At four in the morning, just as the parrots had begun to chatter among the tamarind branches and the ducks and geese had begun to rise from the reeds, the bagla suddenly tacked towards shore.
“Where are we going?” asked Sandokan, springing to his feet.
“There’s a canal up ahead that leads to a lagoon, sahib,” replied Bindar, having executed the maneuver with a quick turn of the rudder. “We’ll enter the Benar jungle from there. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Fine then, take us in.”
The bagla reached the mouth of the canal moments later, tacked again, and began to advance upstream.
Birds had begun to awaken from their slumber; adjutant storks, large white-rumped vultures, brown hawk-owls, small birds of paradise and bands of spotted-bill ducks fled as they approached, filling the air with their cries.
They reached the lagoon about an hour later; it was the size of a lake, far larger than Sandokan and Tremal-Naik had expected. Its shores were lined with banana and mango trees heavy with fruit; its waters overspread with vines and lotus leaves.
“We’ll drop anchor here,” said Bindar.
“Where does the jungle begin?” asked Sandokan.
“Just behind those trees, sahib, a short walk.”
“Let’s go ashore then.”
The bagla tacked and headed for the lagoon’s left bank, its keel parting the vegetation as it advanced towards land.
“We’ll hide it under a pile of branches,” said Sandokan. “We wouldn’t want anyone to sail off with it.”
“There’s no need, sahib,” replied Bindar. “No one ever comes here.”
“Why not?”
“Look over there.”
Sandokan and Tremal-Naik turned their eyes and spied three or four large flat pointed heads just above the water.
“Crocodiles!” cried the Tiger of Malaysia.
“These waters are teeming with them, sahib,” said Bindar. “Hundreds, perhaps thousands of them.”
“They won’t cause us much concern. Tremal-Naik has dealt with those ugly brutes before.”
“They abounded in the Black Jungle as well,” said the Bengali. “I’ve killed a lot of them; they’re not as dangerous as people think.”
Once the anchor had been dropped, the Malays and Dyaks gathered their weapons and supplies and quickly went ashore.
“Is the pagoda far from here?” asked Sandokan.
“Just a mile, sahib.”
“Let’s go then.”
The band of men assembled into a column and marched into the jungle, the fakir, the jemadar and Kaksa Pharaum in the centre. When they emerged from the trees they found themselves before a vast plain covered with tall thorny bamboo. A few patches of green could be seen scattered about in the distance, mostly groves of palmyra palms with tall trunks and long fan-shaped leaves.
“Try not to make much noise,” said Bindar. “There could be any number of beasts about.”
“Don’t worry about us,” said Sandokan. “We’ve spent a lot of time in jungles.”
They leveled their rifles and, one by one, cautiously stepped in among that sea of reeds. They advanced in silence, a few men clearing the path before them until Bindar spied a game trail that must have been made by a passing rhino or elephant.
With no obstacles before them they quickened their pace, the Indian always leading them forward, stopping from time to time to listen whenever a suspicious noise caught his ear.
Thirty minutes later they reached a large clearing filled with weeds and kush[23]: tall grass with a sharp narrow tip that can cut through human flesh.
The remnants of the pagoda stood before them. It was a large pyramid-shaped building and must have been a grand structure in its day. Its exterior, however, had crumbled, its walls were rent in several places, and the ground before it was strewn with carvings of gods, beasts and elephant heads. A flight of steps led up to its entrance, but the doors appeared to have long since been removed.
“This is the pagoda?” asked Sandokan, bringing the squad to a halt.
“Yes, sahib,” replied Bindar.
“It won’t collapse on us?”
“If it’s stood for this long, I doubt it’ll come crumbling down the moment we set foot inside,” said Tremal-Naik. “Come, let’s get a look at our new lair.”
But before he could take a step Bindar quickly barred his path.
“Stop, sahib.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve forgotten about the tigers.”
“You’re right,” replied Sandokan. “I’d forgotten as well. Are you certain the rumour is true?”
“I haven’t seen the beasts myself, but I’d wager it is, sahib.”
“We’ll go check then,” said Sandokan. “Kammamuri take a torch and come with us. The rest of you will remain here. Fan out and form an arc about the clearing. If the beasts try to escape—”
A hoarse growl thundered from the pagoda’s entrance and a pair of green phosphorescent dots glittered from the darkness that reigned inside it.
Bindar took two steps back.
“A kerkal!” he murmured, a slight tremble in his voice.
“A kerkal?” asked Sandokan. “What’s that?”
“Panthers, sahib.”
Chapter 16
Panthers
IT IS NOT uncommon to find the remnants of pagodas, temples and palaces in India’s jungles and forests. Many empires have risen and fallen on the subcontinent, their ruins scattered throughout the country. Rajahs sometimes moved their capitals to a more strategic location and more than one village has been abandoned because of plague, famine or drought.
The heat, humidity and rich soil allow the jungle to quickly reclaim all that has been built. Trees grow into and out of the walls, and it is not long before once grand palaces are half-covered by thick vegetation. Bamboo trees, shrubs, banana trees, peepal trees, and tara palms sprout as if by magic; fields that had once grown crops are quickly transformed into lush jungles and become home for tigers, panthers, snakes, and rhinoceroses.
It was hardly surprising then that the pirates of Malaysia, led by Bindar, had found such a refuge. Unfortunately, it appeared that others had gotten there first.
“Come, Tremal-Naik,” said Sandokan. “Let’s see if we can convince the beasts to find new lodgings.”
“They won’t go quietly,” replied the Bengali.
“All the worse for them. Ready, Kammamuri?”
“Yes, Captain,” replied the Maratha, his torch now lit and a double-barreled pistol in his hand.
“Get behind us then and make sure that torch doesn’t go out.”
“You can count on me, sir.”
Sandokan turned to see if his men were in place, loaded his rifle and pistols, then climbed up the pagoda’s steps, Tremal-Naik followed close behind, alongside Kammamuri, the Maratha holding the torch high in the air. The formidable pirate was as calm as if he were merely paying a visit to an old friend, his eyes never straying from the two bright specks shining in the darkness.
“Do you think it’s alone?” asked Sandokan, stopping on the landing.
“I’d wager there’s an entire family inside the pagoda,” said Tremal-Naik. “Be careful.”
“They don’t seem as large as our black panthers. I may be able to take it down with a single shot. Hold your fire until I give the signal.”
He dropped to one knee and aimed his rifle at the two bright dots. He was about to pull the trigger when they vanished.
“Saccaroa!” growled the pirate. “It knows we’re after it. Bah! We’ll flush it from its lair. Onward, Kammamuri!”
The Maratha raised his torch with his left hand, drew his double-barreled pistol with his right and advanced towards the entrance flanked by Sandokan and Tremal-Naik.
The Malays and Dyaks had fanned out in a semi-circle at the base of the steps, ready to rush to their captains’ aid or block the beasts’ path if needed be. Four men had escorted the Sikh captain, Kaksa Pharaum and the f
akir to wait beneath a tree, two standing guard against any attempt to escape as the other two trained their carbines on the pagoda.
The hunters paused to listen at the doorway, then resolutely stepped inside. They could make out a large oval room in the torchlight, empty save for a few mounds of rubble that had fallen from above; the walls were cracked and the ground was strewn with fragments of carvings and statues.
Sandokan and Tremal-Naik quickly scanned the room, but to their surprise could find no trace of the panther.
“Where could it have gone?” asked Sandokan. “There’s no other way out of here.”
“Eyes peeled, my friend,” replied Tremal-Naik. “It may be hiding behind these piles of rubble.”
The remnants of a large stone pedestal stood nearby. Sandokan leapt onto it, hoping the added height would help him spy the beast.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s gone.”
“It can’t be,” replied Tremal-Naik. “Our men would have fired if it had tried to crawl out.”
“Wait, there’s a door at the far end of the room.”
“It probably opens into a tunnel,” said the Maratha.
“It may lead outdoors,” said Tremal-Naik.
“Then it may have just spared us the trouble of killing it,” said Sandokan. “Come; let’s see if it’s still about.”
They crossed the room and quickly reached the door. It was open and the sharp scent of wild game lingered in the air.
“It passed through there,” said the pirate. “Careful now, don’t let it surprise you.”
“This passageway must have led to the priests’ quarters,” said the Bengali. “Kammamuri, stay behind us.”
Sandokan and Tremal-Naik leveled their carbines and headed into the tunnel. The passageway was narrow and sloped gently upwards; they walked fifty paces and stopped at the foot of a set of winding steps that led up into darkness.
“Saccaroa!” exclaimed Sandokan, annoyed. “Where is that damn beast hiding?”
“Shhhh!” whispered Tremal-Naik.
A muffled growl had emanated from above. The panther was nearby, perhaps preparing to attack.
Sandokan, determined to bring the hunt to a quick end, dashed up the steps, but as he reached the landing he heard the beast darting up the corridor.
“Kammamuri, bring up the torch,” he shouted.
The Maratha was at his side in an instant.
Spying the beast’s shadow, the Tiger of Malaysia fired. The shot thundered from his carbine and was followed by a muffled cry.
“Got it?” asked Tremal-Naik, leaping forward.
“I’m not sure,” replied Sandokan, as he reloaded his carbine. “It ran off before I could get it in my sights. I fired blindly.”
“You may have wounded it. Let’s see if there’s any blood.”
They advanced cautiously, crouching slightly, eyes scanning the path before them, ears straining to catch the slightest sound.
The passageway appeared to follow the pagoda’s curves. From time to time small chambers that once must have served as sleeping quarters for Brahmins and gurus opened to the left or right of them.
After he had gone a few paces Sandokan stopped suddenly and knelt to the ground.
“Blood!” he exclaimed.
“You wounded it,” said Tremal-Naik. “That should make things easier.”
Certain now that the panther would not put up much of a fight, the three men began to advance more quickly. With every step they spied more blood on the ground, the panther’s wound must have been quite severe; nevertheless, it continued to retreat further down the corridor.
Just after they rounded a bend, the three hunters stepped into a large room, adorned with statues of Vishnu’s ten incarnations.
“End of the passageway,” said Tremal-Naik.
He had barely uttered those words when a dark mass suddenly pounced upon them, knocking them to the ground and extinguishing the torch.
Sandokan and Kammamuri immediately sprang back to their feet and fired blindly. Tremal-Naik, more cautious, had held his fire, fearing another attack. His fears were in vain for after knocking the hunters to the ground, the panther had dashed back into the corridor.
“Wretched beast!” said Tremal-Naik. “This is a fine mess! Do either of you have a tinder-box?”
“No,” replied Sandokan.
“No,” added Kammamuri.
“Then we’ll have to walk back in the dark.”
“We know the way. It won’t be that difficult,” said the Tiger of Malaysia.
“What if the panther tries to ambush us?”
“We’ll have to be ready. We have no other option.”
“Reload your pistol, Kammamuri. The kerkal could appear at any moment.”
“It could also—”
A low growl cut off the Maratha’s words.
“There’s another panther in here!” exclaimed Sandokan.
“Yes,” replied Tremal-Naik. “As I feared, the beast was not alone.”
“Retreat!”
“Quickly,” added the Bengali. “Before they trap us in here!”
Sandokan cursed.
“Forced to turn back when we almost had them!”
“We’ll deal with them later. Come, there’s no time to waste!”
They slowly backed out of the room, eyes scanning for the second panther. Only Kammamuri faced the corridor, his pistol now reloaded and ready to fire upon the first panther that had tried to pounce on them if it attempted another attack.
Despite the danger, they were calm.
“Stay close,” said Sandokan, “and fire as soon as you catch a glimpse of their eyes.”
With Kammamuri leading them back the way they had come the three men slowly advanced down the dark narrow corridor, the Maratha keeping his pistol trained before him, Sandokan and Tremal-Naik pointing their carbines towards the large hall they had just left.
The Maratha had just reached the steps that led down to the passageway when he spied the first panther’s green eyes a few paces from him.
“Master!” he said, stopping instantly. “I’ve just spotted it.”
“And the other one isn’t far behind us,” replied Sandokan. “There, you can see its eyes.”
The three men stood there, motionless, carbines pointed at the four shining specks, each man hesitant to fire, knowing a miss could be fatal.
“We can’t stay here forever,” Sandokan said after a brief silence. “We’ll fire a round then use our scimitars if need be. I’m not afraid of a fight. Kammamuri, fire at the panther on the steps, I’ll try to take down the other one.”
“What about me?” asked Tremal-Naik.
“Hold your fire,” said the Tiger of Malaysia. “Shoot one of them if we miss.”
Without taking his eyes from the two phosphorescent dots shining ominously in the darkness, he cautiously drew his scimitar, pressed it between his teeth, then slowly aimed his carbine.
Meanwhile, Kammamuri had pointed his double-barrelled pistol.
The two shots thundered in unison, the flash of powder illuminating the corridor and the steps for an instant. The panther below them fled and the three men quickly raced down towards the passageway.
Tremal-Naik, who was the first to reach the bottom, upon hearing a threatening growl on the landing above, fired up the steps.
A roar came in reply, then a large mass came charging forward, and knocked Sandokan, who had stopped on the second last step, to the ground.
Before it could strike the pirate quickly sprang to his feet and brought his blade crashing down upon it, slicing a large gash in its neck. Dazed, the beast tried to swat at him, but Sandokan somehow dodged its paws and dealt it a mighty thrust between its eyes.
“Run!” shouted Tremal-Naik.
Their guns empty, the three men fled through the passageway, running wildly. Just as they were about to enter the pagoda, they heard a volley of gunfire thunder from outside.
“They got it!” said Sandokan, runnin
g towards the door.
A large panther, one of the largest he had ever seen, lay on the landing in a pool of blood, its beautiful coat riddled with bullets.
“Sahib,” said Bindar, stepping forward, “we feared they’d killed you.”
“The pagoda is ours,” Sandokan replied simply. “Come.”
“What about the other one?” asked Kammamuri. “Are you sure you killed it?”
“It’s dead or dying,” said Sandokan. “No beast could have withstood those blows. Send in a half dozen men to check; if it’s still alive, they can put it out of its misery.”
Once the pagoda had been secured, some Malays and Dyaks unpacked their bundles and spread mats, blankets, and pillows on the floor, while others lit torches and planted them in the rubble. Sambigliong assigned three men to guard the entrance, there being a good chance that other panthers were lurking about.
When all had been prepared, Sandokan and Tremal-Naik, assured the prisoners had been fed and sheltered, stretched out on the mats, laying their weapons by their side as a precaution.
The remainder of the night passed uneventfully. A few jackals, attracted by the light shining from within the pagoda, climbed the steps and howled once or twice, only to have the sentries chase them off for their troubles.
After breakfast the next morning, Sandokan sent half his men to scout the jungle, then had the fakir brought before him. The poor man trembled visibly and large drops of sweat fell from his brow.
“Sit down,” commanded Sandokan, who was reclining on a mat beside Tremal-Naik. “It’s time to talk.”
“What do you want from me, sir?” stammered the prisoner, his eyes fixed on the Tiger of Malaysia.
“A man with a clear conscience does not tremble as you do,” replied Sandokan as he lit his chibouk and blew a thick cloud of smoke into the air. “Tell me now, how does a man with a withered arm carry a young woman out a window?”
“What!” exclaimed the fakir, casting his eyes upward. “I’ve already told you that I know nothing of the matter. Why ask me again?”
“To make certain. Did you or did you not go to a young Indian woman’s house to free her from the evil eye?”
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 16
