West from Singapore (Ss) (1987) (10 page)

Jim came up on top and leaped free. The German jumped up and landed a left that knocked Jim back on his heels. Kessler let go with another, but Mayo grappled with him and hurled the man back against a winch. As Kessler came at him, Mayo caught him with a short left hook that cracked against the German's chin with a pop like the report of a pistol. Kessler toppled forward, unconscious.

Grabbing up his fallen gun, Ponga Jim ran aft. In the passageway he stumbled over a body. And on number four hatch was another, but the battle seemed to have centered forward. And Jim Mayo could only recall that Braunig had come forward. What could he have done aft? And how did he get there?

Suddenly, a shrill scream of horror sounded from the poop deck, and Mayo reached the stern in two bounds, just in time to see Li come staggering out of the passageway, screaming with fear.

The Chinese steward staggered over a chock and fell headlong just as Jim leaped through the door. He stopped, dead still, feet spread wide.

Not six feet away, the huge orangutan was standing, its bloodshot eyes burning with hate. Its hands, arms, and face were stained with blood, and at its feet lay what was left of Romberg, a horror only to be recognized by the clothing. Then the ape sprang!

Mayo's gun jerked up, and the trigger slammed on an empty chamber. Quickly, Jim dropped the gun and hurled his closed fist at the creature's body. It landed solidly, and the beast gave a queer, gasping cry. Then one hand slapped across Jim's face, knocking him against the bulkhead. The ape sprang, ripping the shirt from his shoulders. But Mayo swung aside, and then leaped, swinging a barrage of blows that knocked the big ape head over heels.

Slowly, the orangutan crawled to its feet. The murderous fury still blazed in its eyes, but it was wary now. This was a different mode of attack, something new. Suddenly, it grabbed the pipes overhead and hurled itself bodily through the air, feet first!

Jim tried to duck, but those feet struck him full in the chest and he turned a complete somersault, sprawling on the deck outside, gasping for breath. The ape sprang at him, snarling and screaming; but Jim rolled over and caught the animal with a vicious kick as it leaped toward him. It toppled back, and Jim smashed a right to the face.

The orangutan dropped to the deck and began to whimper. Cautiously, Jim got to his feet, and prodded the ape below and into its cage. Then he snapped the lock that Romberg had unfastened. Somehow, the big ape had got to him before he could escape.

Trained to hate men and to kill, the beast had acted violently.

Ponga Jim Mayo staggered back to the deck. There were no sounds of fighting now, but when he raised his head he saw a seaplane at anchor nearby. He went toward it.

Major Arnold was leaning against the deckhouse amidships lighting a cigarette. He lifted an eyebrow as he saw how battered Jim was.

"Fighting again?" he asked wearily. "Such brutality! Tsk, tsk, tsk!"

Ponga Jim looked very astonished.

"Me? Fighting? I've done more battling in the last few days than the whole Allied army has done since the war started!" Arnold nodded. "We got Kessler. What happened to Romberg and Braunig?"

Ponga Jim told him briefly.

"The worst one got away," the major said. "Heittn, his name was. We've been trying to get him for months."

"Have a drink?" Jim invited.

The major nodded. "What were they carrying in those cases, Jim?"

"Ammunition and guns," Jim replied. "It'd have been chaos for us if they'd distributed them. I wasn't certain of their cargo until we reached Tembau. Then I knew."

"Well, here's how," said the major, downing his drink. Then, "Who-o-o-o! What was in that glass?"

"My own concoction. I call it a Barata Sling." "Gad!" breathed Major Arnold. "What action!"

"Action?" said Ponga Jim Mayo, laughing. "You mean reaction. Wait until you try to get up!"

*

AUTHOR'S NOTE

A cannibal spirit and the enemy and rival of Qat, who was the hero-creator of mankind, Qasavara and his House figure in many of the adventure-myths of the New Guinea-Melanesian island area.

Broken Water Bay, so named because of its tricky currents, lies just beyond Cape Wabusi, and near the cape is the mouth of the Sepik River, the largest river in northern New Guinea and one that reaches almost halfway across that island. The Sepik can be navigated up to three hundred miles by vessels drawing up to thirteen feet. Until one reaches Malu there is much lowland, some of it quite marshy, along the banks.

Crocodiles are plentiful. None that I glimpsed seemed to be shedding any tears.

Bam Island, mentioned in the story, was an active volcano. One of my youthful ambitions was to go up the Sepik, cross over the divide, and come down the Fly River. It was an ambition I never attempted to fulfill, which is just as well. The chances of making it at the time were slim, although it would have been interesting to try. It was one of those vague ideas that flutter through the mind of a very young man inclined to wander.

*

Ponga Jim Mayo looked toward the dark blotch of Bam Island.

"Easy does it," he said, his eyes swinging toward Cape Wabusi. "Port a little ... hold it!"

Quickly, Jim Mayo stepped to the Semiramis's engine-room telegraph and jerked it to stop. They had reached anchorage. "All right, Mr. Brophy," he called. "Let go forward!"

He stood in the wing of the bridge of the freighter waiting to hear the splash of the anchor. Then he turned and went down the ladder.

Carol Sutherland got up quickly when he came into the ship's salon. His white-topped cap was at a jaunty angle, but she thought that without the gleam of humor that was never far from his eyes his bronzed face would have been a little grim. He had a fighter's jaw, and his broad, powerful shoulders tapering to a slim waist and narrow hips completed the picture.

"Are we there?" she asked. "Is this Broken Water Bay?" Ponga Jim nodded. In the glow of the light her red-gold hair was like a flame.

"Yes, this is it. But you can't go ashore tonight. It will be bad enough in the daytime."

"But my father's here, and--

Her protest ended as he lifted a hand. The throb of engines down below had ceased, but there was another sound, the low, pulsing beat of drums rolling down from the dark, jungle-clad hills. She stopped, her mouth partly opened to speak, while the sound of the drums filled the room and seemed to pound with the same rhythm as the blood in her veins.

"Hear that?" he asked gravely. "Gets you, doesn't it?" He waited for a moment, listening.

"And those fellows are headhunters or cannibals, Stone Age men living in a land that time forgot. Think of it," he said, waving a hand toward the lonely New Guinea shore.

"Most of them have never seen a white man; thousands of them don't know there is such a thing. This is the jungle, Miss Sutherland, jungle as you'll never see it in Africa anymore.

"Back there is a people living in grass huts, using poisoned arrows with barbed heads, painting the skulls of their victims in weird, unbelievable designs. They aren't a proud, noble race like the Polynesians, but people to whom killing is the natural thing. And this is a lonely coast, where few ships come."

"My father is here somewhere, Captain Mayo," she said simply. "I must go to him."

He shrugged. "Okay, lady. If he's ashore, we'll find him tomorrow. No boat leaves this ship before daybreak, I value my men too highly. Those boys ashore are stirred up. This whole country is throbbing with hate. There have been fiftythree natives who worked for white men killed within the past two weeks."

Jim walked into his cabin, and when he returned he wore a gun in his shoulder holster.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "I can't figure what Colonel Sutherland would be doing on this coast. This Broken Water Bay is an unhealthy country in more ways than one, and certainly no spot for a plantation."

"But I know he came here," she protested. "I heard him mention the bay to this man who came to see him before he left. That man was coming, too. They were to land near the mouth of a small river, and I believe they were going to a village close by."

"That's impossible," he said decidedly. "There isn't any village near here. Those drums are fifteen miles from here at least. "

"But I heard them talk about looking for someone, about finding the House of Qasavara."

"The House of Qasavara!" Ponga Jim stuck his thumbs in his belt. "Say, are you kidding me?"

"Why, no," she exclaimed in surprise. "I-"

But you told me your old man was looking for a plantation location near Broken Water Bay, and now you spring this here Qasavara business on me."

"What's strange about that?" she demanded. "I heard Daddy and this man talking about it, and supposed it was a native village nearby."

Jim tossed his cap on the table and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Listen, baby," he said, exasperated. "Qasavara is a cannibalspirit living back in that steamy jungle somewhere. The House of Qasavara is where he takes his victims, and where the natives offer sacrifices to him.

"Until a couple of months ago he'd almost been forgotten, then several bodies were found bitten by five poisonous teeth. One was found at Salamoa while we were there, another at Madang, a couple outside of Port Moresby, and one near the airport at Lae. Every one of them was a native employed by white men. Then last week twelve were found at one time, all of them marked by the five teeth of Qasavara."

"But what can all that have to do with Father?" Carol asked. "I don't understand."

Jim shrugged. "You've got me, lady." He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, and then he looked up, meeting her eyes. "Didn't you tell me your father came from Sydney? That he worked for the government in some inspection service or something?"

"That's right. And about six weeks ago he received a letter from Port Moresby that worried him, and decided to come up here. I came with him, but stopped in Port Moresby."

"How about this guy who came to see him? He was a slender, well-built fellow with a clipped blond mustache, was he? Military walk and all that?"

She nodded, puzzled. "Do you know him?"

"Know him?" Jim chuckled. "He's the best friend I've got. And just so you'll know what you've stumbled into, that father of yours must be in the British Intelligence service!"

After Carol Sutherland returned to her cabin, Ponga Jim walked out on deck. It was completely dark, the sky spangled with stars, but no moon. In the blackness a quarter of a mile away was the darker shoreline and a faint, silver gleam from a rustle of surf.

Jim rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. It would be a joke on Arnold to show up here when Arnold had left him in Menado. And it must be a tough job or Major William Arnold would never have sent to Colonel Sutherland for assistance in breaking the case.

Yet he had seen in the few ports he had touched that the natives were frightened and surly. Whispers had come to him that all whites were to be murdered, and all those who worked for whites; that Qasavara had returned to claim Papua and would kill all Dutch and British people.

There was a stirring of unrest throughout the islands, and an outbreak now, calling for ships, money, and men, would be a severe blow to England. Besides, the Indies were the richest prize on earth, and to countries thirsting for colonies and expansion, they represented a golden opportunity.

Several times, Ponga Jim and Major William Arnold had spiked the guns of the Gestapo and other foreign agents working in the Indies. But those had been attempts at sinking ships and at destroying commerce in the islands. The present effort would stir up much more strife than the former attempts.

Then he looked up and saw the head.

A native, his face frightfully painted with streaks of white, was crawling over the rail. Even as Ponga Jim's eyes caught the movement, a dozen other bodies lifted into view and the rail was swarming with savages. Jim let out a yell and went for his gun.

At the first blast of fire three heads vanished. Another native, already on the deck, let out a wild yell and pitched over on his face. With a scream of rage a big savage hurled a spear that missed by an eyelash and then, jerking a stone hatchet from his belt, hurled himself at Jim, his face twisted with hatred.

Dropping into a crouch that sent the wild blow with the hatchet over his shoulder, Jim whipped a terrific left hook to the Papuan's belly. Then he jerked erect and slammed the man alongside the head with a wicked, chopping blow from the barrel of his automatic. Without a sound the native dropped to the deck.

From the bridge a machine gun broke into a choking roar that whined into an angry snarl as burst after burst swept the rail and the boats thronging out from shore.

Jim snapped a quick shot at a big headhunter running aft, and wheeled around to see Selim wrest a spear from another and run him through.

Abo, one of the seamen, was down on the deck, writhing with agony, but Tupa had jumped astride his murderer's shoulders from the boat deck and buried a knife in the man's neck.