by Mike Miller
Before they turned the corner, the two veterans could hear the clattering. As the noise ricocheted off the wall like bullets, the sounds struck sharply upon the two’s eardrums. There was an unhinged rhythm to the noise which came in fits like a starved animal scrounging for food. In between the big crashes were the sounds of small scratches, like frenzied claws digging for scraps. A hard snap paused the two in their stroll, but they resumed their steps after the shock passed by them.
The Asian and African limped together into the large chamber Baxter instantly recognised from earlier. Except for this time a florid torch burned in the centre like a miniature sun at the centre of this universe. The bright ball of flame Conrad wielded was not strong enough to stretch to the farthest limits of the space, only illuminating a wide radius of strange clutter.
From decades of wear, ice and viciousness, the ground was a strange medley of manmade utility. Wood not from any trees, but shaped and fashioned into furniture, containers, vehicles, the stocks or bows of projectile weaponry. Dark patinas covered various ornaments of metal work, like sword blades, cookware or chain. Fabrics abounded too, like thick outerwear, blankets, coats and tents, yet most were stamped into unusable, decayed clumps. It was a vast wasteland, the dead remnants of every man that dared to venture into the Yeti’s domain.
In the middle of it scampered Conrad, torch held aloft with one hand, the other busily clawing the junk about him. Hunched over with one paw constantly buried in or feeling the floor, he resembled a crude ape whose knuckles scraped the ground when lumbering across a wide, jungle floor.
Some small cans, a boot, a broken stick of wood, the stream of refuse fell at Baxter’s feet as Conrad threw each discarded item aside one by one as he scooped away the mess.
“We could use the supplies,” Jah offered.
“What?” said Baxter absently, still appalled by Conrad’s behaviour.
“The food or fuel,” he responded. Sliding his arm off of Baxter, Jah leaned on a nearby wall. Then he fell on his rear on the ground. “Let me rest a moment. Find some more supplies we can use for the journey.” As the boy closed his eyes, Baxter became irritated again that Jah had resumed his usual reassured tone of command. If Jah slept he may not wake again, but Baxter let the boy dictate his own recovery.
Baxter picked up one of the tins that Conrad had lobbed in his direction. He angled the object in the faint light to study it better. On the faded label was written a barely legible “pork rations.”
“Rubbish,” Conrad growled to himself. “So much rubbish. I know it’s here somewhere.”
“This is bloody fantastic,” exclaimed Baxter. “You might be onto something.”
“Here,” Conrad said. He had found another leg of wood and was dipping its head into a can of fluid. Then he pressed its head against the top of his torch. Once kissed together, a new flame burst to life.
He lobbed it over to Baxter, carefully ensuring that the toss kept the head upright and thus easy for Baxter to snatch from midair by its stem. “Find something worthwhile,” Conrad instructed.
So Baxter began scouring the vast terrain of waste.
At first glance, everything blended together in a thick mess. But with his own light to direct, Baxter could discern plenty of viable scraps. He began tossing his findings back towards the mouth of the cave where Jah slept silently. Cans of food and oil, some decent rags of clothing, intact lengths of both rope and chain, the cornucopia of the Yeti’s victims seemed limitless. Once Baxter unearthed one item, he soon found others next to them.
Finding a pair of tattered gloves missing the fingertips, he still adorned them and appreciated the additional warmth. Certain items were too ensconced in ice to break free, despite some clawing and chiselling to release them.
Baxter unearthed a pistol that looked to be of Eastern design with technology over a century old. He admired the antique oddity, but dismissed it back into the pile as unnecessary and worthless.
“I must admit, Conrad,” said Baxter as he dropped a pair of fine condition British swords into their collection, “this will be a pretty decent haul at the end of the day. Why, we’ll have enough to mountaineer all the way back to Pakistan if need be.”
A loud, violent crash startled him. “Damn it,” exclaimed Conrad, turning a small bag of gear into a mushy cannonball with a ferocious kick. “I know it’s here somewhere. It has to be.”
“What?” said Baxter, alarmed at Conrad’s noticeable madness.
“What else but the damned treasure, man?” he screeched, finally bothering to look at Baxter and affording a view of his tiny pupils with wide, hollow eyes. “Remember? Why, it’s only the whole reason we all ever climbed up this hellish mountain.”
“How do we know it even made it up here?” Baxter said. “It could have been lost, fallen in the snow.”
“Because we got to where it was,” Conrad said, approaching Baxter slowly. His voice was needlessly loud as the cave amplified all noise on its hard surfaces. “I saw the bloody massacre the Yeti made of their expedition, and there was nothing there but blood. The Yeti stole it all back here just like it did for all of this garbage.”
“Even if we found a box of gold, we’re in no shape to carry that anywhere,” said Baxter. “Without a full group of porters to transport the load, it’s useless anyway.”
“Maybe not all of it, but we can take some of it.” Conrad resumed canvassing the ground like a hungry bloodhound.
Baxter smiled and wiped a hand across his face though his teeth grit with anger. “Frankly, I don’t want to bog down our shallow expedition transporting even a single brick of gold.”
Conrad’s scrounging ceased, and Baxter was amazed that rational logic had actually made an impact. Conrad sighed and scoffed indistinctly.
“What’s that?” asked Baxter.
“It’s not gold,” said Conrad as he marched away into the darkness, deeper into the cave.
Jah groaned loudly in his slumber, though it was uncertain whether he was affected by actual pain or a nightmare. His body returned to stillness. “Then what is it?” Baxter asked, following behind Conrad.
“Take a look for yourself,” said Conrad, stopping to point his torch towards a large wooden chest sitting atop a small mound like a famous gallery exhibit.
“That’s it?” asked Baxter.
Conrad swept away some icy grime from the front, and revealed the faded colours of the Union Jack surrounded by some ornate golden fleur-de-lis. Baxter could not restrain his gushing enthusiasm, though Conrad’s response was timid in its joy.
The lock and hasp already smashed off, Baxter easily lifted the lid to peer inside. He angled his own torch to better examine the dark contents.
The sight confused Baxter. The bricks were not bright and golden, but dark and brown. He reached out and grabbed one, instantly sensing another tactile difference. Though the cold had made the brick hard, there was still a fragile softness in its touch. His fingers were able to squeeze the bar ever so slightly, which meant it wasn’t any precious metal of which he was aware.
Beside the carefully stacked rows and columns of bars was a small wooden box that housed a number of vials. Baxter picked up one of these containers to find that each small glass beaker was filled with a milky white liquid. While studying this mysterious substance, Baxter angled the box to the side and shook it strongly. The white fluids had frozen over and were unaffected by any commotion.
“What is it?” he said, turning it now fully upside down though the small tubes remained perfectly secure and suspended in their slots in the box.
“Opium,” Conrad said. “Or morphine. I suppose it has other names too.”
The strange truth of the situation hurt Baxter to realise. “This is what we were after?” he said.
In the next moment, Baxter smashed the box of glass down on the floor which landed with a short squish rather than a brittle crash. “How the hell could you do this to me?”
“I didn’t know either, damn it.” Con
rad barked angrily. “Douglas knew.”
“We risked everything for dope?” Baxter snapped. Dropping his torch, he snatched the lapels of Conrad’s coat and ripped him towards his angered face.
Conrad fought the grapple at first, then calmly relented. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have come.”
Anguish made Baxter dip his head solemnly. “It was supposed to be the funds to open the new branch of the bank. It was supposed to be our damned freedom!”
“It is,” said Conrad, raising his hand to comfort his friend with a pat on the shoulder. “It’s just not currency.”
The white opium had melted enough from the torch fire to dissolve into a small pool. The heat of the fire ignited the substance into a tiny fire.
“Think of it this way,” Conrad offered. “Why, this could be a blessing. If England had transported bricks of gold, we’d be in no position to move any of it home now. But with the valuables condensed into light, convenient packages, we can still salvage our trip.” Conrad picked up a brick of the drug and demonstrated its weightlessness by playfully tossing it up and down in his hand.
Baxter groaned. “By becoming junk peddlers?” The thought brought about further despair.
“Will you quit your morality for once?” Conrad said, his tone becoming irritated. “Why, we’ve always been murderers and killers. Then we became traitors, scoundrels and thieves. So why should this latest role bother you anymore? I can accept it as the means to success, so why can’t you?”
Baxter had no answer. But then an epiphany struck him, and he laughed heartily, causing Conrad to sceptically eye him.
“Why, don’t you see?” Baxter asked. “It’s a sign! There was never meant to be any treasure for us. Nothing, that’s what we get.”
While chuckling over the revelation, Baxter stooped to retrieve his fallen torch then walked away. “We’re leaving now,” he said, his voice returning to a calm and plain tone of instruction. “The mule needs to be loaded up, and Jah needs to get to some real warmth and shelter.”
“You have a mule?” Conrad asked. “Then we can take it! Especially this concentrated oil, to help light some fires. It’s quite flammable, as you can see.”
A noxious smell singed Conrad’s nostrils, and he noticed the fumes were rising from the spilled narcotics. But while watching the white drug sizzling in pools, Conrad’s eyes were attracted by another sight. He peered down at an opening in the broken debris of wood where something flickered in the flame’s reflection. His fingers reached inside the small opening and clutched at the object. But when his fingers touched the stuck object, his fingertips burned.
“Bastard,” he exclaimed withdrawing his hand and waving the appendage limply to cool it back down to a bearable temperature.
But any pain immediately vanished when he saw that his fingers had smeared away two small trails of grime, revealing a shiny yellow substance. After the surprise dissipated, he knew clearly that it was a gold coin. The flame danced on the metal’s surface and gave it a magical shimmer that mesmerised the old man. The spreading blaze now illuminated the fastened contents better, as this coin was but the first on a stash of a dozen other dirty pieces of gold. “Treasures,” Conrad purred.
He turned with excited glee. “Baxter, we found it!” he exclaimed, kneeling down and trying to rip away the broken wooden boards that obscured the loot. “It’s here! We were meant to find it!”
Jah suddenly started coughing wildly, quickening Baxter to the ill boy’s side without any thoughts to Conrad’s rambling words. The stump of his severed forearm thrashed about while his eyes bulged, staring up at an invisible object on the ceiling. Baxter held his head and looked down into open and hollow eyes, as if Jah’s spirit were being expelled from his body with every wracking burst of breath.
“Here,” Conrad said, pushing past Baxter. In his hand he held one of the broken vials of liquid opium. He tilted it towards Jah’s mouth when Baxter caught his arm by the wrist.
Though Baxter’s dark eyes glowered with protest, Conrad’s own face expressed the necessity of the operation. Baxter released Conrad and secured Jah’s trembling chin.
Like a chemist carefully preparing an elixir, Conrad swirled the fluid in its tiny canister for even consistency, then slowly poured a tiny stream into Jah’s parted lips. The boy gagged on the substance.
“Is that enough?” asked Baxter.
“Maybe not enough,” mused Conrad, watching his patient for any sign of reaction. “I don’t know if you’re really supposed to drink it either.”
Jah’s groaning and wheezing transformed into wretched coughing. Baxter held the boy’s head and arms while Conrad tackled the legs to constrain the seizure.
Suddenly, all motion ceased. The boy’s body fell limp and lifeless.
The two soldiers shared an expression of horror. While Baxter placed two fingers to the throat to check for a pulse, Conrad bowed his head to the boy’s chest to listen for heartbeat or breath. The two soldiers shared another glance to happily confirm with each other there were still signs of vitality.
“Another mixed blessing,” said Conrad, toasting the vial of opium upwards as if it were a flute of wine.
“We need to leave immediately. He will not survive the cold of night here, and if we can make some progress down the hill, we can avoid the wind.” Baxter was already busy stuffing his pack with the choicest supplies they had collected.
“There’s gold back there too, mate. Were we not meant to find real loot?” Conrad enthused temptingly, as if he had not heard a word from Baxter. “We just need to excavate it out from its trappings, and we’ll have done for what we came!”
Baxter began to leave, and Conrad clamped his glove over Baxter’s shoulder. “Your bloody morality is a cheap trick to trap you as an impoverished mendicant. We can have it both ways, damn it! You don’t have to martyr yourself--”
Baxter punched Conrad in the jaw, toppling him backwards onto his rear. The old Brit massaged his sore face while staring in shock back up at his lunatic friend. “Greed has gotten us nowhere,” Baxter said bluntly. “This man saved both our lives, and that’s what we’re going to do now for him.”
“I thought I did that when I helped kill the Yeti,” groused Conrad.
“But Jah is not saved yet,” Baxter reminded him, shaking his head in simmering frustration. “You can stay with the damned riches for all I care. I will make sure this boy lives.”
Chapter LII
Departing Downward
With Jah firmly tethered to Rudy the mule, Baxter hoisted a full pack of gear onto his own back. He shouldered the rifle, then rattled the animal’s rig to ensure it was completely secure.
The sky was now dark with night. But with the air clear of clouds, the moon and stars shone brightly and bathed the mountain peak in a pale light. Devoid of colour, the world was gray.
“Are we certain we don’t want to carry more opium at least?” Conrad asked. Baxter’s annoyed glare caused Conrad to quickly add, “Just jesting.”
Baxter began to walk and then paused. His head peered from side to side.
“What now?” Conrad asked.
“I’m not certain where to go,” Baxter admitted shamefully.
“What?” Conrad could not believe the words. “Don’t we-- I mean--” he stammered in bewilderment. “We just go back down the way we came. Right?”
“I suppose,” said Baxter shyly. “Though I’m not dead certain of where exactly that is. He was the guide.” Baxter’s head nodded towards their unconscious associate.
“See that?” offered Conrad, he pointed out into the distance. The infinite blackness extended outwards from the mountainside in all directions, like the ocean around an island. The nothingness below was more like a dark night sky that the brightly lit swirls of starlight above. Yet far away in the darkened plains, a tiny speck of light shone. “There,” said Conrad.
Baxter stepped closer and could not tell any better what its source was. He unsheathed his rifle and squint
ed through the scope, yet could not discern any definition.
“What is it?” asked Conrad.
“I don’t know.” Baxter removed his eyes from the scope and studied the light naturally without amplification.
“It’s life,” said Conrad. “How far away is Jah’s place?”
“Two, three days,” replied Baxter, “assuming we don’t get lost on the way.”
“That settles it then,” Conrad said, confidently marching past Baxter. “I’d reckon we’re a day’s journey from there, probably less.”
“So?” argued Baxter. “That’s undiscovered China. We could be running into an encampment of bandits.”
“Where’s your faith now?” Conrad sighed, “Where there’s life, there’s more likely to be some habitable climate, well-worn roads. And perhaps not such crippling mountain weather.”
“You just want to go east still,” snapped Baxter.
“And you don’t?” retaliated Conrad. “What’s back on the western side of the world? Dishonour, death, another contingent of bloodthirsty Brits even hungrier for our traitorous scalps?”
Conrad turned and stomped off petulantly. “I’ve had it with your second guessing. You save your friend’s life however you want. I’m heading yonder.”
Baxter resented the impudence. Turning to see Rudy’s inquisitive eyes, he found no reinforcing support, just a blank gaze of indifference. “Come on,” he grumbled, and led the mule by the reins after Conrad.
Chapter LIII
The Return of the Yeti
The thick fog was a dark grey in the moonlight. It was so still and calm, it might have been a vast field of cotton.
But then the mist swirled and parted, politely moving aside as a long white hand reached up and through the shroud to sink its clawed fingers into the rock wall. Its twin appeared beside it to grope farther up from the cloud, planting itself into the stone above the other. With the next step, the rest of the Yeti appeared from the smoky vapours.