Gazda glared down from the heights and sneered at the gathering that crowded the great fire below. Ginny was down there, Lilly too, and Vanray with the rest of their tribe of night apes—each of them helpless in bone-face hands.
Gazda smiled. He had enjoyed killing the young Bakwaniri and he panted good-humoredly, tempted to take a lock of hair for Harkon who would be climbing the wall of sticks to kill the guards at the gate with her arrows.
But, he hooted with excitement for there would be more than enough souvenirs once Gazda climbed down to join his enemies.
First he would spread the flame to the nests as Harkon had explained, and then kill as many bone-faces as he could while the huntress opened the gate.
She would go to the cage and free Ginny’s tribe and then go to the stone lair where the night ape had seen her folk put beneath the ground.
Gazda saw no bone-faces at the base of the tall pole upon which he perched, so ignoring the ropes that hung near, he climbed from the platform and started down headfirst, driving his strong nails into the wood for grip...
...until he stifled a playful hoot near the bottom for there he found Omag’s severed head, strung up and still dripping gore.
And a sudden wicked notion seized the night ape’s mind that started him panting face to face with his old enemy.
With a wrench of his powerful fingers, Gazda snapped the ropes that held the prize aloft, and hefting the grisly thing he climbed to the ground and carried it to the closest hut.
Inside the small nest, it was as Harkon had thought, for the night ape had seen in her mind a small fire in a ring of stones. Over this Gazda pulled blankets from the bed and held them there until they were engulfed in flames.
He threw this surging orange blaze into the corner, and watched the fire raced up the wooden wall. Smiling, Gazda hoisted Sip-sip’s head and hurried to the next hut.
As the cage door swung open Captain Seward doubled up his fists and ran at the first masked men to enter, but they were ready for the tired old ranger’s charge. A savage struck his gut with a heavy club and another smote his head when he doubled over.
The captain dropped to the ground insensate as still more armed men surged in, their skull-masks otherworldly in the eerie light from the blazing cook fire.
They kept the other prisoners at bay with their swinging clubs, forcing the castaways back to Lilly’s lifeless form.
Jacob and Mr. Quarrie shouted and ran forward, but the older man was felled by a glancing blow to the face, while his manservant was beaten down by a pair of ready warriors.
Virginia James leapt to counter these assaults by throwing herself between the invaders and poor Lilly where she received one vicious blow to the shoulder that knocked her into a club hurtling at her head.
There was a resounding crack of wood on bone and the governess fell motionless on the floor.
Van Resen had watched all this from his objective state, measuring the witch doctor, medicine man or shaman as he entered and approached, ready with an appeal to the savage’s reason.
He had guessed the fellow’s occupation by the air of authority he carried with him beneath a long snakeskin coat that was draped over his thin shoulders and decorated with an old nautical quadrant that hung from the collar. That, and by the way he held the battered spyglass clutched before him like a wizard’s wand; and by the warriors with him who clearly feared the man.
But, Phillip Holmes lurched up from where he hid with the old slaves cringing by the bars, for as his companions were beaten senseless Holmes had been encouraged to see that the shaman’s clothing was patterned after old European styles, and the devices he held western in design.
“I am Phillip Holmes!” he cried, voice breaking, holding out his hands and bowing unsteadily. “A castaway of a wealthy family that has gold for you!”
Two masked men pushed Mrs. Quarrie away from Lilly and lifted the pole to which the girl was tied.
“Step back, Holmes!” Van Resen ordered as the young man moved aside, as the savages bowled the scientist out of their way and passed from the cage.
“She’s dead anyway!” Holmes snapped, sweat streaming over his face. “Worth nothing to what I am alive.” He held his right hand out to the medicine man who paused to appraise the gold cufflinks he held. “Spare my life for these!”
The shaman nodded, smiling through his beard as if he understood before pressing his palms together and bowing.
“I don’t belong here,” Holmes said with some relief, stepping close to the medicine man as the guards gathered to leave. “Let me come with you.”
The shaman frowned.
“For the gold!” Holmes cried, grabbing the man’s shoulder with his free hand.
The medicine man shrugged and took the cufflinks, then grunted to his skull-masked guards who grabbed Holmes by the arms and dragged him from the cage.
The door slammed shut before any within could move.
Holmes struggled in their grasp, crying out to the others but Van Resen could only strain against the bars with the ranger who staggered into place beside him. Mrs. Quarrie and Jacob crawled into view and joined them pleading for Lilly and now Holmes.
The Englishman realized he was headed to the fire, so he screamed and begged until his captors clubbed him into silence.
The savages began to pound their drums again, a constant steady throb like a heartbeat.
“Lilly!” Seward moaned, blood sprinkling from his brow as the wooden bars rattled in his grasp.
Holmes was thrown beside the girl where two savages took instructions from the great fat savage in a red skull-mask. A knife exchanged hands.
“Mrs. Quarrie...” the scientist started to tell the woman to turn away, but he found she had fainted at her unconscious husband’s side.
“Oh Doc...” Seward groaned, tears tracing over
