"Starve Goat Island"
May. 16th, 2022 10:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Starve Goat Island"
7/28/- 7/30/2017
I.
It was getting foggy as the temperature dropped and the wind blew in from the Pacific. In a port city like Hernandez, wise citizens did not stroll about the docks unless necessary, but here came an American carrying bags of equipment, with a knapsack across his back. The man was tall but heavy around the waist, with plenty of grey in his boring brown hair and with bloodshot brown eyes. He wore a tan suit, with a white dress shirt but no tie, and he had three cameras in cases on slings hanging from him. "Hi there!" he sang out cheerfully. "Fred Bigelow, I'm in Cabin 8."
The crew member by the boarding ramp watched him with a noticeable lack of friendliness. "All in order. Come aboard."
"Wish I could stay in Argentina longer," said the American, walking up the ramp with just a bit of difficulty. "Beautiful country. Got lots of great shots!"
From the railing, a short stout man in a black jacket and a billed cap watched. His drooping mustache and untrimmed hair were white with a touch of yellow as if stained. "We set sail in one hour, Mister Bigelow. Get yer gear stowed."
"Ah, Captain... Dutton, wasn't it?"
"That's right," said the captain, turning on his heel and heading aft. "Ready to weigh anchor," he called out. The ship was a steamer of minor size, in good repair but getting old. It smelled of burning oil and fish and cabbage, none of which worked well together. Fred Bigelow found his way to Cabin 8, smelled the mildew and smiled dryly to himself. It was tiny but he didn't need much. The American got his bags and knapsack and equipment put away securely. He heard the engines thumping and vibrations beneath his feet. Looking out the grimy porthole over his bunk, he noticed that no one was at the dock to say farewell to any of his fellow passengers. Just as well.
There was a light bulb hanging on a cord from the ceiling and he tugged that chain, then went over to the mirror on the dresser. From an inner pocket of his jacket, he took out a small plastic cylinder and some saline solution. Wiping his hands first on paper towels someone had left on the top of the dresser, he bent his head and removed the colored contact lenses. Good to get them out, he never liked wearing the damn things. When he raised his head and looked in the mirror again,a pair of pale grey eyes stared back at him with a distinctive glare. Carrying everything to the bunk because he had to be ready to put the lenses back in quickly, he stretched out. This was not the way he liked to handle things, he was by nature direct and confrontational.
Bigelow tried to doze without success. He was a light sleeper at the best of times. A few hours later, a knock came on the door and a sullen voice said, "Dinner ready in the passenger mess." He called out a pleasant thanks and got the contact lenses back in. Heading down a companion way, Bigelow passed two sailors standing with their elbows on the rail. He nodded politely and caught a predatory smile in the face of the skinny one with the flat nose. There was no mistaking that leer, he had seen it too many times before and for the first time he felt he was on the right trail. In the mess, at a round table, were three other passengers and he joined them for stew, biscuits, apple pie and coffee... all of which was not as bad as he had been expecting.
Introducing himself as a retired insurance salesman, Fred Bigelow went into too much detail about his hobby of photography, making sure he came across as dull and boring. One of the passengers was also an American, an elderly frail scarecrow with just wisps of white hair and a beaky nose. He ate in silence, chewing slowly and looking down at the table. To his side was an attractive woman around thirty, with glossy black hair and a roundish face with bright dark eyes. She was wearing a light cotton dress with a thin white cardigan over it. Her companion, on the other hand, loomed up over the table. he was several inches over six feet in height with impressive wide shoulders and a long narrow face filled with gloom. They made an unlikely pair. She did most of the talking as soon as Bigelow let her get started. Her name was Maria Patino and she introduced the somber man as her cousin, Raoul. Yes, she was from San Francisco and in no hurry to get back from her visit to relatives here but Raoul did have to get back to his landfill business, boring as it was.
Bigelow tried not to give it away, but he immediately had picked up that he was sitting with dangerous people. Maria and Raoul, with the way they sat and moved and the way they glanced at each other at certain moments, made all his instincts twitch a warning. Whoever they really were and what they were up to, he could not guess yet. Then he caught just the barest glint of an expression in her eyes that suggested she was suspicious of him, too. Bigelow did not change his manner, he let some clumsy compliments pass that Maria accepted with good nature. One of the crewmen with a rag over one shoulder came and took their plates in a manner that said he would as soon have smashed them over their heads. Maria watched him with a faint smirk.
"The captain hasn't made any sort of speech," Bigelow said. "Usually the captain of a ship at least wishes his passengers a happy voyage and remarks what a good ship they are on."
"Maybe he's just a modest man," she countered, without any extra emphasis on the word modest. But it was enough. The spark between them was palpable. Bigelow got up and excused himself, he had been up all night before boarding and said he hoped to see more of everyone before the trip was done. Maria presented him with the present of a beautiful smile and got up as well, followed by Raoul. Only the ancient one remained at the table, reluctant to finish the second cup of coffee.
The next day went without incident. Bigelow kept to his cabin, thinking and waiting. Searching carefully, he satisfied himself that there were no peepholes through which he could be seen. Wedging a chair under the doorknob, he removed his contact lenses and rinsed his eyes. Then he kicked off his loafers, got out of his tan slacks and dress shirt. Wearing shorts and a T-shirt, he was suddenly a bizarre figure. Arms and legs showed long wiry muscles, and strapped to sheaths on his forearms were two throwing daggers, hilts toward his wrists. The man who called himself Fred Bigelow unbuckled padding from under his shirt and yanked it off. Without it, he was slim to the point of being gaunt.
The man spun into a series of stretching and flexing poses that became a complicated martial arts form. He was amazingly fast. His fists made whistling noises as they snapped out and back, For fifteen minutes, he whirled through combination kicks and punches and blocks, then slowed again. He bowed to his Teacher far away, then hurried to put the padding back on and get a fresh shirt from his bags. Yanking on the slacks, he grudgingly put the contact lenses back in. Fred Bigelow checked his hair in the mirror, longer and greyer than his own. With a resigned frown, he went to his bunk and sat unhappily. For those few minutes, it had been good to be Jeremy Bane again.
II.
He had not gone to breakfast, but Bane decided to eat lunch with the others. All three of the passengers were already seated when he entered, working on hot dogs, beans, sauerkraut and coffee cake. The old man still said little, not being rude but just not offering any comments as he made his way through the meal. Bane was still posing as Fred Bigelow, and he decided it would be useful to be a little too attentive to the pretty Maria, which would at least make him seem like a naive tourist. She took it with disarming acceptance, as if it was only natural that men fawn over her. Raoul, on the other hand, drew his eyebrows down until his eyes were almost covered. The girl and her cousin excused themselves as soon as they were done eating, but Bane decided to ask the old man if he wanted to see some photographs of the mountain scenery.
"Thank you, no," the ancient replied with a faint accent. He smiled and got up, and Bane noticed that for such a decrepit specimen, the old man had excellent teeth, wide and sharp, white as chalk. And he rose from his chair the way as a young man in good health does. Going back to his own cabin, Bane saw it was raining lightly. Mist obscured anything more than a hundred yards out. Standing by the rail was Captain Dutton, smoking a pipe. The man turned as Bane approached and said, "Evening, sir."
"Evening, captain. How's the trip going so far? Seems quiet."
"That it is." He gestured toward the fog. "You can't see it in this bloody muck, but over that way is Starve Goat Island. Don't suppose you would've heard of it, eh?"
"No, can't say I have." Bane was still being Fred Bigelow, and he went on, "Is there a story connected to it?"
"Indeed there is," said the captain with a strange joy in his voice. "Thirty-six years ago, it was. A ship like this one. Somehow her engine caught fire and she ran aground near that island. The crew went ashore in the rowboat to look for fresh water and were marooned when the ship sank."
"Ghastly," said Bane. "What happened?"
"There was nothing to eat on the island. Not even bark, not a crab nor moss on the rocks. After a few days, though, even the most God-fearing man has to eat something."
"Wait. You don't mean..?"
"Ah, but I do. The feasting was a sin and an abomination. And it turned into a war of attrition. Eventually, a passing freighter came close enough to spot the lone survivor waving a shirt. Twas the captain. Jack Modest. Maybe that name means something to you?"
"No," answered Bane in a whisper, feigning horror. "What happened to him?"
"Ah, they say he was cursed. That he got to liking human flesh. That he liked it so much he tried getting others to try it. Some say he is still out there, looking for a good meal." The captain broke into a low guffaw. "Haw haw! Had you going, didn't I?"
Letting out a breath, Bane admitted, "You certainly did. I was in a cold sweat."
"Be seeing you, sar," the captain said and strolled off.
Well, now he had a lot to think about, Bane reflected. It wasn't the gruesome tale that he doubted but the discounting of it. Unlocking his cabin door, he stepped inside and saw Maria and Raoul waiting for him with revolvers in their hands.
III.
Still being Bigelow, Bane backed up to get out the door but the two raised their pistols smoothly to cover him. Raoul held out one hand palm up and gestured with fingers toward himself, indicating Bane should come inside. Maria nodded in agreement.
Closing the cabin door behind him, Bane stammered, "What.. I don't.."
Now Maria rose to her feet. She was of medium height, not more than five inches over five feet. She had changed into black pants and button-front shirt, with an open red vest. In her hand was a .22 target pistol with an extended barrel. "Hah! I thought we would NEVER meet! Jeremy Bane! At last." Behind her, Raoul scowled and kept his own big Smith & Wesson aimed squarely at his face.
"Now I know you," Bane said slowly. "Of course."
"That is hardly flattering," she sighed. "I had hoped our own reputations were not much less than yours."
"Esperanza Rivas! Flower of the Night. Yes, and your partner Troy. No, our paths haven't crossed yet. What's on this ship worth paying you to steal? Diamonds? Drugs?"
She put the small target pistol in a holster at her back, where the vest concealed it. A second later, Raoul stowed his own gun in his waistband. Esperanza tilted her head. She uses her looks a bit too freely, thought Bane, it is more effective sparingly. "Diamonds? Drugs? No, no. nothing like that. We have been hired to settle a grievance. An orphan wants her parents avenged. She came to us and we agreed it was a worthy cause, not that we could neglect our usual fee."
"Of course. I respect you two. You hire out your services, but you steal what is already stolen and return it to the rightful ownders... for the most part. You bill yourselves as retrieval experts." Bane folded his arms and stood with legs well apart. "Someone on this ship killed the parents of your clients, then?"
"Not someone," she said. "ALL of them killed the parents."
"And that is not the worst part," Troy said, speaking for the first time in a surprisingly mellow, cultured voice. "It is what they did to the bodies."
Bane almost growled, "Jack Modest. Starve Goat Island."
"We may not have much time," Esperanza said in a low voice. "Why are you here? Why the disguise?"
"Government agencies asked me to investigate. Too many Americans disappearing in these waters the past few years. Falling overboard, unconvincing accidents, never showing up at port. I agreed to see if I could be bait."
A sudden knock thumped on the cabin door. "Captain wants to see you, bud," came an angry voice. "The others, too."
"All right," Bane called. He gave Esperanza and Troy a cautionary look, then opened the door and stepped out. Most of the crew were on the deck and as he stepped out, they parted to let him pass. Esperanza and Troy followed, and the sailors assembled behind them. Near the stern, Captain Dutton was pacing anxiously. Already seated in one of the two rowboats was the old man, looking unconcerned. There was a rustle of cloth and the movement of feet, and without looking Bane was sure that he was now being covered by a number of guns in the hands of the crew. He saw Esperanza and Troy standing motionless, getting patted down and the woman being groped more than was necessary for a search. Their handguns were taken away. Bane was searched, but he did not have a gun on him. The daggers on his forearms once again escaped being detected by an untrained person because of the silicon gel padding shaped to feel exactly like human muscle. Bane reflected that the stiff price he had paid to have that padding crafted had been more than worth it.
"Seems like the end," the captain said somberly. "You're going ashore. THere she is, Starve Goat Island, still nothing but barren rock sticking up out of the blue."
Bane said nothing. He turned his head without moving his body, and saw a dozen crewmen with rifles and shotguns. They were all grinning in a way that he didn't like.
"Let's get going. Mr Bigelow, you be in the boat with Mr Chaplan here. The miss and her companion will be in the second boat. Don't get any frisky ideas. One man will row, one of our lads will be with you with finger on the trigger."
Everyone co-operated. The boats were lowered into the choppy waves, Bane rowing his boat and Raoul following. The sailors kept them covered every second. They made it to the island, which was in fact nothing more than a mass of bare rock a full mile across without even lichen on it. Starve Goat Island, where even a goat would starve but a ghoul might not. It was slick with spray. AS the prisoners clambered out on the ledges protruding into the water, the rowboats headed back for more sailors and the captain.
"A fire pit," Esperanza said in a hushed tone. Dug in the rock was a hollow pit filled with ashes, and a few stray bones still were scattered about. "Looks like quite a party."
Bane said nothing, He snapped the straps on the padding under his shirt and tossed it aside, got the contact lenses out and gratefully threw them in the ocean. He looked more like the Dire Wolf again. Even in the dim misty light, his eyes suddenly had that grey gleam to them. The ship was anchored less than a half mile away, and they could see more sailors being lowered into the rowboats. It looked like four in each one, he thought, no, five in the second one. That would leave two on board. He was already planning.
Esperanza stepped over to the old man. "You seem to be taking this well, Mr Chaplan. Don't you understand what this means? What they intend to do to us?" But he did not answer.
Soon enough, the crowd had assembled with supplies that seemed horribly inappropriate. Charcoal, lighter fluid, butcher knives and cleavers. Two of the crew began preparing the fire pit, the others surrounded the prisoners. No attempt had been made to tie them up, perhaps because they were so outnumbered. Captain Dutton approached and tilted his cap back on his tousled head. "I suppose if you're religious fools, now is when you might want to pray."
Standing in the middle of the circle, arms folded loosely, Bane actually smiled. "You know, you guys aren't REAL Ghouls. You're just beginners. I've seen Ghouls who have been at it centuries. They get long muzzles and flat wide hands and their teeth start to crowd each other in their jaws. They look like the carrion eaters they are."
The sailors muttered uneasily. They were used to victims blubbering and begging for their lives. This was unexpected.
Bane continued, "You losers have been at this twenty years at most, mostly less. You've hardly started to transform. Even your leader over there is just beginning to start looking inhuman." He tilted his head at the elderly man outside the circle. "Isn't that right... Jack Modest?"
The ancient one leered so every tooth showed but his eyes did not smile. He started to speak, and in that second, every one there was watching him. That was when Bane whipped his arms apart, a dagger in each hand and plunged into the crewmen with those blades whirling in a metallic storm. The two with the shotguns first, he gashed one across the throat and bodyslammed him into a sailor who had not yet reacted. They both went down and already Bane had thrust a dagger into another man's chest and tugged it out again, spinning on one foot and blasting a kick that brought the steel-capped toe of his boot to flatten another man's face into a red mess.
A full second had passed, the sailors were beginning to realize what was happening. Bane got between two and drove out the daggers into their sides, dropping low as another crewman managed to raise his pistol and get off a shot. These men were murderous enough, all experienced brawlers and ready to kill. But although Bane was moving too quickly to be caught as yet, he did not have forever before a bullet would hit him.
Then two shots exploded from outside the circle. A sailor tumbled with his chest spurting blood. Some of the sailors looked up to see the pretty little Spanish-looking woman in a marksman's stance with a revolver she had taken from a fallen crewman. She fired again, twice in close succession and a final sailor dropped with his hands pressing on his stomach.
Abruptly, only the captain and Jack Modest were left. Dutton had an automatic in his hand but he lowered it in confusion. Esperanza had him covered, her face tightened up in rage, and now Troy was picking up a shotgun.
Bane snorted, cleaning his daggers on a dead man's shirt. He straightened up and came closer. "Got a little more than you bargained for, didn't you? You expected to cook some lambs and instead you found some wolves on your hands." He snatched the automatic from Dutton's loose grip. "You two hold still. I don't think it would take much to prod my colleagues into shooting you down but I want you alive a few minutes longer."
Esperanza blinked but did not ask what Bane's plan was. The Dire Wolf kicked off his heavy boots and threw his shirt aside. He bent and yanked a pair of binoculars off a corpse and handed them to Esperanza. "Shoot at the right moment," he said to her without further explanation and dove into the ocean. No one could quite follow his passage as he swam. Bane took deep slow breaths and went under the surface for long stretches, coming up closer to the ship each time. Quicker than seemed possible, he had reached the lines hanging over the side of the ship and was scrambling up one as if someone was pulling him up. Two sailors who had remained aboard saw him and drew their sidearms. In another instant, they would have fired but exactly at that moment, three shots sounded on the island.
The crewmen looked up involuntarily to see what had happened. And then Bane was upon them, vaulting up over the side of the ship and knocking them both to the deck. He caught one with a straight forward punch that twisted the man's head too far around for the neck to survive, and the second one died a half second later as the Dire Wolf slammed both palms to the sides of his head. Dripping water and shivering from the cold, Bane looked and listened but saw no one else.
Finally. He was not done yet. Bane drew himself up and turned to wave to where Esperanza and Troy were surely watching through the binoculars. It was a fair distance but he thought he saw only two standing figures on the bare rock. Maybe Modest and Dutton had tried something, maybe Esperanza and Troy had just coldly executed the two. At the moment, it did not seem to matter much. Suddenly weary to the bone, he went down toward the radio room to call for a rescue party. Bane thought, I never used to get tired after a little excitement. I guess I'm just getting old.
3/16/2013
7/28/- 7/30/2017
I.
It was getting foggy as the temperature dropped and the wind blew in from the Pacific. In a port city like Hernandez, wise citizens did not stroll about the docks unless necessary, but here came an American carrying bags of equipment, with a knapsack across his back. The man was tall but heavy around the waist, with plenty of grey in his boring brown hair and with bloodshot brown eyes. He wore a tan suit, with a white dress shirt but no tie, and he had three cameras in cases on slings hanging from him. "Hi there!" he sang out cheerfully. "Fred Bigelow, I'm in Cabin 8."
The crew member by the boarding ramp watched him with a noticeable lack of friendliness. "All in order. Come aboard."
"Wish I could stay in Argentina longer," said the American, walking up the ramp with just a bit of difficulty. "Beautiful country. Got lots of great shots!"
From the railing, a short stout man in a black jacket and a billed cap watched. His drooping mustache and untrimmed hair were white with a touch of yellow as if stained. "We set sail in one hour, Mister Bigelow. Get yer gear stowed."
"Ah, Captain... Dutton, wasn't it?"
"That's right," said the captain, turning on his heel and heading aft. "Ready to weigh anchor," he called out. The ship was a steamer of minor size, in good repair but getting old. It smelled of burning oil and fish and cabbage, none of which worked well together. Fred Bigelow found his way to Cabin 8, smelled the mildew and smiled dryly to himself. It was tiny but he didn't need much. The American got his bags and knapsack and equipment put away securely. He heard the engines thumping and vibrations beneath his feet. Looking out the grimy porthole over his bunk, he noticed that no one was at the dock to say farewell to any of his fellow passengers. Just as well.
There was a light bulb hanging on a cord from the ceiling and he tugged that chain, then went over to the mirror on the dresser. From an inner pocket of his jacket, he took out a small plastic cylinder and some saline solution. Wiping his hands first on paper towels someone had left on the top of the dresser, he bent his head and removed the colored contact lenses. Good to get them out, he never liked wearing the damn things. When he raised his head and looked in the mirror again,a pair of pale grey eyes stared back at him with a distinctive glare. Carrying everything to the bunk because he had to be ready to put the lenses back in quickly, he stretched out. This was not the way he liked to handle things, he was by nature direct and confrontational.
Bigelow tried to doze without success. He was a light sleeper at the best of times. A few hours later, a knock came on the door and a sullen voice said, "Dinner ready in the passenger mess." He called out a pleasant thanks and got the contact lenses back in. Heading down a companion way, Bigelow passed two sailors standing with their elbows on the rail. He nodded politely and caught a predatory smile in the face of the skinny one with the flat nose. There was no mistaking that leer, he had seen it too many times before and for the first time he felt he was on the right trail. In the mess, at a round table, were three other passengers and he joined them for stew, biscuits, apple pie and coffee... all of which was not as bad as he had been expecting.
Introducing himself as a retired insurance salesman, Fred Bigelow went into too much detail about his hobby of photography, making sure he came across as dull and boring. One of the passengers was also an American, an elderly frail scarecrow with just wisps of white hair and a beaky nose. He ate in silence, chewing slowly and looking down at the table. To his side was an attractive woman around thirty, with glossy black hair and a roundish face with bright dark eyes. She was wearing a light cotton dress with a thin white cardigan over it. Her companion, on the other hand, loomed up over the table. he was several inches over six feet in height with impressive wide shoulders and a long narrow face filled with gloom. They made an unlikely pair. She did most of the talking as soon as Bigelow let her get started. Her name was Maria Patino and she introduced the somber man as her cousin, Raoul. Yes, she was from San Francisco and in no hurry to get back from her visit to relatives here but Raoul did have to get back to his landfill business, boring as it was.
Bigelow tried not to give it away, but he immediately had picked up that he was sitting with dangerous people. Maria and Raoul, with the way they sat and moved and the way they glanced at each other at certain moments, made all his instincts twitch a warning. Whoever they really were and what they were up to, he could not guess yet. Then he caught just the barest glint of an expression in her eyes that suggested she was suspicious of him, too. Bigelow did not change his manner, he let some clumsy compliments pass that Maria accepted with good nature. One of the crewmen with a rag over one shoulder came and took their plates in a manner that said he would as soon have smashed them over their heads. Maria watched him with a faint smirk.
"The captain hasn't made any sort of speech," Bigelow said. "Usually the captain of a ship at least wishes his passengers a happy voyage and remarks what a good ship they are on."
"Maybe he's just a modest man," she countered, without any extra emphasis on the word modest. But it was enough. The spark between them was palpable. Bigelow got up and excused himself, he had been up all night before boarding and said he hoped to see more of everyone before the trip was done. Maria presented him with the present of a beautiful smile and got up as well, followed by Raoul. Only the ancient one remained at the table, reluctant to finish the second cup of coffee.
The next day went without incident. Bigelow kept to his cabin, thinking and waiting. Searching carefully, he satisfied himself that there were no peepholes through which he could be seen. Wedging a chair under the doorknob, he removed his contact lenses and rinsed his eyes. Then he kicked off his loafers, got out of his tan slacks and dress shirt. Wearing shorts and a T-shirt, he was suddenly a bizarre figure. Arms and legs showed long wiry muscles, and strapped to sheaths on his forearms were two throwing daggers, hilts toward his wrists. The man who called himself Fred Bigelow unbuckled padding from under his shirt and yanked it off. Without it, he was slim to the point of being gaunt.
The man spun into a series of stretching and flexing poses that became a complicated martial arts form. He was amazingly fast. His fists made whistling noises as they snapped out and back, For fifteen minutes, he whirled through combination kicks and punches and blocks, then slowed again. He bowed to his Teacher far away, then hurried to put the padding back on and get a fresh shirt from his bags. Yanking on the slacks, he grudgingly put the contact lenses back in. Fred Bigelow checked his hair in the mirror, longer and greyer than his own. With a resigned frown, he went to his bunk and sat unhappily. For those few minutes, it had been good to be Jeremy Bane again.
II.
He had not gone to breakfast, but Bane decided to eat lunch with the others. All three of the passengers were already seated when he entered, working on hot dogs, beans, sauerkraut and coffee cake. The old man still said little, not being rude but just not offering any comments as he made his way through the meal. Bane was still posing as Fred Bigelow, and he decided it would be useful to be a little too attentive to the pretty Maria, which would at least make him seem like a naive tourist. She took it with disarming acceptance, as if it was only natural that men fawn over her. Raoul, on the other hand, drew his eyebrows down until his eyes were almost covered. The girl and her cousin excused themselves as soon as they were done eating, but Bane decided to ask the old man if he wanted to see some photographs of the mountain scenery.
"Thank you, no," the ancient replied with a faint accent. He smiled and got up, and Bane noticed that for such a decrepit specimen, the old man had excellent teeth, wide and sharp, white as chalk. And he rose from his chair the way as a young man in good health does. Going back to his own cabin, Bane saw it was raining lightly. Mist obscured anything more than a hundred yards out. Standing by the rail was Captain Dutton, smoking a pipe. The man turned as Bane approached and said, "Evening, sir."
"Evening, captain. How's the trip going so far? Seems quiet."
"That it is." He gestured toward the fog. "You can't see it in this bloody muck, but over that way is Starve Goat Island. Don't suppose you would've heard of it, eh?"
"No, can't say I have." Bane was still being Fred Bigelow, and he went on, "Is there a story connected to it?"
"Indeed there is," said the captain with a strange joy in his voice. "Thirty-six years ago, it was. A ship like this one. Somehow her engine caught fire and she ran aground near that island. The crew went ashore in the rowboat to look for fresh water and were marooned when the ship sank."
"Ghastly," said Bane. "What happened?"
"There was nothing to eat on the island. Not even bark, not a crab nor moss on the rocks. After a few days, though, even the most God-fearing man has to eat something."
"Wait. You don't mean..?"
"Ah, but I do. The feasting was a sin and an abomination. And it turned into a war of attrition. Eventually, a passing freighter came close enough to spot the lone survivor waving a shirt. Twas the captain. Jack Modest. Maybe that name means something to you?"
"No," answered Bane in a whisper, feigning horror. "What happened to him?"
"Ah, they say he was cursed. That he got to liking human flesh. That he liked it so much he tried getting others to try it. Some say he is still out there, looking for a good meal." The captain broke into a low guffaw. "Haw haw! Had you going, didn't I?"
Letting out a breath, Bane admitted, "You certainly did. I was in a cold sweat."
"Be seeing you, sar," the captain said and strolled off.
Well, now he had a lot to think about, Bane reflected. It wasn't the gruesome tale that he doubted but the discounting of it. Unlocking his cabin door, he stepped inside and saw Maria and Raoul waiting for him with revolvers in their hands.
III.
Still being Bigelow, Bane backed up to get out the door but the two raised their pistols smoothly to cover him. Raoul held out one hand palm up and gestured with fingers toward himself, indicating Bane should come inside. Maria nodded in agreement.
Closing the cabin door behind him, Bane stammered, "What.. I don't.."
Now Maria rose to her feet. She was of medium height, not more than five inches over five feet. She had changed into black pants and button-front shirt, with an open red vest. In her hand was a .22 target pistol with an extended barrel. "Hah! I thought we would NEVER meet! Jeremy Bane! At last." Behind her, Raoul scowled and kept his own big Smith & Wesson aimed squarely at his face.
"Now I know you," Bane said slowly. "Of course."
"That is hardly flattering," she sighed. "I had hoped our own reputations were not much less than yours."
"Esperanza Rivas! Flower of the Night. Yes, and your partner Troy. No, our paths haven't crossed yet. What's on this ship worth paying you to steal? Diamonds? Drugs?"
She put the small target pistol in a holster at her back, where the vest concealed it. A second later, Raoul stowed his own gun in his waistband. Esperanza tilted her head. She uses her looks a bit too freely, thought Bane, it is more effective sparingly. "Diamonds? Drugs? No, no. nothing like that. We have been hired to settle a grievance. An orphan wants her parents avenged. She came to us and we agreed it was a worthy cause, not that we could neglect our usual fee."
"Of course. I respect you two. You hire out your services, but you steal what is already stolen and return it to the rightful ownders... for the most part. You bill yourselves as retrieval experts." Bane folded his arms and stood with legs well apart. "Someone on this ship killed the parents of your clients, then?"
"Not someone," she said. "ALL of them killed the parents."
"And that is not the worst part," Troy said, speaking for the first time in a surprisingly mellow, cultured voice. "It is what they did to the bodies."
Bane almost growled, "Jack Modest. Starve Goat Island."
"We may not have much time," Esperanza said in a low voice. "Why are you here? Why the disguise?"
"Government agencies asked me to investigate. Too many Americans disappearing in these waters the past few years. Falling overboard, unconvincing accidents, never showing up at port. I agreed to see if I could be bait."
A sudden knock thumped on the cabin door. "Captain wants to see you, bud," came an angry voice. "The others, too."
"All right," Bane called. He gave Esperanza and Troy a cautionary look, then opened the door and stepped out. Most of the crew were on the deck and as he stepped out, they parted to let him pass. Esperanza and Troy followed, and the sailors assembled behind them. Near the stern, Captain Dutton was pacing anxiously. Already seated in one of the two rowboats was the old man, looking unconcerned. There was a rustle of cloth and the movement of feet, and without looking Bane was sure that he was now being covered by a number of guns in the hands of the crew. He saw Esperanza and Troy standing motionless, getting patted down and the woman being groped more than was necessary for a search. Their handguns were taken away. Bane was searched, but he did not have a gun on him. The daggers on his forearms once again escaped being detected by an untrained person because of the silicon gel padding shaped to feel exactly like human muscle. Bane reflected that the stiff price he had paid to have that padding crafted had been more than worth it.
"Seems like the end," the captain said somberly. "You're going ashore. THere she is, Starve Goat Island, still nothing but barren rock sticking up out of the blue."
Bane said nothing. He turned his head without moving his body, and saw a dozen crewmen with rifles and shotguns. They were all grinning in a way that he didn't like.
"Let's get going. Mr Bigelow, you be in the boat with Mr Chaplan here. The miss and her companion will be in the second boat. Don't get any frisky ideas. One man will row, one of our lads will be with you with finger on the trigger."
Everyone co-operated. The boats were lowered into the choppy waves, Bane rowing his boat and Raoul following. The sailors kept them covered every second. They made it to the island, which was in fact nothing more than a mass of bare rock a full mile across without even lichen on it. Starve Goat Island, where even a goat would starve but a ghoul might not. It was slick with spray. AS the prisoners clambered out on the ledges protruding into the water, the rowboats headed back for more sailors and the captain.
"A fire pit," Esperanza said in a hushed tone. Dug in the rock was a hollow pit filled with ashes, and a few stray bones still were scattered about. "Looks like quite a party."
Bane said nothing, He snapped the straps on the padding under his shirt and tossed it aside, got the contact lenses out and gratefully threw them in the ocean. He looked more like the Dire Wolf again. Even in the dim misty light, his eyes suddenly had that grey gleam to them. The ship was anchored less than a half mile away, and they could see more sailors being lowered into the rowboats. It looked like four in each one, he thought, no, five in the second one. That would leave two on board. He was already planning.
Esperanza stepped over to the old man. "You seem to be taking this well, Mr Chaplan. Don't you understand what this means? What they intend to do to us?" But he did not answer.
Soon enough, the crowd had assembled with supplies that seemed horribly inappropriate. Charcoal, lighter fluid, butcher knives and cleavers. Two of the crew began preparing the fire pit, the others surrounded the prisoners. No attempt had been made to tie them up, perhaps because they were so outnumbered. Captain Dutton approached and tilted his cap back on his tousled head. "I suppose if you're religious fools, now is when you might want to pray."
Standing in the middle of the circle, arms folded loosely, Bane actually smiled. "You know, you guys aren't REAL Ghouls. You're just beginners. I've seen Ghouls who have been at it centuries. They get long muzzles and flat wide hands and their teeth start to crowd each other in their jaws. They look like the carrion eaters they are."
The sailors muttered uneasily. They were used to victims blubbering and begging for their lives. This was unexpected.
Bane continued, "You losers have been at this twenty years at most, mostly less. You've hardly started to transform. Even your leader over there is just beginning to start looking inhuman." He tilted his head at the elderly man outside the circle. "Isn't that right... Jack Modest?"
The ancient one leered so every tooth showed but his eyes did not smile. He started to speak, and in that second, every one there was watching him. That was when Bane whipped his arms apart, a dagger in each hand and plunged into the crewmen with those blades whirling in a metallic storm. The two with the shotguns first, he gashed one across the throat and bodyslammed him into a sailor who had not yet reacted. They both went down and already Bane had thrust a dagger into another man's chest and tugged it out again, spinning on one foot and blasting a kick that brought the steel-capped toe of his boot to flatten another man's face into a red mess.
A full second had passed, the sailors were beginning to realize what was happening. Bane got between two and drove out the daggers into their sides, dropping low as another crewman managed to raise his pistol and get off a shot. These men were murderous enough, all experienced brawlers and ready to kill. But although Bane was moving too quickly to be caught as yet, he did not have forever before a bullet would hit him.
Then two shots exploded from outside the circle. A sailor tumbled with his chest spurting blood. Some of the sailors looked up to see the pretty little Spanish-looking woman in a marksman's stance with a revolver she had taken from a fallen crewman. She fired again, twice in close succession and a final sailor dropped with his hands pressing on his stomach.
Abruptly, only the captain and Jack Modest were left. Dutton had an automatic in his hand but he lowered it in confusion. Esperanza had him covered, her face tightened up in rage, and now Troy was picking up a shotgun.
Bane snorted, cleaning his daggers on a dead man's shirt. He straightened up and came closer. "Got a little more than you bargained for, didn't you? You expected to cook some lambs and instead you found some wolves on your hands." He snatched the automatic from Dutton's loose grip. "You two hold still. I don't think it would take much to prod my colleagues into shooting you down but I want you alive a few minutes longer."
Esperanza blinked but did not ask what Bane's plan was. The Dire Wolf kicked off his heavy boots and threw his shirt aside. He bent and yanked a pair of binoculars off a corpse and handed them to Esperanza. "Shoot at the right moment," he said to her without further explanation and dove into the ocean. No one could quite follow his passage as he swam. Bane took deep slow breaths and went under the surface for long stretches, coming up closer to the ship each time. Quicker than seemed possible, he had reached the lines hanging over the side of the ship and was scrambling up one as if someone was pulling him up. Two sailors who had remained aboard saw him and drew their sidearms. In another instant, they would have fired but exactly at that moment, three shots sounded on the island.
The crewmen looked up involuntarily to see what had happened. And then Bane was upon them, vaulting up over the side of the ship and knocking them both to the deck. He caught one with a straight forward punch that twisted the man's head too far around for the neck to survive, and the second one died a half second later as the Dire Wolf slammed both palms to the sides of his head. Dripping water and shivering from the cold, Bane looked and listened but saw no one else.
Finally. He was not done yet. Bane drew himself up and turned to wave to where Esperanza and Troy were surely watching through the binoculars. It was a fair distance but he thought he saw only two standing figures on the bare rock. Maybe Modest and Dutton had tried something, maybe Esperanza and Troy had just coldly executed the two. At the moment, it did not seem to matter much. Suddenly weary to the bone, he went down toward the radio room to call for a rescue party. Bane thought, I never used to get tired after a little excitement. I guess I'm just getting old.
3/16/2013
