A disgraced and exiled noble, stripped of his status, spends his days drinking and whoring in the exotic jungle colonies. When pressed to pay his debts he gets entangled in a deadly plot involving deceit, murder, and the dark magic of the deep jungle. Published in Storyhack Action & Adventure Issue 0
Part III
Valan found Bartholomeus at the agreed upon spot. He was creeping behind a spiny bush that did a horrible job of hiding his lumbering frame. He was holding a large bowl in one hand and shoveling the contents into his mouth with the other.
"We have a problem," said Valan walking up. "Somebody murdered the Governor."
"It was Henrik, they already captured him."
"No. Henrik is an idiot but he did not commit this murder."
"How do you know?" Bartholomeus asked shoving a mouthful of the rice gruel into his mouth.
"I don't know who is responsible but it wasn't Henrik," said Valan. He dug around his coat pockets and grabbed a handful of the looted jewelry. "Whoever killed him did it before I broke into the house and snatched our prize."
Bartholomeus put his bowl of food down and palmed the bundle of treasure. "Is this enough to pay the debt?"
"Should be enough with plenty left over for us to hire a ship off this island."
They walked back around to the front of the house. The party had disbanded. Servants were tearing down decorations and cleaning up after the long night. Colonial soldiers swarmed the garden, sharply dressed and carrying muskets. Several of them appeared to be taking guests into the house. Valan had no desire to get detained, or worse questioned, so he urged Bartholomeus on.
The wrought iron gate leading to the road to Angkasa was wide open. Two soldiers stood guard. One of them was having what appeared to be an intense conversation with an old servant dressed in local garb, his face hid behind a wide brimmed jungle hat.
"Good evening sirs," said Valan, bowing politely.
"Where are you two going?" said the fatter of the two. "Order from the Governor say nobody goes in or out."
"Listen, I'm a great friend of the Governor," smiled Valan, "and this is my man servant. We have important business to attend to back in town, so we must hastily depart."
The other soldier broke from his discussion with the local and walked up, facing Valan. He was a hideously ugly man, with a nose that must have met the wrong end of a fist numerous times, and a mouthful of the most rotten teeth Valan ever saw.
The soldier looked Valan over, then stuck his palm out smiling. "Can you prove that you are friends of our Gov? Maybe if you showed me some proof."
Valan frowned. Of course, he thought, this whole colony was filled with extortionist thugs. "Let me guess," he said reaching into his coat. His fingers wrapped around the smooth butt of his pistol. He considered it. But the loud gunshot would bring every soldier and servant down on them. Instead of the pistol he palmed a ring from the bundle of loot and handed it to the soldier. "This should be all the proof you need."
The soldier examined the ring grinning, a bead of spittle pooled at the corner of his mouth. Finally satisfied with his appraisal he waved them along. His fat companion began laughing like a dimwit. Valan guessed that the value of the ring was easily worth at least a years pay.
As he walked away he took one last look at the pair. He wanted to make sure that he would remember their faces in case he ran across them again. That's when he noticed the old servant again. Something about the old man was familiar. He picked up his pace and caught up with Bartholomeus who was already on his way down the road.
"I know that old servant."
"Do you?"
"Yeah. That's the bastard that shook me down in the pleasure house last night. I didn't recognize him at first because I was hazy from the smoke but I will put my honor on the line that it's the same crook."
Thinking over the events of the night he remembered the tiger motif on the dagger used to kill the Governor. "You know, I think that this Black Tiger had the Governor murdered."
He quickly filled Bartholomeus in on the details of the night. What transpired in the bedroom, how he found the ornate dagger and his suspicions about the Black Tiger being behind the murder.
"It's not exactly clear what's going on here, but I think we should get off this island fast," said Valan.
Bartholomeus stopped in the middle of the road. "We need to go back."
"Are you insane?"
"If the Black Tiger murdered the Governor that means his daughter is in danger," he said in his usual soft tone. "Also Henrik, he's one of us after all."
"I hate that guy."
"But he's not guilty of the crime."
Valan considered the situation for a moment. Rescuing that idiot and Arabella could end up being a profitable endeavor. He would get a reward from her and be able to rub it in Henrik's face for the foreseeable future. Also, if he could prove that the Black Tiger was behind the murder he might be able to get him out of the picture, allowing him to keep the profits from the stolen jewelry.
"Alright, I'm sold. We go back, find Arabella and explain the whole Black Tiger thing. Once she knows the truth, she has to release Henrik and reward us. Then we make the idiot give us safe passage off this island."
#
Valan led the way back to the Governor's Estate. He wasn't sure if going back was the right choice, but it was a chance at getting out of debt and finally getting off this island.
"Ready friend?" he asked Bartholomeus as they approached the gate.
The two soldiers were still guarding the gate. The fat one stood leaning on his musket, swilling drink from a rusty flask. The other, started towards them, his smile exposing his rotten teeth.
"You two," he said barring their way, "it's going to cost you to come back through."
Valan reached into his coat, pulled out his readied pistol, and pulled the trigger. The hammer came down, sparked, and fired hot shrapnel into the soldiers left knee.
Taking the cue Bartholomeus rushed the fat one, smashing his face with a rock. The soldier collapsed onto the ground in a bloody mess.
The shot soldier writhed and cried, pouring blood from his wound. Valan bent over, held him down, and searched the pockets of his dirty uniform, fishing out the ring he handed over earlier. Getting a hot ball of lead to the leg isn't a pleasant experience, he thought, but if the man got himself to a local doctor in time he might prevent infection.
"Got it," he said, admiring the topaz stone for a moment.
Valan put the spent pistol back in the coat and pulled out its twin, making sure it was loaded and ready. He walked over to where Bartholomeus was standing and grabbed the unused musket lying on the ground. It was a well made colonial long arm, suited for the rough conditions of the jungle. The satchel around the soldier's waist held several paper cartridges filled with shot and powder. "Take this, use it to watch our backs," he said, handing Bartholomeus the readied weapon.
They made their way into the garden, crouching low and keeping to the shadows. Valan held the readied pistol in his left hand, his right rested on his sheathed rapier. Behind, the massive Bartholomeus tried to keep a low profile, crouching, musket in hand. The garden was dark, all of the torches extinguished. In the darkness, Valan did not see any servants or soldiers. Ahead, he saw that the manor was equally dark. "Somethings wrong," he whispered, as they approached the entrance.
Valan tried the main door and found it unlocked. He pushed it open revealing a poorly lit hallway. The house appeared empty, no sign of life. Arabella could have dismissed the servants for the night he thought, but that would have been an unusual act considering the circumstances.
"Did you hear that?" whispered Bartholomeus.
Valan shook his head.
"Listen."
Holding his breath and opening his mouth he tried to focus his hearing. Several seconds he heard nothing but the strains of the old house reacting to the jungle moisture. Right as he was about to give up he heard several muffled screams from below. "There has to be a cellar beneath us."
After a bit of searching, they came across a set of stairs. Valan led the way down into a large cellar. It was filled from floor to ceiling with wine barrels and sacks of Kaff beans. The air was cool and dry and smelled of sweet spice.
From the back of the cellar, behind a row of stacked barrels, Valan heard several voices, one of them sounded distressed. He checked his pistol and nodded to Bartholomeus.
"Tomorrow you will confess your crime," said a voice in a thick local accent. "You will admit that you murdered the Governor on the orders of the company.."
Valan came around the corner pistol ready. He saw Henrik, bloodied and beat, tied to a wooden chair. Standing over him was the old, serpentine man and his large companion from the pleasure house. He raised his pistol aiming at the old bastard. What extortion this Black Tiger was committing was going to end now.
"Master Valan, welcome!" said the old man without turning around.
Valan pulled the trigger. Quicker than his mind could register, the old man threw his body aside. The shot missed, going above Henrik's head and splintered into a barrel, showering everyone in dark wine.
The shirtless native charged, brutal fists ready for violence. Unlike the last time in the pleasure house, Valan was sober. He tossed the spent pistol and rolled away before the brute got on top of him. Unable to stop the momentum of his charge the goon went over Valan and collided teeth first into the readied stock of Bartholomeus musket.
Back on his feet, Valan drew his rapier and faced the old man. "I'm here to pay my debt to Black Tiger."
The old man looked him over. His face expressionless. "You can do it in person Master Valan," he said, gesturing towards the cellar stairs.
Valan turned around to see Arabella holding two readied pistols. One was pointed at Bartholomeus who was gently placing his musket on the ground. The other was pointed at him.
"Master Valan, you owe me quite a bit of money," she said.
"They killed your father, it wasn't Henrik," he blurted out, not yet grasping the situation.
"I killed my father," she said and motioned towards the old man, who silently followed the order, grabbing some rope in order to bind their hands.
Valan put down his rapier. "I don't understand what's going on here, and honestly I don't care. Bartholomeus and I have nothing to do with any of this."
"My father was a tool of the company, but I understand where the real power lies. In the Kaff, in the jungle. With Henrik's confession exposing the company, proving them to be murderers, the colonials will follow me in becoming an independent state. We will be free of the Empire and parasites like you."
"I don't give a damn about the empire," he said as the old man began to bind his hands behind his back.
"Oh, I know Master Valan. But I have plans for you and your friend," she said turning away, "take them to the temple."
Continue to Part IV