The old man's cataracts clouded eyes betrayed no emotion as he recounted his tale. Though few could understand the sing-song words of his native tongue, the small band was enthralled by his journey of survival.
Johnny Aces leaned quietly against the cardboard thin wall, listening intently but questioning little. Several members of the Suicide Kings, so named for signing on to wear one of Johnny's famed rocket packs, occupied the small room, lounging in rickety chairs and ancient couches. Our local guide, Henry Cho, translated the old man's tale.
"Their vessel became lost in a surprise storm. Many men perished in the boat that night; they were the luckiest, their end was quick. For several days, he and five other men were battered by waves and rain. They prayed for a quick death.
"As suddenly as it had come, the storm gave way and the seas calmed. A fog descended, shrouding their life boat in inky blackness. The men believed they had crossed into the realm of the dead. Near dawn, the mists parted and they saw it.
"The other men celebrated, but he was filled with a sense of dread, foreboding. The Island appeared pristine, untouched by modern man. Surrounded by steep cliffs, a deep lagoon welcomed their raft. One man leapt from the boat before the shallows and never resurfaced; they now numbered five."
Johnny tensed slightly at the ease with which Henry recounted the lose of life. Johnny had long been a soldier and knew well the loss of a comrade, particularly one with whom you had faced death.
"The Island proved not to be a sanctuary, but another form of hell. The Island was fraught with perils, giant apes, and lizards that could swallow a man whole. Tribes of savages, more beast than man, harried their every step, hungry for their flesh. They came upon an ancient city unlike any known to man. Strange voices compelled them forward, only he was strong enough to resist. Blindly, he fled to the lagoon. Alone, he surrendered his fate to the sea."
A single tear rolled silently down the old man's face, the first sign of emotion. Slowly, he continued. "He doesn't know how long he drifted, days, weeks, it could have been years. His eyes blistered from the sun on the waves, forever stealing his sight. When he heard the men speaking Dutch, he knew he had survived. The sailors brought him here and here he stayed."
Johnny stepped forward and leaned slightly on the table."Does he know were it is? Can he tell us where to find Perilous Island?"
Henry spoke quickly to the old man. Confusion clouded his face as he translated, "He says he told 'her' all this…"
"Her who? Who came here before us?" Johnny's voice nearly cracked at the realization that someone was one step ahead of us.
"Her voice spoke with beauty, but malice hid in her soul. She spoke of airships and great powers hidden on the Island"
"Sky pirates! Esmeralda and her blasted pirates!" Johnny gripped the table edge so tightly it cracked. Henry's attention was drawn slightly behind Johnny to the open window. The setting sun glinted off something metal on the rooftop across the street. A sense of danger filled his being and he screamed "Johnny, look out!"
Johnny dove sideways with practiced ease as the crossbow bolt silently split the air through the open window, driving itself into the old man's chest. A sense of relief washed over his face, finally granted a reprieve from his life of suffering. With his dying breath, he muttered something quietly to Henry.
Johnny rushed quickly to the window. A lone Sky Pirate stood, unashamed on the rooftop, quietly saluted Johnny, and was whisked away by his awaiting airship.
"What'd he say, Henry?" Johnny queried, his voice carrying an air of sadness few had heard from him before.
"Only two words, Johnny. Darrow knows."
See more on the Pulp Alley Forums(www.pulpalley.com/index.php). Inspired by PULP ALLEY:Perilous Island, coming soon!
ponders nirvana.