by Darren Hale
‘Because you are rapidly turning into one miserable bastard – you know that?’
Angus chuckled. ‘Tell you what… Let’s get off this boat and go find some action.’
Oki shook his head vigorously. ‘No way mate! You heard what Simon said. We wait here until they get back.’ I want everyone to stay here until we can get immigration sorted out. That means EVERYONE – including you Angus.
‘You know… You’d think he doesn’t trust me.’
‘Do you blame him?’
‘Look, he’s been gone for hours. Don’t you think it’s about time we went looking for him?’
‘No – I don’t. You know he’s liable to just go and leave us here.’
‘Hey meester – American?’ The voice of a young boy resounded above the hubbub of the dockyard. ‘Want to buy postcards? Send them to your family back home.’
Angus peered over the railings. A young boy of no more than five or six years of age stood next to the boat, waving a tattered shoebox full of postcards above his head.
‘Okay – how much?’
‘One Sol each. Very good price.’
‘Now you want to buy a postcard?’ asked Oki.
‘Yeh – why not. At least it’s something to do!’ Angus returned his attention to the boy. ‘I’ll give you one Sol for two cards – okay.’
‘Okay… Which you like?’
‘Tell you what… Why don’t you pick – any two…’
The young boy sucked in his lips and then hunted through his collection of cards, his face contorted in concentration. He then carefully selected two and waved them in the air. ‘Okay?’
‘Okay… Just drop them on the deck and I’ll pick them up in a minute.’
The boy looked bemused.
Angus pointed to the deck next to the boarding ramp.
The boy smiled and scuttled toward the ramp to deposit the cards while Angus fumbled in his pocket for a silver-coloured one Sol coin. Having found it, he dropped it to the ground at the boy’s feet. ‘Oh, and by the way... This accent is Scottish, not bleeding American – okay!’
‘And just what are you goin’ to do with those?’ Oki asked.
Angus collected his cards from the deck. ‘What are you talking about,’ he said with an innocent frown. ‘I’m going to send them to my mother.’
The young boy collected his coin from the dust, wiped it clean, then slipped it into his pocket before scampering off in search of fresh customers.
‘Uh-oh,’ Oki growled.
‘What is it man?’
‘Look over there.’ Oki pointed across the dock. Simon and Eduardo had just marched into view, flanked by a pair of guards with rifles in hand, and a fifth figure who, at this distance, resembled a modern-day Groucho Marx (with a few additional pounds slung around the waistline and the stub of a cigar smouldering between his teeth).
They watched them approach. ‘Problem boss?’ Angus shouted.
‘Nothing serious. Just a routine customs inspection,’ Simon replied. ‘…To make sure we’re not smugglers.’ A quick look over his shoulder reassured him that the police chief had either not heard him… Or had chosen to ignore the comment.
‘Ahh shit!’ Angus exclaimed, beneath his breath.
‘What’s wrong?’ Oki enquired.
‘Just need to go tidy my room… See you shortly.’ Angus disappeared in the direction of the stairs. His room was located on the second floor – a level above Catherine’s and Martin’s cabins – where, he hoped, the guards would take a while, inspecting the equipment they’d brought with them.
He unlocked his cabin door and slipped inside. His mother, who had once described him as pathologically untidy (a curse common amongst men in the McCrae household), would have been disappointed to see the state of his room. And had he gone with the excuse that a hoard of rampaging monkeys had visited just hours before, she might well have believed him.
He hurried over to his bed and the precious collection of porno magazines strewn across the sheets. As far as he was aware, they were not illegal in Peru, nevertheless, he had no intention of leaving them to their visitors, who might have found any excuse to confiscate them. It was bad enough having to go cold turkey over his smoking habit, let alone being relieved of his other favourite pastime.
He scooped them up and slid them under his mattress for safekeeping. Then, with his entire collection safely out of sight, he lay back on his bed, and waited for his turn.
7
Thursday 14th September:
The market thrummed with activity. Locals and tourists jostled through crowded streets despite the blistering sun, passing vendors sporting a wealth of produce neatly arrayed on makeshift stalls in front of them. Fresh fish gently baked in the sultry heat, filling the air with their thick oily aromas, while large earthenware pots, laden with brightly coloured spices, added their gentle fragrance to the breeze.
Catherine scanned the items on her shopping list. The paper was crumpled and worn, and Simon’s pencil-written scrawl was already beginning to fade. ‘Looks like we need some manioc flour – whatever that is?’ she observed.
‘Sim señorita – manioc flour.’ Eduardo looked tired. The encounter with the Iquitos police chief had been an ordeal for all of them.
‘And what on earth is manioc flour?’ she asked.
‘Manioc is a root vegetable that grows here in the Amazon. It looks much like your sweet potato, but contains cyanide,’ said Eduardo with a wry smile. ‘So it has to be specially prepared before being turned into flour.’
Catherine looked at him aghast. ‘Cyanide! Is there nothing in this country that isn’t deadly?’
Eduardo chuckled. ‘Not much…’
They negotiated their way through the crowd until Eduardo had managed to locate a supply of the mysterious manioc flour. A few minutes later (and following some heated bartering), he’d managed to secure a half-dozen sacks for delivery to the ship.
An elderly woman watched them through glazed eyes. Her skin was cracked and dried; wrinkled like a piece of old driftwood; and her teeth were chipped and blackened through hours spent chewing on the coca leaves brazenly on display next to her.
‘Okay, what now?’ Eduardo asked.
Catherine consulted the shopping list, having taken a moment to put a line through the manioc flour entry. ‘Not much really… Batteries for the torches, and replacements for a few of the tools.’
‘Okay. I think I know where we can get all of that – follow me.’
Eduardo escorted her down one of the many small streets that led away from the market square and past the bric-a-brac stalls that choked the sides of the road.
Catherine fought her way forward, her shoulder pressed out in front of her.
Having been swept along by the tide of bodies, Eduardo was now more than a few paces ahead of her. ‘This way,’ he said, disappearing around a corner.
Hands grappled at her, feeling for the straps on her bag, and in a moment of panic, she realised their actions were quite deliberate.
‘Eduardo, help me!’
She turned to face her attackers: three unremarkable youths with little to distinguish them from the crowd.
‘Catherine?’
‘Over here!’
Two of the youths pressed against her, pinning her in place, while the third tried to rip the bag from her shoulder.
It came free.
Securing his prize beneath his arm, the youth turned and fled.
Catherine yelled after him. ‘Stop thief!’
As heads turned towards her, the remaining two attackers melted from sight.
‘Are you okay?’ Eduardo asked, having finally appeared at her side.
Catherine rubbed her shoulder. ‘Fine – apart from a sore shoulder and a wounded pride...’
Eduardo looked concerned. ‘Did they take much?’
‘Not really – just my bag. It contained nothing more than a few personal effects, and my travel guide – nothing I can’t live without.’
<
br /> ‘Good… But if you’re okay, I think we should get back to the boat.’
‘Don’t worry about me Eduardo – I’m fine. Besides, we’ve still got some shopping to do.... And it’s not as if they got the money...’ she said, smiling broadly as she tapped the money belt hidden beneath her clothes.
8
Sunday 17th September:
They spent another three days cruising the Napo River and thence the Tamboryacu, to the point at which it had become too tangled for the Amazon Queen to make any further progress. From here on out, they were to continue the journey using the four motorised canoes they’d been towing; narrow-bottomed boats that looked frighteningly unstable as they bobbed like corks behind them.
‘Angus – make sure those boxes are lashed down properly will you. I don’t want anything coming loose.’
Simon supervised the loading, ensuring that boxes were tied in their proper place and secured beneath large tarpaulin sheets.
‘Okay boss.’
‘And when you’re done with that… I want you to take the number two canoe, along with Catherine. I’ll take Eduardo and Juliet with me in the lead boat, leaving Rufus and Marina to follow up behind, along with Martin and Oki. Got it?’
Everyone nodded.
‘Oh… and guys… No horsing around today. These boats are heavily loaded, and we could do without anyone capsizing.’ His eyes turned to Angus and Oki.
The two of them glanced at one another. ‘You’d think he doesn’t trust us or something,’ Angus observed.
‘I don’t…’ Simon affirmed.
Having boarded their boats, they slowly threaded their way up the river.
The miles passed, serenaded by the chug-chugging of the boats’ little engines and the hack-hacking of Simon’s machete as he chopped through the veils of leaves and swathes of green that strangled the sky around them.
‘Uh Simon, are you sure that’s such a good idea?’ asked Juliet, as he laid into a particularly dense wall of foliage that had brought them to a virtual standstill.
‘Yes, I do,’ he said, with a petulant wheeze. The heat and the exercise were getting the better of him. ‘Unless you know a better way of getting us free.’
‘No, it’s just that…’ She pointed towards a dark brown globe hanging like a giant fruit.
The machete fell heavily against the branch, sending tremors throughout its length.
Simon followed her gaze towards the strange brown globe, just in time to see a swarm of large orange wasps come billowing out.
‘Oh shit!’
He waved the machete about his head in a vain attempt to ward himself from the impending attack.
Reacting without hesitation, Eduardo threw himself off the back of the boat and into the turbid brown waters, oblivious to the dangers that might have been waiting for him there, while Juliet whimpered quietly. Begrudging a dip in the water, she’d freed one edge of the tarpaulin and was now pulling herself inside, yelping as the first of the wasps stung her arms.
Belatedly following her example, Simon did the same, dragging himself into its protective shroud as the angry black cloud engulfed the boat.
‘Hold yerself there!’ shouted Angus. Having pulled his backpack free from its resting place, he’d rummaged around for a few moments before withdrawing two cans of fly spray. Seeing Catherine’s quizzical expression, he simply shrugged. ‘Ahh hate creepy-crawlies.’
Acting upon Angus’s instruction, Catherine steered the canoe onto the bank and grounded it a safe distance from the wasps. Angus then leapt ashore, brandishing a spray can in either hand as he advanced behind a thick cloud of repellent, while uttering the war cry, ‘take that ye wee bastards!’
Eduardo watched, his head bobbing in the water a short distance away. The river was not all that deep, and his feet had come to rest comfortably on the bottom.
The swarm had begun to dissipate ahead of Angus’s onslaught, wasps falling like leaves into the water. Then, having retrieved the machete Simon had abandoned, he finished freeing the boat, while holding one can of the insect repellent clutched firmly in his other hand – just in case. ‘Okay – I think it’s safe to come out now,’ he said reassuringly.
Simon slowly withdrew the tarpaulin.
Angus offered him a hand up. ‘Are you okay man?’
Leaning heavily on Angus for support, Simon staggered to his feet. He was covered in bruises and swellings that made him look as if he’d been assaulted by a heavyweight boxer. ‘Not really…’ he moaned, before heaving his stomach into the water.
‘My God you look dreadful!’ Catherine observed.
‘Gee – thanks. And by the way… your bedside manner sucks!’ he said, managing a limp smile.
‘Sorry, but I’ve always believed in telling it as it is. Here, try these…’ She handed him a selection of tablets and a flask of water.
‘What are they?’
‘Just a few steroids, some antihistamines, and a couple of painkillers. With luck, they should take down some of the swelling and make you feel a bit more comfortable.’
Simon swallowed the pills one at a time, washing each of them down with a tiny sip of water.
‘Excellent! Now… rest here… while I check on Juliet and Eduardo.’
Eduardo had been fortunate, having escaped with minor abrasions that required nothing more than some gentle cleaning and applications of antiseptic ointment to save them from infection, but Juliet had not been so lucky. Having been stung by numerous wasps, her arms were now covered in red welts. ‘Owe – that hurts!’ she protested as Catherine applied ointment to the worst of her wounds.
‘Ach – you’re such a baby. It really doesn’t look half that bad you know?’ Angus observed.
‘And how would you know!’ said Juliet petulantly. ‘Have you ever been stung by a swarm of wasps?’
‘No, of course not. I was just trying to make you feel better.’
‘Well don’t – you’re not very good at it!’
The trailing two boats had beached a short distance downstream. Catherine quickly appraised them of the situation.
‘So what happens now?’ Oki asked.
‘We’ve got to get moving, if we are to stand any chance of making the camp by sunset.’ Simon slurred his words. The painkillers were beginning to kick in, rendering him comfortably numb.
‘Surely you’re not thinking of going on. Wouldn’t it be better to head back to the Amazon Queen and try again in the morning?’ Juliet suggested.
Simon shook his head. ‘We can’t… The Amazon Queen is already on her way back to Iquitos and won’t be returning anytime in the foreseeable future.’
‘Great!’ Angus exclaimed.
‘Well, unless the doctor here can work some kind of miracle, Simon is not in any fit state to lead,’ growled Martin, his stolid features apparently unshaken.
‘I’m afraid I have to agree with him. Simon… You’re going to have to remain a passenger for the rest of the trip,’ said Catherine.
Juliet frowned. ‘But isn’t he the only one who knows where we are going?’
‘Rufus… Didn’t you say you knew the location of the camp?’ Catherine asked, taking charge of the situation.
‘In theory…’ he replied hesitantly, knowing where the conversation was going.
‘But you could get us there?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good!’ Catherine smiled. ‘Then I suggest you take the lead boat, along with Angus. That way Simon can stay with me, where I can keep an eye on him. How does that sound?’
Heads bobbed in acknowledgement.
‘Fine… So… if that’s all decided… I suggest we get moving. I don’t know about all of you, but I for one don’t wish to spend the night out here.’
******
The sun arced through the sky like the sweeping hand of a clock, measuring the final moments before sunset, its light drizzling across the treetops as it faded toward the horizon.
‘Land ho!’ said Angus enthusiastically
, his echoing cry elevating moods that had darkened with the sky.
Startled by the noise, a kingfisher bolted for cover, resplendent in a gown of emerald and sapphire feathers that seemed to shimmer as it flew.
Angus idled the engine, allowing the boat’s momentum to carry it gently onto the bank.
Rufus breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that! I was beginning to think we were lost!’
‘Then I am eternally grateful that’s one revelation you kept to yourself.’ Angus jumped ashore and started to stretch his legs. There was a small clearing carved into the jungle, and a narrow path meandering away into blackness. ‘So how much further is it now?’
‘Not far… A twenty-minute walk or so, I think,’ Rufus replied.
‘And how long before sunset?’
Rufus glanced at his watch. ‘Not long… An hour if we’re lucky.’
‘We’ll never make it with all these supplies. Not with both Simon and Juliet out of action. What if I went on ahead – see if I can rustle up some helping hands?’ Angus offered. Catherine could only imagine that the promise of beers might have prompted what had otherwise appeared to be an unusual act of chivalry.
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ Rufus agreed. ‘Just make sure you don’t dawdle along the way.’
Angus shouldered his bag. ‘Don’t worry – I won’t,’ he said, disappearing into the jungle.
******
Professor Ellis strode around the sides of the mound, picking his way amongst the weeds like a stork in search of prey. The mound looked like a monstrous anthill next to him; a shattered pile of rock and dirt rising one hundred and fifty feet into the air, all bound together by the roots of the trees that had grown to embrace it. He’d spotted a shard of obsidian lying on the ground ahead of him, its glassy surface glinting in the last rays of the sun. He stooped down to examine it, then scribbled a few lines in his notepad, carefully describing its whereabouts and appearance before pocketing it.
‘Professor…’
‘Yes – what can I do for you my lad?’ he replied absently, his voice muffled by the pipe hanging limply from the corner of his mouth, its charge of fragrant tobacco unlit.