He went to the stolen launch, which was now hidden in a cove of the river. He revved it up, roared down the river to the sea, turned east until he reached the stream beyond the mountain, and went up it to the village.
The people swarmed out to see him. Among them was the exiled witch doctor. Kaggs walked up to him and spat in his face. The witch doctor spat back. It was a sign of friendship, like shaking hands.
‘I want to talk to you,’ Kaggs said. ‘Can we be alone?’
‘Come to my hut.’
After going in and closing the door, the witch doctor, his eyes shining with pleasure, said, ‘You have come to tell me that the Hunts are dead.’
‘No, I came to get more supplies. Can you fix that?’
‘Of course. But about my enemies. Why haven’t you killed them?’
‘I had a streak of bad luck. I shot an arrow that should have killed the big one, but he lived. I tried to smash the life out of the young one, but he lived. I poisoned the headman and he died and was buried.’
‘Well, at least you got rid of one of them.’
‘No, he rose on the third day.’
The witch doctor stared, unbelievingly.
‘Let me hear this again. You killed this man, and now he lives.’
‘That is so.’
‘This is bad magic,’ said the witch doctor. ‘Very bad magic. The headman must be a sorcerer if he can die and live. If he has the power to do this, he has the power to put you under a terrible curse.’
Kaggs nodded. ‘That is what I am afraid of. I’ve never believed in sorcery. But this is all too strange to be ignored. Just on the chance that he did put a curse on me, can you do anything about it?’
‘I will dispel the curse,’ said the man of magic. He took down from the wall a necklace made of a sinew of the wild boar. From it was suspended an evil-looking dead and dried scorpion.
‘Hang this around your neck. It is a talisman that will remove any curse that may be laid upon you and will give you good luck.’
Kaggs put it on with the scorpion against his shirt.
‘No,’ said the witch doctor. ‘The charm must be inside, against your bare skin.’
Kaggs slipped it inside. He hated the idea of having this poisonous creature, even if dead, against his skin. Its needle could no longer strike, but it was scratchy and most uncomfortable. But he was willing to tolerate anything to shake off a curse and a run of bad luck. He had a new feeling of confidence. Now he was sure he could wipe out those pesky young whippersnappers for good and all.
‘I’ll have better news for you next time,’ he said.
‘Just to make sure that you do, I’m going to give you a bag full of certain death.’
He brought out a bulging sack and opened it so that Kaggs could peer inside. He saw nothing but a lot of eggs. Some of them were moving as if they contained something alive and wriggling.
‘What can I do with a sack of birds’ eggs?’
The witch doctor laughed. ‘Don’t worry, these are not birds’ eggs. They are just about to open. Out of each will come a small king cobra.’
Kaggs knew the reputation of the king cobra. It was one of the world’s most poisonous snakes, responsible for thousands of deaths every year in India and Indonesia including New Guinea. It was so dreaded that wild tribes worshipped it as a god. Once its fangs sank into a man’s flesh he would die within half an hour. However, inside these shells were no twenty-foot cobras, but only babies.
He pushed the sack aside. ‘That will be of no use to me. I can’t wait five years for these things to grow up. They’re too small now to poison anybody.’
‘You are mistaken. As soon as they come out of the shell they have the ability to kill. Get these on board that ship and I guarantee you will not have to Wait five years. These little fellows are ready to come out now. Go back at once near the ship, open the sack tonight, after your enemies are asleep, throw it on board with such force that the eggs will break, and before morning you will be a free man.’
Late in the afternoon Kaggs once more hid his stolen boat in the cove of the Eilanden River. It was like getting home again. The galley was well stocked with food, though not exactly the kind of food he would have preferred. The witch doctor had been able to give him only the sort of food he ate himself - snails, beetles, earthworms, caterpillars, birds’ brains, grasshoppers, cicadas, spiders, frogs, eels, bats, mice, rats, crickets, sparrows, woodpeckers, lizards, horseflies, skunk meat and fresh blood.
Anyhow it would keep him alive. And he must stay alive until his enemies were dead.
He looked into his bag of eggs. One of the shells had broken open and a king cobra a foot long looked up at him with beady eyes.
Before he could close the bag it slithered out on to the cabin floor. Some cobras seek only to escape. But king cobras are born hating everything and everybody. This little
fellow didn’t run away. He confidently faced what must have seemed to him like a giant. He lifted his head, spread his tiny hood, darted his little black tongue in and out, and bared the fangs in his upper jaw that were quite ready to deliver deadly poison.
Big Kaggs looked at his little enemy and shook with fear. The idea crossed his mind that he was about to be punished by God for all his evil ways. He retreated through the cabin door to the deck. The little devil followed him. Kaggs tried to get behind it to grab its tail. But as he turned the snake turned and continued to face him.
In a panic, Kaggs stripped off his bush jacket and dropped it over the snake’s head. Then he stooped, grabbed the tail, and flung the wriggling creature far out into the river.
He took it for granted that it would drown. But it did not drown. Instead, instinct waggled its little tail, and it came back, headed straight for Kaggs. The frightened man’s heart was beating like a snare drum. He vowed that if the Lord would let him off just this once he would never kill again. But he got no answer from the Lord. Heaven and earth were both against him. It wasn’t fair.
He stood as if paralysed. Then he forced his legs into action, leaped ashore and seized a stick. The snake was already on land and winding its way toward him.
Kaggs brought down the stick with all his strength, but he was too nervous to aim straight. The weapon struck the earth three inches from the snake’s head. Before Kaggs could lift the stick to strike again the snake used the stick as a ladder and swarmed up it to his hand. Kaggs tried to shake it off, and succeeded. But as it fell its fangs passed over the back of his hand and he felt a streak of pain.
He had just enough presence of mind to bring the stick down again and this time it crushed the small snake’s head.
Kaggs sat down hard on the ground, trembling like a leaf, breathing like a steam engine. He looked at his hand. A thin red line ran across it. What did it mean? Had he been bitten? If so, he had only half an hour to live.
How does a man spend his last half hour? Well, a little prayer wouldn’t hurt. He prayed but got no reaction. Someone up there was very deaf.
He sucked his hand and spat to remove the poison. He had no hope that this would succeed. He had heard that a cobra’s poison goes straight for the nerves, and it had already had time to reach his nerves. In fact, every nerve in his body seemed to be jangling and he had no idea whether this was because of fright or poison.
And to die in this lonely place, unburied and unsung. To lie here and rot, and have his rotten flesh devoured by ants. It was a horrible thought. No, if he had to perish here he would at least be decently buried, even if he had to do it himself.
He got his shovel from the boat and dug a trench. It was only two feet deep, but it would do. He lay down in it and pulled the dirt over him. He left his face free, but just before he breathed his last he would cover that as well. He was following Pavo’s example. The only difference was Pavo had risen in three days. He would never rise. He would cheat the ants, rats, vultures, crocodiles, all the flesh eaters. He hadn’t lived a respectable life - his death at least was going to be respecta
ble.
His grave was comfortable. He closed his eyes and relaxed. His heart slowed down, his nerves stopped jumping.
The half hour passed. An hour went by. He dozed off. When he woke, the forest was almost dark. And he was still alive.
So he hadn’t really been bitten. The fangs had scratched their way across his hand but had not had time to penetrate the flesh and inject their poison. He was fit as a fiddle.
He shook off the dirt, went on board and had a supper of snails and mangoes.
He was sorry he had made that promise to the Lord that he would not kill again. After all, the Lord had not accepted his proposition, so the deal was off.
He picked up his bag of death and set off through the woods towards the village. He knew the way very well, having been over it many times. Just to be sure not to lose his way he followed the shore of the river, the surface of which was weakly illuminated by a dying moon.
The village was already asleep. There was nothing else to do at night - no radio or television, no restaurants or nightclubs. The ship also was dark.
He crept along very cautiously now, careful not to step on a twig and break the silence.
He waded out into the river, straining his eyes to make sure that there was not a crocodile lurking in the reeds. He shivered. The water was cold. What a lot of trouble all this was. If people realized how much work it was to commit a murder perhaps they would be more kind towards murderers. He was really doing the world a service by wiping out these infernal Hunts.
When it was too deep to wade, he swam, dragging the deadly sack behind him. He took great care not to splash.
He reached the side of the ship and stopped again to listen. All quiet within. Everybody asleep. He was in luck.
He opened the bag. He would hurl it on deck where it would crash against the mast and break open the eggs. Then the snakes would swarm over the ship. He calculated that there were at least forty eggs in this sack. Forty deadly serpents roaming over the ship should be able to take care of the two Hunts - and the captain too.
Then he, Kaggs, would be master of the schooner. He would sail down to Thursday Island and resume his old profession of pearl trading. Of course he would disguise himself and take another name. He would load up the schooner with pearls and pearl shell and sail for Smugglers’ Bay on the coast of Australia. He would sell his cargo for ten times what he had paid for it.
Just as he was about to fling the sack on board he was startled by a loud whistle. The captain must be keeping watch on deck. He must have seen the swimmer coming to the ship and was whistling to warn the Hunts.
Kaggs was bitterly disappointed. The charm given him by the witch doctor was not bringing him good luck after all.
He was about to turn back to shore when he heard the whistle again but this time it ended in a loud squawk. Now he recognized the sound. It came from a bird of paradise.
Perhaps this was good luck, not bad. It meant that the boys had captured one of these fabulous birds, possibly more than one. A bird of paradise smuggled into Australia would be worth thousands of dollars, depending on the number of its plumes. And Kaggs, snooping about, had seen the boys capture one of the famous New Guinea crocodiles, also a small one which would bring even more money than the big one because it would live longer. And he had seen them capture the fabulous Komodo dragon. They must have other things as well, all money makers.
But if he threw the snakes on board, they would kill the birds and the small animals. What to do? Then he noticed that a cabin porthole was open. He swam to it, put one hand over the edge, and pulled himself up far enough so that he could look inside. The cabin door leading out to the deck was closed. Very good. If he threw the snakes into the cabin they would kill the boys and the captain but would not be able to get out on deck and kill the birds and beasts. The three humans were worth nothing to Kaggs but the animals represented a small fortune.
Kaggs lifted the sack and flung it with all the force at his command through the porthole. It struck the opposite bulkhead and there was a great shattering of shells and a boy cried, ‘What’s up?’
Kaggs didn’t wait to see what was up. He swam swiftly and silently to shore and lost himself in the woods. Later he would come back and help bury the three white men and weep over their graves.
The boy who had exclaimed, ‘What’s up?- shook Hal awake. ‘Something funny is going on,’ Roger said. ‘What do you mean, funny?’
‘Something came flying in through the porthole and smashed.’
‘Sure you weren’t dreaming?’
‘No, I was awake all the time. First, one of the birds whistled and screamed. Then this thing came shooting through the porthole.’
‘Probably just a bat that lost its way. Go back to bed.’
Instead, Roger lit the pressure lamp. ‘The place is crawling with snakes.’
That jolted Hal wide awake. He sat bolt upright and banged his head against the roof of the cabin. He looked about. Snakes everywhere he looked.
A sleepy voice came from Captain Ted’s bunk. ‘Did somebody say snakes?’ He opened his eyes. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Just little ones. They won’t hurt you.’
But naturalist Hal Hunt knew better. He had seen some of the little visitors rear their heads and spread their hoods.
‘Cobras!’ he said. ‘Small, but oh, my. Just one of them could kill you.’
He reached up and pulled his first-aid case from the shelf above his bunk.
‘No time to wait until we get bitten,’ he said.
He filled a syringe with antitoxin. Crawling gingerly from bunk to bunk he stabbed Roger with the hypodermic, then the captain, then himself.
Roger pointed at the door. ‘Perhaps we can scare them out on deck.’
‘Don’t open that door,’ said Hal. ‘They’d kill the animals.’
‘Wouldn’t that be better than killing us?’
‘If we’re careful, they won’t do either one. Stay in your bunk, Roger, and lie still.’
‘I don’t see you staying in your bunk. What are you after, anyhow?’
‘A pair of snake gloves. And a sack. Whoever tossed these things in was doing us a big favour.’
Captain Ted stared. ‘I’ll say you’re pretty cool. To think about collecting at a time like this.’
Hal laughed. ‘No time like the present.’
With his hands protected by stout gloves too thick for a snake’s fangs to pierce, and his feet by thick boots, he warily approached a small killer and with a quick plunge seized it by the neck and dropped it into his bag.
‘I’ll help you,’ Roger said.
‘Stay where you are. You might get nipped.’
But Roger had already pulled his boots on, and was waltzing across the floor, trying to put each foot down in a spot free of snakes. He got a pair of snake gloves and proceeded to add snakes to the collection in the sack. He had some skill in this art since he had practised it since childhood on his father’s animal farm. Twice the snakes struck before he could get them into the bag but their fangs did not succeed in getting through the heavy gloves.
Captain Ted in the meantime thought it best to cover himself from head to foot and tuck the edges in tightly so nothing could get to him. Why should he risk his life? He didn’t trust the antivenin. He didn’t feel called upon to help - he was no collector but a sailor, and this was none of his business. So he excused himself.
Suddenly he felt something squirming across his chest. One of the little devils had found its way in after all. It liked the warmth of the bed and the warmth of the man in it.
The captain yelled blue murder, threw off the covers and flung the snake halfway across the cabin.
He glared at the two boys. ‘The next time I go to sea,’ he grumbled, ‘it won’t be with maniacs like you.’
The take-‘emalive men were too busy to pay any attention to him.
Finally every snake they could find was in the sack. Hal felt like teasing the captain. T reckon that’s the lot of them,’ he
said, ‘except for two or three I saw crawling in with Ted.’
‘Consarn you,’ exploded the captain. ‘Quit this nonsense and let a man get some sleep.’ Nonsense, is it? Forty king cobras at perhaps five thousand dollars each. Pretty good nonsense.’ He closed the bag. ‘Well put them into a cage tomorrow. It will have to be fine mesh so they won’t escape.’
Kaggs came back in the morning to enjoy the funeral. But he saw nobody weeping and no one digging graves. On the deck of the Flying Cloud a table had been set out and his three enemies were having breakfast.
Chapter 24
Creatures strange and rare
They were on the hunt once more. Hal, Roger, Pug and Pavo. Trudging along through the forest, all were looking for animals - except Pug.
Roger’s friend trudged along with his eyes on the ground. He wasn’t thinking about animals. What he wanted was a head. He already had a head and it was a good one. But he wanted another.
‘You haven’t said a word since we started,’ Roger said. ‘What’s the trouble?’
Pug looked up, and there was worry in his brown face. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said.
‘Of course it matters. You can tell me. What’s wrong?’
‘The men - they make fun of me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I haven’t taken a head.’
‘You’ve helped me take a lot of animals.’
T don’t mean animals. I mean a head - like this.’ He tapped his own.
‘A man’s head?’
‘Yes, a man’s head, or a woman’s head, or a baby’s head.’
‘What for?’
‘To be a man. Isn’t it so in your country? Don’t you have to cut off somebody’s head before anybody will call you a man?’
‘No. In my country if you kill someone you go to jail.’
‘But you have to have heads to put in your tambaran.’
‘We don’t have any tambaran or spirit house with heads on shelves.’
‘You don’t? I think your customs are very strange.’
‘I suppose they seem strange to you. Your customs seem strange to us.’
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