TR: 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Hot Fix

Kuu lowered the torn slip of paper, gazing across the street at the gaudy building for a moment before raising it to her eyes again to confirm that what she was seeing matched Ezren’s description. Sure enough, the symbol he had drawn for her–a wrench with a sprocket above it–was denoted on a flashing halogen sign above the entrance. The one thing Kuu hadn’t expected was for the symbol to be planted square in the center of two female legs which flashed between open and closed, only revealing the symbol when they were open. Apparently, this specific gear jockey–The Hot Fix–either had a lewd sense of humour or there was something else going on there entirely. Kuu blushed, pocketing the piece of paper and, when there was an opening in the traffic, she crossed the road.

A bell chimed somewhere when Kuu entered the store. The door closed behind her, catching her satchel on the handle, dragging her back with it. She gasped, jerking the bag several times before the door released its grip, sending her tumbling backward into a display of stacked snacks which spilled all over the floor. Kuu apologized profusely, scrambling on her knees to pick up the fallen items.

“You can leave that for Preston, sweetie.” Said a woman’s voice from above.

Kuu looked up to see a young woman leaning on the counter, gazing down at her with a slightly-amused look. She had a fuming cigarette between two fingers which she took a long drag off of before blowing out a plume.

“Lazy bastard could use somethin’ ta do.”

Kuu stood up, bowing, uttering more apologies. The woman didn’t seem to care in the least.

“How can I help ya, hun?”

Kuu looked up. “I…”

Kuu stopped as she took in the cashier for the first time. The woman was lean but strong, clearly-developed muscles which spoke of heavy labour or, perhaps, ample gym time, and her arms and mostly-exposed chest were covered in colorful tattoos, Kuu having absolutely no idea what any of the designs meant. From the look of them they were tribal in nature but it was possible they were also gang tats, though she couldn’t be sure. The woman had an emerald-green coif, in which ran several wires that attached to a titanium plate which encompassed half of her face. The term mod came to mind–what people colloquially called those that were somewhere in-between cybernetic and human, the lines more-or-less blurry. In some circles Kuu herself may have passed as a mod but her outward appearance and inward lack of attempt to look different all but pigeonholed her as a cybrid to anyone who gave her half a glance. Kuu shook her head, reminding herself that decorum still applied, despite the Hot Fix’s clear disregard for it.

“I apologize for my intrusion into your place of business but… I have a pressing matter that I was told that you may be able to help me with.”

The woman took another puff of her smoke and eyed Kuu for a protracted moment before she slowly turned her attention to the ashtray on the counter, butting out her smoke on the counter beside it, leaving a char mark on the surface. By the look of it, the counter probably didn’t mind.

“What do you need?”

The woman held up a fist to her mouth, half-stifling an airy burp, motioning down the aisle behind Kuu with nod. “We got six packs of Electro Draught on for eight ninety nine. A dozen for fourteen. Jambu jerky’s pretty good, too.”

She leaned back on her stool, staring off into the store as she picked at her immaculate teeth with a toothpick.

Kuu glanced down the aisle behind her then around the store nervously. She wringed her hands together, shifting from side to side like an awkward little duck.

“Umm…” was all Kuu could formulate.

The woman raised a green eyebrow. “What’s the matter girl? You gotta pee? Washroom’s over there. Don’t go wettin’ yerself on the floor; you already made enough of a mess. Much as I’d like to see Preston knee-deep in piss…” The woman chuckled to herself.

“No, ma’am, that’s not it. I… It’s just that Ezren…”

The toothpick fell out of the woman’s mouth, a look of aggravation stealing over her face as she leaned threateningly across the counter toward Kuu.

“Ezren? Did you say Ezren? He sent you? Where is that little shit? He owes me three hundred from the last job. Noob dropped a TRXC in a river on his way out of a smash-and-grab. Can you believe it?  A TEE-ARE-EX-SEE! Do you know how much one of those little suckers is worth? No refunds on botched jobs, I told him. Where is he? I’ll tear him a new asshole and he can get another creepy mask to cover it up for all I care. Where is he?”

The woman leaned over the counter so far in her fervour that Kuu thought she might fall over. As she scanned the streets through the window, large tattooed breasts bulged out of her top, squishing against the counter, Kuu’s face nearly consumed by the cleavage. Kuu’s eyes went as wide as warm areolas, her face flushing a deep crimson, a kettle ready to explode out the top. Her mouth moved to speak but all that came out was a feeble whimper. The woman’s angry gaze slowly made its way back to Kuu, looking like a deer that had just been partially run over. She gave Kuu a questioning look then pushed herself back on to the business side of the desk, flipping her head to shift the rogue piece of hair that had crept down her forehead.

“So what’s all this about Ezren, then? If he’s not here with you, then–what? He send you or something?”

Kuu could only nod. The woman shrugged.

“So he’s got a new little lapdog. What am I supposed to care?”

Kuu swallowed, mustering all her resolve. “I…I was told to come see…a gear jockey if I needed equipment…”

“Gear jockey? GEAR JOCKEY? Is that what he calls us now?” The woman snorted, shaking her head. “I tell you, the next time I see him I’ll…”

Kuu held up a hand. “Please, I need your help. I don’t know how… I don’t have the right equipment to do my job. He said you would know. That…you’re the best.” Kuu lied.

The woman eyed Kuu suspiciously, sizing her up. “Look at you little silver tongue. All milk and honey, trying to butter me up like a crumpet. You’re definitely Ezren’s, that’s for sure. But you think you can win me over that easy, huh?”

Kuu just stared wide-eyed, unsure of how to respond. “I…”

The woman lit another cigarette, inhaling deeply as she turned to the side. In that moment, she almost looked as if she should be on a billboard somewhere advertising the brand.

“Well, it worked. A girl’s only as good as the flattery she receives, ain’t I right?”

She lifted the gate beside the counter and stepped out into the aisle. She was much taller than once thought, now that she was off of her stool. She turned to Kuu, looking the near half-blade down to where she stood silently, awkwardly.

“Name’s Dev, by the way. And unless you wanna keep growing moss I suggest you come with.”

Not waiting for Kuu to follow, Dev made her way down the aisle, a hip swagger that was somewhere between confident and sexual, though somehow she made it look classy in skintight leathers and knee-high jackboots. Kuu shook her head and followed.

Dev led her into a back room, perhaps, a staff room, judging by the small table in the corner and an ancient fridge which may or may not have been running. The wallpaper was the colour of cigarette stains and the drab lighting did little to flatter it. There was a smell in the air that once-upon-a-time may have been disgusting, now it was just stale, like old rot. The room was fifty square blades at best, so Kuu was unsure what she was supposed to see there. They came to a blank wall with a single framed picture hanging on it, a picture of a police-type caricature looking spectacularly fascist, pointing at the viewer with the caption beneath: SECTECH WANTS YOU! ENLIST AT YOUR LOCAL BAKERY TODAY! The picture was slightly off-kilter, skewed to one side. With a long, slender, tattooed finger, Dev pushed the corner of the picture until it was square with the wall. There was a click from the other side and a section of the wall folded outward, revealing a doorway. Kuu’s heart fluttered; it was entirely possible the whole thing was a ruse and she was actually being led to her death. It was no secret that Cybrid parts were a hot commodity on the black market. And if the Black Market was an actual location, it was most likely accessed through an anonymous wall-door in a grocery store that was not really a grocery store. Dev took the lead and Kuu sighed inwardly; if this was to be her last day on Tansis, at least she wouldn’t be alone. It struck her as odd that she would think such a thing about a stranger–but there it was.

They walked into complete darkness and Kuu stopped, unable to see any further. She could hear Dev’s boots clacking against hard floor, sounding like she was walking away from her. Kuu’s heart raced, her deepest and darkest fears rising to the surface. As the footsteps faded in the distance, Kuu swallowed, her retroreflective mods barely contributing any improvements to her vision, unable to draw in any ambient light as there was none.

“D…Dev?”

Silence.

Kuu felt panic rising up from her belly. A scream formed in her throat and just as it was about to escape, the lights came on.

“Let there be light.” Dev’s voice said, somewhere off to the side.

Kuu turned to see her standing by a light switch, at the other end of a long rectangular room. She walked casually back to Kuu.

“Sorry hun, I don’t know why they installed the damn thing way down there. Makes for a dramatic entrance though, don’t it? So, what will it be?”

Dev motioned in front of them. Kuu’s eyes followed Dev’s hand to the displays in front of her. Her jaw nearly hit the floor.

There were shelves upon shelves, stacked upon benches chock-full of various weapons, tools, and gadgets, many of which Kuu had never seen. Her internal scanners flitted over the veritable buffet of newfangled gadgets before her, crosschecking registries with Link databases, feeding her the data as it confirmed each and every bauble and trinket before her. But these were no mere holiday decorations, no; as she learned what exactly she was looking at, she began to realize the breadth of what she had gotten herself into. Many of the weapons were military-grade ballistics and explosives–things that no civilian should ever have access to. But there they were, and there she was, with access to them.

“I… I don’t know where to begin.” Kuu stammered.

Dev walked up to a particularly vicious-looking pulse rifle sitting on the bench, picking it up and cradling it in her arms like a newborn. VR-6C Spinetapper, according to Kuu’s HUD feed. A type of ballistek rifle–high velocity magnets, rail-type sort of thing. Dev pulled out a cloth from a pocket and began to slowly polish the barrel, glancing up at Kuu as she continued to clean the weapon.

“Well, why don’t you give me an idea of what yer getting into. I’ve been at this a while, I could probably help you along.”

“Well… I don’t have much to go on, but it’s some kind of…reconnaissance…er…recon work. An…in-and-out job, Ezren called it. But I don’t know…”

Dev held up a finger, placing it on Kuu’s lips. “Say no more. I think I got exactly whatcha need right here.”

Dev placed the VR-6C back on an empty wall-mounted stand and pulled open several drawers.

“Let’s see here. What does Dev got in her magic bag of goodies, huh? Oh, definitely one of these. And this here, you’re gonna want at least three of ’em. Hmm…now where did I put…ah yeah, there she is. That oughta do her. Here.”

She turned and plopped a handful of metallic objects in Kuu’s arms, one of the round things falling out of the pile, clanking to the cement floor, bouncing several times before it came to a stop.

“Might want to be more careful with those. They’re pressure-sensitive, apt to go off if you’re too rough with ’em.”

Kuu stared wide-eyed down at the item at her feet. “What…what is it?”

“Chaff grenade. Messes up electronic systems, mainly, but they still pack quite a punch. Definitely enough to blow off a limb. I once knew a guy who put one in his pocket and forgot about it. Got into a fight with his lady that night, she kicked him where the sun don’t shine. Blew off her entire foot and part of his di…”

“Thank you, I see, I see. I will be more careful. In the future.” Kuu interjected.

Carefully, she squatted down and picked up the grenade, attempting to see over the pile in her arms. She managed to retrieve it and placed the items down on the counter top. Kuu looked over the items that Dev had selected for her. As she was admiring her new stash she remembered that they were not yet hers. With that, she turned to Dev and bowed.

“Thank you very much for this. I have a bill of credit from Ezren. He said that any Gear Jo…er…” Kuu thought about it for a moment.

“…that any outfitter would accept it. Family-approved.”

Kuu reached into her satchel and pulled out a small disc-drive. Dev snatched it up, holding it up to the light, inspecting it as if to ascertain whether it were real or not.

“He didn’t mention if he added that three hundred outstanding, did he? Better make it three-fifty, interest and inflation and all that. Little grifter…”

After she was convinced, she placed the disc in her cleavage and nodded at Kuu. Kuu frowned at the items before her, turning over an oblong gadget in her hand that her HUD could not identify.

“You seem vexed, hun. What’s up?”

“All of this…it seems too…easy.”

“Easy? Whatcha mean?”

“I don’t know…couldn’t anyone just come in here and get access to this? All I had to do was say Ezren’s name and then door’s started opening. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, miss…”

“Dev, not miss.”

“Apologies, Dev…”

“And you’re not wrong, little one. If you have the key, you have all the keys in this business.” She leaned her weight against the bench, looking over the gear spread out before them like a proud mother. “I may not like the dirt-bag but his name carries some weight in our little circles. I don’t know what Momma Gannz sees in him but he’s worked his way up from street urchin to slightly-less street urchin, gaining all sorts a favours. Man’s got a way with words, I’ll give him that…”

Kuu couldn’t be sure but it almost sounded like there was a tinge of regret in Dev’s tone, behind the thick layer of detestation.

“Just by knowing Ezren’s name means that you aren’t far off that path, either. Which reminds me, what do I call you?”

“My name is Kuu.”

“Kuu, huh? Hmm…”

Dev pondered the name, weighing it in her mind. She nodded her head, satisfied.

“Yeah, that’ll do I reckon. So, miss Kuu, let’s dive in.”

The two turned to the table, the metallic glint of the items reflecting in Kuu’s enraptured eyes.

***

The old man led them through a narrowing tunnel that tapered towards an opening, Brian crouching to avoid hitting his head on the calceiform rock ceiling. The orb on the old man’s staff cast a warm glow around them. Brian watched their shadows creeping along the wall with them, coupled with the echoes of their footsteps and ambient sounds, he felt as if he had crossed a time barrier and they were descending through some ancestral chasm that would lead to some long forgotten age. Adding to his mental musing, there were inscriptions and lithographs on the wall, every so often, which seemed to confirm that the place was indeed from another time.

“Just up ahead here m’boy.” The old man said, hunkering over as he ducked under a protruding stalactite.

The man–and the light–suddenly disappeared, leaving Brian staring at a black hole that looked like an entrance into the abyss. Brian hesitated for a moment before ducking down and shimmying through the passage. After several seconds, when no light or sound had resurfaced, he thought to call after the old man. Before he could open his mouth a glowing white ball of light came to life in front of his face, surprising him as he fell backwards onto his rear. The orb floated up, illuminating the old man’s face, then the light fragmented, shooting across a wide open space in five different directions, each colliding with a torch around the room. The torches went to life, the light becoming blazing fire in each. And then something (more) incredible happened: the torches began to feed a stream of flames toward the center of the ceiling, like liquid streams of lava collecting above them. As they gathered together their light revealed a great cast-iron chandelier hanging from the ceiling, on which small flames began to populate. Brian looked down to see the old man staring up at the chandelier just as he, his left hand down at his side, making strange movements with his fingers. When every candle had been lit–and there must have been over a thousand on this one–the fire-streams ceased and the room was still, basking in soft, warm light.

They had come into in a large stone chamber, carved out of the bedrock itself. There was a domed roof which appeared to be raw-packed earth, though Brian  couldn’t see how it supported the weight of the chandelier. The room was spacious enough to make a home out of and that appeared to be exactly what the old man had done. Around the perimeter of the room ran a stone balustrade which served as a divide to a raised upper level. A modest staircase had been carved out of the stone in several places, indicating that whoever had made the stairs had likely also made the railing. The main area was arranged as a sitting room, with an ancient-looking reclining chair, a side table, a small wood stove, and piles and piles of books stacked all around, with barely enough room to walk about. The upper level appeared to have a makeshift cooking area and a modest cot at one end, but other than that it was all bookshelves, crammed full with as many books as they could possibly hold. Brian had seen libraries with less.  The room was sparing in décor for the most part, save a great banner that hung on the far wall above a recessed fireplace opposite one of the staircases. The image on the banner appeared to be a gold, four-pointed star on a blue matte backdrop, but Brian did not recognize the symbol. There appeared to only be one way in and one way out–the way they had come.

“Welcome to my humble abode. Say the word, and the door shall always be open.” The old man shot him a whimsical look, then rested his staff against the stone baluster.

“As you had witnessed earlier.”

Brian nodded, fumbling for a response. The old man reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a bunch of dead birds. He lay them out on the end table and shook off his cloak, throwing it onto the baluster behind him. Underneath, he wore a simple grey tunic that was unbuttoned at the neck, and it looked like he had fastened his pants with some kind of desiccated vine. He slumped back into the recliner, kicking his feet up onto a pile of books set intentionally as a high as an ottoman. He groaned, leaning forward as his spine cracked like eggshells being stepped on.

“Oh, these old bones!” He said to no one in particular.

He brought his hand up to his face and, with a gentle turn of his wrist, he was suddenly holding an intricately carved wooden pipe, fashioned in the form of a dragon. He placed the spout–the tail–in his mouth and with his other hand produced a match out of seemingly nowhere, lighting the pipe. He inhaled deeply and blew smoke rings towards the domed ceiling. Brian couldn’t be sure if it was the low light or if whatever the old man was smoking had affected him, but it looked like the rings were transforming in the air, shifting into different shapes, some familiar, some not, as if they were telling a story. The smoke smelled sweet but at the same time bitter, not like any kind of pipeweed Brian had ever smelled. Perhaps, the old man had a wild side to him beyond living in the wilderness…

The old man motioned to Brian. “Please, have a seat, make yourself at home. If it’s not the right size, feel free to adjust. The seat that is. The home is of fixed proportions, I’m afraid.”

He demonstrated by smacking several books off the top of a nearby pile, shortening it by several hands. Brian nodded, picking up a handful of books from another pile and placing them gently on the floor, sitting on the remaining pile which worked out to be a good height for sitting. He looked around the room, taking everything in. His eyes came to rest on the old man before him and Brian couldn’t help but take a moment to study him. Kel seemed to have an exultant air about him, like one living their life to the fullest, but there was also something else there, something…deeper. Something very complex and nuanced that couldn’t be told in a short story or bedtime tale. No, Kel’s was a novel, perhaps, an anthology. Brian didn’t know how he knew but he could just feel it; there was something about the man that wasn’t average. Realizing he was gawking, Brian diverted his attention down to the colorful corpses of the three birds on the table between them. Brian liked birds and had learned a fair deal about the indigenous species around Falkner’s and his hometown, but he did not recognize these. Their bright, vibrant plumage was exotic, suggesting tropical biomes. Definitely, not the same kind of birds in the forest where he grew up. He reached out to touch one of them when Marlee bounded up onto the table, snatching them up. She glanced at him, cocking her head, and with a single chirp she leapt off the table, scuttling across the room then bounded up onto the railing with the utmost ease. She turned back to the room, facing them as she cradled her prize. She lifted one of the birds to her mouth and began to shamelessly chew on its head, never letting her eyes leave Brian’s. Brian stared at the monkey for a moment before turning back to the old man who was now studying him with keen interest.

“I thought you said that she was a vegetarian.” Brian joked.

The old man looked over to the monkey who sat steadfastly watching them as she continued to munch on the colorful morsel. Feathers stuck to her face and had sprinkled all over the floor. He chuckled to himself.

“Of course she’s not a vegetarian. She’s a monkey, you foolish boy. I only said that so as not to exacerbate your situation anymore than it already was.”

Brian frowned. “Wait…you think that I would have been afraid of her eating…” He looked at Marlee. She stopped chewing when their eyes met.

The old man blew out another ring. “Never mind that. I think introductions are in order. Since I saved you, I think the proper way to go about it would be for you to go first.”

Brian raised an eyebrow at the old man. “You saved me? It was your trap, was it not?”

The old man grinned sheepishly to himself and waved a hand of dismissal. “Semantics my boy, semantics. Now tell me the name of my catch, if it indeed does have a name?”

“Brian. And I’m not your catch. Listen, I’m looking for a way off of this island and I don’t have much time.”

The old man stared at him blankly for a moment and then burst out laughing. “My boy, my boy! How I love the things you say!” He bent over into a fit of laughter. “So good for an old man’s dusty old soul, it is. Don’t have much time, he says!” He leaned back wiping a tear from his eye.

Brian gave him a death stare. The old man caught a glimpse of it and the look seemed to enliven him even further, if it were possible.

“Oh come now! What bad can a little light bring in this dingy old place? I think you and I shall get along fine, sharing the same appetite for a good conservation.”

He grinned at him and stood up, removing his hat and giving a half bow.

“Kelandrion Medis Muratatus.” He said, giving stress on each word. “But you can just call me Kel.”

“That’s quite a mouthful.” Said Brian. “Do most of the island folk have such elaborate titles?”

Kel tapped a long bony finger against his forehead. “Ah, that’s right, how soon I forget! Old age has left me to my moments it seems.”

He tapped out his pipe into an ashtray atop a pile of books and the pipe disappeared with a flick of his wrist. He jumped to his feet and stormed across the room as if an epiphany had struck, knocking over piles of books indiscriminately. He made his way over to one of his many bookshelves and began to remove books, inspecting them. With each incorrect selection, Kel grunted and tossed it aside. Brian watched as the funny old man scoured his bookshelf like a surly librarian in search of a lost volume.

“Genealogy of the Western Forest Worytt…Xadum’s Last Stand…Braving The Strays… no, no, no, it must be here somewhere…”

He continued to throw books aside like bereft articles of dirty clothing.

“Feasts of Kings… Ooh, that’s a good one. Save for reread later…The Second Era Tyrannical Reigns…Ah! Bother, I know I saw it here somewhere, I… Ah, here!”

He reached into a large leather-bound book and removed a folded piece of paper that had been placed between the pages. He placed one hand on the railing and hopped over onto the ground level. Brian shook his head in wonder. The man was sure spry in his old age. Kel sat down and unfolded the piece of paper on the table, smoothing it out. It was an old map that was torn at the edges and yellowed from age. It bore a strange inscription at the top in some kind of rune that Brian had never seen before. It looked to be a map of the island.

“Wyndrona Island.”

Kel splayed his palms to the map as if introducing it to him. Marlee hopped up onto the table and stared down at the piece of paper that had stole the attention of the two.

“Here,” he pointed to a spot near the summit of a mountain on the western side of the map, “is where we are, safe and sound. This is where they are. Here, and here.”

He pointed to two different locations, one that had been marked with a skull and crossbones on the far eastern side of the map, another, more north and center near a small gulf, which had pictures of small, cartoonish looking figures holding swords, next to a pile of hodgepodge; casks, netting, and various seafaring debris.

“Who are they?” Brian asked, pointing to the two spots.

Kel lowered his brow, furrowing his forehead. “You asked about the island folk. Well, let me tell you, we are most definitely not alone.”

He produced his dragon pipe again–Brian still unable to tell how the trick worked–and he stood up from his seat, pacing back and forth in the center of the room, orange embers ebbing in the bowl as he puffed thoughtfully.

He waggled a finger in the air like an admonishing teacher. “It would be most wise of you to avoid wandering astray too far, especially near the periphery of the island. You will have to forage for your own food and supplies of course, but you should find most of what you require in the valley. There will be times when you must descend down into the gulch, but even then I would strongly suggest caution, and to stay undercover as much as possible. Aside from a handful of medium-sized predators, for the most part, you are safe up here. The others have never come past the base.”

“Wait…you are talking like I’m gonna be staying here. And who is it that you are hiding from? You still haven’t told me…”

Kel rounded on him furiously. “I hide from no one boy!” He shouted abruptly, the lights in the room seeming to dim.

The light from his pipe made his sanguine expression seem like his face had suddenly caught fire, but Kel quickly reeled in his temper, the colour flushing from his face, the lights coming back up to level. Brian frowned around the room, wondering what he had just seen. Kel harrumphed into his hand, regaining his composure.

“It just so happens that I enjoy a view and prefer solitude over drama. Is that such a crime? I don’t much care to be caught up in the bickering between children and men.”

He shot Brian a furtive look out of the corner of the eye.

“Children and men? What do you mean?”

“Well, pirates, to be precise. At least, once upon a time.”

A smile crept over Brian’s face. “Pirates? You mean like swashbuckling, scurvy, rum drinking pirates?”

Kel waved a hand. “Don’t get too excited, boy. You’ve not landed yourself in some fae fable, if that’s what your’e onto. This is very real desertion we are talking about here. And besides, these pirates are hardly that. Any celebrity status they may have had was lost along with them on this desolate rock. Though the one–their leader–he is still a consideration, so do not let your guard down around him. Here, on the far eastern side past the caves, this is their keep. They call themselves the Bravados. It’s an apt name, if you ask me, since they are nothing more than a group of outlaws. They are by far the newest addition to our little family here on Wyndrona, their ship having run aground about fifteen years back, if memory serves. They have been stuck here ever since–rotting ship and all.”

“Run aground? Is there some kind of shoal or something near the island?”

Kel pointed to the map, tracing his finger around the perimeter of the shoreline. “Do you see this strip of land about the island here? This is all a lagoon between here and here. The only passage through to sea is here, but the South Atlandian current passes strongest along here, which meets with the King’s current here. It so happens that the two coincide right at the mouth of the lagoon, forming a great undercurrent which has produced a vortex that bars the way. Any ships brave–or stupid– enough to pass through it are either spit out into the lagoon or, conversely, dragged under.”

Brian shook his head. “But that doesn’t make sense. The whirlpool spins one way, right? Why could one not enter and leave in the same fashion? It should be no different coming in than out.”

“Ah, you would think so, but that is only the half of it. Here…” He pointed to a spot just past the opening. “There is a great number of jagged rocks just under the surface, waiting to tear at a ship’s hull. If you look at the angle of the reef here, upon entry a ship must navigate around the protrusion, but in doing so they will be directed right across the spikes. The hull will be damaged, but not soon enough that they cannot make it to shore on the island. However, if they were to leave, they would once again find themselves on a course around the peninsula, redirected across the snags, but this time faced with open ocean as their ship takes in salt to her wounds. They would be lucky to make it a leave before they kissed the bottom.”

Brian just stared at the map with a blank expression of hopelessness.

“I know what you’re thinking boy: don’t think I haven’t tried. Back when I was more able-bodied I even took it upon myself to dive down out there and have a look, to clarify the problem. I tell you, if there was never such a thing as a graveyard for ships, there is now. Men must have been defeated by that passage for centuries, for all the salvage down there. That’s why they call it shipwreck pass, after all…” He trailed off in thought, puffing on his pipe as he stared off into space.

“So what do they do here, then? I mean, pirates need to pillage and plunder right? What’s here for them to actually upkeep?”

“They keep to themselves, mostly, that lot. They have a banthum leaf plantation just south of their keep which they guard pretty heavily. Their jim-rum is about all they have to keep them busy so they take great pride in guarding it. Don’t know what the big deal is though; I’ve snuck a bottle or two of their brew and I’ve tasted better pond water. I don’t think it’s going to the next big distillery, if you catch my meaning.”

“So that’s it…they make hooch? There’s got to be more than that!”

Kel smiled to himself, as if sharing a private joke with his mind. “I’m not sure what kind of story you’re hoping for, Brian, but I’m afraid ours is not an edge-of-your-seat thriller. Mind you, the children have their fun from time to time, and that can be quite amusing to watch.”

“Children?”

“An unruly group as one’s ever seen, I tell you. A band of renegade hooligans that parade around the island as if it were the sandbox in their backyard. They loot from the Bravados, steal their leaf when they can—not they have learned how to brew it yet; those kids couldn’t know the first thing about the cultured life. But ,alas, they are at–for lack of a better term–war with each other, whether it be over land or plunder, they keep each other busy.”

Kel plopped back into his seat, crossing his legs and puffing on his pipe.

“It’s more of a game if you ask me.”

“What’s their story? How did they get here?”

“Ah, now that’s a tale that could only be told around a campfire. The best that I have gathered, from what snippets I’ve overheard from the Bravados, back in the days when trade ships had not been restricted under the apartheid, a large frigate hauling supplies to the continent passed by the strait and was washed ashore. Aboard were many children–slaves used for labour–and after realizing that they were stranded, managed to break free and turn on their captors, murdering them and leaving them to float in the lagoon for the bottom dwellers to feast on. It was shortly after their establishment there on the north end that one of those boys was said to have discovered something. No one really knows what it was, where it was from or who gave it to him, but whatever it was, it granted him and his crew everlasting vitality. Thus, as the story goes, this boy became their leader and from then on they have forever remained in a permanent state of youth. How much of this is folklore I cannot say, but let me tell you: in the handful of times I have managed to come upon them over the years, I have not seen any noticeable change in them. I tell you boy, it’s a strange thing to become an old man while the rest of the world grows as the trees do…”

“So, then they are a group of immortal kids who think they own the place.”

“You could put it that way, I guess, but there’s more. You see, their commander-in-chief–Sira is his name–not only discovered some force that granted him this so-called immortality, but he is also the only one of all of us who has left this place and returned to tell about it. And you can imagine what kind of commodity that makes him on Wyndrona. I, too, have tried to learn what I can about him, but he rarely ever ventures out alone. And if he does he is guarded by so many of his miniature cronies that you’d break a twig and have a dozen arrows in your chest.”

“Wait–you said this guy, Sira, he found away off of the island?”

Kel nodded slowly. “But don’t go getting any fool ideas in your head, Brian. Though they’re just kids, they’ve been alive for a very long time, and they possess more knowledge of life and battle than you could ever fathom. They are a very, very dangerous lot. If you’re entertaining any ideas about searching Sira out, get it out of your head. It can’t be done. I of all people should know this.”

Brian sighed. He looked down at the map again, examining all of the intricate hand drawn details and images depicting different jungle zones, ruins, rivers and other tropical topography. Whoever had drawn the map had put a great deal of time and effort into it. Judging from its weathered condition, he figured the map to be at least a couple of centuries old.

“Well, what about the pirates? Could they be of any help? Have you tried talking to them?”

The wizard blew a plume of smoke and scoffed at him. “Bah! They’re hardly more negotiable than the children they contend with. All those men want to do is drink and talk blather. Their captain is a power-hungry man, like all captains, and he is driven by his quest for power. He is constantly trying to get his hands on Sira to ream the information out of him. As you can imagine, this makes finding the boy doubly as dangerous.”

Brian frowned. “It still seems to me like the cost-benefit is far in favour of trying. Look at the alternative–you’re stuck here until you die.”

Marlee hopped into Kel’s lap and rested her head against his voluminous beard. He stroked her fun gently.

“I can think of many worse fates.”

Brian slammed a fist down on the table top, standing up. Marlee jumped in astonishment, landing on Kel’s shoulder, staring at Brian with eyes as round as saucers.

“There’s got to be a way out of here! I can’t just sit here and smoke myself to death, reading books…” Brian panned a hand around the room

Kel eyed Brian quietly, unmoved.

“I have to help my friend! And the only way I can do that is to get off of this bloody island. I mean…someone helped Sira, right? How else would he have gotten off? So someone’s gotta know what’s going on here. Someone knows something, somewhere, we just have to find them. I…”

Brian looked around frantically as if the conclusion could be found about them. He looked down to the map before them. He pointed to it.

“Someone drew this map, didn’t they? People have been here for ages, so there’s got to be more out there than what you’re saying. And one of them must be that person who knows how to get off. They…”

“Brian…” Kel interjected, gently.

“…They must know what’s happening here. So we should go looking for them. Don’t you want to get out of here? You deserve better than this, Kel! Why don’t we both…”

“Brian…”

“…go to the valley. We’ll wait until night and we can figure out a way to get Sira…

“BRIAN!” Kel yelled.

Brian stopped, staring at the wizard with an exasperated look on his face.

Kel reached out and took his hand, speaking softly. “I have tried to get off of this island, believe me. I have been here a long time. A very long time. If there was a way, I would know by now. I am sorry.”

Brian shook his head, pain in his eyes. “That…that can’t be true. I mean…there’s Sira, and…and…the map.”

Brian pulled his hand away and scooped up the map, shaking it in front of Kel’s face.

“Someone drew this map. People have been coming here for hundreds of years, probably. Someone knows something. Right? Right?”

Kel’s eyes locked onto Brian’s for a long time, the two sitting in silence. In Kel’s crystalline eyes, Brian saw then a deep, deep compassion that he had missed before. This person was feeling what he was feeling. They knew something that he did not know.

“Kel?”

“I drew that map Brian.”

Brian’s gaze fell from the old man to the withered, ancient piece of paper in his hands. His mouth hung open speechless.

“You…you drew this. But that’s impossible, it must be…I mean, look how old…”

He looked up to Kel, a defeated look beginning to crack through the tough facade that he had built. “Just…how long have you been here, Kel?”

Deciding it was safe, Marlee slid down from Kel’s shoulder, back into his lap, looking over at Brian at intervals, her trust in him clearly broken. Kel brought out his pipe and took a long draw from it. He sighed, blue-gray smoke dancing between them as he stroked Marlee’s soft fur.

“Too long, Brian. Too long.”