The Tourist: Johnny Two-Face (Part 1)

The balance of the blade in my fist felt right and good. The curve of the cutlass gleamed, the grin of a killer aglow with the same fever that burned from the lurid eyes with which I watched the landing of my pursuers on the beach below. The sounds of my former mates echoed up to my perch atop a massive wall of granite.

“Keep a sharp eye me dearies”, the Captain ordered, “our matey be a right trig cove.”

“Not half enough, but he’s learning”, I thought. The malice for the ‘Johnny Two-Face’ that I myself hounded to the island festered in my breast.

My former mates were of the lowest sort, and the Captain the lowest of the low and therefore king among them, but I dared not underthink the depth of their cunning... as I had done with mine own prey. My lead upon them measured well, yet I set foot into the jungle with the unsettled feeling of one whose grave has been tread upon.

I watched my going more for ambush or trap than for sign of my quarries passing. There was no doubt as to the destination of my foe. The map that I took from the First Mate shown clear and true the dangers that lay ahead, and the treasure beyond. Those coins and baubles were but dross next to the choice bit that devil-spawned bastard had set after. Woe be to us all if I should fail to stop him.

As I blazed way through vine and brush my thoughts crept back to the storm of a fortnight past. It was a near miracle that the savage swells had not swallowed us in their hunger. After the worst had been done and the sky melted into the shade of gray that declared a truce, the crew sat upon the battered deck in near silence. The reverie was soon broken by a cry from aloft; there was a vessel close at hand. It was no true ship that we set eyes upon but a small boat made for perhaps a dozen men, bereft of oars and with only two occupants. The very moment that these unlikely strangers were hauled aboard I knew something was amiss.

I have what some call The Sight or even Witch’s Eye, and although I’ve received much harsh treatment for it when others have found it out, my eyes have never steered me wrong. One of the men, a huge Turk, had the witless expression of one who is no longer in possession of his soul. The duplicitous and fae nature of the other man was apparent to me even though his face and complexion were that of a seafarer and his clothes bespoke some station of no small importance. For fear of ridicule I said not a word to my mates. They were likely not to believe a word I said when their own eyes told them a far different tale. I could say that I regret not having spoken when the creatures first laid foot upon the deck, but there be no gain in that course.

The Captain and the First Mate retired with the strangers to the Captain’s quarters in order to hear their tale and to no doubt gauge the best means to profit from the encounter. The rest of the crew went about preparations for the homeward journey. My slumbering fear did not begin to show a face until a few days later when the First Mate ordered the Helmsman to change course, into the heart of uncharted waters. There were rumors among the men that we went in search of a great and magnificent treasure. These rumors said that the smartly dressed stranger, now known to us as Lord Thulaine, had in his possession a map that would lead us straight to this golden bounty, that he had in fact been on such a journey himself when the vicious storm had risen up and swallowed his vessel and crew. Since the stores were still high and the winds favored us even the more practical of my mates was obliged to a certain giddiness of demeanor. In my heart of hearts though I knew that little good could come of the yearnings of one such as this Thulaine. So I set about to find the truth of the matter.

The needs of discretion hampered my searchings and I had no ally to take up my defense should events turn ill. Opportunity came to me one starless night when I was woken to take up the watch. Old Vandric had taken sick and my stone was drawn from the pot to see who would carry on the remains of his duty. It was deep into the dark hours and all lay quiet when the tune of a hushed voice drifting from the Captain’s quarters caught my ears. I moved close the better to hear these secret murmurs and was gifted by a small tear in the cabin’s heavy draperies with which to view those within. A faint cast of greenish light flowed like fish oil from a black and twisted stone carving that squatted upon the table. The Captain stared into this dark idol, his face slack and waxen. The Turk, with his dead man’s face, had one thick arm wrapped about the First Mate’s shoulders and the other clamped about his head, forcing him to look upon that blasphemous stone. My eyes were drawn to the visage of the creature that was set into the sable stone as the Lord Thulaine reached out to a small hollow, empty of whatever gem it once held, in what might have been the thing’s head. Despite the caution urged by my gypsy blood I found myself drawn to that unnatural artifact. It whispered to my most precious desires, stroking them, as only a skillful lover is able. Then Thulaine begin to recite from a much-abused parchment that he held forth and a venomous dialect issued from his vile tongue. These were words of power, and the abominations of which they spoke curdled my manhood and drove my mind into a frenzy of despair. Only after I felt the hot piss running down my leg did I recognize the choking sobs in the air as my own wailing. The veil of madness was close upon me and I put up not the slightest struggle when the Captain had my former mates drag me into the hold and throw me into the brig.

I lay in a thick and vicious stupor for several days passing. The fever of my thoughts took me from my body and set me adrift in the realm of visions. Some might say that angels came to me in those desperate hours, but I harbor no belief of such things. My salvation was due the graspings of a fearful and animal mind. Memories of when I was but a peck came flooding back upon me, every scrap that the old gypsy crones ever spoke about the dark folk, the ones that caused cows to run dry and left changelings in the place of human babes. All the cunning I possessed, and the scruples that were left to me, set about putting my predicament and it’s cure together like a child’s puzzle. By the time I came upon my senses a full and bloody plan was set firmly in my mind. I began by strangling the lone guard set to watch me with the belt off my breeches as the fool dozed with his back against the slats of my cage.

After that it was no trouble to work free of my prison. Taking sword and knife from my dead mate I crept like hooded death through the darkness of the hold. It was still the small hours before dawn and the bunks were full of my mates resting their poisoned souls. With the knife clenched in one sweating fist I worked through the cabin, slitting the throats of the entranced fools that would drag me down to the abyss with them if given half a chance. As the fifth sacrifice fell under my blade the cry of a land loving bird set my feet towards the deck. The sun was but the slightest sliver of light upon the horizon as I came up from the hold, rebirthed into the wide world only to find the ship anchored in the arms of the ghostly silhouette of an island. One of the ship’s small landing boats was missing from its berth and a lone figure stood against the rail, a spyglass to one eye and pointed towards the sleeping isle. I was upon him with the meaty thrust of my knife and had him silenced in the space of a breath. Lowering the carcass to the deck I took up the spyglass and scanned the waters in the direction of the island. A sickening feeling overcrept me as my eye focused upon the missing boat as it drew ever closer to shore. In the craft sat Thulaine, the hunched and gibbering form of what used to be Old Vandric, and the massive, empty-eyed Turk at work on the oars. Turning back to the watcher lying like so much offal on the deck I recognized him now as the First Mate. I grabbed up the sea-proof case meant for the spyglass and discovered a blessing and a curse within, a map parchment with freshly scribed notes giving detail to what I had only been able to imagine. A great anger, at Thulaine’s arrogance and in part of my own fear, rose up within me. I lashed the case to me as well as sword and knife and lowering myself into the cold grasp of the sea I set at a swim for the island.

My pace was strong, and even after the sun had broke upon the water my passage was hidden from those I pursued by the islands long shadow. The lead Thulaine had upon me was cut well in half and my limbs cried out for rest as I reached the sands of a beach surrounded by granite cliffs. Rest would not be mine though for as I looked back towards the ship I caught site of the second landing boat well on its way to shore. I could say that I regret not having thought to scuttle her, but there be no gain in that course.

Following the footprints in the sand I made my way to an overgrown and ancient stair dug crudely into the cliff face. In many places the stair was completely gone, having fallen into rubble on the beach below, and the creepers and vines threatened to snag a foot at every step. I knew that same long climb would keep the sorry dogs that followed off my track long enough for fate to roll the bones. The pips had always favored me and I could only hope that my luck and the savage anger that served as my only nourishment would hold for the course.