DOC SAVAGE: THE INFERNAL BUDDHA (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) (12 page)

The questioner had been Dang Mi, the so-called Scourge of the South China Sea.

The trend of the interrogation had been the nature of the inexplicable thing in the steel strongbox with blue crackle-finish.

Mark and Mary had resolutely refused to reply in anything other than dire and cryptic parables.

“Anyone who opens that box,” Mark had warned, “might as well say a prayer to Satan first.”

“Because that will be the next person he meets,” added Mary.

Dang Mi was a practical soul. He did not put any stock in a Satan or in a literal realm over which he presided. But he had experienced the power of the unknown thing in the box. So he did not openly scoff.

“That—that devil in the box turned that hulkin’ Doc Savage assistant into a mummy,” Dang revealed.

Mark had ground his white teeth at that news. Mary had gasped. Neither spoke. Words lingered in their throats, unuttered.

“So I shipped the cadaver all the way to New York by express, just as a way of warnin’ Doc Savage to lay off,” Dang finished.

Mark began, “Do you really think—”

“—that Doc Savage will not rush to this spot?” finished Mary.

“He don’t know what spot to rush to, the bronze bloke don’t,” Dang Mi said, lapsing into British vernacular.

“And you do not know what to do with that box,” Mark pointed out.

“Nor will you ever,” Mary chimed in.

Dang Mi eyed the similar siblings with a villainous orb. He rocked back on his high boot heels, broad face ruminative.

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”

“Why should we?” Mary countered.

“So’s I don’t scrag one of you,” Dang illuminated.

Mark and Mary exchanged uneasy glances.

“Promise?” Mary asked.

“Cross my wicked heart and hope to plunder,” Dang Mi said somberly, placing a palm on his chest.

“There is another box,” Mark volunteered.

“Worse than this one?”

“Far worse” agreed Mary.

“Tang has it,” Mark revealed.

“Tang?”

“That is all you need to know,” sniffed Mary.

Dang Mi felt of his blocky jaw. “Tang, eh?”

Mark nodded emphatically. “Yes, Tang. And if he isn’t stopped, the world may perish in a way no prophet ever predicted.”

“Is that why you were headin’ out Singapore way to meet Doc Savage?”

The strangely matched pair said nothing. They did not have to. That was why they so desperately needed to reach the Man of Bronze. It was written on their ivory faces.

Dang Mi withdrew at that point. That was when the feeding stopped.

Twice a day, Dang reappeared. Once after sunrise and again before sunset, to ask questions. He seemed hesitant to bring harm to either of the almond-eyed twins.

This day, Dang had come at the early hour. But by the time evening fell and melted all the color away, he had not.

“Do you think we have been left here to die?” Mary asked Mark.

Mark searched the fading surrounding with worried eyes. He did not reply. Plainly, he did not know what it meant.

Things prowled through the underbrush. Heavy things. Crocodiles perhaps. Snakes for certain. Pirate Island was crawling with snakes, or perhaps it was vice versa. A significant portion of their early diet while in captivity had been reptile meat. At first they had refused any of this noisome repast. But after a day or two, any meat proved better than no meat. And at least it had been roasted for consumption.

Two hours past the last light, a strange hissing filled the night air.

“Serpent!” Mary gasped.

Mark shook his head. “No. It comes from above.”

The roof of the longhouse was thatched. But they could peer up through breaks and chinks in the rough thatching created by the pummeling monsoon rains of the summer now passed.

There was only a thin sliver of a moon, and this admitted faint moonlight. But it was enough to spy a great dark shape passing overhead.

Mary drew in her breath and seemed to hold it within for a very long time.

“It looks—like a giant bat.”

Mark whispered, “No bat. That was an airplane.”

“But I heard no motor.”

“Silenced,” decided Mark.

Excited now, Mark studied the sky where the first star points were emerging. He craned his head, listening first with one ear and then the other.

“Is it coming back?” asked Mary.

“No. It’s not coming back.” Mark Chan’s low voice seemed to collapse and then he followed suit, letting all the strength flow out of him. He let his pent form drop to the floor like a deflating tire.

“Could that—have been—Doc Savage?” wondered Mary.

“If it was,” Mark replied in a weak, disillusioned tone, “he has passed over us.”

Mary, too, seemed to deflate at that point. She lay down.

They were shackled, hands and feet. A hawser chain wound around their waists linked them together so that if one escaped, the other would have to follow. And all that loose chain would rattle.

They did not attempt escape. They were certain that Dang Mi’s pirates were picketed out of sight. They did not know where. It was possible that they were surrounded, but since they could not know for certain, any direction in which they attempted flight could prove calamitous. They knew that. So they did not try.

NOT long after the hissing aircraft passed overhead, Dang came bustling up. He was alone. Sometimes he came alone. Other times he had two of his crew along. Different members of his motley band came at various times. Early on, Poetical Percival Perkins had been one of them. But after the first visits, he had not shown his lean brown face again.

Mark and Mary understood that was because Dang Mi did not wish for any secret they divulged to fall upon listening ears. Of his crew, only Perkins spoke English. That was probably why he had not been seen in a week.

When Dang dragged the bamboo ladder which lay against a nearby kapok tree over to the longhouse and set it in place, he was muttering under his breath.

Climbing the ladder, he poked his head up and demanded, “Either of you hear a plane flyin’ overhead?”

Mark and Mary looked up, but said nothing. Their placid ivory-hued faces told it all.

“Could be that was Doc Savage,” Dang muttered.

Again Mark and Mary said nothing.

“If it was,” Dang continued, “he ain’t stopped here.”

Neither twin contradicted him.

“And that means any hope you two had of bein’ rescued just went whistlin’ on in the general direction of China,” Dang decided.

“The pilot might circle back,” Mary ventured bravely.

Dang shook his head. “He ain’t even slowed down any. He ain’t wingin’ back. So maybe it’s time to talk turkey.”

Mark and Mary looked blank. Evidently their grasp of American slang was not perfect.

“What I mean is,” Dang clarified, “your last hope just went away. Doc Savage is searchin’ for the ones that salivated Renny Renwick. He ain’t got a clue to this place. So let’s confabulate. Get me?”

Mark and Mary evidently did not.

“Spill! Savvy? Talk!” roared Dang.

Mark offered, “Tang wants the box you have.”

“If he brings his box,” warned Mary, “it will cancel out your box.”

“The devil in your box is not as powerful as the devil in his box,” added Mark. “It is vastly greater.”

“If  Tang comes,” questioned Mary, “what will you do then?”

Dang Mi plainly did not know. He laved his lips with a tongue so dry that it almost sounded like a cat licking a sheet of sandpaper. He did not fancy this sudden talk of devils.

“Then I guess I might as well kill you both,” he decided at last.

Mark and Mary did not reply to that. A paleness descended over their oval features until they began to resemble a set of identical ivory cameos displayed in an open locket.

Dang added, “No sense riskin’ having prisoners any longer. We got to get back to buccaneerin’. I’m thinkin’ that the thing in that box can help me in that work. Maybe if I come alongside of a ship and throw the box over onto the other deck, what’s inside will suck all the juice out of the other crew.”

“If you do that—” began Mark.

“—who will put the horrible thing back in the box?” finished Mary.

Dang Mi made strange faces. “Hadn’t considered that angle,” he admitted thickly.

He massaged his blocky jawline thoughtfully and said, unnecessarily, “Wait here.”

Scrambling down, Dang retreated into the close-pressing foliage.

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Mary asked her twin brother.

“I’m thinking he’s going to bring the blue box here and set it before us, then attempt to open it with a bamboo pole or switch to see what happens.”

“Undoubtedly,” agreed Mary.

They lay on their backs awaiting their fate. Their breathing became hoarse and rapid, as their imaginations went to work on their frayed nerves.

Before long, a head poked over the level of the floor. It was unnerving, for the owner of the head made no sound approaching.

In the thin moonlight, the eyes of the new arrival were strangely luminous.

For a brief moment, Mark Chan, looking at them, thought that a tiger had clambered stealthily up the bamboo-pole-and-banana-tree-fibre lashed ladderwork as big cats are wont to do in search of a meal.

But these were not yellow like a tiger’s orbs. They were golden. Moreover, they were human—if eerily so.

Utterly without sound, the new arrival came up the ladder and towered over them.

He was a giant. Even in the murk, his size and musculature was overwhelming. It was something to take the breath away.

Quietly, the big man came over and knelt, examining their shackles. The face of the man was much like a mask cast in metal. It betrayed no emotion. Only the golden eyes moved, and their movement was a kind of animated whirling. It picked up in speed as if the brain behind the golden eyes were calculating furiously.

The big bronze man was testing the length of chain that connected Mark to Mary Chan. He felt along the linkage, evidently found a link he favored and stepped on a section of the chain, while simultaneously exerting pressure with both hands.

The man’s arms were bare, and as he strained, the muscles and tendons of his forearms seemed to spring into life like coiling serpents of sinew.

The link separated, then broke. It was an eye-popping display of brawn. Chain collapsed onto the grass matting with barely a sound.

Mark spoke first.

“You are Doc Savage!” he breathed.

A bronze finger touched parted lips in a gesture for silence.

Then the metallic giant helped them both to their feet. He did this with the same strong hands. They felt like warm metal to the touch.

Once erect, Mark and Mary expected the bronze man to make short work of their remaining shackles. Instead, Doc Savage heaved first one and then the other twin over his broad shoulders and, showing no sign of strain, carried them over to the waiting ladder.

Pausing, the bronze man tested the top rung with a foot, apparently did not like the groan that was produced and simply stepped over the edge, landing on the soft jungle floor with hardly a perceptible jar.

In this strange fashion, the Chans were borne off into the murksome jungle.

DOC SAVAGE bore the helpless pair for a considerable distance with an ease and soundlessness that made them both think they were being carried off by a creature born of some preternatural realm.

Coming to the water’s edge, he deposited them at the mouth of a shallow lagoon.

The moon by this time had climbed higher in the sky. The bright crescent seemed to stand wavering on the lagoon surface, a turbulent mirror to the untroubled lunar body above.

Setting the chains down upon a pair of rocks, Doc went to work on them. This time, the bronze man resorted to means other than main strength.

Reaching into his shirt, he drew forth a pair of glass vials, somewhat resembling test tubes, but smaller in size. These were capped by corks that resembled hard rubber.

Unstoppering one, the bronze man poured the liquid contents onto the spots where the shackles were loose and not touching skin. Then, ripping off his rolled-up shirt sleeves, he wrapped them about the wrists where the links were cramped.

Presently a pungent odor billowed forth. Magically, the links began melting.

“Acid?” Mary asked.

Doc nodded. His flake-gold eyes were intent upon the dissolving operation of the acid. Once, a droplet of molten steel spattered as if off a hot skillet and the amazing bronze man jerked Mary Chan’s left wrist out of harm’s way.

When Doc was done, all that remained were the bracelets on their wrists and ankles. They were inconvenient, but would not hamper movement much. He let them be.

“Can you both swim?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” affirmed Mark.

“Like seals,” avowed Mary.

Doc nodded. “My plane is anchored not far from here. We will swim for it.”

“But we saw your airplane fly on hours ago,” Mary protested. “How did you come to be here?”

“Parachute,” said Doc. “Been scouting the island for the last few hours. Came upon a camp.”

Mark frowned. “That would be Dang Mi, the buccaneer, and his crew.”

Doc Savage asked, “Have you seen any sign of a long-faced man with very large fists? His thunderous voice would be unmistakable.”

Mark nodded. “Renwick.”

“He perished,” explained Mary.

Doc Savage’s lips parted as if about to speak. A tiny trilliation seemed to start, but was quickly stifled.

Mark and Mary stared, began looking around, thinking a night-roosting bird had been startled awake.

“Never mind that,” Doc Savage rapped. “Into the water.”

Creeping down to the water’s edge, they slipped in. Soon, they were wading out up to their knees. Fortunately the water was very warm.

This part of the lagoon was choked with reeds—cattails and bulrushes. They pushed through these. They felt as stiff as broom straws. The sea floor underneath was soft and muddy to the touch.

Suddenly Doc halted. He had been in the lead and his great arms swept back in a warning motion. Mark and Mary halted, eyes widening.

They could see nothing