5.
The ledge looked steep and it was coated partially with the fallen snow that covered the stone cliff. The man in the thick coatings tucked his gloved hands deep into the jacket pockets. He shuffled his boots that reached below his knees. It was new when he took the trek up the mountain. It was made from the skin of the ‘Thar’ goat that was native creature to the Himalaya Range. He reached for the bag he had on his back and took out the item he had there.
It was the two metal mesh staff given to him by Lord Greystoke. He attached it together and then leveled it at the cliff face. The man pressed the lever that snapped off the grapnel with the retractable four pronged hooks. The hooks went up high and found its mark on the outcrop. He pulled to test the hold and found it taut. He pulled it once more time before he looked up at the outcrop. It was high and without giving much thought then when the grapnel line pulled up. He was whisked up twenty feet before he found himself against the cliff wall. His legs kicked out at the snow covered before he yanked up.
“Wowee!” The man called out on each pull.
Soon he found himself on the outcrop. He pulled himself up and then retracted the grapnel. He stood up and then stepped forth on the outcrop. It was then he saw the flat wall next to the outcrop. The wall held some writing etched on it. It was in the ancient words that most could not read. He had studied those words for years.
Shangri-La.
He reached for the words on the wall. The feel on his fingers despite the thick gloves was cold to the touch. He trailed the words there and then he stepped back. He reached for the bag on his back but his instinct told him to duck. He barely missed the white haired paw that hit the words on the wall. He ducked over and took off on his crouched legs. He turned to look and saw the assailant.
It was huge and covered in the white fur but it was no abominable. It was a man in covered in the white fur coat which extended to the upper limbs with the creature paws and claws. It was the claws which hit the words on the wall. The fur lined assailant went for another kill but then the other figure was ready. He leveled the baton and thrust it into the assailant chest and then he aimed for the left armpit to break the bone there.
“Aarghh…” The fur lined figure went down clutching the dislocated left arm but he was soon sent over the outcrop with a kick in the face. The man who kicked stepped back and watched the cliffs for more assailants. He saw them swinging down like apes on the vines but that was a steep cliff. There were three of them and they were descending with speed using their hand claws as hooks on the ledges.
It was like his dream.
It was getting real.
It was then he woke up. He was still on the bedding in the monastery. He sat up and saw the friar facing him.
“Same dream, Van Helsing?” The friar asked of him. “It’s a not any dream I presume.”
“I disliked the abominable ever since they killed my family.” Van Helsing rubbed his metallic right arm. It was one made of silver plates and inside it the arm was a mechanical one with the components jointed to the nerve points at the shoulder. The silver plate covered from the fingers to the right shoulder blade ending at the neck.
“Van Helsing, you lost your ….family to the vampires. Your inner self will not accept that and manifest the abominable as your killers.”
“So was the fabled city of Shangri-la. You wanted to go there to rest your soul.” The friar continued on. “Well, your dream had come true. The friend of yours in Baker Street sent you the invite. You will leave today.”
Van Helsing stood up from the bedding and then looked at the sparse offering of his chamber. He was looking for his other favoured item. He found it under the bedding.
Excalibur.
The double barrelled shotgun and the bandolier with the silver bullets.
“Come back, son. We still need you.” The friar told Van Helsing. “The choice will be yours.”
If it ever was, then the jump off the cliff by the white man was not a mad feat but that with a tinge of craziness. The man dressed in the cut off pants gave out a roar that marks his fame name among the living creatures of the dark inner jungle. The man leaped off the cliff and he did not dive but with his legs and arms flair out as if he was preparing himself for a landing. He did with the landing on the canopies of leaves and then onto the branches which act like a cushion to his fall. Once he felt the hardness of the branches, his body went into a turn that allowed him to vie past it and then his hands found the needed holds on the heavy branches for him to break his fall into a series of tumbles. By then he was in control of his descent and with each hold he took control of his fall. He soon found the heavy branch to grab on and swung from it to the tree trunk. By then he was no more falling but leaping from branches like the younger days. He grabbed the vines or the tree hugging plants with its long roots to swing from the tree trunk to the branches and then be released for a flight of space into the next bunch of branches. He was in his own jungle.
He was the King of the Apes.
He was Tarzan.
His last drop was to the ground and off he ran on his four limbs propelling him across the low bushes and tree roots. His body crouched downwards allowed him to move with speed on the ground challenging the speed of the panther in pursuit at the rear. He ran on for some distance before he slowed to let the panther leaped past him. It was a move he learned as a youth and that was his opportune moment to grab the panther by the tail. He pulled hard on the tail and tossed the creature to the side. The speed of the chase and the sudden pull on the tail shook the panther of its kill moves to that of defensive move but Tarzan was ready then with the pounce on the dark creature back while his hands went from the tail towards the back of the neck. His hands went around the neck and pulled the head back by the jaw. At that time, his legs were locked against the animal spine and with the pull of the head, he broke the animal spine. Without stopping Tarzan went for the next move to turn the dark creature onto its back and his fingers formed into a set of fist which he pounded the animal’s chest and shattered the ribs into the heart.
The panther lies dead and the man known as Tarzan roared out his victory of the bull ape.
“The ape killer is dead.” Tarzan muttered to himself. He had killed the dark panther who hunted two of the young apes. And nearly killed his son.
With his kill, Tarzan took to his trail back to his lair. He may be a savage in the kill, but he retained his other man nature with his personal time on his family. He built a home for them in the jungle on the Jackalberry old tree at the height of over sixty feet above the ground with its wide canopy of leaves. The home build on it was a tree house with side space for his family. It was not his only homes there but it was his favourite. The fruits of the tree which could be eaten raw or made into a refreshing potent brew.
“John, why must you hunt the old ways?” Lady Greystoke or Jane to her personal friends was anxious on her lover and father to her child. “I could have taken it done with the rifle.”
Tarzan or in his other name John Clayton smiled while his lover placed the soothing balms on the cuts and scratches on his body. He recalled during the younger days, it was his mother who did it with her soft gentle paws for he was a tiny figure compared to her bulkier frame.
“I have to do it the old way for I am their King. They will not respect me if I were use the ….guns.” John replied. He then tensed up and his nose twitched to the new scent he picked up.
“There is…”
“A letter? Yes, it arrived. It was hand delivered by the guards. It was from Mycroft. He needs us.” Jane told him. “I have sent him to the Queen to take care of him. He will be fine with the Waziri’ clan.”
“Jack will be fine there.” Jane told herself.
John nodded in understanding. Jane was bored there and needed some adventure in her life. Ever since she came back to the darker continent with him, she had wanted to go back to the life of adventure. The last one with Sherlock and Mycroft gave her new purpose.
6.
Mycroft squint his eyes when he looked up at the sun. It was another hot day there but he had his fair share of the dark pit where they tossed him in for over a week. He was sure Bromhead and Hicks had done their best to get him out but his wardens were not keen to release him then. In fact he was housed with the locals. His first encounter was a riot.
“Hi boys, I guessed there may be a mistake when they brought me here.” Mycroft stared at the dozen over locals who were facing him. They were all in a huge cell measuring over fifty feet and thirty feet but the windows were few and high above their heads thus rendering the place dark and musky with the sweat and dirt. Mycroft was stripped to his pants and without any shoes.
“We can be friends.” Mycroft offered a smile. “Best I could do now for they too all my coins.”
“White bastard, we are no friends of yours and we don’t want your coins. I also disliked your coins for it’s coated with greed and forbidden smells.” The one on the left appeared to be the leader voiced out. He was dark even to the loin cloth he wore to cover his midriff. “Ahmed here had found that none of your kind as friendly unless you are sending us to fight to the death.”
“Well Ahmed, I am sure today we can work that out to new level. I know the Governor and we are friends. I am sure when he comes here, he will released me and perhaps even my friends. For that I can be your friend.” Mycroft was also then figuring out what were his odds. He reckoned Ahmed won’t fight but there were three in the row itching then to do so.
“I doubt Ahmed needs any friends.” The voice was to the right of Mycroft and hidden in the darkness there. Mycroft looked over and tried to make out the figure but the other stepped out.
“The name is Krishna. I can be your friend.” The figure was huge dark skinned man with a girth that was flopping over his midriff. He held in his hands a set of rib bones like a fish hook. “Ahmed, you backed off.”
“The day I backed off to your kind will be the day I spread my buttocks to you.” Ahmed turned to the dark skinned man. “This is not your friend. Why do you protect him?”
“He is with the Governor and I am the Governor here. So you got an issue with that, you can take it up your arse.” Krishna challenged the other.
“His arse can be yours but we are taking his life. I hate the White ones.” Ahmed signalled his fighters. The trio stepped out but Krishna intervened. Mycroft was to meddle in but it turned out Krishna have his own support of another five men who charged at the other group.
“Darn!” Mycroft stepped aside while watching two group of men fight over what he may termed as his ‘arse’. The fight was gruesome with the fists and kicks alongside with the deadly rib bones and blood were flowing then. Just when he thought he saw Ahmed side winning, another group of six rushed in to take up the standing survivors. They were in hiding at the darker corners and were winning the fight.
“You are one lucky bloke.” Mycroft turned to look at the figure who stepped out. He was a white man with the distinct Irish accent and walked with a limp. He was dressed in the white shirt and dark loose pants.
“I am told by Hicks to take care of you should you appear. I am his mate, Angus Bartley but my friends call me Bart.” The Irish guy introduced himself. “Hicks sent words soon after the sepoys grabbed you.”
“Sepoys?”
“Those are the local natives employed by the Empire to be soldiers. They are decent blokes but some of the officers are nasty bastards. Bloody useless buggers.”
Soon Mycroft found his appointed friend was a resident of the place on a voluntary basis. The cell was his domain of power with his six fighters. Bartley have his own domain carved there with food and shelter.
“My tasks are paid by those outside. I am the King here and with my own guards.”
Bartley was also on life long sentence there which in a manner saved him. His last task out there annoyed a number of officers and his life was not worth a penny if he was caught out there. In the manmade prison, he managed well with his protection scheme. The money from there was channelled to his poor wife in Dover for comfort.
“It pays to be here as the King. I am obliged to no one but myself. My mates are paid well too.”
Mycroft heaved a sigh of relief and waited his release which was then overdue.
“I am sorry, old chap. London does not have the direct influence here.” Bromhead explained. “You ain’t any Royal brat so that leaves us little options but we finally did it. You are free now. Perhaps you need another bath.”
Soon after, Mycroft refreshed had his tea in the hotel room under the waving fan pulled by the coal fired engine outside the room. He looked at the slow moving fan blades and sighed.
“It ain’t that bad if you are stripped down to your pants.” Hicks winked at Mycroft. “We are not cell mates.”
“Thank you for your consideration but I think I will keep on my shirt and….pants.” Mycroft recoiled on the short stay at the cell with the snoring inmates and roaches that crept past his face at night. “Any update on Watson for me?”
“We heard nothing much except he has gone into hiding. He was reported to have visited a local leader but there was nothing confirmed.” Bromhead replied to his question. “However, your telegraph had been sent, and bloody good it does you for no one replied.”
Mycroft ignored them and thought of his next action.
“We shall visit the new Raj. I need to see him to get more clarification on the murder.” Mycroft then stepped over to the writing desk to pen the request. He then passed the note to Bromhead. “Give this to the Governor that I would like to meet the Raj.”
Both Bromhead and Hicks laughed then. It was Bromhead who reminded Mycroft of the reality.
“Dear chap, you are not in London anymore and we ain’t the masters here. We are just tenants in a faraway land.” Bromhead smiled. “So if you want to see the Raj, get in line behind the boot lickers that held higher ranking than you.”
“There may be another way.” Hicks voiced out. “We could sneak in.”
Sneaking in was what the good doctor was doing that evening. Watson knew the palace well where he had sneaked on those late nights. The palace was on a sprawling estate ground of over ten acres with three sets of structures. The main structure was the two levels palace which was a H shaped mansion with twenty one rooms, thirty three bathrooms, five living areas, three libraries and kitchens with another ten more rooms not defined their use but there was purpose to every room there. The Raj family consisted of immediate members which were eight and extended family of over twenty others with an entourage of forty servants not including the twelve stable hands. The servants stayed in an adjacent building alongside with the stable hands and the hundred guards there.
The next biggest structure was the second columns of personal guards which numbered two hundred personnel including six officers. That structure was on the west side of the estate with a huge stable for over fifty horses. The last structure was the dirigible station with the twin crafts named Silver and Gold. The estate was patrolled by the eight teams of four men each on a half hour interval.
It was near impossible to sneak although it had five main gates which provided access to the estate. For Watsi access, he did not sneaked in by the land but flew in on huge kite. He learned that from the assassin guild.
Watson unbuckled his strap before he stepped out of the kite harness. It was a huge contraption designed by the assassins which took the design from the Far East. He had landed near the main structure on the east side. He was covered in the dark soot like the kite. He folded the twenty five feet in length and thirty feet in beam. He then crouched down and ran towards the structure. He had felt his luck was holding out when there were no alerts raised on his advancement. He stopped at the low hedge that was the border for the flower beds and the garden furniture set with seating for five. He had sat there with the Princess on those afternoon teas when he took breaks from attending the Raj then. The later was suffering from pneumonia but the local healers were treating him for other unspecified infections. When Watson took on the lead role in the healing, he did his usual diagnosis and then took provided the medicine required. The cure process took time and it was how he got to know the Princess.
And things progressed from there.
Watson smiled to himself then.
It was great while it lasted.
So did the situation then. The mansion was silent except for the night creatures that scurried across the flower beds which were illuminated by the porch lights. He looked at the windows and saw the dimmed lights there which explained the occupants were sleeping then. The mansion was not patrolled at that moment and Watson took the run towards the tall glass doorway. He was going to make it when the lights turned on.
“Stop or we will shoot.” The search lights on the roof were turned on and lighted him up.
He was trapped.
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