The Solomon Curse

“I’ve heard about giants ever since I was a toddler. I don’t even pay any attention to the stories anymore. I treat it sort of like religion—people are entitled to think what they think,” Vanya said.

“But he did say there’s been an increase in unexplained disappearances,” Remi reminded her.

“I’ve heard rumors that there are still pockets of militia in the mountains who are hiding out. I find that far more likely than the giant explanation.”

“Militia?”

“Ever since the social upheaval, when the Australians sent in an armed task force to keep the peace, there have been those who have agitated for a change in regime—who view foreign intervention as a disguised occupation of the country in order to control its natural resources. While the majority seems ambivalent about it, there are still groups of people who are angry, and some of them are militant. There have been clashes.”

“Then it actually is risky to go explore the caves?” said Sam.

She nodded. “Not because of giants. But does it matter what gets you if you’re never heard from again?”

Remi eyed Sam. “She has a point.”

“Thanks for taking the time to escort us to see Benji,” Sam said to Vanya. “What happened to the poor man is a tragedy.”

“My pleasure. Just take care that the same doesn’t happen to you. The island’s still largely wild, and, like I said, the crocs aren’t the only predators.”

“We’ll bear that in mind. Thanks again.”

Heat radiated off the parking lot as they walked to the Nissan, the equatorial sun already brutal in the late morning. This time, their drive east on the only paved road was fast and relatively easy until they passed the tiny village of Komunimboko and the road they’d had to quit the prior day. It wasn’t waist-deep in water any longer, but it was badly rutted and still mostly mud.

Sam dropped the drive train into four-wheel drive and they edged along, the car swaying and bouncing like an amusement park ride. The passage through the jungle narrowed until it more resembled a tu

“And we don’t even know if this Rubo is still alive or living here?” Remi asked.

“There are no guarantees in life. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I think I left it back a mile ago, along with my sacroiliac and a few fillings.”

“We’ve been through worse.”

“I just hope I can keep breakfast down.”

Half an hour later, they rounded a particularly ugly switchback curve and entered a clearing by the river. A traditional thatch-roofed hut rested in the shade of a tall banyan tree, no evidence of power or phone lines to be found. They rolled to a stop in front, and Remi glanced at Sam.

“Nice. And you have me staying at that crappy hotel?”

“Every day brings new surprises, doesn’t it?”

“I think your quarry is peering out the doorway.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Maybe I’ll stay in the car. That way, if you take a blowgun dart to the neck, I’ll be able to get help.”

“Always thinking of me, aren’t you? It has nothing to do with the AC . . .”

“If you can even call it AC. To me, it feels like it’s just blowing the hot air around.”

“Stay, if you want. I’m going to talk to our new friend. You sure you saw someone there?” Sam asked, squinting at the hut.

“I think so. Movement. Could have been a crocodile or a skink, though, so be careful.”

“That makes me feel . . . really good.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Sam opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle and then slowly made his way toward the dwelling, which looked uninhabited. When he was a few yards away, a tremulous voice called out from inside in pidgin. Even though Sam didn’t understand it, from the tone it was clearly a warning, so he stopped.

“I’m looking for Rubo,” he said slowly. “Rubo,” he repeated for emphasis. “Do you speak English?”

All Sam could hear was the soft rumbling of the Nissan’s poorly muffled exhaust and the buzz of inquisitive insects that had taken an interest in him. He resisted the urge to swat at the air like an enraged bear and instead waited for a response.

A figure appeared in the doorway. It was an ancient man, stooped and thin, with sagging skin, and clad only in a pair of tattered shorts. The skeletal face studied Sam, the eyes dull in the shadows, and then the figure spoke.

“I speak some English. What you want?”

“I’m a friend of Orwen Manchester. I’m looking for Rubo.”

“I heard you fine. Why?”

“I need to ask some questions. About local legends.”

The old man emerged from the dark interior and regarded Sam with suspicion. “You come long way for questions.”

“They’re important.”

The old man grunted. “I’m Rubo.”

“I’m Sam. Sam Fargo.” Sam extended his hand, and Rubo stared at it like it was smeared with filth. Sam hesitated, wondering if he’d crossed some social line, and the old man gri

“Don’t worry. Me don’t like shaking hands. Not taboo. Just don’t like.” Rubo asked, “You sit?” motioning to a log that ran along one of the thatched walls, thankfully in the shade.

“Thank you.”

They took seats, the old man’s watchful gaze roving from Sam’s shoes to his hair.

“What you want?” Rubo asked again, his voice quiet.

“I want to talk about the old days. Old stories. Orwen said you know more than anyone.”

Rubo nodded. “Could be. Lot of stories.”

“I’m interested in any about a curse. Or a lost city.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Lost city? Curse?”

Sam nodded. “About a bay on the other side of the island that’s cursed. Bad luck.”

“Why you ask ’bout city?”

“I heard from someone who’s exploring the island that there are ruins underwater.”

Rubo looked off into the distance, watching the river’s brown water surge past. When he returned his attention to Sam, his face was stony.

“There is story. Old. King who tempt gods. No good, tempt gods. He build temples in bay. But big wave destroy. Curse bay. No good go there.”

“When did this happen?”

The old man shrugged his bony shoulders. “Long time back. Before white man come.”

Sam waited for him to continue, but for a storyteller Rubo was short on details. After a half minute of silence, Sam tried a smile. “That’s it?”

Rubo nodded, then held out a gnarled finger, pointing at the car. “Who that?”

“Oh, sorry. My wife.” Sam waved to Remi and motioned for her to come over. She stepped down from the vehicle and approached.

Rubo’s vision seemed to improve and his eyes stayed locked on Remi as she neared before looking away at the last second.

“Remi? This is Rubo. He was just telling me about a legend. A king who built temples in a bay that the sea then reclaimed. Angry gods.”

“Nice to meet you,” Remi said, beaming a smile at the old man. He stood unsteadily and took her proffered hand and shook it. Sam didn’t say anything. Apparently, there were exceptions to every rule.

“Sit,” Rubo invited, and she offered him another smile. She took a seat next to Sam and waited expectantly. Sam cleared his throat.

“Sounds like our ruins, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s amazing that Rubo knows the story.”

The corners of Rubo’s lips tugged upward. “I know many. Stories.”

“I’m sure you do. And your English is very good. How did you learn to speak so well?”

“Big war. I help Uncle Sam.”

“Did you really? Those must have been rough days,” Remi said.

Rubo nodded. “Bad days. Many die. Hate Japanese.”

“They were bad to the islanders?”

“Some. One very bad. Colonel.”

“What did he do?” Sam asked.

“Bad things. Kill many of us. And do tests. Secret.”

Remi edged closer. “What? What kind of tests?”