like we have all of it. Stripes, Patches, gather up the gear, let’s get out of here.”
Patches approached Les and pulled out his automatic. As Les dove to the side, Patches took care of the bridge with a spray of bullets that were well placed into the control panel, shorting out the wiring.
Stripes, meanwhile, removed a small portion of the drive mechanism, and having returned to the main deck, casually threw it overboard to be lost to the sea.
