There were only a handful of them left, perhaps fifteen in all, of the thousand who were taken and the hundred who set sail for home, dumped on the beach they had been taken from so many months before.
His mother had been there, throwing herself into his arms. She too had later sickened and died, as the hideous fever swept on. Delirious, she told him to find his sister. She could not tell him where she was.
Already he knew he was ill. The sores had begun to appear on his flesh as it had with the others. If he found his sister, she too would die. No, she would have to fend for herself. What he needed to do before the fever had him in its grip was to hide the tablet, as his dying father had told him to do—the tablet, the kopeka, and the votives. His father had entrusted him with the location of the cave, and he would take it there. His father's aku-aku was very powerful. It would guard over the cave and its contents until someone came.
They should never have come back. Death had come with them.
7
TWO DAYS AFTER we'd found Jasper propped up against the back of Ahu Akivi and the day Moira and I were to put our meticulously planned strategy into action, all hell broke loose. It started, though, like just another day trapped in paradise. Most of us had found ways of coping under the circumstances. Some found new places to visit in town or elsewhere on the island, others simply enjoyed the pool and the ocean view. Most got together in the bar from time to time to whine to each other about our situation. The Kent Clarke crew was in some disarray, given the demise of their star. Kent took her daughter sightseeing, and Mike, as usual, held up his end of the bar, joined as often as not by Daniel, and now by Brian, who was having trouble convincing someone to give him a job, now that most of the people he wanted to see were either under house arrest or nowhere to be found.
Some had more unusual pursuits: Cassandra set herself up to read tarot cards in the lounge for a fee. Yvonne and Enrique had taken to writing each other poetry and reading it aloud, something we all agreed was sweet even if the poetry itself was intolerably bad. Albert, with the help of Lewis, was gradually working his way through the hotel's wine cellar, keeping notes on every bottle he sampled.
Seth, though, pretty much kept to himself. Most of us, and I include myself in this, I regret to say, simply forgot about him. He'd not been the most sociable person to begin with, but the evening we'd sat drinking his wine in the lounge talking about rongorongo, I'd found him to be a very pleasant companion and certainly rather voluble once you got him on a subject that interested him, in that case, rongorongo.
I'd tried once or twice to elicit a comment from him on the San Pedro rongorongo tablet, but he wasn't doing much talking after Dave died, not just to me, but to anyone. Now, with the discovery of Jasper's body, Seth darted into the dining room the moment it opened, so he could get the same table every meal, a table for two only, although he never asked anyone to join him, and one that not only didn't have a view, but was in a dark corner. I realize now he was keeping his back to the wall. Meal finished, he'd dash out again, returning directly to his room. While I never saw it, I wouldn't be surprised if he moved furniture in front of the door. His room was in the same row as ours, and the curtains were pulled day and night. Once or twice, when I took the back route to the room, I saw the curtains move, so I guess he was at his post as watch guard. He was alone and acting like a caged animal, and I suppose he did what a caged animal would. Twenty-twenty hindsight is a wonderful thing, of course, but in looking back on it, I think I could have, perhaps should have, predicted what would happen.
Seth's plan wasn't bad, certainly no worse than the one Moira and I had been plotting. It was in the execution that it failed. He put it into action at almost the same moment we did. Moira and I had been sitting with some of the others looking out to sea, watching as the day's only flight came in. It was the occasion, almost every day, for some gnashing of teeth, with almost everyone saying how much they'd like to be on it when it left. Seth, however, was the only one of us who did anything.
Moira and I announced we were going into town and asked if anybody needed anything. The guard posted near the dining room barely noticed as we walked toward our Suzuki, parked not far from our room. As we sauntered in as nonchalant a manner as we could muster past one of the buildings, a door opened behind us, and Seth came out. We waved at him, but he didn't acknowledge our presence.
He was carrying one of the hotel laundry bags, and walking purposefully toward the reception area as if to drop it off. Before he got there, however, he abruptly turned and headed for a red Suzuki with rental stickers parked not far away. Upon reaching it, he tried to unlock the door. Unfortunately, he dropped the keys. Twice. By this time the guard posted at reception had noticed his nervous demeanor and started to walk toward him.
Instead of brazening it out, which would have been my inclination, Seth dropped the bag, which split open to reveal not laundry exactly, but a jacket, toiletries, and what looked suspiciously like a wallet, passport, and an airline ticket. The guard shouted at him to stop, but Seth wheeled around and started to run. By this time the other guard, roused by the shouting, had come around the corner, and immediately drew his gun. I was standing by the driver's side of our car, keys in hand, watching in a mixture of amazement and horror as Seth came straight at me.
"Don't shoot," Moira yelled.
"Don't do this, Seth," I said, but it was too late. As Seth slammed into me I could smell his fear, heard a desperate little gasp as he grabbed at the keys, which flew out of my hand and skidded across the pavement.
Seth made a dive for them at about the same time the guard did. Within seconds, Seth, nose bleeding, was pinned with his arms behind his back, as the other guard held a gun to his head.
The others by now had gathered round. "He could have been killed," Susie said, visibly pale. "How awful!"
"Are you all right?" Moira said, gesturing to my arm, which was already starting to bruise.
"I think so," I said.
"But what was he doing?" Yvonne asked.
"Making a run for the airport, I expect," Albert replied.
"I'm thinking it is not so intelligent to be doing this," Enrique said.
"You could say that," Lewis agreed.
"Or you could just call him an idiot," Brian added.
"Does this mean he's the murderer?" Yvonne said.
"Rather looks that way, I'm afraid," Albert said.
"What a pathetic excuse for a human being," Edwina said as Seth, now sobbing, was dragged away.
"Come on, let's have another drink," Mike said.
Thirty minutes later I had the unpleasant duty of translating Fuentes' words once again, notifying the group that we would all have to forfeit our passports and the keys to any rental cars we might have and were forthwith confined to the hotel. Hotel staff had been told they were not to arrange rental cars for any of us and to report to him if anyone attempted to leave.
"But if Seth is the murderer," Judith, the muffin's wife, and not one to be intimidated, said, "why can't we go home? I have a medical practice to attend to."
I translated. "He says we don't know that Seth is the murderer, and until Fuentes is satisfied of that, we're to stay."
"Come to think of it," Lewis said. "He doesn't strike me as a murderer, but then nobody does."
"We'll be told when we can go home," I concluded.
"There goes Plan A," Moira whispered, as dejected, we left the room.