ix   

As Terry expected, the edge was not an abrupt cutoff where the ground suddenly fell away into oblivion. Instead it was rough, with various levels where the river water had eroded gently curving rocks and other places where whole chunks had fallen away, leaving deep grooves with flat bottoms.

It was not too difficult clambering along the precipice keeping his head below ground level, but it was wet and cold. His hands began to grow numb as he descended into another cut, clinging to grasses and reeds that were generally well rooted but occasionally gave way in a heart-stopping jerk.

Eventually he passed the water flow and reached the other bank. In the wet season even this would be flooding with water, but not now. It also meant that he was more aware of any noise he made. He clambered a distance further and then moved up towards ground level.

Sporadic firing still burst from the dark shadow of the ship on his left. The soldiers were moving between shots to prevent being targeted by the muzzle flashes.

The return fire was coming from a position almost directly up the valley from him. The soldiers would stop firing soon; that would mean the bandits’ attention would begin to wander. He needed to move faster.

Fortune favoured the brave, or so he’d heard. He crouched low and moved at a fast walk, not directly towards the bandits but at an angle to take him closer but further behind them. Only a minute had passed when he noticed that the firing from the Beauty had stopped. One or two shots rang out from the bandits, and then it all went silent.

He stopped moving and hunkered down, trying to blend into the shadows.

If the bandits were intelligent they might guess the firing was cover. He hoped it did not occur to them. He fingered the gun in his pocket. He should have removed the bullets; there was always the chance he might hurt someone, even kill them. It wasn’t good playing games with a loaded gun.

He would have heaved a sigh, but that would have been too noisy.

Moving like a snake, he wound his way across the ground, approaching the group of bandits. They had been spread out when shooting but now that it was quiet they moved together. So much the better. They were probably wondering what to do next. The ship was clearly well defended, so what did they think they would gain by storming it?

Perhaps they thought it carried some valuable cargo. They would be sorely disappointed. It wasn’t that the cargo wasn’t valuable, but if it wasn’t kept cool it wouldn’t survive. There was some leeway for delivery but not a great deal.

How much risk were the bandits willing to take? And how soon?

Minutes passed and Terry wormed his way closer. The sound of running water filled his ears and he realized he was moving through the edges of the river water again. The sound would still help to protect him; he just did not like getting wet.

He was no more than a hundred yards away when their voices drifted past him, intermingled with the splashing of the river. They were talking in one of the native languages, of which there were hundreds; it could be any one of them. He had not expected to be able understand them. He just hoped they would understand him. They would probably understand the gun, regardless.

Brilliant white light flooded the valley, pouring from three of the Beauty’s spotlights. Terry blinked. Those lights were not designed to run from the batteries, and only to last a short time. Remy had been busy.

The bandits were blinking and shielding their eyes.

Terry pushed himself to his feet. His muscles ached from the unusual exercise but he ignored the pain. As fast as he could, he covered the intervening distance. Remy had taken a big risk; he might have been much further away and unable to take advantage.

“Put your hands up or I will shoot you dead!” he shouted.

The blinking bandits turned in surprise. Three of the seven raised their guns; they were now facing away from the lights, unlike him. Terry fired at the ground between them. His stomach churned from the false feeling of power the gun gave him. He hated it.

The warning shot had the desired effect. They all raised their hands into the air, just as the spotlights dimmed.

Terry fired again just to make a point, to ensure they did not think the dimming was a cue to go on the offensive.

“Put down your guns!”

At least two of them spoke English because they crouched to place their weapons on the ground. Looking at them in the dying light Terry got the feeling they were looking over his shoulder.

At something behind him.

He spun round. Another bandit loomed out of the dark, brandishing a sword. Terry ducked as the weapon sliced over his head. The temptation of the gun filled Terry. All he had to do was shoot the man.

He did not want to die, though he knew death was only a temporary affair. He fought his military training that would simply raise the gun and shoot his opponent dead. He dodged again, and slipped on a wet stone. As he went down he heard his attacker cry out.

He looked up and saw his opponent rise into the air, his legs dangling and jerking ineffectually. A look of terror contorted the man’s face. As if he were nothing but a child’s rag doll, he was tossed to the side and crashed to the ground, striking his head.

Ichiro loomed out of the dark, grinning, and pointed behind Terry. He turned quickly and fired once more as the bandits made to run.

“Stay right where you are.”