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The faint sound of the sea reached Ben’s ears and tried to rouse him from his sleep. He heard the call of waves bursting over rocks in the distance and slowly opened his eyes. He fought to focus on the blurred scene through a window before him. A framed view from the cliffs looking out to sea over the Great Bight gradually took shape. His view of the ocean was clear now, as was the sky, the last of the fog having burned away long ago. The sun was low in the sky, threatening to dip below the horizon and submerge itself in the waters beyond. Ben closed his eyes and groaned. The back of his skull was already ballooning with a thick, dull, queasy ache where Olander had clubbed him. He closed his eyes and tried to swallow his rising nausea. When he opened his eyes again, he looked away from the window and saw dozens of candles slowly slide into focus around him. He slowly shook his head in confusion and tried to stand. He lurched and felt more nausea churn in his stomach and head, but he finally made it to his feet.
He looked around and gradually recognized the bookshelves, papers and artifacts surrounding him. He was in Henry Ho’s study. An area against the back wall had been cleared of Ho's paperwork and clutter, and a figure in red was kneeling there with his back to Ben.
It was Henry Ho.
Ho flicked his lighter repeatedly without success. Eventually it caught and he used the flame to light two lint cloth wound torches held in wall-mounted brackets. Ho slowly rose and turned to face him. He was bare chested, but wore a red ceremonial cloak over his shoulders. It looked to Ben like it had been fashioned from old curtains. A large shark tooth pendant hung around Ho's neck. Ben thought he looked little like a dumpy drag queen at a carnival in his ceremonial garb, but the image didn’t make him smile.
Ho looked up at him and walked over to one of the bookshelves. He picked up a glass of whiskey and handed it to Ben, who just stared at it.
“Take it,” said Ho. “You’re going to need it.”
The hotelier then turned and shouted to his unseen wife, without any hint of reverence.
“Honey!” He called. “Fetch me my headdress, would you?”
Ben looked at Ho coldly and placed the glass of whiskey down on the floor with no intention of drinking it.
“Where is she?” he said.
Ho moved away from a makeshift altar by the wall. Dozens more lit candles sat on a small plinth there covered by more red material. In the centre lay a large set of bleached tiger shark jaws.
Ho stared at Ben thoughtfully and slowly circled him.
“Sweetwater is being eaten alive,” he said. “It’s at odds with nature. It’s a settlement made in a place where man was never supposed to live. If we’re to survive here, we have to strive for harmony with the elements, with the sea. We have to respect nature's rules.”
“Where’s Jo?” said Ben.
“It’s about sharing their waters, without conflict.”
“I said, where is she?”
Ho sighed wearily and strolled towards the shelving near the open door at the front of his study. He shouted out through the doorway.
“Don’t worry Hon, I’ll get it.”
Ho stretched up to the top of the adjacent bookshelf and felt about with his fingers. He then smiled and retrieved a slim, ornate golden headband. He ran it through his fingers, wiping the dust off it, then carefully positioned it on his head.
“If you don’t show me Jo,” said Ben. “I’m going to beat you to death with my bare hands.”
“Sure...” said Ho.
Ho had his back to Ben. He was taking something else off the bookcase and tucking it under his arm. When he turned around to face Ben, the wooden handled shark tooth claw was visible in its glass display case.
“...but first, you’ve got to do something for me.”
Ben stared at the claw and then followed Ho’s eyes up to the painting above the altar. It was the dramatic image of the Hawaiian brave battling in vain against a ferocious tiger shark.
A sickly, weakening feeling slid over Ben, making him fold and lean back against the wall for support.
This, this is what they wanted.
“You’re insane,” said Ben quietly.
“You people are always surprised,” shrugged Ho. “I don’t get that. Personally, I’d have seen it coming.”
“Why me?” said Ben. “What have I done?”
“Nothing,” replied Ho. “It’s a huge honor. All our fates rest with you today, Ben.”
“No way.”
“You’ll do it. You’ll do it because you love her.”
Ben rushed him. He hit Ho in the chest and drove him backwards into the bookshelves behind him, smashing the claw's display case against the floor in the process. Ben got two good shots in, before Angie Ho appeared behind him and held him fast.
Henry Ho picked himself up, rubbing his aching jaw. He lifted up the claw, cutting his finger on a shard of smashed glass from the broken case. Ben struggled against Angie Ho, but she was every bit as strong as she looked.
“Bring him closer,” said Ho.
Angie Ho pushed Ben forwards; his arms forced outwards by her headlock. Ho took hold of Ben’s right hand and pressed the palm against the teeth of the shark jaws arranged on the altar. Ben struggled as blood welled up in the palm of his hand. Ho smeared his fingers with the blood and used it to paint a red cross on Ben’s forehead. Ho then turned away and pulled back a thick rug in the centre of the study to reveal a heavy trapdoor set into the floorboards. He lifted a large iron ring protruding there and heaved, raising the trapdoor. A rush of dank air tainted with salty sea spray rushed up to greet them from the hollow blackness below.
Henry Ho walked back to the altar and took one of the large, glowing kindling torches from the wall behind it. He turned to look at Ben, still subdued by Angie's Ho's meaty arms.
“Are we calm now?” he said.
Ben nodded. Henry Ho gave his wife a look and she unlocked her arms from around Ben’s neck. The flaming torch in Ho's hand flared in a draught rising from the tunnel below, as he approached the open trap door again. Ben could just make out the first few stone steps plunging down into blackness beneath the hotel.
“No one’s going to make you,” said Ho. “It doesn’t work like that. You’ve got to be willing, otherwise the ceremony’s nowhere near as powerful.”
Ho began to descend, the torch illuminating the way. Ben could see that the passageway below had been carved from the bare rock the hotel stood on. He wondered how old it was and how many others had been marched down into the darkness before him. He looked back at Angie Ho with uncertainty. She replied by pushing him forwards through the trap door and they followed Ho down into the blackness.