by Andy Briggs
“He won’t come. He won’t speak to you,” muttered Jane. Her voice was barely audible over the crackling campfire, but Greystoke had heard her. Without looking away from her, he swatted the locust. The delicate insect was batted into the fire, its body popping as it ignited.
“He will,” said Greystoke in icy tones. “Something you will come to understand, my dear, is that I always get my way.”
The GPS in Clark’s hand bleeped to life. He had removed the back of the device, using his penknife to unscrew it, and had reconnected the sabotaged wire. Numbers flashed on the display screen.
“Bingo! You had some faulty wirin’ in there; no wonder this thing wasn’t workin’,” he said, handing the device to Greystoke, but glaring accusingly at Robbie.
Greystoke studied the coordinates and his shoulders sagged. “This can’t be right.”
“What’s wrong?” said Archie looking up from the simmering food that was now making Robbie’s stomach rumble.
“According to the GPS we’re farther away from the site than when we began!” He glared at Jane and Robbie. Robbie looked away, knowing he’d betray them, but Jane held his gaze.
“How do you know where we’re headed?” she said flatly. “I thought you needed Clark for that?”
Greystoke’s expression didn’t falter as Archie and Clark gazed questioningly at him.
“I obtained the information,” he said curtly.
“From where?” probed Robbie.
It was as if the jungle had hushed in order to hear Greystoke. The fire popped and crackled before he spoke up. “I bought it from a hunter who came across the aircraft.”
“Rokoff,” said Jane with certainty. The mention of the Russian hunter caused Greystoke to flinch as if he’d been struck. Jane pressed on, enjoying Greystoke’s discomfort. “You hired him, didn’t you? You paid him to come up here—” her voice grew louder with each word as her temper flared.
“Jane!” snapped Archie. “Enough.”
Greystoke spoke before she could continue. “My father employed his services on a number of occasions, but I had nothing to do with the unfortunate Ugandan affair. If anything that just gave these gentlemen’s claims about Tarzan’s possible heritage”—he indicated Robbie and Clark—“more credence.”
Jane flicked a look at Robbie. Even after all the danger they had been through together, Robbie had been surprised that she had so readily forgiven him for trying to prove Tarzan’s existence to the Greystokes. He had finally decided it was the wrong thing to do, by which time Clark had already invited the English lord to their camp. Robbie and Jane both knew Rokoff had confessed to killing Tarzan’s friend and mentor, D’Arnot, under the orders of Greystoke’s father.
“We lost what? Maybe half a day?” said Archie levelly. “I figure the little incident on the pass must’ve scrambled everybody a little. Now’s not the time to throw accusations around.”
“Suppose not,” muttered Jane who, for once, didn’t challenge her father.
Robbie saw her look up to the surrounding trees when she thought nobody was looking. He knew what she sensed: the same thing as him. They were being watched.
As Archie shared out the basic rations, Robbie tried to ignore the pain from the bruises across his body. He was knew that was Tarzan watching over them. He would sleep soundly tonight.
• • •
Tarzan watched the pale light flickering in the darkness and felt a tremor of nerves, something he had not felt since his early years. Back then, he could take refuge by his mother’s side. Kala was the ape that had found him in the jungle and raised him as her own. She had long since died, and now Tarzan was responsible for the entire band of apes—and the glow in the darkness troubled him.
Through many seasons the mountain had spewed glowing rock, or lava—he recalled the name Jane had given for it when he’d last brought her there. But the frequency had increased since the Mangani’s arrival and Tarzan wondered if it was some Targarni trick. Did they have a special power over the fire rock?
The Targarni had not made an appearance since Tarzan had tracked them back to their lair. He had expected another violent confrontation—brute force was the way of the jungle when scores needed to be settled—but the apes had remained quiet.
Tarzan tried to calm himself. He desperately needed sleep, and all around him he could hear the rustling of the apes and the occasional wheeze as they slept in their nests. The females and younglings were woven among branches in the trees, while a few of the young silverbacks and the heavy Kerchak remained on the ground. They were safe enough, even if the Targarni chose to spring an attack.
Tarzan curled up in a mossy nook in the base of a tree’s great roots. He felt sleep take its hold. In that fleeting moment he wondered where Jane was. She was out there, somewhere in the darkness… .
• • •
“All our provisions have gone!” growled Clark, throwing his backpack down. “All of ’em!”
They’d awoken to a cool misty morning to discover that their backpacks had been looted and the expedition provisions had been taken. Everything was gone; from the general supplies Clark and Archie had been carrying, down to the energy bars they all had in their separate packs.
“Is this him? Tarzan?” said Greystoke with a gleam in his eye as he studied the trees. They looked uninviting as the mist crept between the mighty boles.
“ ’Course it is,” snarled Clark. “He used to sabotage our camp to try ’n’ scare us away. Even set fire to it once. Man’s an animal.”
Jane was confused. Tarzan was a trickster and could be mischievous, but this made no sense. Why take the food? If anything it would harm the people he cared for—and would do nothing to slow Greystoke’s quest.
Greystoke retrieved the GPS from his tent. “We still have this … and a signal. A little weak due to the weather, but at least it works.”
“We can’t push on without supplies,” said Archie. “If we’re lucky we can make it back to camp before nightfall… .”
Clark waved his hand vigorously to cut off that line of thought. “No way. That’s what he wants us to do. We push on. Another half day or so and we get to the plane.”
Archie paused. Clark seldom disagreed so forcefully. “That puts us farther from the food,” he pointed out.
“Well, I guess that’s settled then,” said Robbie as he began to pack his gear away. “Let’s head home.”
“You’re jokin’, right?” said Clark. “I know you’ve lived off the land before.” He stabbed a finger at Jane. “And you certainly know how to find a three-course meal out here.” He drew a hunting knife from a sheath strapped to his shin. “An’ I’ve hunted a fair bit o’ game in my time. His lordship ’ere might be a bit out of his depth, but we ain’t turnin’ back. Right, Arch?” He stared at Archie, an unspoken communication between two old friends, fueled by the huge reward that was just within their grasp. For a moment it looked as if Archie were about to disagree, but he finally nodded.
“Sure,” said Archie. “We know what we’re doing.” The last comment was aimed at Greystoke, an assurance that their services were worth the obscene amount of reward money.
With practiced ease, they packed the rest of the camp away in a matter of minutes—although Archie had to help Greystoke fold his tent like some giant piece of origami. The man’s privileged upbringing meant he had never had to do very much for himself. They trudged toward the mist-veiled trees, led by Clark who held the GPS. He walked more slowly than ever since the mudslide incident, his limp more pronounced. Jane and Robbie trailed behind.
“Nice try,” Robbie whispered.
Jane looked at him with wide blue eyes. “It wasn’t me.”
“Yeah, right,” sniggered Robbie. “At least tell me where you stashed the energy bars. I’m starving.”
Jane grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. Her brow was f
urrowed with concern. “I didn’t do this.” She followed his gaze to the trees and added, in an ominous hushed tone, “And I don’t think it was Tarzan either.”
• • •
The rest of the day progressed in relative silence. The mist increased the higher they climbed, swallowing every sound and covering everything with fine moisture that dampened and chilled to the bone. Even the jungle appeared to fall silent. Robbie couldn’t recall hearing a bird chirp all day.
Jane’s comments had made him jumpy. If Tarzan wasn’t out there, who was? Who else had the skills to move like a ghost through the camp without waking any of them? He started seeing shadows in his peripheral vision, but every time he snapped his head around, they faded away. He’d wound himself up so much that at one point, when Jane leaned against his shoulder to steady herself on a particularly sharp incline, he yelped in surprise.
Clark’s limp grew worse and he started involuntarily huffing from the pain with each step. He doggedly followed the GPS coordinates, guiding them through trails wherever he could. When they stopped to rest, all their stomachs warbled in chorus. Jane managed to find some edible fruits and nuts, but not enough to feed the five of them. It was clear that there would be no small game to hunt in the mist.
The slope became tougher, their progress slower—but then the GPS started to make a series of regular bleeping tones.
“We’re close,” breathed Clark, barely containing his excitement. “This way.”
He guided them up a sharp incline that turned into a hairpin bend as it rose. The swirling mist rolled to one side, hinting at a great drop close by. Jane began to see familiar rock formations, but couldn’t be sure until the GPS’s tone became almost constant. Clark drew his pistol from his belt holster.
“You won’t need that,” hissed Jane.
“I just wanna make sure no hairy ape thinks he can charge me,” said Clark in a low voice. Under Tarzan’s guidance, the apes had helped free Clark and the other loggers from the clutches of a rebel leader, Tafari. They had been peaceful and benign to the loggers back them, but Clark hadn’t been planning to take their leader away.
The ground flattened out, but all they could see was a bare plateau. Greystoke looked disappointed and took the GPS from Clark to check for himself. But Jane knew they were in the right place. Even before Greystoke could open his mouth to complain, the mist thinned ever so slightly—revealing the dark silhouette of a plane wreckage on the edge of the plateau. The damp mist gave a haunted feel to the place, and for the first time Jane wondered what had happened to the bodies of Tarzan’s parents after the crash. Had they survived? Were they buried somewhere around the wreckage?
Clark and Archie high-fived each other as Greystoke took several faltering steps forward.
“My word …” said Greystoke with awed tones. “It’s my uncle’s plane… .”
The words had an odd effect on Jane. She had felt nothing but loathing toward the pompous man, but now she realized the dead occupants of the plane were his family, just as much as Tarzan really was. She began to doubt that interfering with Greystoke’s goals was the right thing to do. A quick glance at Robbie told her he was thinking the same thing. For him, family had a far more emotional sting. After all, he was in the jungle to escape from the legacy of the nightmarish death of his sister, Sophie.
William Greystoke slowly advanced on the aircraft, keeping a wary eye out for any gorillas that might suddenly charge, but there were none. He ran a hand along the cracked and rusting fuselage. One wing had been torn off against the mountainside, hidden behind them, while the other projected over a cliff, although the end of it was veiled from view in the mist.
“He’s gotta be around here someplace,” said Clark, his pain forgotten as his enthusiasm surged. “And he’s probably got our food round ’ere too.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “TARZAN!” The gray cloud swallowed the cry. He tried again: “TARZAN! IT’S CLARK. JANE’S ’ERE TOO!”
Nothing.
Jane shrugged and sat on a boulder, relieved to take her backpack off. “I told you he wouldn’t want to speak to you. What’re you going to do now, just sit here and wait?”
Greystoke ignored her. Instead, he paced around the aircraft with purpose. He stopped at the side, where a tear in the fuselage formed an artificial cave. The entrance was now covered in vines and foliage but there was just enough light for him to see some seats had been torn up and cast aside. The floor was covered in dry grass and tree branches, carefully laid down for the apes to sleep on. There was an overpowering smell that reminded him of a farmyard, and he scrunched his nose.
Reaching the aircraft’s tail he saw the cargo door was torn open, allowing him access into the belly of the craft. Jane watched him intently as he disappeared inside. There she had found nothing but boxes with some scientific gear, rank clothing, and a few photographs of John Clayton, the Earl of Greystoke—Tarzan’s father and William’s uncle.
“HA!” exclaimed William Greystoke. Jane’s suspicions ratcheted up as she heard a case being dragged through the hold. What had he found? He’d certainly made no attempt to call out to his long-lost cousin or shown any signs of searching for him.
Greystoke emerged from the hold, pulling a small plastic flight case. It was covered in filth from almost two decades of neglect. He laid it flat on the floor and fumbled the catches open.
Clark and Archie moved closer, puzzled by William’s odd behavior.
“What’ve you got there?” said Archie as innocently as possible.
“What I’ve been searching for,” intoned Greystoke as he applied more pressure on the catches. They finally snapped open.
“I thought you were looking for your cousin?” said Clark as delicately as he could.
Greystoke never looked up. “Mmm? Oh yes … yes. But this …” He lay his hand reverently on the surface of the case. “This is what they came for. My uncle and aunt …”
Robbie and Jane stood behind Lord William Greystoke as he slowly opened the case. Inside were two neat folders and, wedged between them, a wooden box. Being encased in plastic, nothing had aged at all. Greystoke gently brushed his fingers over the folders, then went for the wooden casket first. It was an oblong box, six inches long and as wide as his thumb. He slid the lid off, and a flurry of small gemstones cascaded to the floor. Even in the poor light they sparkled like a rainbow.
Clark whistled and dropped to his knees to inspect the haul. He held a yellow stone up for a closer look. “I ain’t no gem expert, but I reckon they’re worth a good few bucks.”
“No doubt,” said Greystoke dismissively. “But this is worth more.”
He gently pulled a folder from the case and opened it up. Inside was a collection of handwritten notes. He rapidly flicked through with increasing excitement. Jane caught glimpses of diagrams, hand-drawn maps, and sketches of buildings.
“What is that?”
Greystoke quickly closed the book, suddenly aware that she’d seen the contents. He held it close to his chest.
“Details of the Savage Lands.”
“Savage Lands?” repeated Robbie, confused.
Greystoke’s voice dropped so low he was almost talking to himself. “They found it … they actually found it.” The he remembered he had an audience. “My aunt and uncle were philanthropists, but they also loved stories, legends… . While they were out here they heard the legend of an ancient civilization and a lost city of unfathomable riches. Early explorers came looking for proof, but they died in the jungle, which is why this little patch of hell came to be called the Savage Lands. Few who step foot here return, as my uncle discovered. He and my aunt claimed to have found evidence of the civilization, but they were tight-lipped about the details. But this”—he held the folder tighter—“this is their research. In these pages lies the location of the heart of the lost empire: the city of Opar!”
5
Under Lord William Greystoke’s guidance, Archie and Clark combed the plateau for any signs of Tarzan or the apes. Every indication they found—dry dung, gorilla nests, and a pile of half-chewed bones—indicated that the area hadn’t been lived in for a week or so. Jane was relieved that Tarzan had moved his family on almost immediately after they last parted.
Greystoke didn’t appear overly concerned that his cousin was not around. When pressed by Jane, he avoided answering. She noticed his evasiveness worried Clark, so took delight in mentioning it as often as she could. Eventually, with the thought of the reward money disappearing, Clark spoke up.
“So this was all about those survey documents? Not your cousin?”
“We should be going,” said Greystoke, trying to step around Clark. Clark simply stepped to the side, blocking the man. Greystoke’s eyes narrowed. Clark was an intimidating figure, but Greystoke was not used to being bullied.
“Not before we get some answers,” said Clark in a low, gently threatening voice.
Greystoke wasn’t intimidated. If anything, his expression turned to stone—but after a few moments a smile tugged his lips as he identified Clark’s worry.
“Ah, your reward?”
“It had been playin’ on my mind.”
“For these documents alone you will get half of it, and Tarzan is still a concern—”
Archie smoothly cut in. “Well, for a city of unfathomable riches, that’s a whole new deal. The finder’s fee alone … surely worth more than a couple of million?”
Greystoke’s smile faltered, his eyes flicking between Archie and Clark. “Of course, you will be compensated. As for Tarzan, personally, I don’t care if my cousin is sitting out there thinking he’s a monkey. However, business is business and if he does really exist—and after everything I have seen, I have no reason to doubt it—then certain contingents with my family think it prudent to find him. But we are hardly equipped to search any farther for him now, are we? He’s made sure of that.” Greystoke studied the trees, which gradually vanished into the mist. He was convinced Tarzan was out there, watching them. He could feel the eyes upon them.
