If there are Treasure Islanders on Treasure Island, I figure, we won’t see them until we’re just about on top of them or under them, as the case may be.
The Island is like a giant sleeping tortoise in the dark and fog. Even though this night has been just about endless, and I know it’s got to be getting on toward sunrise, the only hint of this is that the Island can be distinguished just the tiniest bit from the fog it’s curled up in. It looms big and black and scary right in front of us and there’s nothing in the world we can do but go right through it. We see the lights of fires in the trees as we draw up close and then we see what I’ve been dreading all the way across — the Tunnel, which we gotta drive through in order to get across the Bay.
We stop just short of the Tunnel to recon and calm our jinking jitters. Suddenly the Island don’t look like anything so benign as a tortoise. It looks like a dragon — a great, sleeping dragon with diamonds on his hide and his big old mouth open right in our faces.
I think of Chen. I’ve met the Red Dragon — well, here’s his bro, the Black Dragon. Only comfort is, in Chinese lore the Black Dragon — Oo Loong — he’s the good guy. I pray this Black Dragon holds true to type.
“We gotta go in there,” I say, as much to me as to anybody else. “There’s nothing for it. It’s the only way to get where we gotta go.”
Around me, I hear weapons being checked and safeties coming off.
“Let’s go,” says Firescape.
“Yeah, let’s go,” echoes Hoot.
We go.
In Vespa light, the Tunnel isn’t as bad as I expect. The headlights chase over the walls and along the pitted road. There’s debris ever so often where the ceiling has caved in. It’s not so much like driving down a dragon’s throat as I was afraid it would be (not that I’ve ever driven down a dragon’s throat, ni dong, but I can imagine). Still, I’m pretty sure if I stretch my imagination just a little bit, I can make stomach growls out of the sound of scooter engines bouncing back off the curved walls. I decide not to stretch my imagination.
We go slowly, so the trip seems to take for ever. But nothing falls on us and nothing jumps up at us and as we get to where I think the end must be, I start to relax. This, as it turns out, is a bad thing. Because I am relaxed, I am not as vigilant as I ought to be and because I am not vigilant, I don’t see that there is something blocking the far end of the Tunnel, and because I don’t see this, the next thing I know, we are all floundering in a big, old fishing net.
I am up-ended completely and my scooter flips over on its side, taking me right along with it. The net pins me to the wet tarmac. All around me, I hear the bangs and scrapes and cries and curses of the others experiencing the same thing. One by one, the little engines die. I get a whole new analogy for the Island at this point — trapdoor spider — 'cause we are trapped.
There is a spatter of AK fire and the sound of ricochet and then Firescape cries out for her girls to hold fire.
The torches come out in the silence, woggling toward us across the slick, shiny road. They light up a rabble of people who do not look really pleased to see us. The feeling is mutual.
A huge dude wearing an ancient yellow Macintosh leads a smaller band of folk forward to see what it is they’ve caught. He checks us over one by one, then turns his head and calls out, “This ain’t them.”
“Well, who the hell is it, then?” asks a voice from the rabble.
I gotta stop and tell you about his voice, cause it’s got some serious ovaries. I mean, it’s a woman’s voice, first of all, and it’s got aplomb and command and all sorts of other stuff all rolled up into it, not unlike, in some ways, the voice of my wife when she is equal portions General Firescape and Jade Berengaria Flannigan, which is to say, three different kinds of hot. My bones feel less than solid. This has got to be someone with Power.
The Huge Dude turns back to us. “You heard. Who the hell is it?”
“I’m Taco Del, merlin to Hismajesty, King of Embarcadero.” I’ve never had to introduce myself from inside a fishing net before, so this is a novel experience, and rather humbling. “We are on a mission of great urgency. All we ask is that you allow us to pass.”
“We mean you no harm,” adds Firescape from somewhere to my left, and Creepy Lou chirps, “We come in peath!”
The Huge Dude laughs. “Squids,” he chuckles, and calls back over his shoulder. “It’s a friggin' merlin — whatever that is — on some sort of mission. He says he wants to pass through.”
“A mission is it?” says the voice with serious ovaries. “And what kind of a mission might that be?”
“What kind of mission might that be?” repeats the HD.
“We’re on our way to the sacred Mountain — Diablo,” I explain, “to try to save our world from Wiwe. I know that don’t probably make a whole lot of sense — “
The HD asks his own question this time. “This got anything to do with that caravan that rolled through here a while back?”
I push scratchy strands of fishnet away from my face.
“Well, yeah, sort of. They’re taking over our kingdom and threatening to do worse.”
The Huge Dude straightens and turns back toward the rabble.
“You hear that? He says the caravaners are threatening to take over in the city.”
Another person breaks out of the pack and moves across the steamy, wet tarmac. Even from this angle I can see that it’s a woman. She’s tall — almost as tall as the huge dude and she’s wearing a thick water-proof coat like the kind our fisher-folk wear at home. A long, heavy braid of pale hair is coiled on top of her head. I bet if she uncoiled it, it’d go all the way to her waist. Maybe further.
Her face is the face of a Queen, I think. Or even a Queen of angels.
“That don’t sound right,” she says to the HD, then looks down at me through eyes like a winter storm. “But it does sound like the beginning of a very long and maybe interesting story.” She gestures to the right and to the left. “Get them loose and bring them up to the Bridge.”
I am filled with terror at these words, ‘cause it sounds like her royal eminence has every intention of throwing us all into the Bay. I squawk.
“Your Highness, please! I beg you! Don’t toss us off the Bridge. We’re not the enemy!”
She turns and looks back at me and I can see her eyes are laughing. “I’m not your Highness, Chico. I’m Captain Ahab. Bring them on up, Mate,” she commands the HD, and off she goes, out of sight.
Well, we are not tossed off the Bridge, as it happens. We are taken up a steep hill and around the curve of the Island until we come to a stubby lighthouse along the rocky shore. Here we are brought into a large room that is lamp-lit and warm. It’s also an interesting shape — kind of like being inside half a cake. That’s lighthouses for you. A hand-lettered plaque by the door proclaims that this is The Bridge.
The first thing I do in the light of The Bridge is take inventory. One of the knighties — Rollerskate — is holding her arm funny and looks pretty pale and pinched. Otherwise, we are okay — at least those of us who are here at all. Hoot is missing. As if, by now, this should surprise me.
I see that Firescape has noticed the same thing; we exchange glances and I shake my head. I’m of the firm opinion we should not mention the absence of Hoot.
While we are silently agreeing upon this, Captain Ahab enters the room. And I do mean Enters. She has a way about her, as Bags would say, and she’s not afraid to use it. She comes in through this little side door and heads toward a platform along one wall that holds what I s’pose is a Captain’s chair.
Every eye in the place just sort of goes to her and sticks there, even Creepy Lou’s. And he does not stomp, snort or jerk one time as she makes her slow and sinuous swagger to her throne.
She is no longer wearing the thick coat, but what she is wearing’s not the least bit captainly. How many whalers’ve you seen all tricked out in green velvet cat-suits?
“Meow,” says Firescape, and I can
tell by the tone of her voice, she don’t mean it kindly.
At the end of her swagger, the Captain gets up on her platform and turns to face us all. The Mate moves to stand right next to her platform, but I notice he doesn’t get up on it with her. I also notice that his eyes do more than just follow her; they sort of rub all over her as she moves. I am familiar with this behavior, having given Jade some serious eye massages in my time.
From the platform, Captain Ahab gives us all the once over. “Who’s responsible for the women?” she asks.
Firescape steps forward. “That’d be me, General Firescape of the Embarcadero Guard.”
“I see one of your girls is injured, General,” she tells Firescape. “I’d let your wizard see to it, but I’d prefer to keep him where I can see him. I’m going to have our Bones take a look at it, just to show you we’re not savages here.”
Firescape gives me a questioning glance. Bones is sailor-talk for doctor, so I nod and Firescape passes the nod to Ahab, who follows the whole deal with narrowed eyes.
One of the other knighties, an older girl named Mushu, steps forward before Ahab’s guards can reach Rollerskate.
“Let me go with her, sir,” she says to Firescape, then gives Captain Ahab a cool eye. “She’s my little sis.”
Firescape looks to the Captain and the Captain makes it so with a wave of her hand. Me, my guts quiver. For all that Captain Ahab lays claim to being non-savage, I still worry we may never see Rollerskate or Mushu again.
Ahab gestures at our dwindling group. “So, what’s this — the wizard’s harem?”
Firescape’s dark eyes are glittering like black diamonds. “It’s not a harem,” she says. “It’s an armed guard. These women are trained knighties of the realm. And they’re here to protect him.” She jerks her head toward me with a swish of red.
“Ah.” Captain Ahab rocks back in her chair.
The velvet ripples and stretches and I swear the Mate’s eyes water.
Ahab looks at me. “To protect him. That’s interesting. And why does he need so much protecting?” This is to Firescape.
“He told you. We’re on a mission. He’s the key to its success. If you’d just let us go-“
Ahab raises her lily white hand. “A mission...to save your world from — what was it?”
“Wiwe,” I say, “but that’s a really long story and I—“
She makes a chopping gesture in my general direction, her eyes still on Firescape. “He also said the guys from the caravan were trying to take over the city. What’d he mean by that? What have they done?”
“Well, first off, they blasted their way through a neighborhood and slaughtered some neighbors,” says my wife. “Children, women, men — mostly unarmed with anything but bricks and baseball bats.”
“They set up camp in an important religious shrine,” I add, “seriously disrupting my spiritual channels. Then they captured a full third of our prime agricultural land.”
The ice storm flies in my face. “I didn’t ask you,” the Captain says. “I asked the General. What he says is so?” She jerks a thumb at me. “These guys took land, food?”
Firescape is apparently a little nettled by this offensive behavior toward my person and does not bother to keep the nettles out of her voice.
“If he says it, it’s so. My man isn’t in the habit of lying,” she adds. She does not mention that I am in the habit of invention, which is similar, though not, strictly speaking, the same thing.
The Captain’s eyes flit from Firescape to me and back again.
“You’re pregnant.”
Firescape nods, putting a protective hand over the little Flannigan.
“His?”
Firescape nods. “You care?”
“Does he? Dragging you off on some man-mission — that doesn’t seem very lover-like. Don’t you think you’d be better off someplace safe?”
Firescape revs it into full gear. “Look, Captain, or whatever you are. I’m along on this junket ‘cause I’m the one most qualified to protect the muy important ass of Hismajesty’s prize merlin, who as noted, is also the father of my child. Under such circumstances, I’m not likely to let him out of my sight. Meaning, your captaincy, that I volunteered for this tour of duty and neither my merlin husband nor any other force on this planet is likely to have kept me someplace safe if there was someplace safe to be kept. Which there isn’t, and which is why we’re on this mission in the first place.”
“Th’ alienth are eatin' the Gam Thaan,” adds Creepy Lou mournfully, then salutes smartly and stamps his right foot three times.
Ahab and her entire entourage stare at him.
“He queer in the head?” asks the Mate.
“He’s got special abilities,” I improvise. “Sort of like a seeing eye dog. He also provides comic relief.”
Ahab’s cold gaze sweeps us again. “So the aliens, as you call them, are taking over your property. To what end?”
“To our end,” I say. “They mean to drive us out of the Gam Saan altogether so they can bring their own people in. Hundreds of them, thousands.”
Ahab and her First Mate eye each other, and I hear a ripple of something uneasy murmur its way through the Islanders.
“Why would they do that?” asks the Captain.
“To get rich,” I explain and my blood starts to boil. “They want to turn the Gam Saan into a place for their tourists to go and spend money seeing historical places and cultural shrines. We’re in the way. So, they’re trying to push us out.”
“Look, we know they came through here,” says Firescape. “Didn’t they do pretty much the same thing to you?”
This sets up some more murmuring among the rabble and gets Ahab and her First Mate into a whispered conference that results in the whole confab coming to an abrupt end.
We are taken to a set of smaller rooms on the first floor of the long two story annex that attaches to the lighthouse. It’s pretty spartan, but has a bunch of cots, a bathroom and a barracks-style shower like out at the Presidio. There are windows, but they’re barred from the outside; no hope there.
The knighties immediately begin casing the place for other escape routes while Lou flops out on a cot and commences to snore. I never seen Lou sleep before. Somehow, I think I imagined he didn’t. Me, I feel like I’ve gone beyond the need for sleep.
We discover that we are a long way from the ground and that even if we could squeeze through one of the tiny bathroom windows, which are not barred, we would most likely be dashed to pieces somewhere below. This side of the annex has a lovely view of bone-crunching breakers.
Firescape and I closet ourselves in the shower for what we intend to be a tactical conference. Then we discover that this shower has hot running water and soap, and even some crude excuses for towels, so we put it to good, thorough, and possibly improper use, which goes a long way toward making us feel like ourselves again.
All this questing and life or death stuff can put one hell of a strain on a relationship. There’s nothing like a little hot water and steam to sort of focus things. When we are done focusing, we discuss where Hoot might’ve gone, where our scooters might be, what sort of folks it is we’ve fallen in with and how we might fall out again.
I confer with the Doug bough, but I am the recipient of no nose visions. Finally, we flop out on a cot together. I sleep even as I am thinking that I can’t.
I don’t know how long we sleep, but we are awakened when someone kindly brings us food and a report on Rollerskate. It’s daylight, more or less, and a soft rain is falling.
“Arm’s broken,” the woman tells us. “Bones says it’s just a hairline fracture so she put it in a sling. She’s resting easy.”
“When can we talk to the Captain again?” asks Firescape.
“Captain’s in a conference with her officers,” the woman says. “You spewed some pretty outrageous drift last night. Captain’s just trying to figure out how much of it is so.”
“It’s all so,” I insist throug
h a mouthful of stew (somebody here’s a bueno cook). “Every last bit of it.”
“Yeah,” agrees Creepy Lou. Biscuit crumbs tumble from his mouth. “Who’d make up thtuff like that?”
“I guess that’s what the Captain is trying to figure,”
she says, and leaves us to our breakfast or whatever.
When I’ve stuffed myself pretty effectively, I go to a window and peer out. There’s nothing to give me clue one as to what time of day it is. We might’ve slept for three hours or thirty. My body informs me that, however long it was, it wasn’t enough and my brain, that it was too much. There is mush between my ears. I wonder where Hoot is and what he’s doing. I wonder how many Ohlone Dolores John Makepeace has dug up while we been here.
But no one comes to tell us what time of day it is or anything else. The woman comes back to take away our dishes, but all she’ll say is that the Captain will talk to us soon. "Soon" is a very relative term here, I come to find out. The weepy sky is going from silver to pewter and still no one has come for us.
“Do thomething magic, Del,” Lou tells me, but I seem to be all magicked out.
I try to initiate a nose vision, and manage to catch a glimpse of Hoot skulking somewhere on the premises, but that’s all. Still, it’s enough to get everybody a little buzzed. We begin to hatch wild plans about what we’ll do when they take us out of here again. We agree whoever gets a chance to escape will. We send thoughts of mercy and compassion to Captain Ahab. And then one by one, we fall asleep again.
I am just dozing off when the Mate arrives at the door. He beckons to Firescape, who is curled half on top of me on our cot.
“Come,” is all he says.
She doesn’t want to come, however, and says so.
The Mate flexes his pecs but his words are mild. “I need to talk to you, General. If you ever want to get out of here, you’d best cooperate.”
She goes with a backward glance at me and my gut twists itself into a neat little granny knot. I don’t have long to stew, though, before a couple of strangers arrive and take me away to see Captain Ahab. This surprises me, ‘cause I get the distinct impression that Ahab considers me to be a lesser lifeform.
Taco Del and the Fabled Tree of Destiny Page 25
