Rick Brant - The Caves of Fear Part 11

CHAPTER VII

The Junk with Purple Sails

For perhaps ten minutes Rick, Scotty, and Zircon sat in the rickshaws while the coolies pulled them through dark streets with no more noise than the occasional creaking of a wheel or the slapping of bare feet on the pavement.

There were houses on both sides of the streets, but only now and then did a light show through the impenetrable darkness. Rick finally sensed that they were near the water by a feeling of greater s.p.a.ce around him rather than by anything he could see. A moment later he heard the lapping of water against a pier.

He was tense with excitement now. The first part of the journey was coming to an end. In a few minutes they would be hearing Chahda's story.

The rickshaws drew to a stop and the coolies dropped the shafts so their pa.s.sengers could climb out. The coolie who spoke the best English asked, hesitantly, "You pay now, sor? We no wait here, yes?"

"Very well." Zircon paid the boys' fare and his own. "I don't suppose there's any reason to have them wait, since this is our destination.

Chahda's friends doubtless will provide a ride for the return journey."

"I don't like this," Scotty whispered. "There's something funny about the whole business. I feel it."

"Where's the junk?" Rick demanded softly. "I can't see a thing."

"We'll wait for a bit," Zircon said quietly. "And we'll be on our guard, just in case Scotty's intuition is right."

They waited quietly, leaning against what seemed to be a warehouse, for what felt like five minutes but was probably only two. Then Rick heard the mutter of voices and the splash of something moving in the water.

The sounds were followed by a b.u.mping and sc.r.a.ping against the pier that jutted into the water.

"Be ready," Zircon commanded in a whisper.

As he said it, a bull's-eye lantern made circles in the night, outlining the high stern and bow of a junk. The lantern swung upward, revealing the junk's sails. They were purple.

Zircon led the way down the pier to the junk. "Chahda?" he called softly.

An accented voice answered, "Come aboard." The lantern played on the pier's edge to guide them. Following its light, they jumped from the pier into the litter of rope, boxes, and gear in the middle of the uneven deck. The stench that smote their nostrils was terrible. Probably the vessel hadn't been cleaned since it was built. Rick coughed from the foul odor and then raised his voice. "Chahda? Where are you?"

From somewhere the same accented voice replied, "We take you to him. Sit down and wait."

Rick turned in the direction from which the voice had come. He guessed that the speaker was in the stern, although it was hard to tell which was which. Then he saw a few lights along the sh.o.r.e change position and knew they were moving.

For no reason, he had a sudden impulse to jump back on the pier. He took Scotty's arm. "We're moving!"

"I know it. And I don't like it." Scotty's voice sounded grim.

Zircon, a huge bulk in the darkness, leaned close to them. His usually booming voice was barely audible. "Stand back to back, the three of us making a triangle. Then feel around on deck and try to find something to use as a club. I agree with Scotty. Something is very fishy here. If Chahda's anywhere within reach, he could have come himself. He wouldn't just send someone."

The boys whispered agreement. They turned, so that Rick felt Scotty's arm on his left side and Zircon's on his right. He stooped and pawed through the clutter on the deck. His groping hand found a slender piece of wood that he rejected at first. Then, when he failed to find anything else, he groped around and found it again. At best, it was a poor weapon.

They settled down to wait. The junk was just barely making headway, and as they stood waiting, their vision cleared a little. Or perhaps distant lights on the sh.o.r.e provided faint illumination. Rick could make out two men poling the junk from the stern.

Far out on the water came the sound of a fast-moving craft of some sort, then a searchlight probed the water briefly. From aft came a muttered exclamation, then rapid orders in liquid Cantonese.

Scotty's elbow dug into Rick's back. "They're coming," he said tensely.

Dark figures hurtled at the three.

A flying body slammed into Rick, smas.h.i.+ng him to the deck. He lost his stick, but struck out with his fists. He heard Zircon roar like a wounded bull.

Rick fought valiantly. Two men were on him, struggling to tie him with lengths of rope. Once he felt the rope pulled across his cheek, leaving a burning sensation. He sensed rather than heard the cras.h.i.+ng and shouting around him. Then he wriggled out from under his a.s.sailants and staggered to his feet. Instantly one of the men was upon him again.

"Fall flat!" Zircon bellowed.

Rick did so, on the instant. There was the sound as of a baseball bat smacking a steer and for an instant the deck was miraculously clear.

Zircon had found a piece of two-by-four lumber about eight feet long, and he was swinging it like a flail.

The accented voice called, "Drop it or we shoot!"

A figure swung upright next to Rick and threw something. There was a grunt and a crash as the man who had called went down.

"Got him," Scotty said with satisfaction.

A voice rattled orders in Cantonese. The polers from the stern advanced, their long poles held out like lances. Zircon was their target.

Scotty whispered, "Let 'em get close. You take the left and I'll take the right. Go under the poles."

For a heartbeat there was quiet. Rick divined the strategy. The polemen would lunge at Zircon, then the rest would leap. He didn't know how many there were of the enemy. He thought there must be at least seven. He flattened out, eyes on the left poleman, ready to spring. The poles came nearer, one was over him.

"Now," Scotty hissed.

Rick went forward, scrambling, legs driving. It was football, but easier. His shoulder caught the poleman in the stomach, and he lifted.

The man went flying. Next to him he heard a dull thud, then he saw Scotty stand up, looming large in the darkness.

But the rest of the crew had charged. For a moment Zircon's lumber wreaked havoc, then he struck a part of the junk and the two-by-four splintered. He let out a yell of rage and flung himself on the nearest man, lifted him bodily and threw him at the others.

Yellow light pierced the darkness from the direction of the sh.o.r.e. A voice screamed, "Yanks! Over the side! Swim here!"

"Get going," Zircon howled. "I'll cover you!"

Rick took heart. He ran to the side and jumped feet first. Scotty came within a hair of landing on top of him. From overhead came cries of rage, then another bellow from Zircon. In the next instant the scientist plunged into the water with them.

"Swim for it," he commanded. He rose high out of the water and yelled, "Out with those lights!"

The automobile lights that had illumined the scene blinked out. The voice called back, "Hurry! The junk is putting about!"

Rick was swimming at his best speed, head down in a powerful crawl, but he took time to look back over his shoulder. The junk was turning! He knew with despair that it could run them down easily. The sh.o.r.e was a long distance away. "Spread out," he called. "Then they can't get all of us." He put his head down and cut through the water like a fish. If only there were time to undress! But he didn't dare pause even long enough to untie his shoes.

The swim was a nightmare. Every few moments the auto lights blinked briefly as their unknown friend gave them a course to steer by. Rick looked back once and the junk had straightened out and was gaining on them. He redoubled his efforts. Scotty was even with him, but Zircon was pulling ahead.

He heard voices close behind and cast a glance back. The junk with the purple sails was perilously close. He drew new strength from somewhere and forged ahead.