The Doc Justice Files- Scales on Stone part 2
by Direwolf

Chapter 2- "I fear I may have made a mistake!"

The workday ran longer than Justin had expected and included an impromptu visit on horseback to a proposed switching station site. During the ride back they had encountered the Prince of Wales and his retinue out for a tour of the countryside. That meeting had turned into a formal introduction, which became an invitation to the grand reception the following morning at the consulate building north of the city. It all sounded like far too many stuffed shirts and social one-upmanship to Justin. Hopefully, Go-on could help him navigate the reception. He thrived on that sort of nonsense.

Shortly before dusk Justin walked into the hotel lobby, his coat thrown over his shoulder and his hat once again gone missing. He headed for the front desk first to collect the day's crop of cables and letters. He was intercepted in transit.

The person who stopped him was a local man, well under five and a half feet tall, with a turban and a slightly threadbare tan linen suit. The pockets of his suit coat were deformed out of shape as if used to carrying too large loads. His face, the short beard shot with gray, appeared twisted with fear and his dark brown eyes were filled with concern.

"Please, Doctor Collins, you must do something. They are missing, all three!" the man exclaimed.

"What? Who's missing? And who are you?" Justin asked.

"Of course, I am so very sorry. Permit me to introduce myself first." The little man produced a card from one of his pockets. Embossed in gold were the words "Mr. Bahal Sandu, purchasing agent and private tours."

That told Justin quite a bit. This man was one of the countless independent tour guides available for hire here in the city. The fact that the hotel allowed him inside to ply his trade meant he had to be at least somewhat reputable.

"I assume you were hired by my friend, Go-on, Lord Gawaine Paget, and his two companions this morning. What happened?" A cold finger of dread was tracing up and down Justin's spine.

"Quite right, sir. Mr. Paget and his two friends spoke with me this morning about seeing the sights of Bombay as only a local who knows them can show. We left the hotel about ten this morning."

"Have a seat, Mr. Sandu," Justin instructed, and then asked for two glasses of iced tea from a passing bellhop. He assumed Mr. Sandu was a Hindu by his turban, making alcohol taboo. But he needed the man calm enough to tell a coherent story.

After a few sips of tea and a bit of brow mopping, Mr. Sandu resumed his tale. "We left to go visit a few of the temples in town and eat a authentic luncheon at a wonderful restaurant that my cousin runs. It has the most magnificent chicken in pomegranate sauce you will ever taste. After that I took them down to the waterfront so that we could hire a boat to take us to the island."

"Island? What island?" Justin sat forward. Howard Pintar had mentioned an island last night after dinner.

"The name is quite old, and translates roughly to the home of the two-headed snakes. There is a very old temple on the island dedicated to the Earth Mother herself, who became known as Kali in the Hindu pantheon. The temple is abandoned but still in decent repair. There is a small fishing village on the island as well."

"What happened on the island itself?"

Mr. Sandu mopped his brow and took another sip of tea.

"Well, we hired a boat at the dockside to take us out. It was a very pleasant ride; the afternoon sun adds an artistic glow to the island. When we made landfall, we trekked to the south side of the island to look at the temple. It is quite picturesque and Mr. Pinter seemed quite enchanted by the appearance, the rough stone overgrown with creepers and the eroded goddess herself enthroned on a black stone pedestal. I warned them all not to stray into the underbrush since snakes can be a hazard.

"After nearly an hour exploring, during which your friend, Mr. Paget, lamented that you were not there to translate the worn carvings, we left to speak to the residents of the village. I believe Mr. Pintar was interested in learning if they knew any history of the temple. I took the opportunity to speak to the village headman at length; it never hurts to have contacts. I noticed Lord Gawaine and Mr. Pintar talking to a little old man in a saffron robe by one of the huts and thought nothing of it. When I looked back a few minutes later, all three were gone. And I could not locate the Captain either. I asked if anyone knew the old priest and everyone looked at me as if I had grown a second head. They insisted there was no priest!

"I became quite alarmed and searched quickly, calling out their names but there was no answer. I even went back to the temple, thinking they might have gone back for a second look but they were not there. Dusk was coming and the inhabitants insisted there was no priest! I did not know what to do so I took the boat back to the wharf, reported to the Colonial police and then thought of you. I do not know what to do, Doctor Collins! I have never lost a tour before. Occasionally one person may go missing but they always turn up as quickly, having gotten separated in the bazaar or some such! But never anything like this!"

"What happened when you told the constables?"

Mr. Sandu blanched. "I fear I may have made a mistake! They took my report quite seriously, though they seemed to think that the three men might have simply gotten bored and left. Though how they would leave the island when the boat was still there I cannot imagine. But if they were not back by sun up, they assured me they would do everything required to find them. And considering the mood in the city, I do not think they will be gentle about it. And that may be just the spark that ignites riots, Doctor Collins! I do not know what to do!"

"There's only one thing to do, find them before the sun comes up!" Justin exclaimed. "Wait here!"

Justin raced up the stairs to his room and flung open the closet door. Tucked on the shelf was a yellowish-brown leather rucksack stained and worn from countless travels. Justin took it down and tossed back the oiled flap and loosed the drawstrings. He remembered his uncle, Randolph Collins, giving him the bag on his eighth birthday, then it had seemed huge, and telling him what it was for.

"Pack it well, my boy, for this will be your survival kit. I'm not going to tell you what it needs, that's for you to figure out, and the contents will change as you do. Think of it this way, what might you need anywhere? For the back allies of New York City, or the top of a peak in the Andes, or a Sumatran Jungle, or even tea with a Queen? Imagine you are alone somewhere, anywhere and all you have is this bag and what's inside. What would you need?"

As the old adventurer had predicted, the bag's contents evolved through the years as Justin grew, adapting to suit his needs. The contents of this bag had seen him through countless scrapes and misadventures, and saved a life or two. It had been on a shelf in his office when some instinct told him it might come in handy in India. So he checked it contents, added a few things. And brought it along.

Justin reached in and took out a bundle of oiled cloth. He unwrapped the package and took out the blued steel bulk of his Colt .45 automatic. With practiced ease, he slipped a clip of gray nosed bullets into the grip and worked the slide once. The metal moved smoothly. Justin flicked on the safety catch and set the pistol on the top of the bag. He slung the rucksack over his shoulder and ran back down the stairs. Mr. Sandu was waiting for him, twisting his handkerchief in his hands.

"Let's go," Justin said, heading for the door. **

Sunset had painted the sky a deep reddish-orange cut with streamers of gold and indigo clouds. A sea breeze was freshening the air, dispelling the days heat and promising a cool night in Bombay. The bazaar was still doing a brisk business as the day sellers moved out as the night market set up. The wares changed, becoming the sort of things best sold in the dark. When the western visitors left, the colonial police did as well. On the docks, the fishing boats were in for the night and the crews exchanging stories wharf side. Led by Mr. Sandu, Justin was looking for a boat to hire for the evening.

At first, the captains seemed quite willing, particularly when Justin showed them a few silver dollars taken from his rucksack. Years of travel had shown him that silver coins were the best tender across the world. Paper was worthless outside most major cities and gold attracted too much attention. But once the destination was named, all the boats mysteriously acquired some unspecified trouble or the owner remembered a pressing engagement. It seemed no one wanted to venture out to the island with the old temple after sundown.

Mr. Sandu was working himself into a near panic and Justin felt his temper growing short. Maybe it was only local superstition or maybe it was something more ominous. In any case, he was getting out to the island.

After yet another boatman demurred, claiming his boat was in too poor shape to make the trip, Justin had enough. He grabbed the man by his rough-spun shirt and drew him close, leaning down until only inches separated his face from the now terrified boatman. Anger flashed in Justin's eyes and the muscles of his neck were taunt with suppressed rage as his fingers dug into the man's shoulder like iron rods.

"Then, sahib, I shall buy your boat for the night," Justin said, in meticulously polite Hindi. "You shall take this silver and I shall take the boat, if it sinks under me then that is Brahma's will. If not it shall be back at this spot before sunrise and you the richer."

The boatman started to protest and then thought better of it. He clutched the silver coins to his chest and raced from the pier.

"Let's go!" Justin snapped. He regretted how he'd treated the boatman but this was an emergency.

Mopping his face, Mr. Sandu climbed into the boat. Justin followed and cast off the two ropes linking the boat to the pier. The craft was a 15-foot long fishing skiff, an improved dug out canoe equipped with a much-abused outboard motor. Justin examined the motor. Despite it grimy exterior, its seemed to be in good order and there were two extra petrol cans tucked under the plank seat.

"Sit in the bow," Justin said as he opened the choke on the motor and pumped the throttle. Once he caught the slight scent of petrol by the exhaust, he gave the starting cord one sharp yank. The motor sputtered to life.

"Hang on!" He lowered the engine into the water. The skiff swung out into the harbor, leaving an arrowhead of ripples behind. Once free of the pier, Justin opened up the throttle and a foaming wake formed in the brown water. The boat surged forward, skipping over the waves.

"There!" Mr. Sandu shouted, "east of us and slightly to the north. Can you see the island?"

Low on the water, nearly lost in the gathering twilight, Justin saw the shadowy bulk of what had to be an island low in the water. Justin steered towards it.

Justin made the best time he could, squeezing every bit of power from the old engine that it could deliver. He felt a cold knot of dread in his stomach. Anything might have happened to Go-on and he didn't believe his friend would just walk away from their guide. Even if he had, Go-on surely would have returned to the hotel before nightfall. Something had to be very wrong. And the longer it took to find out what, the greater the chance Gawaine would be dead. Face set in a grim mask, Justin ignored the spray wetting his face as the island crept ever closer.

They beached the boat as the first stars were winking on in the night sky. The moon hung near the eastern horizon, waxing three quarters full and casting a silvery light across the narrow beach by the silent huts. Justin didn't even wait for the boat to come to a stop before he was over the side and wading through the light surf. All was still except for the sound of the waves and the hum of insects. A night bird called and was still. Justin drew the boat onto the eastern beach and steadied it while Mr. Sandu climbed out.

Justin spotted what looked like the largest of the thatched huts and strode towards it, his wet boots squeaking on the sand. He assumed the largest hut would belong to the village headman. There was no door, only a woven hanging. Justin pushed it aside and said, "Pardon the intrusion, honored sir, but I must speak with you."

All was silent. Justin took a flashlight from his bag and shown the beam into the one-room hut. There was no one there. He raced to the next and looked in. Like the first, it was unoccupied. Sleeping mats, wooden chests and stacked cooking utensils told him that the huts were still tenanted, but the inhabitants were gone. Even the hearths were cold.

"Which way to the temple?" Justin asked, the knot in his stomach seeming to gather size as its temperature dropped even further.

"This way, Sahib, be watchful for snakes."

A narrow path left the village to the south, winding through garden plots and into the thickly overgrown forest that covered most of the island. The banyan trees grew in tight clusters, their dropping branches rooting into the ground in columns, turning each tree into its own grove. Vines and creepers festooned the trees and the ground was covered by low brush and grass. Things scurried through the leaf mold and around the tree trunks as they passed. Bats swooped across the treetops hunting insects. Justin kept his flashlight on the path to check for snakes. One branch across the path suddenly moved sinuously as a python moved away. A pop-eyed mottled green gecko watched them from a tree limb, only to vanish into another snake's mouth a moment later.

The path ended at a ten-yard diameter clearing ringed by trees and stands of bamboo. Justin heard the pounding of waves on the beach cliffs only a few dozen yards away. In the moonlight, the temple looked more like an organic creation then a work of man as if it had grown up from the island bedrock. Justin shown his light on the building.

The building was no more than twelve feet high and perhaps twenty feet across. The stone was eroded by wind and rain, and stained by black mold and green moss. One side had sagged to the ground in a heap of three-foot stone blocks. Two low stairs led up from the clearing into the dark interior. Justin walked forward, Mr. Sandu a pace behind him.

Justin caught a musky odor as he stood in the doorway to the temple, shinning his flashlight around the interior.

The walls were deeply carved with a complex, geometric pattern that seemed to suggest pictograms. In places, human figures were framed in the interlocking lines, though their features were long crumbled into no more then vague ovals. They were intertwined with curving forms that might well have been large snakes. The floor was fitted dark stones, each an irregular trapezoid. The roof was festooned with layers of spider webs and seemed to be interlocking blocks. In the center of the floor was a rough stone statue, nearly seven feet tall, of some fine-grained black rock. Its features were also worn to the point of being unrecognizable. The form was defiantly female and appeared to be dancing, one foot raised and pointed forward. It rose from the open mouth of a huge cobra that vanished into the floor. The statue's four arms were set in counter pointing angles, the upper palms faced up, the lower faced down. And the head seemed to have two faces, one facing over each shoulder. And the statue was draped in carved snakes.

One of the snakes moved and Justin realized they weren't carvings but living creatures. Nearly a dozen back cobras were coiled over the arms and torso of the statute. While Justin watched, one of the creatures looped itself to the ground and slithered off through the crumbled wall. The rest of the serpents seemed content with their perch.

"Why haven't they left?" Justin mussed. "Cobras should flee from us."

"What, Sahib?"

"Oh, just wondering why they are staying. Cobras should move off when confronted by man."

"Perhaps they guard the goddess?"

"Maybe, but lets find out."

Justin went out to the bamboo and cut a ten-foot length. He tore the sleeves off his shirt and wrapped them tightly around the end of the bamboo shaft and tied them with a piece of cord from his bag. The bag also provided a small can of paraffin oil that he used to soak the cotton. A strike of a match turned the whole contraption into a serviceable torch.

"Let's see how dedicated they are as protectors!"

The torch smoked and cast a flickering ruddy light on the temple walls, making the carved figures appear to move in the shadows. Justin took a firm grip on the make shift touch and thrust it at the face of one of the cobras, a nine foot long creature thicker then his wrist. The snake rose up, flared its hood and hissed in displeasure. Justin thrust the flame closer and the snake drew back. He was able to force it from its perch and it slithered into the fallen stones.

"One down," Justin muttered.

The rest of the snakes were driven from their roosts and vanished from the temple. Justin breathed a sigh of relief and extinguished his torch. Moonlight filtered into the temple.

"Hold this," he said, handing Mr. Sandu the flashlight with the beam focused on the statue.

"As you say." Sandu took the light in a death grip.

Justin moved forward, taking a closer look. The statue appeared the same, the worn stone had lines suggesting it had been more intricately carved but the details were lost. He wondered how long it would take for the coiling of serpents to wear away that much stone. He reached out to touch the statue, expecting the cool feel of carved rock.

But it wasn't.

The statue was warm to the touch.

To be continued...