McCurdy glanced at Trevors and filed her expression for future consideration.  At the moment, however, he was reflecting on what Hawksmoore had told him earlier in the day.  He looked at Hawksmoore and said, “You told me once what the cross was used for, Hawksmoore.  Is that what Ringrose wants it for?  Is he going to try to control them?”

"He cannot wield it, none of us can," Hawksmoore replied, for once giving a straight answer, "But he can prevent its use by holding it, and hope that the demons destroy us."

Hornby nodded grimly. "Tis the only thing that has kept them at bay.  You go into a battle if you seek it, one of demons against the living world.  They guard the Fountain, and each forty years we mun return to the Fountain.  To have the keeper of the talisman with you is to make the path easier."

"Every forty years, eh..."

McCurdy sighed.  You just had to ask dincha, Jack.  Well, ya can't let it stop there, can ya?

"And who might the keeper be?  Any way of knowin'?"

Marianne listened to the conversation in silence, her expression darkening by the minute.

"Keeper ?"  Hornsby echoed blankly.  "Of what, the talisman, or the tribe ?  Or the demons ?  Or the spirits ?  Or Goolah Herself ?  Make thy query more plain, man."  It was clear the loss of the cross was rattling him, or perhaps it was who held the cross now that was the trouble.

Hawksmoore steered the boat, moving it as quickly as he dared around treacherous knots of roots and weeds.

McCurdy frowned and it was a frown of curiosity.  Was Hornsby being deliberately evasive?  Hadn't he just mentioned...

"Only one keeper's been mentioned, far as I know."  He pointed directly at Eyepatch.  "Keeper of the talisman.  I reckon you could elaborate on these other keepers if you've a mind to, but the cross is all I'm worryin' about right now."

He dragged on his cigarette and replaced the frown with a patient stare, watching the face of the scalawag very closely.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:47, Sat 23 July 2005.

"The Cross went to him," Hornsby said, nodding at Brother Clary. "Tis the way of such things of power.  But how may it return to him, when time is so short now ?"  It was clearly bothering him, and Hawksmoore was smirking at this.

"I should like to begin at the beginning," the Captain said, with a heavy sigh, and a frown. "Once upon a time, there was a ship, by title The Diana.  Twas a good sailing vessel, a brig new-made in Portsmouth.  It had a crew of good men and true, and it sailed to the New World in the year of 1525, to take up a cargo of gold and emeralds."
"And black gold," Hawksmoore chipped in, with the air of having heard this story so many times he knew it by heart.
"Aye.  Twas so.  But it fell afoul of pyrates, who took it as a prize.  Some of the slaves spoke of a magical fountain, where one's youth could be nigh everlasting, and of a parlous journey that could be made by the stalwart, to this place.  They said this to gain their freedom, and the pyrate Captain was man of his word, though his honour might be tarnished, and freed them.  Upon the vessel was a man much skilled in the ways of maps, and a map was made from what the natives said of the way to the fountain.  He took the vows of the pyrates and went with their crew, as did a Spanish dog on the Diana, one de Vega. A pact was made to seek this fountain, for the freed slaves leapt overboard and became pink dolphins, so we knew there was much to this matter.

"The journey began up the river, past the small village of Manaus, for it was no more than that then, and into the jungle.  There the travellers met with the tribe that guards the way, the Lupino, and with one who fought the demons, a Spanish padre of great mein and manner, bearing the cross that choses its keeper.  To make the story brief..... There was indeed a fountain.  The way to it is most parlous hard, and what guards the fountain, and be raised from it when it is drawn from....even worse."
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:17, Sun 24 July 2005.

Brother Clary checked the magazine in his shotgun.  Still loaded with with maximum six shells.  Good.

"If'n I'm the keeper of the cross, and I lost it, then it's my duty to git it back.  And that's what I'm aimin' to do."

"Billy Chang and 'ol Hornsby here," he added with a nod to the one-eyed man, "each told me a fearsome story about demons.  Seems the cross indicates I'm some sorta demon hunter, and sounds like I'm gonna need that cross to fulfill my callin'.

"If'n time is short, what are we doin' standin' around jawin'?  We need to git that cross back 'fore'n all Hell breaks loose,"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:25, Fri 29 July 2005.

McCurdy didn’t comment on the story, nor did he say a word in opposition to Brother Clary.  Instead, he just turned away from all of them and started watching on their bearing, keeping an eye out for the other boat... or any other sign of life.

Hornsby looked askance at Hawksmoore, as if what he had just told the men should have offered them some more...surprise, or perhaps, attention.  Then he recovered. "Mayhap you oft find 400 year old pyrates, and hear of the fountain of youth," he said, with a shrug. "Bastian will help in this cause, and you have my sword, gentlemen.  We have de Vega behind us, but he is ever the last one to come by; we have Ringrose before us, clearly the danger.  There are others, but none that wish us such harm, or such harm as can come to the unwary on the trail to the fountain. We can attempt to find Ringrose; so long as he is upon the water, I can know of his placing.  Boy, trim the mechanical thing."  Hawksmoore obligingly cut the engine, and the boat slowed.

He fumbled for a plain leather pouch, suspended from his trouser belt, and opened it when he made his way to the prow of the boat; he opened it, and spoke in a low, mumbling tone, strange lyrical words that recalled French, or some strange derivation of it, and cast the dust out onto the water.  The dust sparkled strangely, with a pearly sheen, and then Hornsby looked down onto the water; as he did, the water curled up, the dust shimmering, into a wispy, wet form of a person, or a spirit, standing on the surface of the water.

McCurdy had moved out of Hornsby’s way at the bow and was sitting to one side.  He had removed his hat and was idly fiddling with the brim of it, picking off specks of dust that he was finding.  He didn’t think much on the story Eyepatch told; he just absorbed it all.  He had a niggling feeling he was in over his head – that or he would find himself waking from a weird dream with a book written by a fellow named Barrie sitting on his chest.

That idea gained credence as Hornsby sprinkled his dust and the water weird appeared.

‘That does it.’  McCurdy rolled his eyes as he looked away from forward and then closed them, concentrating on the jungle sounds around him.  He was shaking his head as if he’d had enough.  How in the world did I end up in the middle of the Amazon in a boat with a bunch of nuts...

He opened his eyes and looked at Hawksmoore sideways, his grey eyes flat and tired.  He wanted to tell the boy – or man – or whatever he thought he was – that this was getting much too ridiculous for his tastes.

‘Magic and immortals and a fountain of youth...  And let’s not forget the demons!’

He quit looking at Hawksmoore, deciding not to say anything, and just stared at the bottom of the boat.  He was to the point that he really didn’t care what happened next.  He just knew it was going to top what he had already seen.

He thumbed a cigarette out of his pack and lit it up.  He didn’t bother looking at Hornsby or what he was doing.  He just dragged on his Camel and watched the shoreline as if he was out on a fishing trip back home, smiling slightly....

‘This would be funny if I wasn’t in the middle of it...’

Marianne quietly observed everything around her, her author's brain taking notes furiously. She simply wouldn't to go along with Hornsby or any of the other trigger-happy men on the boat, and she certainly didn't know if she could trust the words of a pirate and a sullen, cynical teenager who was hardly overflowing with the milk of human kindness.

But it looked as though she was to be given no other choice.

She waited and watched in uncharacteristic silence, her friendly smile replaced by a rather intent, brooding look.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:27, Wed 03 Aug 2005.

Hornsby queried the watery apparition in a language that had a French flavour to it, but was so thrashed by some other tongue that it was nigh unrecognizable.  The thing bubbled back a reply, then sank into the water.

"He's waiting for us a half-mile upriver," Hornsby said dolefully, "With two other men, one of whom is a bocor.  That would be an evil wizard, by the way.  Boy, put into the banks.  We can't endanger these people in our fight.  We'll go on land."

"There's another way, but we may cross de Vega," Hawksmoore replied.  "I paid a German to hang about Manaus for a day.  He has a flying machine...an aero-plane.  If we got into it, flew ahead of Ringrose, and then jumped out into the river, we'd come to no harm and could lay our own trap, and his drogue would not serve him.  Besides, the lady here mislikes such company as us, and no doubt would be pleased to return to the city."  he smirked at Marianne, evidently pleased that she had finally been gotten by his very negative ways.

"I would rather like to go with you," Liza Waters said, her shrewd gaze shifting from the one-eyed rogue to the sniping youth. "And I can think of a third way.  You said that the natives became dolphins, and I've just seen you use what is, for want of a better word, magic.  Can you turn into a dolphin ?"

"The shame of it is, that I lost the bedamned map," Hornsby said, "And after I hid it so bloody well, too.  Nay, I cannot shapeshift, Milady, and we must come to terms quickly on our course.  I am captain no longer."

McCurdy barked a laugh at Waters and turned his grin toward Peter Pan. “I’m for the plane idea,” he said. “Sounds the quickest way to get ahead of them. And I learned a thing or two about ambushes a few years ago. We could sight a good spot from the air...”

"You are quite correct, Mr. Hawksmoore. I would much rather travel alone, or even with Basil Ringrose, murderer and thief though he may be, than with any of you gentlemen," Marianne replied, the brooding on her face replaced with purpose. It was clear she had come to a decision.

"I'm sure you're glad to be rid of me, so if you would drop me off at the nearest and safest landing, I would be much obliged. Liza, which way are you going?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:56, Tue 09 Aug 2005.

At this, Brother Clary jerked his head away from the river and back at the group.  "A German pilot?  Wouldn't happen to go by the name of Gruber, would he?"

It was way too much of a coincidence...

He then eyed the redhead closely. "Ma'am, I know I'm a mite upsettin' right now.  I'm sorta upset myself.  That feller you you seem to be rather fond of right now," he said with a nod upriver, "not only killed our boat pilot, but he stole a very important relic.  I was told that the cross chose me and that I was to do battle with some demon.  Now, I'm jest a simple country preacher, but I do believe in burnin' bushes and the like.  And if God ordained for me to be his instrument of justice in fightin' this demon, then I got to do it.  The only way for me to do it, though, is to ketch up to yer friend and git the cross back.  I'll ask him nicely, but after what happened to Billie" He took his hat off and held it over his heart for a moment, "I don't expect to git it back without a fight.  If I seem single-minded right now, well, I cain't deny it.  I am.  My God has called me, and I must follow.  So I'll hope you'll come to forgive a stubborn ol' mule."  He again tipped his hat at the ladies.

"Then we return to Manaus, and will fly to our destination, and deal with the Mapmaker," Sebastian Hawksmoore said, with some satisfaction, smirking again at Marianne's words.  He took up the pole and began to turn the boat around.

Liza Waters thoughtfully chewed on a knuckle, something she did when grievously writer's-blocked or otherwise pensive.  "I'm going with the pirates," she said, in a low, firm tone.  "I want to see the fountain of youth.  I'm not afraid of demons, or of death; I'm old enough to keep my worries in a very small box.  My dear girl, I can understand you're put off by them, but they're really not so bad.  If they were really pirates of low ways, we'd have been left at the dock, or much, much worse."  At this speech Hawksmoore again looked sour, but Hornby nodded, with a slow, sad smile.

Hornsby grinned at first, at Brother Clary's words.  "I know Hans Gruber; he's a rumrunner.  He does the Texas-Brazil run twice a week, and flies to wherever they're paying the best."  But at the grave statement of intent, Hornsby spoke again, the remaining eye turning toward Marianne. "Aye, Milady, he speaks true; Basil Ringrose had a good man slain, to try to keep us from our goal.  Believe it or not, a man can be both good and evil in a long lifetime.  Master Ringrose has been both, and I would not trust him o'ermuch."

Brother Clary looked thoughtful, then murmured, half to himself, "Gruber's a good man, don't care much for the rum, though..."

McCurdy looked at Marianne and Liza in the same gaze and shrugged inwardly. One was too curious and the other seemed a bit obtuse. Both were definitely stubborn. He didn’t like the idea of either of them going along; they would just get them in more trouble than they needed. It was bad enough trouble was going to find them anyway; it already took his plane, he didn’t want it to take anything else of his.

But he wasn’t going to argue the point, not now. He came for one thing and damn anyone else or this silly fairy tale of an adventure these others were on...

"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Hornsby. But I started on this trip with Basil's assistance, and at his request.

It's a bad choice all around. Basil has not been entirely truthful with me. But he has never been anything less than a gentleman and a considerate traveling companion. I can't quite forget that you and your trigger-happy friends would happily murder the man in the blink of an eye - if it is indeed possible to murder him, that is.

No, I will have no part of it! Leave me out of your quarrel, Mr. Hornsby."

"As you wish, Milady," Hornsby said, with another elegant bow.  He then settled in the boat and put his feet up, in the manner of a man who knew how to relax.  Sebastian Hawksmoore poled the boat around and then settled back down to restart the motor.  Soon the boat was heading back to Manaus.  "Our accord will be with the good Brother, and with Mr McCurdy; and Mizzus Waters may attend, if she wishes."

In short order, they were again in sight of the city; at the docks, Hans Gruber's Junker was still floating, but there was no sign of the pilot.  Hawksmoore moored the boat nearby and hopped adroitly out, and held out a hand for Liza Waters, to assist her up and out of the boat, then offered the same to Marianne, with a very courtly bow...and an annoying smirk.

There was a shout, in Spanish; apparently Pedro had sighted his missing boat.

The sight of the plane made McCurdy recall his own now sitting at the bottom of a watery grave. “Damn,” he mumbled to nobody in particular and stepped out of the boat. He spotted Pedro and felt conscious of the Colts under his arms. The man’s accent griddled on the detective’s skin and it reminded him of another Spaniard that might still be in the area –- one a bit more dangerous than Pedro.

“De Vega...?” he said, his tone questioning. And he glanced at Hawksmoore.

Marianne returned Hawksmoore's smirk with a steely smile, ignoring his hand and making her way out of the boat herself. There she turned to Liza to bid her farewell. "We'll have to compare notes when we meet up again," she said with a smile, kissing the older woman fondly on both cheeks.

The rangy blonde Hun pilot was ambling along the docks, carrying a cup of coffee and a burrito, the blonde hair noticeable in a land of brunettes with darker skin.  So that was a good thing; the owner of the fastest transport in Manaus was apparently available.

At McCurdy's query, the youth shrugged.  He hopped out of the boat to speak, in rapid and hostile Spanish, to the distressed Pedro who stopped in his tracks, took off his floppy hat and stood there in the 'aiy-senors-the-bandits-are-raiding-again' position.  Hornsby moored the boat and helped Liza out, where the two women said their farewells.  "You must be careful, dear," Liza said, sounding concerned, and pressed something into Marianne's hand - a tiny little tortoiseshell box, from her purse.  She whispered, "When you need to put a hole in something, point the arrow that way and open it SHARPLY."

Marianne set off toward town, noting that the place seemed to be recovering from the horrible events of not-so-long ago.  There was no sign of de Vega... and the body had been taken from the street.

Back at the docks, Pedro had his boat back, and under the tirade that Hawksmoore had just given him did not seem to be interested in anything more than that.  The two pirates, closely followed by Liza Waters, set off toward the seaplane which was only about a hundred feet away, just as Hans Gruber settled onto a handy barrel and sipped his coffee.

GM: everyone roll Spot Hidden please !  % dice.

It was inconceivable that a man could be run through by a sword in broad daylight in sight of the whole town and all traces of him could vanish a few hours later. She shuddered at the memory of that moment - the savage anger on De Vega's face, the stunned horror on the doctor's.

Here, by the dark Amazon, death wasn't buried as far under the surface as it was in the fashionable neighborhoods of London. The box Liza had pressed into her hand was a good reminder of that. And Basil...

She would have to think of a way out of this situation. He was a liar, a thief, and a murderer, and she refused to have anything to do with his scheming. But she wouldn't blithely throw in with people who wanted him dead either.

She made her way back to her hotel in thoughtful silence.