The Solomon Curse (8 page)

The car rental company was owned by a chubby man with a Buddha-like countenance who laughed at the end of each sentence he spoke like a form of punctuation. He showed them a silver Nissan Xterra that was more dents than not and they agreed on what seemed like a reasonable price per day.

It began raining as they climbed into the cab. Sam took the wheel and within minutes they headed east at a crawl, the main road having almost instantly become a river from the cloudburst. They passed beneath a pedestrian bridge and Sam paused to look at the elaborate graffiti murals adorning the concrete pylons. Depictions of islanders from the distant past and of primitive deities ringed the concrete, the detail impressive even in the heavy rain.

Within minutes, they had left the city limits and crossed the swollen Lor Lungga creek, its rushing brown water thick with floating branches from the mountains. They passed Henderson Field, the international
airport that had been built by Allied forces during the war, and soon were barreling along through dense jungle. The rain blew across the asphalt in silver sheets, and the Nissan's wipers struggled to keep up with the downpour.

After a few miles, the rain stopped as abruptly as it started. When the clouds parted, steam rose from the pavement as the water evaporated under the harsh glare of the blazing sun.

“Well, one good thing about this place,” Sam said as Remi fiddled with the dashboard knobs, trying to coax the reluctant air-conditioning to action.

“What's that?”

“If you don't like the weather, all you have to do is wait a little while and it will change.”

“Right. A choice of humid hot and raining hot. My hair's hopeless,” Remi said, tugging at her limp locks.

“After we finish up here, I'll take you anywhere you want. Rio, Milan, Nice. Spas, salons, shopping, pampering, the works.”

“Any chance we can skip straight to the fun part?”

“Didn't I tell you? This is the fun part.” Sam chuckled.

A small roadside sign announced they were crossing Alligator River, and Remi gave Sam a dark look. “I'm noticing a theme to the local attractions.”

“Alligators are different from crocodiles.”

“A distinction that's lost on this girl at the moment. They'll both eat you.”

“Well, there's that,” Sam conceded.

They arrived at another bridge, this one barely wide enough to accommodate the Nissan, and then drove past a sign pointing south that said “Gold Ridge.”

“I wonder if that's the mine?” Remi said.

“We can take a look on the way back, if you want. We're not on any pressing schedule.”

“Let's see how we do in the wilds. If not today, there's always tomorrow.”

“Whatever my lady wants,” Sam said.

“That's a little more like it.”

When they arrived at Mbinu, they found the little hamlet was barely more than a few modest homes along a stretch of nothing. They stopped at a tiny market and were immediately assaulted by heat and bugs. Several islanders sat in the shade of a tree by the side of the road, staring at them curiously. Sam approached, the sheet of paper with the names and addresses in his hand.

“We're looking for a man named Tom. Supposed to live around here?” he asked with a smile.

The islanders stared at him, and then one made a comment in a language neither Sam nor Remi understood and the others all laughed.

Remi stepped forward. “Do you know Tom?”

More muttered comments, more laughter, and one of the men shrugged. Remi turned to Sam. “This is going well.”

“I remember reading that even though English is the official language, only a fraction of the population speaks it.”

“Looks like this isn't that fraction.”

They waved at the islanders, who waved back, friendly enough, and tried the market. There they had a slightly better result—the heavyset woman behind the ancient cash register spoke a little English.

“Tom? He by da church. Down da road a piece.”

“Church?” Sam asked.

“Back that way.”

“Oh, good. And where, exactly, is Tom's?”

“Look for sign.”

“Sign?”

“Skink.”

“Excuse me?”

“Skink.” The woman pantomimed a crawling animal and Remi nodded.

“Ah.”

They got back into the car and backtracked. It took them two return trips before they spotted a muddy sign with the outline of a lizard on it. “Want to bet that's a kink?” Sam asked.

“
Skink.
With an
s
. At least that's what it sounded like,” Remi corrected.

They bounced down a rutted muddy drive for a hundred yards and then rounded a bend. A tired-looking house occupied the far side of a clearing ringed by trees. A sixties Toyota sedan, almost entirely rust, was parked at the edge of the drive. An elderly man wearing a dark green T-shirt and shorts sat on what served as a porch, staring at them as they parked and got out of the Nissan.

“Tom?” Remi asked with a smile.

“That's me,” the man replied, smiling, his few yellow teeth standing out against his dark complexion like headlights.

“We're friends of Orwen Manchester.”

“That thief? Always said no damned good would come of the boy,” Tom said with a cackle. “What can I do for you? Skink?” He held up a green lizard that had been slumbering in his lap and Remi resisted the urge to recoil. It was over two feet long, with a triangular head and beady black eyes.

“Um, no. We're here to ask about some of the old stories. Orwen felt you might be able to help,” Remi said, returning his smile.

“Well, I don't know about that, but no harm asking. Can I get you anything? Water? Maybe soda? I'm a little low on supplies, but I can probably find something.”

Sam shook his head. “No, that's fine. We're good.”

“Well, come on and have a seat, then. What stories you want to know about?”

They sat on a makeshift wooden bench, their backs to the front of
the house, and Sam cleared his throat. “Anything that might have to do with a cursed bay on the other side of the island.”

Tom's eyes narrowed. “‘Cursed bay,' you say?”

“That's what the captain of the boat we were on said.”

“Why you care about some old nonsense like that?”

“We're just interested in why such a pretty area would be considered taboo by islanders.”

Tom stared off into the distance and then grunted. “Sorry. Can't help you.”

Remi's face fell. “You don't know any stories connected to the bay?”

Tom shook his head. “Afraid you wasted your time, folks.”

“That's a shame. We saved a man's life who was attacked by a crocodile there,” Sam said, hoping to score some points.

Tom showed no interest in the story. “Yeah, that happens. People go missing sometimes when they're careless. Crocodiles are plenty dangerous around here.” He spat to the side. “'Course lots of danger around this place if you aren't careful.”

“Really?” Remi said. “It doesn't strike me as particularly dangerous.”

“Oh, it is. 'Specially you go poking your nose around where it don't belong.”

“Like where?”

“Like that bay you talking about, for starters. And the caves.” His voice softened to a whisper. “Best not to get too close to the giants.”

Sam sat forward. “I'm sorry. Did you say ‘giants'?”

Tom nodded. “That's right. Plenty of them in the mountains. Best to stay away and mind your own business. Stay in Honiara. Enjoy yourself. Be safe.”

“You're saying there are giants here?” Sam asked again, his tone skeptical.

Tom grunted again. “Been here forever. And then some.”

“As in ‘big people'?” Remi clarified, surprised by the unusual turn the conversation had taken.

“Not people. Giants. Huge. They live in the caves and eat people. People aren't their friend. Most country people know about them. They see them all the time.”

“This is a legend, right?”

“Call it what you want, I'm just warning you so you don't get into trouble. You friends with Orwen. Wouldn't do to be eaten by giants.”

Sam chuckled. “You honestly believe in giants?”

“Hell, boy, I seen 'em. Plenty of 'em, in my time. Over twice as tall as you, covered in hair. Meaner than that crocodile that ate your mate.” Tom spat again and then seemed to lose interest in the conversation. Sam and Remi tried to get something more out of him, but, while polite, he answered their questions with cryptic comments and generalities.

“Is there anything else we should know about besides giants?” Sam asked with a good-natured smile.

“Laugh all you want, but there's strange things going on. People are disappearing. Getting sick for no reason. Up in the hills, there are areas nobody will go because they're poison. The island's changing and giants are only one of the dangers. Never seen nothing like it before, and I know enough to understand none of it's good.”

“Is that what people think about the bay, too? That it's poison? Cursed?” Remi asked softly.

“I don't know nothing about no bay.”

“What about stories from the old days. Anything about lost cities?”

Tom petted his skink and shook his head. “You talking nonsense now?”

“No, I just thought I'd heard something about a lost kingdom.”

“That's a new one on me,” Tom said, but his tone sounded guarded.

After a few more minutes of stonewalling, Tom announced he was tired. Sam and Remi took the hint and made their way back to the car, the old man's eyes boring through them as they walked.

Sam started the engine and turned to Remi. “Can you believe that?”

“What, the giants or not knowing about the bay?”

“Both. I watched his eyes. He knows more than he's letting on. I think the giants were just to distract us.”

“It worked. It's the craziest thing I've ever heard. But he described them with a straight face.”

“I'm getting the sense that the national pastime here is BS'ing the tourists. There's no such thing as giants.”

“I know, but he was awfully convincing about there being danger around every turn and people disappearing. What do you make of that?”

“I honestly have no idea. But what I do know is that it tells us nothing about the bay or why it's cursed. More like he was trying to scare us away from asking any more questions.”

A rumble of thunder sounded from the west and their eyes met. “Not again,” Remi said.

“You up for another old-timer? Maybe he's friendlier than Tom.”

“If it's pouring down rain, it could get awfully messy on a muddy road.”

“I say we go for it.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Remi fluttered a hand. “Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Fifteen minutes later, the blue sky turned to roiling anthracite and dark clouds pummeled the island with driving rain. The potholes made a terrible road even slower going, and when they ran out of pavement, it quickly became obvious that their willingness to forge ahead was no substitute for a sunny day. After a quarter mile, the water neared the running boards and Sam conceded defeat. He turned around and the SUV slipped and slid back to the road, the muddy track almost unrecognizable with the flood coursing down its middle, the ruts from their tires filling only seconds after passing.

The rain didn't let up, and the trip back to the hotel took twice as long. When they finally reached the hotel lot, they exhaled in relief as they parked. Dripping, they entered the lobby, and the front desk clerk
beckoned to them. Remi went to see what she wanted while Sam continued to the room. There were two messages: one from Leonid, saying he'd had his first classroom lesson and would be doing a shallow dive in the afternoon, and the second from Manchester, inviting them to dinner.

“You want to go?” Sam asked when she made it back to the room.

“Sure. Why not? We can see what he thinks about the giants.”

“I know what I think about them. Boogeyman stories to scare children.”

“Probably. But you have to admit the whole discussion with Tom was unsettling. He really sounded like he believed that stuff.”

“He's at an age where he might not be able to tell the difference between reality and hallucinations, Remi. What did you make him as? Eighty? Older?”

“Hard to tell, but he seemed pretty sharp to me.”

They met Manchester at another seaside restaurant, this one a little tonier than the prior night's. A glance at the empties on the table and the bottle in his hand showed that the big man was already through his second beer when they arrived. He motioned them over with his ever-present smirk.

“Sorry the weather didn't cooperate today. Should be fine tomorrow,” he said as though he was personally responsible for the storm.

“No problem. We got to see one of the two fellows you directed us to,” Remi said.

“Oh, good. Which one?”

“Tom.”

“He's a character, isn't he? Did you get anything useful out of him?” Manchester asked, draining his bottle.

“Just a shaggy-dog story about giants.”

“Ah, yes, the giants. A local tradition. Everyone knows someone who's seen them, but when you start trying to nail the story down, it gets slipperier than a greased eel.”

“Tom said he's seen them.”

“Of course he has. I mean, I'm sure he's seen something he thought was a giant. A shadow in the rain forest. An unexplained blur. He doesn't mean any harm. But did he know anything about your bay or the sunken ruins?”

Sam shook his head. “Regrettably, no. All he did was talk about people disappearing because of cannibal giants.”

Manchester signaled to the waiter for two beers and then raised an eyebrow at Remi. “And what would you like?”