Post by mauvelantern on Mar 7, 2012 18:12:37 GMT -5
CONGO BILL in RACE TO THE GOLDEN TREE
Deep in the heart of Africa, the Obako tribe was on the run. Early that morning, a young boy had seen a white man with a bowl on his head go into the sacred temple of Musafah, the Sun King; as no one but the Obako was allowed to enter, the boy ran back to the village to warn everyone. The village chief gathered together the entire tribe, for they were warriors all, and they ran to the temple and waited for the invader to come out. Once the white man came out of the temple, a golden bust of Musafah under his arm, the tribesmen hurled spears and shot darts at the thief, who dodged them all with surprising agility. He took off running into the thick of the forest, the Obako in hot pursuit.
That man, that fleet-of-foot thief, was the intrepid Congo Bill, explorer/thief for hire and currently debating whether stealing artifacts was really worth it after all this time. He was not wanting for money, having earned a tidy sum while working as a spy in Austria, nor did he need the artifacts for his home, a small shack on the outskirts of the town of Tinasha. No, it was the thrill of the hunt, of exploration, of barely dodging a poison-tipped spear aimed at your calf. That was what kept him coming back to this job.
"Janu's right: I think I may be losing my mind!" he chuckled as he leaped over a fallen tree.
He could hear the Obako not too far behind him, hollering and shouting in some tongue he barely understood; "devil thief" was the most he could make out. They were not too happy about losing their lion head, that was certain. Then again, Bill had yet to come across a tribe that wanted anything shiny taken from them. Once, he was nearly decapitated because he was trying to recover pieces from a downed aircraft, which made compromise quite a feat considering he had no idea how to explain a plane to the people.
"Let's see…once I lose the Obako, I'll make my way back to the camp and get myself some well-deserved shut-eye. After that, we'll hoof it back to Tinasha, send the head along to the Brits and then go for a pint down at the Boar's Tusk and swap stories with the sad sacks at the bar. Yes, solid plan," Bill thought aloud.
A dart whizzed by his ear and imbedded itself into a tree trunk. "Of course," he muttered, "I'll need to make it back to camp first."
The tribesmen chased Bill through the jungle, winding around the trees and running through the grass, whooping and screaming like monkeys the whole time. As Bill wondered if this was meant to intimidate him, he heard the sound of running water and grinned at the prospect. Running water meant a stream or a river, something he could use to escape from the vengeful Obako; by the sound of it, this was a big one too. He heard the water crashing around and, for a moment, he was reminded of the rivers back in Scotland, traveling down them at breakneck speeds with nothing but a canoe and a paddle to keep him from crashing and drowning. Those were great times indeed.
Bill chased the sounds of the river and soon found himself on the bank of a rather large, rather deep, and rather fast channel; just what he needed to make his great escape. He made it just in time to, for the Obako were beginning to catch up to him. Tossing the bust into his knapsack, Bill tossed his hat away and jumped into the water, instantly being swept downstream. When he heard the Obako draw close, he dove below water and swam in a zigzag pattern to avoid their spears; fortunately, though a few came near, the current worked in his advantage. He poked his head up out of the water to take a breath and saw that the Obako were so far downstream they were like specks now, soon to be out of sight for good. Laughing heartily, the man swam along and began to plot out his next move.
"Right, so check that off the list. Let's see…get the lion's head, run like a bat out of Hell, and escape via river. Wasn't there something Janu warned me about this area? Ah, that's right! He said, "Avoid the river!" But what could he mean by that?"
No sooner had Bill asked that than he received his answer. The river did come to an end eventually, as all rivers do, but this one ended in a most unfortunate way for Bill: it ended in a waterfall.
"Not good," he gasped as he tried to swim towards shore. "Not good, not good, not good at all!"
Sadly, he could not reach shore; the power of the current was just too strong. All he could do was get himself ready for the plunge, however high up it may have been. Bill took a deep breath and dove back underwater, streamlining his body by pointing his arms above his head and stacking one atop the other. He saw the end of the river and the start of the fall, and braced himself.
3…2…1…
Bill went flying through a spray of mist before dipping down and rocketing towards the water below. It was quite the drop, so much so that he regretted opening his eyes and taking it all in. He tucked his head down and prayed to God Almighty that he made it out of this alive; he wanted his last moment to be spent drinking the finest Scotch, not plunging to his death by water.
Fortunately, the bone-shattering impact never came. The lucky daredevil cut right through the water, barely making so much as a splash. Down below, the river was much calmer, allowing him a chance to come up for air again. Bill howled with laughter, pumping his fists into the air.
"Billy-boy, you've done it again!"
Far downstream, miles away from the Temple of Musafah, a young man was stoking a fire to keep the chill of the night away. This boy was small, dark, and lean with short, curly hair and scars running all over his body; he wore nothing but a pair of tanned jodhpurs and sandals made from grass. His name was Janu, and he was expecting Bill to return two hours ago.
He paced around the fire, occasionally stirring a bowl of stew, and paced some more, waiting for his friend and mentor to return from his latest expedition. Janu was glad to see that Bill had a hobby that was as exciting as it was engaging, but he really should have considered going back into the hunting business. At least there, he could overpower the prey and did not risk death by spear so much. But, try as he might, Janu could not convince his friend to give up his dangerous pastime.
Finally, as the first stars began to appear in the sky, Janu spotted a tall figure marching toward the campsite. He got up and waved, asking, "Back so soon?"
"I told you I would be late this time," Bill replied as he drew closer. "Remember, I went in this time without an escape route in mind just to see what it was like."
"And?"
"Exhilarating! I swam through rapid waters and dove over waterfalls! Oh, Janu, you had to be there to see it!"
As Bill stepped into the firelight, his partner found that the hunter was wearing only a pair of damp boxer shorts, his knapsack hanging from his shoulder. Janu grabbed a blanket from the tent and tossed it over to Bill, who wrapped it around his shoulders.
"Good lad, Janu. Mmm, the stew smells good tonight!" Bill remarked. "What have you made for us tonight?"
"I dug up a few roots and chopped them up, threw in a few lizards for flavor, and ground up some grass to give it a little garnish. Will monsieur like the fine china?" Janu quipped as he gave the stew one last stir.
"Fix me up a bowl, you smart aleck, while I get changed. And while you're at it, take a look at the find. Those stuffed shirts weren't kidding when they said it was a marvel!"
While Bill was in the tent, Janu opened up the knapsack and pulled out the bust of Musafah. It was a golden bust, almost a perfect sphere, carved into the shape of a lion's head, mane included. When he moved it in his hands, the bust would catch the light of the fire and glisten like the precious metal it was. Janu let out a slow whistle as he hefted the baseball-sized prize.
"This is something else. Very intricate details, and to get the gold so perfectly round is quite a feat. Did the professors tell you who made this?" the boy asked his partner.
"They weren't sure, but they think that it had to have been an ancient tribe from far back. That temple of theirs must date back thousands of years; Egyptian times, I believe. Whatever the case, they were certainly unhappy with my taking their lion head," Bill explained as he walked out of the tent, fully-clothed.
"Well, you did steal the Sun King's gift to them; they can't have appreciated that too much."
"You make an excellent point, Janu, but I find myself not caring in the slightest. Now, pass me some of the swill before it gets cold."
The two friends passed the rest of the night as they usually did, Bill telling Janu about how his job went and Janu would reprimand Bill for nearly getting himself killed; Janu would tell Bill of news he had heard and Bill would pick out rumor from truth. When they had their fill of dinner, the hunter would regal his captive audience with another story of his glory days back as a soldier in the first World War, fighting in the battlefields of Europe. His young friend, a pacifist, simply nodded and smiled at the stories, taking them for what they were: nostalgic moments for Congo Bill. When they had had their fill of chatter, they would settle in for the night and rest up for the trip back to Tinasha. Such was their happy, carefree life.
Three days later, the two men arrived back in the small town of Tinasha. They walked like kings, striding down the dirt road in the center of the town despite the odd looks the townsfolk gave them. Bill had an erratic relationship with the Tinashans: when he did right by them, he was treated like a hero; when they felt he had wronged them, they would run him out of town for two days. On most given days though, in between exiling and celebrating the local celebrity, they gave him and Janu strange looks, as if to tell them they were always watching the two to see what would happen next.
"I always hate this part," Janu grumbled, scrunching up his shoulders and ducking his head.
"I don't see why," Bill replied. "We have their undivided attention now, so why not live it up? Mr. Mumbasa, nice to see you! How's that medicine working for your back? Miss Nevanti, you're looking pretty as a picture! Hello, girls! Going to get some water, eh? Save some for me; I'm thirsty enough to drink an entire watering hole!"
As Bill marched down the street, he waved to everyone he passed by, which usually prompted the townsfolk to turn their gaze away. He quite enjoyed messing with them and getting in their faces; it was the best way to deal with their stares. If he stared right back at them, they tended to leave him alone.
"It's always so uncomfortable, like they're plotting something and we don't know what it is."
"Well, all you need to do is look at it a different way. Don't think about how they're plotting our demise-"
"What?"
"-Instead, think of it as them planning a party just to honor us. They're keeping an eye on us so that we don't suspect anything."
Janu looked up at his boss and thought he had gone even crazier. "Does anything about them look like they're planning a festival?"
"Not exactly, but you never know," Bill answered as he waved to an old lady tending to two young children. The old lady just huffed and cursed under her breath, giving the explorer something to chuckle about.
As they reached the more active part of Tinasha, Bill passed his knapsack to Janu. "Run that along to the hostel and ask the professors for a ten-percent increase. There were poisoned dart traps hidden in the temple, and you know how much I hate those."
"And if they refuse, sir?"
"Then you tell them that I can go back to the Obako and tell them where and how they can find the ones who have their Sun King. As for me, I'm going to get a drink at the Boar's Tusk; try not to need me."
Janu took the knapsack and ran off to meet with the customers while Bill sauntered off to the Boar's Tusk, certainly not the only place in town to get a drink but, in his mind, it was the only place worth going to. The Boar was a large, two-story gentlemen's club that was the fanciest building for miles around, which made it a hotspot for anyone from outside of the country. The lounge was quite nice, filled with fancy chairs and tables and furnished with all sorts of trophies acquired by the various hunters who served as patrons. Any number of animal heads was mounted on the wall and more than a few tribal masks and weapons hung high for the patrons to see. Bill was a big fan of the bar, which always carried his favorite drinks no matter when he came in; he could be back from a long trip and the bartender would always have a glass ready for him. Then he would go and swap stories with the hunters and traders that passed through the town, most of them looking for Congo Bill so they could hear his latest escapade. To the jungle explorer, this was truly home for him.
"So, who was it that said the Obako were too much for one man to handle?" Bill declared as he burst through the doors of the Boar.
Everyone in the club let out a hearty, "Bill!"
"What was it like?"
"Were they big as jungle cats?"
"Did you find the Sun King's skull?"
"It was dangerous, they were the size of any normal man, and I just had Janu deliver the skull to the professors," Bill answered as he walked to the bar with a smile on his face. There was nothing he could ask more than to be adored by his public.
To make a great day even better, there was already a glass of whiskey sitting on the bar; they certainly knew what Congo Bill liked. When he took his seat and knocked back his drink, another man came up and joined him.
"Bartender, I'll have what he's having," the man requested.
As the bartender walked off to get another glass, the man offered a hand to Bill. "Mister Glenmorgan, it is an honor to meet you," he said with a preacher's smile on his face.
Bill sized up the man before him. Not too tall but not too short, there was a puffiness to him that made him appear to be made of dough. He had black hair slicked to one side of his head as if to cover where his hair was thinning out. His eyes were squished shut when he smiled, which gave him the look of being asleep. The clothes he wore, a white, three-piece suit, were too nice for Tinasha. This was no hunter or trader; whoever he was, he was a businessman.
"There's no "Glenmorgan" here, sir, only Congo Bill," the explorer answered, leaving the man's hand hanging in the air.
Slightly put off, the man's smile shrank a bit. "Whatever floats your boat, sir. I'm here to offer you a business deal. Does that pique your interest?" he asked, sitting down on a barstool.
"It most certainly floats my boat."
The man laughed. "An explorer and a comedian; I like that. Now, allow me to introduce myself: my name is Jonathan Palmer, and I'm here on behalf of my boss, Antonio Colossi. Mr. Colossi runs a company known as Golden Tree, and we specialize in chemicals; manufacturing them and delivering them. We are doing well, but we could be doing better, so Mr. Colossi decided we needed to find something that no one else had, that no one else in the entire business could use. That's when he learned about the Golden Tree, a legend passed along to him by an African servant. Do you know the legend, Bill?"
"I have not heard that particular tale," Bill replied, gulping down the rest of his whiskey and signaling the bartender for another.
"Legend has it that the tree grows fruit unlike any other in the world. No one is certain what the fruit is like, but old stories indicate that it was used in an ancient form of alchemy. That's why Mr. Colossi has taken such an interest in the Golden Tree: if he can prove that alchemy exists, there will be no end to the profit; he will be the richest man on Earth," Palmer explained before taking a swig of his whiskey.
"Wow, that's good stuff. Anyway, Bill, what do you think? Would you be willing to search for the Golden Tree for us? We have done our research and located a rough area of where it might be found, and Mr. Colossi will give you whatever you need for your expedition."
Bill downed the second glass of whiskey like it was water and turned to face Palmer, his smile from earlier replaced by a scowl of discontent. The businessman felt a shiver run down his spine at the sight of the angry hunter.
"Mr. Palmer, I'll tell you what I think of your deal: it stinks. I and no sane man would ever agree to look for something that exists only in fairy tales like Santa Claus, the Sandman, or your fig tree. In fact, I'd be more willing to go look for the first two than find your tree; that's what I think of it. And even if you had any proof that it existed, I still would not go, and do you know why? You, sir, are a businessman, something I have come to hate with a burning passion after all these years. It's why I favor the natural world over the so-called "civilized world" where animals are caged and men like you and Colossi are allowed to run free and govern lives.
"Do you know want to know why I came to Africa? To get away from people like you. I fully support the men who want me to do their dirty work if it means the treasure I find is going to a museum or a university; at least then I know that my work is going somewhere useful. But I cannot stand people like you, who try to control every little facet of existence and will do whatever it takes to seize that which you do not have. So take your fairy tale somewhere else, Mr. Palmer, because you will get no support from me."
When he finished his rant, Bill turned back to the bar and said, "Bartender, I'd like another."
"Bill, surely we can work something out. Name your price and we'll match it," Palmer pleaded.
"Don't have a price; I do the work because I like it."
"I could work out a deal with Mr. Colossi and see if he would let you keep one of the fruits. Would you like that?"
The hunter was growing sick of Palmer's begging and bartering. He must be a good businessman to be unable to take no for an answer. There was just one way to get the point across to the puffy man, and that was with a show of force. Bill leaned over in his barstool and put his face within a hair's breadth of Palmer's, who could smell the strong whiskey on the Scotsman's breath.
"I'll say this one more time and then I'm throwing you out of this bar with some of those pearly whites missing. I refuse to work for your Colossi, and if you ever come back here working for that living pile of filth, I'll skin you alive and mount your head on the wall. Do I make myself clear?" said Bill to the businessman.
Palmer tried to act unfazed but Bill could see the glass shaking in his hands and the sweat beading around his brow. He had the man scared and now he had to seal the deal. The angry hunter suddenly lunged forward, his hands above his head, and he howled like a wild animal. Palmer screamed and fell out of his seat, dropping his glass on the floor. Bill roared with laughter as the doughy man picked himself up.
"Y-you'll regret that!" the pudgy Palmer threatened, but Bill paid him no mind.
"And how are you going to do that, eh? Bore me to death with another story? Ha!"
Furious, Palmer tugged his sleeve back and revealed what looked like a golden watch, only the clock had been taken out and replaced with a small, round microphone. He tapped a button on the side and said into the microphone, "He said no. Bring them in."
"What, you calling in some friends, Palmer? Of course you'd have someone fight your battles for you! Isn't that just like a businessman?"
All Palmer did was smile at Bill, giving him the same look a prankster has when he knows that the joke is coming. Bill stopped laughing when he felt the ground begin to rumble and he heard engines roaring in the sky. Bottles of alcohol shook free from the shelves and fell to the floor, smashing into so many pieces. The patrons of the Boar's Tusk were running about trying to avoid being hit by the trophies that fell from the walls and rafters, dodging spears and stuffed animals. As the thunderous roar and the source of the quakes drew closer, Bill ran outside to try and identify what was causing all the chaos.
Outside, on the outskirts of town, were over a dozen tanks, all in a line and all drawing ever closer to Tinasha. A roar not unlike a dragon's signaled Bill to the threat in the sky: seven bombers, all flying in formation over the city and occasionally dipping closer to spook the residents. When one did fly close enough, Bill was able to spot a symbol of the tail of the plane: a tree made entirely of gold.
Palmer pushed Bill aside and stood outside the door, gesturing at the gathered forces. "Impressive, don't you think?" he asked his unwilling prospect.
"What is all this, Palmer?"
"Golden Tree is a powerful corporation, Mr. Glenmorgan, with plenty of tools at its disposal. In the event that you refused our job, I was ordered to bring in troops and raze your little village right into the ground. I don't want to, but you leave me no choice, Bill. One word from me and this entire town is wiped off the face of the Earth," the businessman explained, showing Bill his watch.
Bill watched the machines draw closer and ideas began to formulate in his head. Palmer was in control; if Palmer was removed, then the soldiers would have no reason to destroy Tinasha. Acting on this notion, Bill drew a pistol from his belt and cocked it, aiming dead center at Palmer's head.
"I wouldn't do that, Bill," the plump man warned.
"And why's that?"
"The men are under specific orders to go ahead with the destruction of the town in the event that I do not report back in an hour. If you kill me, that's the same as saying no; you'll have doomed this town regardless. You've got no other options, Bill, than to agree to Mr. Colossi's job."
Bill glanced up and saw the tanks rolling in. They would be nearing the huts on the outskirts of town now, where the natives still resided; he had no doubt that their homes were being destroyed at that moment. The bombers hovered in the air like buzzards, circling Tinasha and spying on it from above to check for signs of life and action. He could hear the bombs in his mind, smell the smoke and burning in the air, and see the destruction of all he had come to know. And if Palmer had his way, Bill's horrible vision would become a reality.
"What's your decision, Bill?" the businessman asked, oh-so-condescendingly. "Will you let Tinasha burn? Or will you swallow your pride and help Mr. Colossi get to the Golden Tree?"