Then the pain and weakness ebbed. Raising her head, her heart trip hammering, she saw both Belleau and Oakshott standing nearby, paying little attention to her. Belleau examined the journal while Oakshott swiftly checked the rifle’s box magazine, counting the rounds, then slamming it back in place.
“Only four bullets, doctor,” he intoned.
Belleau nodded distractedly. “I doubt we will have to use more than one to get our point across.”
Mouzi rose shakily to one knee, her neck aching fiercely. “What point?”
Belleau glanced at her as if slightly surprised she could speak. A chill finger stroked her spine when she saw how the man’s bright blue eyes brimmed with anger and even hatred for everyone whom he could not bring under his direct control.
“The point,” Belleau said softly, patronizingly, “is about who is in charge on this island.”
Mouzi slowly got to her feet, not wanting to give Oakshott the satisfaction of seeing her massage her neck. “That’s who again?”
Belleau smiled. “Perhaps we should demonstrate by ridding ourselves of redundant personnel…like you, for example.”
Mouzi’s lips twisted in a sneer. “And you said you were a decent fellow.”
“Actually, I said I
used
to be a decent fellow,” Belleau corrected. “I learned over the years that decency can only be measured on a sliding scale.”
“Mouzi!” Crowe’s voice floated to her, as well as the crackle and rustle of underbrush. “Where are you?”
Mouzi opened her mouth to reply, then glanced questioningly at Belleau. He nodded. “By all means, respond to the gentlemen.”
“Over here, Gus,” she called. “Belleau is here, too!”
Belleau’s smile widened. “Excellent. Now if you would be so accommodating as to kneel with her hands behind your back…?”
Anger blazed through her. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”
Belleau inclined his head toward Oakshott. “See that she cooperates.”
Swiftly, Oakshott reversed his grip on the rifle and pounded the butt into the back of Mouzi’s right knee. Agony flooded through her leg and it buckled beneath her. She cried out, thinking for a couple seconds the joint had been broken. Her senses swam, and her surroundings blackened at the edges.
When they brightened again, she became aware of movement, the thud of footfalls and the rasp of labored respiration. Lifting her head, she blinked back the pain haze and saw Oakshott aiming the carbine at Kavanaugh, Crowe and Honoré Roxton. The three people did not look happy, although Belleau’s teeth gleamed in a vulpine grin of triumph.
“It’s about time you got here,” he said. “It’s nigh onto evening and I’m wanting my supper.”
The pistols in the hands of Crowe and Kavanaugh trained on Oakshott. For a long moment, the tableau held, then Honoré asked, “Are you all right, Mouzi?”
The girl nodded, grimacing in Crowe’s direction. “M’okay. Thanks for asking.”
“Sorry,” grunted Crowe, eyeing Oakshott warily. “But I kind of got distracted by the rifle pointed at my stomach.”
“What’s the deal, Aubrey?” inquired Kavanaugh. “A reprise of the finale of
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly?”
The man’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“It’s a movie starring Clint Eastwood,” Honoré’ said curtly. “Considered a classic of the so-called ‘spaghetti western’ genre…it ended with a three-way gunfight. None of the participants knew who was going to shoot first.”
Belleau’s eyebrows rose. “Ah. In this instance, I definitely know who is going to shoot first. Oakshott—
Immediately, the giant swiveled the barrel of the carbine, aligning the bore with the back of Mouzi’s head.
“Gentlemen, I suggest you drop your weapons,” Belleau continued.
Crowe and Kavanaugh hesitated; exchanging brief glances, and dropped the pistols at their feet. They took steps back, raising their hands.
“Thank you,” said Belleau. “Oh, there’s no reason to raise your hands. This isn’t one of your pasta-themed western movies. We’re all going to have to rely on each other from hereon out.”
“What does that mean?” Honoré asked suspiciously.
“Permit me to bring you up to date. Although Oakshott and I didn’t witness your assault upon the
Keying
, we definitely saw the aftermath, safely hidden behind a tree. I was quite entertained to see you pursued so single-mindedly by the Majungasaur. It was a sight I shall never forget.”
“That makes several of us,” Crowe commented.
“I presume poor Mr. McQuay wasn’t as fleet of foot as the rest of you?”
“You might say that,” bit out Honoré.
“Where might the delectable Bai Suzhen be?” asked Belleau. “Not percolating in the beast’s digestive tract, I hope, since we still have business to complete.”
Kavanaugh shook his head. “She’s all right…nursing a sore ankle. We were about to go back to where she’s waiting for us and scout out a decent campsite for the night.”
“Capital idea.” He gestured grandly. “Lead on, please.”
Honoré scowled at him defiantly. “Aubrey, I hope you have considered the consequences of your actions. What do you think you can accomplish with these tactics? Bai Suzhen will never agree to sell her shares of Cryptozoica Enterprises to you. Your partner, Jimmy Cao abducted her and murdered many of her crew, including poor Howard Flitcroft.”
Belleau stared at her uncomprehendingly for a long moment. Then he asked faintly, “Murdered him?”
Honoré nodded. “That’s what she told us.”
Belleau snorted out a derisive chuckle. “And you believed her? My darlin’, naïve Honoré…Bai Suzhen is of the same class as James Cao. She’s a harlot turned professional criminal. Why would you take her word for anything?”
Kavanaugh said flatly, “Bai is not a liar, Aubrey…unlike some midgets I could name.”
Belleau’s eyes glinted with anger, quickly veiled by an insincere smile. “Lead on, Kavanaugh. Let’s be off.”
Oakshott tapped Mouzi with the barrel of the carbine. “That means you too, you little mongrel.”
Mouzi slowly rose to her feet, wincing at the pain in her knee. Then she smiled sweetly at Oakshott. “This mongrel may not have big teeth, but she knows exactly where to bite.”
Belleau collected Crowe and Kavanaugh’s pistols, checked the loads and sighed in exasperation. “Empty, both of them. I’m surprised at you gentlemen, ex-military men, too. Don’t you know enough not to run a bluff with unloaded guns?”
“We’ll know better next time,” Crowe assured him.
The walk back to where Bai Suzhen waited for them wasn’t a long or particularly difficult stroll. They followed the torn up ground left in the wake of the Majungasaur’s pursuit.
Bai Suzhen sat with her back to a tree, wrapping her right ankle with an elastic bandage taken from the open first-aid kit. When she saw Oakshott and Belleau among the people, she reached out for her sword.
“Ah-ah,” Belleau said. “There’s no need for that, Madame. We’re all in this together.”
Bai’s eyes were grim as they swung from left to right and fixed on the carbine in Oakshott’s hands. “Then why do you hold my friends at gunpoint?”
Aubrey Belleau fluttered a dismissive hand through the air. “Some are more in this together than others. Are you able to travel?”
“If I can’t?”
“Then you’ll be left behind.”
“Where are we going?” Honoré demanded.
“To the south…to find more salubrious ground than this to spend the night. We should do so while we still have light to see. Where might my satphone be?”
When no one answered the question, Belleau said mockingly, “Please don’t tell me you lost it somewhere or that it was eaten by the carnotaur…because I won’t believe you and Oakshott will punish Miss Mouzi Mongrel for your mendacity.”
To emphasize his words, Oakshott laid a big hand atop Mouzi’s head, the spread of his fingers entirely spanning her mop of hair. His grip tightened perceptibly and Mouzi drew in a sharp breath.
Her face expressionless, Bai Suzhen reached behind her and produced the satphone. Belleau took it from her with a gracious bow. Oakshott released Mouzi. Kavanaugh extended a hand to Bai, but she affected not to see it, rising to her feet by the use of her sword, as if it were a cane.
The people divided the equipment among one another, although Belleau burdened himself only with the metal box holding the Darwin journal. Bai limped, but she managed to maintain the pace without complaint.
“Madame,” said Belleau, “I’m told you saw Mr. Cao murder Mr. Flitcroft.”
“Among several others,” she replied dispassionately.
“If true, I find that disquieting and not a little confusing as to his motives.”
Kavanaugh made a scoffing sound. “Use your head, Aubrey. With Flitcroft dead, the Ghost Shadow triad is a better position to leverage complete ownership of Cryptozoica Enterprises.”
“Perhaps, but if he’s convicted of murder—”
Honoré whirled on him, eyes bright with contempt. “Who is going to bear witness against him?”
Belleau’s mouth pursed as he weighed her words, then he shook his head. “Academic, at this point.”
“You hope,” stated Crowe darkly.
The six people wended their way among the endless columns of immense buttressed morabukea and greenheart trees. The trees grew to great heights and the crowns were so dense that they seemed to be one continuous canopy. Broken tree trunks lay on the ground covered with garland-like vines. Purple orchids hung from branches and now and then ill-tempered monkeys screamed at them from above, pelting them with fruit rinds and feces.
The abundance of plant life produced a musty perfume that tickled everyone’s nostrils and even the backs of their throats. Belleau consulted a small compass he took from a pocket and urged every one to keep walking south. Oakshott brought up the rear, not aiming the appropriated carbine at anyone in particular, but everyone felt the pressure of the bore at their backs.
After forty minutes of walking, in the last of the light, Kavanaugh pointed out a pair of giant trees that had fallen crossways, forming a serviceable enclosure. Crowe and Mouzi built a fire with matches taken from the survival kit and collection of dry twigs. Mosquito repellant was passed around. Very quickly, the night surrounded the small fire with varying shades of purple and indigo. Huge moths swooped and fluttered around the firelight. Cicadas and crickets carried on lively conversations through inquisitive chirps
As the people shared power bars, beef jerky and bottled water, they heard the coughing snarl of a leopard, the snort of a tapir and a mournful, trumpeting bellow that seemed to go and on. Honoré glanced anxiously in the direction the sound had come. “I believe that was the Majungasaurus—calling for help to get out of the bog.”
“Perhaps summoning a mate for aid?” suggested Bai Suzhen, the firelight dancing on the golden swell of her breasts beneath her partly unbuttoned silk blouse. She was scratched and bruised and muddied like the rest of them.
“Are they intelligent enough to do that?” Mouzi asked.
Belleau said, “Perhaps if the theropods are warm-blooded, they’re probably more intelligent than they’ve been given credit for.”
“They couldn’t have been all that smart,” Kavanaugh said, “since most of them are extinct.”
“Actually,” Honoré replied, “the island itself might explain why a group descended from Cretaceous dinosaurs survived…if there was a sudden cooling due to the K-T extinction event, then these animals migrated to warmer climes and stayed put.”
“Until a scientific study is conducted on the animals here,” Belleau said, “there is no way to gauge their degree of intelligence.”
A thunderous crashing arose in the underbrush and briefly the ground trembled as with heavy footfalls. The cicadas and crickets instantly stopped calling to one another. Everyone fell silent, wide-eyed, until the sound of its crackling passage faded, all of them knowing that whatever the creature was, it had to be powerful and unafraid to make its way through the forest with so little attention paid to stealth. In a few moments, the oratory of the insects began again.
In voice sounding surprisingly hushed, Honoré stated, “You still haven’t said where you are taking us, Aubrey.”
In response, he opened the metal case, removed the journal and passed it over to her. “Look at the next to last page, please.”
Honoré did as he said, flipping through the Mylar sheaves. Reaching the page Belleau indicated, she glanced at it, then over at Belleau and handed the book to Kavanaugh. He held it near the firelight. The yellowed paper delineated a squiggly pattern drawn in faded ink with arrows and dotted lines specifying directions. A crude circle was labeled
Mystere Montagneux
in longhand.
“It’s a map,” he declared. “Of the area around the base of the escarpment.”
“The southern side to be precise,” Belleau stated.
“We surveyed that area,” said Crowe. “There’s nothing there.”
“You overlooked it,” Belleau retorted. “You stayed in the treeline, did you not? You didn’t climb the bluffs?”
“No,” said Kavanaugh bluntly. “You’re very sure something is there?”
“Oh, yes.”
“But you’ve never been there, either,” Mouzi challenged.
“My great-great-grandfather, Jacque Belleau, was there, with Charles Darwin. But not even Darwin saw what he saw. Jacque made sketches and later they were fully rendered by the draftsman of the
Beagle
, Conrad Martens.”
Kavanaugh lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Really. And what did old Jacque see?”
Belleau smiled but it did not reach his eyes. “The secret of how life developed on Earth—and how humanity became the ascendant species.”
No one spoke for a handful of awkward seconds. Then Bai Suzhen inquired coldly, “If these secrets were discovered over one hundred and seventy-five years ago, where have they been languishing for all this time?”
Belleau hesitated before saying, “In the proper protective hands.”
With unmistakable sarcasm, Honoré said, “Those proper hands wouldn’t happen to belong to this exclusive men’s lodge of yours, would it? Your School of Night?”
“Oh, please,” muttered Kavanaugh, rolling his eyes.
Belleau glared at Honoré through the flames of the fire. “Don’t make sport of me, Honoré. The School of Night isn’t a lodge, but a society of scholars founded in England, in 1592 by Sir Walter Raleigh. Throughout the centuries, the School has shaped the direction of scientific thought. We protected knowledge where it otherwise might have been destroyed or repressed.
“One piece of knowledge the School safeguarded was the so-called Enochian language. Through the translations by Dr. John Dee and later ones made by Jacque Belleau, the Tamtung islands were discovered.”
“I don’t understand,” Honoré said, sounding intrigued despite the scowl on her face. “Decoding the Enochian language led Jacque Belleau here?”
Belleau nodded. “The key to breaking the Enochian code was binary. Dee found the first part in the fifteenth century but he died before he could decipher the other half. My great-great-grandfather accomplished that, and thusly was inducted into the School. He joined the crew of the
Beagle
as ship’s surgeon and botanist. He influenced Darwin to make landfall here, in May of 1836.”
“It sounds to me like this School of yours suppressed the knowledge of the Tamtungs, rather than protected it,” observed Bai Suzhen dourly.
Belleau hitched up a shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps to an extent they did. They were wise enough to know that they did not know enough about the Tamtungs to reveal them to the world. Withal, they were able to glean something of a history of the island chain. When the original Enochian text was written, there were four Tamtung islands. Seismic activity must have caused the other two sink.”