McCurdy let his “cousin” loose, his eyes still on Hawksmoore. He stood tall from the woman and pushed her bound wrists toward Marianne without looking. He was too engrossed with the fallen boy. The look upon his face was shocked, and the shock was all-encompassing.

“Hawksmoore...?”

The detective took a tentative step toward the fallen man and then another quickly followed, and then another until he had dropped to a knee at the man’s side and was looking at the bullet hole in his chest, the hole that wasn’t bleeding. McCurdy dropped his hat off his head as his other hand clamped over his chin, wringing his mouth as if he was trying to keep something terrible from getting out. He finally took his eyes off the boy and ran a hand slowly over his head, pausing with his hand on his neck. He held that position for a long moment and then jerked his head up and dropped his hat back on his head. He reached down and took Hawksmoore’s gun, cutlass, and machete.

“Would you mind lookin’ after the other two for a bit, Padre?” His voice was rough and he looked very tired, tired and angry. “Hawksmoore said the fountain was near and he started in that direction. I reckon that’s the way we should go.” The detective turned to Marianne and then looked at Liza beside her. There was pain in his eyes.

“I’ll be along shortly,” he finally said, but he wasn’t looking at either of them. “Something I’ve gotta do...” He was staring at Carson as he said it. He didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked as cold and hard as a stone locked in a brick of ice.

Brother Clary watched all this with little emotion on his face.  Then he spoke slowly.  "Brother, now is not the time.  We go together."  Those that heard him could sense a weariness in his voice with all of the events of their adventure.  A sense that too much had been lost.  He had been raised to keep his emotions in check, but the others could sense that cracks were beginning to appear in the facade.  "A house divided..." he began, then checked himself.

"I agree.  We need to go in that direction," he indicated Hawksmoore's preferred route, "but we need to attend to the fallen first.  If'n you give me a hand here, we'll face the end together."

With that, he began to arrange the bodies so as to at least do a passable semblance of a funeral for both, now that they immediate danger was past.  he still wasn't sure how to bury them though; that might take too long, and they were on a mission, one that they had to complete before it was too late.

McCurdy stopped him, his grey eyes shining like steel. “We’ll be takin’ Hawksmoore with us, padre,” he said as if the preacher had not heard him right. Then he realized he was going to have to spell it out. “Hawksmoore may not be dead. Hornsby said a short while ago that when someone that has taken from the fountain dies he comes back. Somewhat different, he said, but he comes back.” He looked at Carson for a moment. “I ain’t stopping to bury anyone; I ain’t leaving you all to go on without me. But I aim to see that those that don’t need to come back, don’t.” The machete in his hand moved slightly as he squinted hard at the preacher.

“You get me yet, padre?”

Marianne silently wiped the tears from her eyes. "If - If we can reach the fountain, maybe..." Water would help him. The water of the fountain would help him. Or was it too late even for that?

It was clear from the way McCurdy held his machete what his intentions were, and her heart grew heavy. Whatever his sins, that was still Carson. "Do what you will, McCurdy," she said tiredly. He would anyway. "Just - do it quickly. We'll wait."

Was Basil watching them right now? Laying a trap for them? She stared off in the direction that 'Hornsby' had wanted to go. Was the real Hornsby out there somewhere? Or was he dead too, along with all the rest of them? Her gaze shifted to the sky as she tried to make out the hour. How much time did Liza have? How much time did they all?

McCurdy looked at Marianne. He looked a bit startled. And impressed. His eyes softened the more he looked at her and his jaw tightened. "It ain't nothin' for anyone to see or hear if they don't have to," he said softly. "Just... move up the trail a ways and I'll be right behind. I ain't gotta be outta sight. Just... don't look."

He waved the machete at the trail and looked at the preacher again. "Go on up the road. I'll be along. Ain't much time to dally anyhow."

Brother Clary matched eyes with McCurdy and fully understood what his intentions were.  "Were'n we back home, I would try to stop you, since no matter what this feller did, and I know he's done a lot, he was still created in God's image and shouldn't be treated like a prize hog after the fair."  Before McCurdy could reply, "But we ain't home and I know what must be done must be done.  God forgive us."

He then turned to Marianne.  "Ma'am, I can't carry the young feller there and my shotgun too.  I'm a-gonna need you to carry it fer me."  He handed her the weapon, with an unspoken "careful" in his expression.  At length, he stooped to pick up the prone Hawksmoore and drape him across his shoulders in a "fireman's carry" position.

Allowing Marianne to lead the way followed by the bound and vacant-eyed Liza, the black-clad preacher fell into step behind them, listening for any sound that might indicate danger to McCurdy.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:16, Wed 26 Apr 2006.

Marianne accepted the shotgun silently and led the way a few steps further up the path with a last look at the fallen Carson. The jungle seemed an almost insurmountable barrier penning them in on all sides. It was dark, oppressive, evil. Marianne kept McCurdy within view and within earshot and then turned away to keep watch for danger. If her expression looked as if she was holding back tears, she nevertheless retained a death grip on the gun.

"Preacher, what Carson told you about the cross... What - what do you make of it?"

"I'm a still chewin' on it, ma'am."  Brother Clary seemed weighed down by a burden other than the young pirate.  "I have a guess that to stop our bad guy, we gotta cut down a tree.  But which one, I ain't got a notion."

The lizard squirrel chirruped, balancing itself on McCurdy's shoulder as if it was a trained pet, its cold wet little nose sniffling at the breeze that was rising. The breeze carried a sharp smell, like cut grass, with overtones of honey and spices.   Apart from that, the light was strange; there was no sun that they could see, but their shadows were growing longer, almost as Marianne watched.

Brother Clary picked up the fallen Hawksmoore, who was heavier than he looked, and slung the body over his shoulders.  Marianne now held his shotgun.  Prodding made Liza walk forward, but she had to be watched, for she would slack off and stand there if unattended.

McCurdy finished with his grisly task and noticed that there was already a scavenger circling above - what would have been a buzzard anywhere else, was instead a pink and tan lizard-bird with a long head and batwings.  It was waiting for them to depart, circling on the air currents.

The path ahead was no doubt as full of trouble as the path behind them.  Marianne stepped out ahead, sending a small frog scrambling for cover, and they were again on the move.  Almost ten paces into the marshy field, another black stone marker was standing - in the direction that Hawksmoore had suggested they go.  Something was shuffling along in the shadows of some underbrush - a small thing, about the size of a cat, with grey stripes and a parrot's beak.  It shied away from them, long tail whipping as it fled.  Something else was crashing along through the brush too, heading their way, something somewhat larger.

Marianne's eyes were worried as she scanned the skies and then examined the stele to see how far they had come. She turned to the preacher. "What if we can't find a way to get it?" she argued. "Basil may have the cross, but you are the only one who can use it. That must be worth something to him. Liza and Hornsby -"

She broke off at the rustling in the bushes and immediately brought the shotgun up in the direction of the sound.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:07, Sat 29 Apr 2006.

"Move!" McCurdy hissed from the back of the line and he started moving more quickly forward, catching up to Liza, hugging her along even faster. "I don't know what it is, but if it's like everything else in this jungle, it will treat us like food."

The adventurers moved along faster, as the crashing in the shadowy undergrowth got louder.  They were hampered in their movement by Liza Waters, who wouldn't manage more than a fast trot, and Brother Clary, laden with the heavy Hawksmoore.  Finally the vines and leaves burst apart in a fury as something came out of them, and headed towards them, in the face of Marianne's borrowed shotgun.

It stood on two legs, was covered with rags, mud and leaves, and swore horribly, in wheezing gasps.  "Feck me sideways...bollocky briars...godsbedamned lizards..."  And it overlooked the shotgun, to look at Brother Clary.  "Oh, no, lad," said the much scraped, battered and filthy Hornsby in a different voice, one that shivered in shock and woe.

Marianne glared as she kept the gun pointed steadily at the mud-spattered man. "You will stay right there until we are certain who you are," she warned. He certainly swore like Hornsby, but after Carson's deception, they needed to make sure. If only they had asked him last time... Her expression grew angrier.

"Tell me, Captain, what is the name of the pilot with whom we flew here - and his dog?"

Hornsby paid scant attention to Marianne, instead raising a grubby, scraped hand to touch Hawksmoore's still face.  "Lad," he said again, miserably, and only at Marianne's sharp query did he look back at her, his brow furrowed.  "Twas Gruber, M'lady, Hans Gruber, and his pet's a snake, a big red boa.  The snake's name...it's Elise.  No, that's his aeromachinegummy's name."

Marianne nodded. That was good enough for her. She lowered her borrowed shotgun. "Can you help him?" she asked, her throat tightening.

McCurdy wanted to know the answer to that question as well. He pushed on Liza's shoulder to plop her in a sitting position on the ground and looked at Hornsby. The detective didn't know Hawksmoore all that well, but Peter Pan had saved his butt a time or two already. He really didn't want to see an end to that.

He pulled a camel from a crumpled pack and was glad it didn't have blood on it. He lit up and took a lungful of smoke as if he needed it...

McCurdy's attempt to light up had a nosy little beast trying to interfere with the lighter and the whole process, but it sneezed and gave him an accusatory look as the smoke got it its bristly little face.  With a snort, it bounded down to the ground again, piddled on a marker stone, and then stopped to scratch behind an ear with one clawed foot.  Liza sat down like a discarded doll, staring off blankly.

"Nay, lass, that I cannot," Hornsby said, after a pause, his voice still choked. "But the fountain can. There's no time to waste - when you weary, Padre, I will carry him."   It seemed that a rest wasn't going to happen, for the now half-winded adventurers.

He turned then, to go back towards the path, and the sun drew his shadow out onto the ground. Brother Clary saw it clearly.  Then Hornsby was off, at a dogtrot, beckoning them to follow.  Liza was dragged to her feet and stumbled along obediently.  The lizard squirrel followed him too, with long bouncy bounds.

The path became more rocky, and downsloped into a bare, stony valley, where a tapping sound was echoing, but this didn't give Hornsby a moment's pause.  The stones showed signs of water having cut them often in the past, and scrubby trees and bushes were growing in cracks in the stone.  A figure was down there, at the far end of the valley, and there was a slight tapping sound as he was plying a small hammer against the rock wall.  The man looked rather innocuous, wearing travel-worn khakis, dusty, scraped boots, and a floppy straw hat of native manufacture.  From his tanned face, with the heavy, greyshot mustachios and complexion, he was of Hispanic origin, and as they trouped towards him, he left off tapping the stone and looked at them, hailing them in Spanish with a Bolivian accent, and squinting against the sun to see them properly.  "Good day to you !"  he said, "Are you lost ? I've been lost for weeks now, but I've found the most astonishing fossil here."  He blinked at Marianne's holding the shotgun, then spotted Hawksmoore.  "Let me have a look at him, I'm a doctor," he said then. "My name is Hector Corazon."  Without any concern for his own safety, he abandoned his fossil - a dull brown thing in the rock, and with a practiced manner, felt for a pulse in Hawksmoore's neck.  "How long has he been like this ?  You should not transport a coma patient in this manner, it would be better to place him on a litter."

"There's no time for such things," Hornsby replied, in very good Spanish.  "We must be going, Doctor Corazon."  It seemed to strike a memory in him. "You wouldn't happen to have a daughter, would ye ?"
"Oh, yes, Placida.  Very promising, especially in cardiomyopathy work." Apparently his daughter was also a doctor.   Hector Corazon was still looking at Hawksmoore and producing a concerned 'hmmmm'.  "I don't suppose she has sent you to look for me ?"
"She might have mentioned it," Hornsby allowed, and looked away from Corazon's sudden glare.
"You are that man, that Hornsby !"  the doctor said sharply, "You have much to answer for, sir, much indeed.  If I was a violent man...and had not promised the native chief I would not lose my temper, I would challenge you to a duel."  He left off his examination of Hawksmoore and looked over at Liza. "Are you aware that this lady seems to be in a catatonic state ?  What is the matter with you people, transporting the ill in such a manner ?"

As soon as he had gently set Hawksmoore down so that the doctor could examine him, Brother Clary quietly retrieved his shotgun from Marianne.  "Thanks, Ma'am, fer keepin' a good eye on this piece fer me.  My Daddy gave me this shotgun when I jest turned twelve....



With eyes narrowed, the black clad preacher from Texas answered.  "Sorry, Doc, but we was in sit'ation where we either moved fast, or we weren't gonna move again."

Marianne handed over the shotgun a little reluctantly and turned to McCurdy. "Hawksmoore's gun?" she gestured.

"As Brother Clary says, we have no time to waste, Senor. We must reach the fountain as soon as we can. Will you come with us? We could use your expertise and -" she looked sharply at Hornsby, "It seems you have much to discuss with him. Yes or no, please tell us now. We must be on our way."

McCurdy eyed Marianne for a moment and then pulled Hawkesmoore’s pistols from his belt, looking at them in his hands. He hefted them as if weighing them and then cocked an eye at Marianne, waiting until she was done asking her questions. He stuffed one pistol back in his belt as if deciding and then checked the load in the other. He handed the Colt M1911 to her, watching her through the trail of smoke from the cigarette in his lips.

“I reckon you’ve used one of these cannons before?”

"Never," Marianne replied with a cheerful smile, taking the gun from McCurdy. From her expression it was clear this was another weapon Hawksmoore wouldn't be getting back, though she hoped he would awaken to ask for it. "But I assume, when it comes down to it, I just point this end at the monsters and pull the trigger?"

Dr. Hector Corazon took in these explanations with a noncommittal, doctorish "Hmmmmm."  He put the little hammer into a loop on his belt with an air of finality, though his eyes still did flash a warning as he glanced at Hornbsy, who had the grace to look sheepish. "I shall go and speak to the people of this place - they will help.  They are very kind, the Lupino.  Your friends need proper care.  You all look like you could use a rest, too." He paused to look at the lizard squirrel, which was clambering up McCurdy's trouser-leg again, to scrabble its way back to the man's shoulder.  "What a curious animal," he said, moving closer to peer at it.  It reached out with the clever little paws and snatched his glasses off, tasted them and threw them down with a 'Ptui !"  The doctor picked them up, tcchhed at a scratch on the lens, and polished them with a faded bandana.

"Must be going," Hornsby said brusquely, "As much as we should go to the Lupino, Doctor, we really do not have the time."  He picked up Hawksmoore with a grunt of effort, and set off at a trot along the valley, apparently not interested in meeting any of the locals.  He did pause, long enough to say to the three travellers, "Come on then - you've come this far.  Don't you want to see the Fountain for yourselves ?"   The lowering sun stretched out his shadow, bulked with Hawksmoore across his shoulders.  (Spot hidden rolls please, everyone, % dice !)

McCurdy looked at the "doctor" as the squirrel tossed his spectacles and smirked. "Must taste like a hat." He looked to Hornsby when he called after them and then hefted Liza to her feet, taking an arm and leading her before him.

"Hair-trigger," he said to Marianne. "Make sure the thumb safety stays up until you need to pull the trigger. And hold it tight. It will try to jump out of your hand." His eyes lingered on her as he walked Liza after Hornsby. He wasn't keen on her having the gun, but he wouldn't leave anyone defenseless if he didn't have to. Even if she was a woman.

Lingering behind, Brother Clary was content to take his rearguard position.  As the others moved forward, he levered a shell into the chamber so smoothly that the others almost didn't see it.

Marianne nodded and put the gun away. She asked Hornsby curiously, "It seems impossible that Dr. Corazon made it this far alone and without learning very much about where this path leads. But this place seems almost... normal. How far are we from the fountain, Captain? And who are the Lupino?"