Doc Ardan and The Abominable Snowman

by Guy d'Armen

  Ardan had arrived on the island a month ago after having earned a degree at the Ecole Nationale de Médecine. His lifelong love of adventure had led him to offer his services to a Franco-Dutch-American mining consortium, in which his father had shares, that was looking for tin in Java. The young man had immediately succeeded in finding a rich vein of the metal that justified setting up a mining operation. His goal was to locate a second vein, which he hoped to find quickly.

  Unfortunately, an unpleasant surprise awaited him. When he arrived at the location where he had been working for the past week, all of the markers he’d set out had disappeared.

  His first thought was to wonder who else might be interested in exploiting the tin mines. He thought that perhaps a rival consortium had managed to bribe some of the locals to remove his markers. But he quickly rejected that hypothesis, as there were none but the one for which he already worked.

  Suddenly, Kandaliah yelled in surprise, and at the same time an arrow flew into a nearby tree trunk. Attached to the arrow was a piece if papyrus covered with writing.

  “What does it say?” asked Ardan, who, while speaking some Malay, was not yet able to read it.

  “What does it say?” repeated his Malaysian servant as he shook his head, “Terrible things! It accuses you of being a horrible white man who has come here to steal the riches from our sacred lands. There are threats if you don’t immediately abandon your search.”

  “Is it signed?”

  “Yes, by Baja!”

  “Baja? Isn’t that the name of a snake?”

  “Yes. It’s a reptile about a meter long, with red-spotted, yellow skin. Its bite can kill a man in less than five minutes.”

  After a few minutes of silence, Kandaliah added, “I think it was written by a snake charmer. There are a lot of witch doctors on the island.”

  “Are you afraid of these witch doctors?” asked the young explorer.

  “Not in the least,” replied his companion. “I lived with the Dutch long enough to have learned that these so-called witch doctors are parasites who exploit the fears of the Malaysians.”

  “Good! Then we’re going to calmly get on with our work and put in new markers. We’ll deal with anyone who tries to stop us when the time comes.”

  Ardan once again took the measurements he needed, made a few more surveys and planted his markers. He had barely completed his task when another arrow whistled past and planted itself in a eucalyptus tree exactly 20 centimeters above his head.

  The young doctor immediately threw himself to the ground. Hidden by the tall grass, he looked at the surrounding jungle and didn’t take long to notice a native trying to hide behind a thatch of bamboo.

  He called to Kandaliah in a low voice, and the two men carefully crawled towards the hiding man. From time to time they checked to make sure he was still there, but didn’t want to risk shooting at him.

  Soon, they arrived at a small clearing surrounded by enormous cactus plants that at first sight seemed to form an impenetrable barrier. But after a few minutes of careful examination, they noticed passages that had probably been made by animals. The ground in the clearing was covered by tall grass that hid everything around them from view.

  “Strange vegetation,” murmured Ardan, “these flexible stems wind around our legs like vines, but they aren’t actually vines. I wonder what they’re hiding. Say! Look over there!”

  He pointed to a dome that just barely showed through the grass.

  A few minutes later, they had reached a large hut, with walls made of some type of yellow clay. The roof was made of artfully woven reeds.

  “Something tells me that the villain who shot at us has taken refuge here,” said Ardan. “What do you think?”

  “We can always introduce ourselves as simple travelers seeking refuge for the night to whoever lives here,” answered Kandaliah. “Then we’ll see what happens.”

  It was wise advice, and Ardan immediately agreed with his companion. The two men resolutely approached the hut. Once they were past the last of the tall grass, they found themselves in front of a partially opened door. Inside stood a tall, elderly man. His emaciated face was testimony to the ascetic life he led. It was clear that the two men were in the presence of a witch doctor.

  The man was in the midst of boiling plants in an earthenware cauldron that was balanced on a brazier made of two large stones with a wood fire blazing between them. When he noticed the two travelers, he interrupted his task and walked to the door, which he opened wide. He bowed and held his right hand on his heart and said,

  “Peace be with you. My home is yours.”

  “Thank you, O Wise Elder,” replied Ardan. “We are tired travelers who have lost our way. We gratefully accept your generous hospitality.”

  The elderly man directed his visitors towards two wooden chairs. Francis examined their host with curiosity. His face looked like heavily creased, old parchment, topped off with a long, white beard. His eyes, in deeply sunken orbits, burned like hot coals.

  By George, he thought, I don’t think it’s a good idea to let down our guard around a man like this.

  He surreptitiously patted his pocket to reassure himself that his pistol was still in place, feeling that it was, he felt strangely reassured.

  During their conversation, the hermit offered to prepare a meal for his two guests. But picking up on an almost imperceptible sign from Kandaliah, Ardan refused, saying that they had provisions of their own in their packs. The old man didn’t insist, instead questioning the two travelers further about the purpose of their journey.

  “We were hunting jaguars,” explained the young man.

  “And we’re you planning to kill the wild beasts with rocks?” asked the witch doctor. “Do you not even have a bow?”

  “We don’t,” admitted Kandaliah, “but we do have traps that we’ve dug on the trails the beasts use. There are stakes at the bottom to impale them when they fall into the hole.”

  The hermit had a satisfied smile and a knowing look burned in his eyes. Ardan had the uncomfortable feeling that the wily old man had been making sure that the two travelers were unarmed.

  The witch doctor went back to making his strange potion and murmured unintelligible words over the cauldron.

  Suddenly, he smiled amiably as he had when they arrived, and asked his guests if they would like to take a well-earned rest. The two friends agreed, and the old man brought them straw mattresses that he laid on the floor.

  Ardan and Kandaliah stretched out, while the witch doctor again bowed to them and wished them a good night. Then, he left the hut on the pretext of going to check on some of his own traps.

  “He’s clearly planning something,” whispered Ardan. “I think we had a bit of luck in coming here, because I’m certain that he’s our man.”

  “In any case,” answered Kandaliah, “we need to be on our guard and...”

  He stopped as a whistling sound was heard in the room.

  The young man had just enough time to turn on his flashlight. In its beam they saw a five foot long boa constrictor; its head high and its eyes evil. There was no room for error, as the witch doctor had left his pet serpent behind to kill the two travelers to whom he’d shown his generous hospitality! Ardan saw the snake preparing to attack, when a shot rang out; Kandaliah had fired on the reptile!

  The serpent was decapitated, but its body continued to thrash wildly.

  “He’s dead, Kandaliah,” said Ardan. “Thank you, I was...”

  A horrifying vision appeared before them. Three meters away, in the same direction as the boa, a rattlesnake was preparing to strike! His neck was engorged with venom and bore the hideous death’s head for which the beasts were known.

  This was an enemy even more redoubtable than the last, as it wouldn’t take minutes for his victim to die, but mere seconds.

  It was Ardan’s turn to fire, but his shot missed the monster. Luckily, the young man had the presence of mind to jump to the side, causing the beast to mis
s. When the furious beast made a turn to try again, the explorer was able to shoot him through the neck, then he jumped on the wounded serpent and crushed its head under his boot.

  “Let’s get out of here!” he yelled as he ran for the door.

  It was locked! However the door of a forest hut couldn’t long resist the blows of two strong, young men. It wasn’t long before the adventurers were breathing the fresh forest air. They heard a savage cry at the same time that a bullet pierced the shadows.

  But Kandaliah had seen the man in time, and while the bullet missed its target, the shooter was not so lucky.

  Another raucous cry split the night. Ardan and Kandaliah rushed in the direction from which it had come. They quickly discovered that they had just killed the old witch doctor,

  “So, the old thug locked us in,” said Ardan, “expecting that his snakes would get rid of us.”

  “And,” added Kandaliah, “I’m sure that if we’d agreed to eat whatever he offered to us, we’d have been dead before the serpents got their chance.”

  The two friends returned to the village of Risnak. The natives, who had lived in terror of the old man, came to thank them when they learned of his death, and that moment on, they didn’t have the least problem with their work.

  This new story, penned by Rick Lai especially for this volume, is a prologue of sort to a vaster work, entitled The Stahlman Initiative, which will tie together the origins of Doc and The Avenger. Rick focuses here on Ardan’s father and his long-term plans to oppose evil by any and all means, which is going to force him to cross paths with some very dangerous individuals...

  Rick Lai: The Midas Menace

  New York State, 1902

  It is generally believed that no caves exist in Long Island, New York. Nevertheless, there was an old gypsum mine located there. Abandoned in the 1880s, it had secretly been purchased in 1899 by a very unusual organization. Inside it was an enormous cave, the vastness of which was largely unknown. For the last three years, it had been the site of meetings illuminated by torchlight. One such gathering was transpiring now.

  Nearly sixty figures were assembled reverentially around a 12-feet high metal platform. A metal pole of the same length arose from the top of the structure. Extending vertically from it was a rod, five feet long, from which dangled a hangman’s noose. Adjacent to this gallows was a huge, two-armed prospector’s scale. Next to it was a wheelbarrow, covered by a golden cloth.

  The celebrants wore golden robes with pistols holstered in belts tied around their waists. Their faces were hidden by hoods of the same gleaming hue. Two other similarly clad individuals stood on the platform. The taller of the two wore a crown on his hood. The robe and hood of his companion were black rather than gold. The masked man wearing the crown raved in front of the scales.

  “I am the reincarnation of King Midas, and you are my Minions! We lust for gold! We live for gold! We live for gold! We kill for gold!”

  “We kill for gold!” echoed his followers.

  “I am merely a king. I serve a greater power.”

  Midas knelt before the figure dressed in black.

  “Our Lord and Master is the Dark Tyrant, the Keeper of our Treasure,” he continued. “All hail the Dark Tyrant! All hail the Treasure!”

  “Hail the Dark Tyrant! Hail the Treasure!”

  “Has anyone ever heard the Tyrant speak?” whispered one of the Minions to another.

  “Never,” answered the other in hushed tones. “Not a single word.”

  The Dark Tyrant gestured for Midas to rise.

  ‘My Minions,” resumed Midas, “we are the disciples of the Dark Tyrant. If we do not receive our proper tribute, we demand payment in blood! The Minions of Midas have asked two plutocrats for donations. One of these men, Aloysius Doran, has agreed to our terms in exchange for the lives of his daughter and grandchildren. His cash contribution has been converted into gold. Let me reveal the ransom”

  The man wearing the crown then removed the cloth concealing the contents of the wheelbarrow. A pile of gold bars was exposed. He placed them one by one in the nearest circular tray hanging from the two-armed scale. Once the last ingot was placed, he proudly proclaimed the value of the extortion payment.

  “Five million dollars! There shall be no blood for gold!”

  “There shall be no blood for gold!” repeated the Minions.

  “We also sent Grace Dunbar Gibson an ultimatum for 15 million in tribute. She refused! There shall be blood for gold!”

  “There shall be blood for gold!’

  “Our wrath shall fall upon Grace Dunbar Gibson! Bring forth the prisoner!”

  Prodded by a Minion armed with a rifle, a tall brunette mounted the steps leading up to the platform. Attired in an elegant pink blouse and a red skirt, Grace stared defiantly at the Dark Tyrant and Midas. She walked towards the trap door beneath the noose.

  “See how haughtily she strolls,” observed Midas. “They call her the Gold Queen. Do you know her story, my Minions? She was originally an Englishwoman of humble origins. She was hired by Neil Gibson, the mining magnate, to be the governess to his two children. After driving the first Mrs. Gibson to commit suicide, this home wrecker married her employer. But her domestic bliss was short-lived. It lasted only a year, because her husband came to our attention. For years, the press christened Neil Gibson the Gold King because of his mining empire. How stupid these reporters are! There is only one Gold King, and his name is Midas! Three months ago, we insisted that the upstart Gibson surrender his title to me and his entire fortune to our sacred Treasure. When he rebuffed our entreaties, I ordered his abduction. That cowardly braggart died, whimpering, on this very gibbet. As a gesture of compassion, we sent his body in an oblong box back to his family.

  “Gibson left his entire fortune to his spouse. No provision was made for the children from his first marriage. To everyone’s surprise, Grace proved a dutiful stepmother. She set aside generous trust funds for both children. The newspapers lavishly praised her. The King was dead! Long live the Gold Queen!

  “We allowed a suitable period of mourning before petitioning the newly-installed Gold Queen to settle her husband’s debt. That interval proved costly, because it permitted Mrs. Gibson to secrete two-thirds of her holdings in trust. Nevertheless, we were willing to overlook this indiscretion in exchange for the remaining twenty-five million. Mrs. Gibson’s response to our magnanimous offer was to surround herself and her step-children with bodyguards provided by the Pinkerton Detective Agency. A business trip to New York proved to be her Waterloo. The Gold Queen’s escort was easily slain when we abducted her from the Palais-Metropole Hotel this morning!

  “The Gold Queen has refused to give us her wealth! Her blood is forfeit! There shall be blood for gold!”

  “Blood for gold!” yelled the Minions of Midas.

  “The Black Gulf in the Canyon of Death yearns for the Gold Queen’s soul. The Dark Tyrant shall personally convey her there.”

  Advancing towards Grace, the Dark Tyrant took the noose and fastened it around her neck. The malevolent blue eyes of the masked executioner stared into the condemned woman’s black eyes. The Dark Tyrant hoped to detect fear in the Gold Queen’s eyes, but she faced her persecutor with courage. Grace spat into the Dark Tyrant’s right eye. Then she quickly yanked off the hood of her momentarily startled nemesis. A mass of golden curls was revealed.

  “The Tyrant’s a woman!” shouted one of the Minions.

  “We won’t be bossed around by any woman!” hollered another. “We should lynch her alongside the Gold Queen!”

  Pulling her mask out of Grace’s hands, the unmasked blonde turned to face her rebellious underlings.

  “Silence!” commanded Midas. “Our leader shall explain her deception. Only judge her after she has finished speaking.”

  “Yes, I am a woman! I never deceived you. A tyrant can be a woman. I am Josephine Balsamo! The police of three continents fear me as Countess Cagliostro! We talk of blood for gold! My bloodli
ne is pure. The blood of Cagliostro runs in my veins! He sent the French King and Queen to the guillotine! I have sent the Gold King and Queen to the gallows!

  “Together we have amassed a Treasure that exceeds the lost wealth of Monte Cristo!” Josephine raised her hood high. “To achieve our great victories, I hid behind a mask. Now I trust you with my true face.”

  Stepping to the edge of the metal platform, Josephine released the mask. It glided downward to land at the feet of the audience.

  “Josephine de Beauharnais was my ancestor! With Napoleon as her consort, she became the most powerful woman in Europe. With Midas as my consort, I shall become the most powerful woman in the United States. Our Treasure will be used to purchase weapons for the new army that will conquer America! You shall be the generals of that army. You shall cease to be the Minions of Midas! You shall be the Marshals of Midas!

  “This shall be your destiny if you embrace me as the new Gold Queen. Do you still desire my blood? Do you wish me life or death?

  “Life!” screamed the ecstatic Minions.

  “For the new Gold Queen to live, the old Gold Queen must die!” Josephine’s left hand reached for the lever that controlled the trap door beneath Grace Gibson’s feet. “Her death shall bring us one step further to confiscating the Gibson holdings.”

  “The Gibson fortune will never be yours!” insisted the prisoner. “Under the terms of my will, the fifteen million will be added to my children’s trust. That money will be inaccessible for another decade!”

  Josephine laughed. “Within the month, I shall exterminate your stepchildren like vermin. Their deaths shall nullify the trust fund. Their money will be inherited by their cousin in Pennsylvania. Hopefully, he will prove less stubborn than you. Any defiant last words, Gold Queen? The realization that your actions have doomed your two whelps has rendered you speechless.”