Sandokan: The Pirates of Malaysia (The Sandokan Series Book 3)

by Emilio Salgari

  “I’ve spent a lot of time in the forests of Borneo, Kammamuri,” replied Yanez. “There’s no need to fear for my safety.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “No, but I’ve crossed the forests of the Kingdom of Varauni several times.”

  “In battle?”

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  “Did you fight against the Sultan of Varauni?”

  “Yes, we’re proud enemies. He despises the pirates of Mompracem because we never lose to him.”

  “Tell me, Señor Yanez, was the Tiger of Malaysia always a pirate?”

  “No, my friend. Once long ago, he was a powerful rajah in Northern Borneo, but an ambitious Englishman bribed his troops to lead the population in revolt. They killed his mother, brothers and sisters and took his throne.”

  “And that Englishman still lives?”

  “Yes.”

  “You haven’t taken your revenge?”

  “He’s too powerful. However, the Tiger of Malaysia will not let him go unpunished. The day of reckoning will come.”

  “And you, Señor Yanez, why did you join Sandokan?”

  “I didn’t join him, Kammamuri; I was taken prisoner while sailing towards Labuan.”

  “Didn’t Sandokan kill his prisoners?”

  “No, Kammamuri; Sandokan is merciless with his enemies, but he is always generous with others, especially women.”

  “And he has always treated you well, Señor Yanez?”

  “He loves me like a brother!”

  “Will you return to Mompracem once you’ve freed my master?”

  “It’s likely, Kammamuri. The Tiger of Malaysia still mourns his wife; he needs great distractions to stifle his pain.”

  “He must have loved her immensely.”

  “He did; he still does.”

  “It’s hard to believe a man so renowned for his ferocity could have fallen in love.”

  “And with an Englishwoman at that,” added Yanez.

  “Still no word of Marianna Guillonk’s uncle?”

  “No.”

  “So he could be anywhere, even here?”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  “Do you think it’s likely?”

  “Well, if he is, it could—”

  “Halt!” shouted a voice.

  Yanez and Kammamuri froze.

  Chapter 5

  Poison and Narcotics

  TWO MEN HAD suddenly emerged from behind a cetting, a climbing bush that produces a poisonous sap strong enough to kill an ox in minutes. The first was a tall, thin, nervous-looking Indian dressed in a white uniform and armed with a long, silver-plated carbine. The second was a well-built Dyak; his teeth had been blackened with sinka wood sap and his limbs were adorned with an extraordinary collection of pearls and brass rings. He wore a cotton chawat about his hips, a red handkerchief about his head, and a veritable arsenal of weapons. A blowpipe was slung about one of his shoulders and a parang, a heavy, wide-bladed sword inlayed with pieces of brass, which the Dyaks use to behead their enemies, hung from his side. A thin rattan rope was wrapped about his waist, a strangling tool he could use as well as any Thug; tucked behind it was a kris with a poisoned serpentine blade.

  “Halt!” repeated the Indian, coming forward.

  The Portuguese quickly gestured to Kammamuri and then advanced, his right index finger poised on the trigger of his rifle.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” he asked the Indian.

  “I patrol this forest for the Rajah of Sarawak,” he replied. “And you?”

  “I am Lord Gilles Welker, a friend of Rajah Brooke’s.”

  The Indian and the Dyak presented their arms.

  “Is that man in your employ, Milord?” asked the Indian, pointing to Kammamuri.

  “No,” replied Yanez. “I met him in the forest, and he asked if he could walk with me. He’s afraid of tigers.”

  “Where are you going?” the Indian asked the Maratha.

  “As I told you this morning, I’m an honest merchant; I sell supplies to the placers in Poma,” replied Kammamuri. “Why must you question me every time we meet?”

  “Because those are the rajah’s orders.”

  “You can tell the rajah that I’m a loyal subject.”

  “You may pass.”

  Kammamuri caught up to Yanez who had continued on along his way, while the two spies returned to their hiding place behind the poisonous bush.

  “What do you make of those men, Señor Yanez?” asked the Maratha, once they were out of earshot.

  “The rajah is a clever old fox.”

  “Perhaps we should make a little detour.”

  “My thoughts exactly, Kammamuri. Those two spies may grow suspicious and decide to follow us.”

  “We’ll lose them soon enough.”

  Kammamuri stepped off the path and turned left, followed by the horse and the Portuguese.

  Minutes later, they entered the forest and were soon forced to slow their stride. Thousands upon thousands of trees festooned with rattans and vines blocked their advance at every turn. Unmoved by the beauty of the colossal camphor trees, sago palms, rubber trees, mangosteens and pinang palms, the Maratha and the Portuguese drew their krises and began to hack away at the thick vegetation before them.

  After having gone a half mile, jumping over fallen timber, fighting through bushes, and slicing through roots and creepers to open a path, the two pirates arrived before a canal filled with black, fetid water. Kammamuri cut down a branch and measured its depth.

  “Two feet,” he said. “Perfect.”

  “How so?”

  “We’ll ride up the canal to hide our tracks. If the two spies are following us, we’ll lose them soon enough.”

  “Well done, Kammamuri.”

  “After you, Señor Yanez.”

  The Portuguese mounted the horse and the Maratha climbed on behind him. After a brief hesitation, the horse waded into the foul-smelling water and cautiously began to make its way forward, staggering slightly as it advanced up the muddy riverbed.

  Once they had gone eight hundred paces, they returned to shore. Yanez and the Maratha dismounted, put their ears to the ground and listened.

  “I don’t hear anything,” said Kammamuri.

  “Me neither,” said the Portuguese. “Is the camp far?”

  “I’d say about a mile and a half at least. We should hurry, Señor.”

  They tethered the horse to a tree and headed towards a narrow game trail among the bushes and rattan that led into the depths of the forest. Once upon it they advanced quickly. They had been walking for about thirty minutes when two men suddenly shot up from behind a thicket and ordered them to halt.

  Kammamuri whistled.

  “Approach,” replied one of the sentries.

  They were two pirates, armed to the teeth. At the sight of Yanez, they let out a cry of joy.

  “Captain Yanez!” they shouted, running towards him.

  “Good morning, men,” said the Portuguese.

  “We feared you were dead, Captain.”

  “We Tigers of Mompracem all have hides of steel; where’s Sandokan?”

  “Three hundred paces from here.”

  “Keep your eyes peeled, my friends. The rajah has many spies in the forest.”

  “We know, sir.”

  “Excellent, well done, men.”

  The Portuguese and the Maratha doubled their pace and soon reached the camp that had been set up near an old, abandoned kampong. All that remained of the village, which in its time must have been fairly large, was a single nipa hut erected upon posts more than thirty feet high. Some pirates were building shelters while others were erecting palisades to defend the camp against a sudden attack by the Rajah of Sarawak.

  “Where’s Sandokan?” asked Yanez, after having been warmly received by his men.

  “Up there,” replied a pirate. “Did you encounter the rajah’s soldiers, Captain Yanez?”

  “A couple at the outskirts of t
he forest. I’ll tell you what I told the sentries, my Tigers,” said the Portuguese. “Keep your eyes peeled; the forest is crawling with the rajah’s spies.”

  “Let them show themselves if they dare!” shouted a Malay, clutching a heavy parang. “The Tigers of Mompracem do not fear the rajah’s dogs!”

  “Captain Yanez,” said another, “The next time you encounter one of those spies, tell him we’ve set up camp here. It’s been five days since our last battle, our parangs are beginning to rust and we’re getting bored from waiting.”

  “Wait a bit longer, my friend, you’ll have work soon enough,” replied Yanez.

  “Long live Captain Yanez!” shouted the tigers.

  “Hey! Brother!” shouted a voice from above.

  The Portuguese raised his head and spotted Sandokan standing on the small deck before the hut.

  “What are you doing up there?” shouted the Portuguese with a laugh. “You look like a pigeon perched in a tree.”

  “Climb up, Yanez; I wager you have something important to tell me.”

  “I’ll be there in a second.”

  Yanez rushed towards a long pole that had been notched in several places and climbed up to the bamboo platform with amazing agility. Once there, however, he discovered he could advance no further for there were wide gaps between the planks; one wrong move and he would plunge to his death.

  “It’s a trap!” he exclaimed.

  “Dyak design, my brother,” laughed Sandokan.

  “What kind of feet do those savages have?”

  “Even smaller than ours, I think. It takes some balance!”

  Cautiously leaping from plank to plank, the Portuguese slowly made his way to the hut. It was a good sized shelter divided into three rooms; like the platform, the floor was also made of bamboo slats, but it had been covered with mats.

  “What news do you bring?” asked Sandokan.

  “There’s a lot to tell, little brother,” replied Yanez, sitting down. “But first, tell me, where’s Ada? I didn’t see her in the camp.”

  “This place isn’t very secure, Yanez. The rajah’s guards could attack us at any moment.”

  “Ah, so you’ve hidden her somewhere.”

  “Yes, in a secret location on the coast.”

  “Who’s with her?”

  “Two of our most loyal men.”

  “Is she still mad?”

  “Yes, Yanez.”

  “Poor Ada!”

  “She’ll get better, I assure you.”

  “How?”

  “The shock of seeing Tremal-Naik alive will restore her reason.”

  “Could it really be that simple?”

  “I’m certain of it.”

  “Let’s hope you’re correct.”

  “So, tell me, Yanez, what have you been up to in Sarawak these past few days?”

  “Many things. I’ve become the rajah’s friend.”

  “Oh?”

  The Portuguese briefly related the adventures of the past two days, describing all that had befallen him and what he had heard. Sandokan listened attentively, without interruption, a smile appearing on his face from time to time.

  “So, you’re now the rajah’s friend,” he said, once Yanez had finished.

  “Close friend, little brother.”

  “He doesn’t suspect you in the least?”

  “I don’t think so; but he knows you’re here.”

  “We must free Tremal-Naik as soon as possible. Ah! What I’d give to squash that infernal Brooke as well!”

  “Leave the rajah be for now, Sandokan.”

  “He’s been too merciless with our brethren, Yanez. I’d give half my blood to avenge the thousands of Malays murdered by that horrible wretch.” [4]

  “True, Sandokan, but, remember, we only have sixty men.”

  A sinister light flashed in the Tiger of Malaysia’s eyes.

  “You know what I’m capable of, Yanez,” he said darkly.

  “Yes. But you can never be too cautious, Sandokan.”

  “Well, so be it, I’ll be cautious. We’ll set sail once we’ve freed Tremal-Naik.”

  “It may be more difficult than we anticipated, Sandokan.”

  “And why is that?”

  “The small fort is armed with several cannons and defended by about sixty European soldiers.”

  “Sixty men aren’t much.”

  “The fort is close to the city. At the sound of the first cannon blast, the rajah would send his troops to reinforce the garrison; you’d be trapped in a crossfire.”

  Sandokan bit his lip.

  “And yet, we have to rescue him,” he said.

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “We’ll have to be clever.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “Like all Borneans, I’ve always loved to work with poison. It’s amazing what you can do with a single drop. Kill a man, put him to sleep, pass him for dead, even make him go mad. It’s a powerful weapon.”

  “You spent a lot of time working with poison during our sojourn in Java. I remember when a powerful narcotic saved you from the gallows.”

  “My studies are about to bear fruit, Yanez,” said Sandokan.

  He reached into his jacket and drew out a small leather box, opened it and showed the Portuguese twelve tiny vials, each one containing a white, green or black liquid.

  “By Jupiter!” exclaimed Yanez. “That’s quite an assortment.”

  “There’s more,” said Sandokan, opening a second small box that contained several pungent little pills. “These are another kind of poison.”

  “What do you intend to do with those pills and liquids?”

  “Listen to me carefully, Yanez. You said that Tremal-Naik is a prisoner in the fort?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think the rajah will give you permission to visit it?”

  “I don’t see why not. It would be silly to deny a friend such a small request.”

  “Then you’ll enter and ask to see Tremal-Naik.”

  “And what’ll I do once I seen him?”

  Sandokan drew several black pills from the second box and placed them in his friend’s hand.

  “These pills contain a type of poison that does not kill; they merely suspend life for 36 hours.”

  “I understand. I’ll have Tremal-Naik swallow one.”

  “Or dissolve one in a pitcher of water.”

  “When his jailers find him, they’ll think him dead, take him to the cemetery and bury him.”

  “And we’ll go dig him up in the middle of the night,” added Sandokan.

  “A magnificent plan, Sandokan,” said the Portuguese.

  “It shouldn’t be that much of a risk.”

  “It’s just a matter of getting access to the fort.”

  “If the rajah refuses, try bribing one of his men. Do you have any money?”

  The Portuguese undid his jacket and vest, then raised his shirt to reveal a bulging money belt wrapped about his waist.

  “I’m carrying sixteen diamonds with a combined value of a million pounds.”

  “If you need more, just ask. My pouch contains twice as much, and we have enough gold in Batavia to purchase the entire Portuguese fleet.”

  “Yes, we certainly aren’t short of money, Sandokan. The sixteen diamonds should do for now.”

  “Take these pills and these two vials as well,” said Sandokan. “The green one contains a narcotic that’ll put a person to sleep for twelve hours; the red one contains a poison that kills instantly and leaves no trace. Who knows, they may prove useful.”

  The Portuguese hid the pills and vials in his jacket, slung his rifle about his shoulder and stood up.

  “Are you leaving already?”

  “It’s a good stretch to Sarawak, little brother.”

  “When do you intend to put your plan into action?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You’ll have Kammamuri inform me of the outcome?”

  “Of course. Good
bye, little brother.”

  He climbed down the dangerous ladder, saluted the Tigers, then headed back into the forest and attempted to get his bearings. He had gone six or seven hundred meters, when the Maratha ran up beside him.

  “More news?” asked the Portuguese, coming to a stop.

  “Just one thing, but it may be serious, Señor Yanez,” said the Maratha. “A pirate just returned to camp and informed the Tiger that he had spotted a band of Dyaks led by an old white man about three miles from here.”

  “If I come across them, I’ll wish them good hunting.”

  “Wait, Señor Yanez,” said the Maratha. “The pirate said he was almost positive it was the same old man who had sworn to hang you and the Tiger.”

  “Lord James Guillonk!” exclaimed Yanez, turning pale.

  “Yes, Señor Yanez, Sandokan’s uncle... the uncle of his late wife.”

  “Impossible! Impossible! Which pirate spotted him?”

  “The Malay Sambigliong.”

  “Sambigliong!” stammered Yanez. “He was with us when we kidnapped Lord James’ niece, he stopped his lordship from smashing in my skull. Good Lord! I’m in great danger.”

  “What do you mean?” asked the Maratha.

  “If Lord Guillonk reaches Sarawak, all is lost. He’ll recognize me in an instant. Then he’ll have me arrested and hanged. Tell Sandokan I’ll keep my guard up and to send some men to scour the jungle. We should try to capture the old man; he could cause us much grief. Goodbye, Kammamuri. I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the Chinese tavern.”

  Troubled by the Maratha’s revelation, the Portuguese resumed his march towards the city, straining his ears, and carefully scanning his surroundings, afraid of finding the old man before him at any moment. Fortunately, the only sounds to break the silence were the sharp cries of giant arguses and black cockatoos as they flitted among the trees.

  It took five hours for Yanez to make his way through the sea of bushes and thickets. He reached Sarawak just as the sun was setting, famished and worn out by his exertions. Realizing it was too late to dine with the rajah, he headed instead for the Chinese tavern.

  After a magnificent meal accompanied by several bottles of excellent wine, he returned to the villa. He asked the guard at the gate if an old European man had arrived, and, receiving a negative reply, he went up to his room. The rajah had retired several hours earlier.