 Log entry, the catch Scarlet Queen, Philip Carney master. Position six degrees five minutes north, 118 degrees 30 minutes east. Wind light, sky fair. Remarks cleared port of Sandercans, British north Borneo after departure threatened by outside complications. Reason for trouble, the fat trader in the sword from Apocachan. The water was like rippled brass the afternoon we pushed through Balabac strait, looking like a racing yard under all the sail we'd rigged to catch the dwindling northeast trades. Our mission in Sandercan was simple, to take on stores and to get further sailing orders from a man named Miles Channing. And with the promise of shoreside heat that the molten sun was offering us now, the faster that mission was accomplished the better. We swung around a point of land rotten with mangrove swamp and stood into Sandercan Bay and threw the red rock gate into the harbor. And after another half hour of dodging, shampans and outriggers, with their ornately colored sails, we found mooring at the British north Borneo Company's dock. I'd never seen Miles Channing before, but I assumed that he was the slight white-shirted man who stood on the dock while we came alongside and walked to a physician abreast of me to give me a hail. Which one's the skipper? I am. Are you Channing? I'm on your life. I'm Gilly. I just stepped into the opening he left in the office. Channing was killed last night. What's the story? I don't know. Nobody heard of a dire coming this far hunting heads in 50 years. That's what it looks like. But that's the part of him they took. And so mutual continues the voyage of the Scarlet Queen written by Gildowd and Bob Tolman and starring Elliot Lewis. The Scarlet Queen, proudest ship to plow the seas, bound for uncharted adventure. Every week a complete entry in the log and every week a league further in the strained voyage of the Scarlet Queen. I left my chief mate Gallagher in charge of the ship as soon as it was secure and followed Gilly up into Sandakan. We paralleled the waterfront passing through the welter of races that make up the population and their living places, as varied as the type of the people. At the end of one street there was a pier jutting out into the bay, bordered on each side by a fringe of oriental booths, open-air markets and small, tin-roofed frame buildings. To one of these last, Gilly led me. And hanging out over the door was a sign that was by this time familiar to me. China traders, Kang and Sun. A slight Chinese glanced up from a desk as we went in. And the white man who was lighting an oil lamp against the approaching evening was old. From his shoulders hung a shapeless white duck coat. From the corners of his mouth ran two brown tobacco stains. Oh, yes. This is Connie the skipper. Meet V.L. Trudmore. Hello, Mr. Trudmore. I've been Channing's assistant. This is Kim, the office clerk. How are you, Kim? Oh, very happy, Captain Connie. Having heard much good talk of you. Thanks, Kim. Now, what's the story on Channing, Trudmore? A cruel one. I found him this morning when I came to the office. I say, I found him. What was left of him? He was lying right there. What's this talk about a dyke head-hunting party? It's more than talk, Captain. Look here. Here's the mandow that cut poor Channing down. The B&B company already traced it to the dykes of Apokazhan. The heavy sword he held up for me to see had a blade about two feet long by three inches wide. Wetted to razor sharpness on one side and broadening to almost a quarter of an inch on the other. At the top of the ivory handle was a male human figure from which Hunger doesn't know more tuffs of what looked like human hair. And into the grip below him were embedded a number of gems of varying colors and brilliance. The blade had new, dull, reddish stains, a few inches from the tip. So, as sure as I'm standing here, poor Channing's head is on its way to the smoke and fire to be howled at and danced around by dim divils for eight days of Mamaduru celebration. The company ought to turn the garrison out after them. Yeah. Have you notified Kang? Yes, but I've got no answer yet. In the meantime, Gillian and I are doing the best we can. Yeah, you got some stores for me? I'll take care of them for you. You can give me a hand, Kim. Ah, yes, I'm listening, Gillian. The stone was back here yesterday. Yeah, I tried one. Yeah. I was wondering why out of all the places in town your dykes came here for their head. I wanted myself, Captain. But who could answer why the dykes don't even know their own mind? An hour and a half later, it was dark. And I went back to the ship after sending a wagonload of stores down to her and stopping to cable Kang the story on Channing myself. The sight of the queen resting easily at her birth with her masked headlights shining cleanly in the murk gave me the only lift of the sultry night so far. Nielsen was standing gangway watch and he grinned at me as I came aboard. Muggy night, Captain. Yeah. Now, the stores get aboard all right? Yes, sir. And a visitor, too. Visitor? A big fat fella, he's in the cabin with the chief. He gave the gangway a real test when he came aboard. I knew what Nielsen meant when I saw the expanse of flesh sprawled in one of my cabin chairs. His head was bald and sweat spotted. He was mopping his flabby face with a damp handkerchief. Pinkly sunburned arms hung out of the short sleeves of his shirt, folds of flesh hanging from the elbows. And massive pinkly sunburned legs emerged from a tent-like pair of white shorts. This is Mr. Whitehead, Skipper. Ah, hello. Indeed a warm pleasure, Captain Connick. Sit still, don't get up. Ah, thank you, Captain. You're an understanding man. In these latitudes, even breathing is an effort for one cursed with my heft. Your hand, sir. Yeah, glad to know you. Your chief officer kindly offered me the hospitality of your ship so that I might wait for an audience with you. It's in regard to a matter of great importance to me, and no little potential profit to you. You're right ahead. You have, I believe, heard of the sword from Apple Cajun? Yeah. It only killed a man I came down to Santa Can to see. Did what? That's right, Red. A great weapon. Captain Connick, I would give you 500 American dollars if you would but place that sword in my hands. A lot of dough. After faithfully following its trail to the caverns of St. Yang, I am most willing to pay the price. This sword is history, gentlemen. It should rest through the centuries in some hallowed museum. Its story reaches back to the almost legendary Rajabali Kajang, who ruled Borneo in the year of 200 BC. With his hand, it swung it in battle. You saw the sword, Captain? Yeah, I saw it. You lingered over the hill from which hung the hair of the 13 victims of Bali Kajang? Not quite, no. Tell me, tell me, Captain, did it not carry the figure of the great god, Siva? I don't know, it was an ivory figure of a man wearing a cone-shaped hat and whatever it was. Ah, Siva, among the highest of the deities. Channing rested it from the St. Yang caverns far above the headwaters of the Cajun River. He beat me there by only two days. Yeah, who knows? Perhaps the spirits smiled kindly upon me. Had I found it, perhaps at this moment it would be my head slung over the tattooed shoulder of some savage. Like Channing, do you mean? Yes. By the nearest warping of fortune it was not I, but Channing, who became the parvib, one who offended the spirits. They followed and killed him to right the wrong, and since the sword had acquired his evilness, they left it. The curse has not decreased its value to us in the least. Well, gentlemen? Rad, sounds like an easy five to me. Okay, whitehead. Well, try it anyway. Splendid, splendid. At last I can see the favorable completion of a long quest. Now, here, here is a hundred dollars. Not knowing the true value of the sword, I believe Trotmahor and Killay will leap to acceptance at the most equitable price. I trust, of course, that you will maintain the prudent silence in regard to that value. Yeah, okay. Splendid, you may find me at the Orange Hotel just a stone's throw from here on Kinabalu Road. Good fortune, gentlemen, and a quick and easy turn of profit. Gallagher and I watched him ease his bulk through the passageway and out onto the deck. Then we had a couple of drinks and left ourselves. We reached the pier, and against the dark water we could see the streaks of phosphorescent outlining the hulls of a half-dozen moored sampan. Few of the shops were open, but when we got farther out toward the China Traders' office, the pier was almost deserted. We stopped at the door. We didn't bother to knock because nobody would have answered us. The oil lamp was still burning, but only from the clothes could I tell that the body spoiled as the foot of the desk was Kim, the Chinese clerk. He was in the same condition that Channing had been found in, and stuck into the floor in the middle of a crimson pool was the sword from Appo Cajun. I wrenched it out of the wood, holding it as inconspicuously as possible against my leg. I followed Red back out onto the pier. We got halfway up to the foot of the pier when a figure moved out of the shadows and stopped us. Hello, Steppe. Hello, Gilly. You been down to the office? Hi. Pretty, isn't it? What the devil's going on? That's what I'd like to know. It's my mate, Gallagher. Hi. I saw him on the ship. I don't know what's going on. I don't know why those bushes keep coming back to the office, but I do know. I'm staying away. I got the sword, Gilly. It's been used twice, so I'm getting it out of there. Do you mind? Not at all, not at all. You want to sell it or anything? No, you're welcome to it, Skipper. I wouldn't be caught dead with it, but if you wanted, well, it's your head. He walked to the foot of the pier with us, not at goodby, and turned one way while we turned the other and headed for the Orange Hotel. By way of all the lighted streets we could find. We sent a saronged bellboy after Whitehead who was in the bar and who emerged from it with his puffy eyes wide open and staring and disbelief. You got us! Quickly! At a rumbling trap, he led us a hundred yards away from the main building to his cottage. And when we were inside, he was panting and dripping from exertion and shaking as though from palsy and excitement. Gentlemen, my heartiest congratulations for a task well performed. We don't deserve them, Whitehead. Oh, indeed, indeed. The dyacs were back. I'm sure I misunderstood you, Captain. I don't think so. They collected another head, Kim, the Chinese clerk at the office. Mr. Gallagher, surely the Captain Jess... No, not this time, and the blasted sword was sticking on the floor beside him. Hi, Joe. Most extraordinary thing. You saw no one on the pier. Just Gilly. He wouldn't take even one of your hundred bucks. He said, take the sword and welcome. Oh, here's your money. You're an honest man, Captain. Had Gilly been informed, it would have been a far different story. Ah, what is danger, gentlemen? What is a hundred dollars, five thousand? When I have in my hands at last the sword of Apple Cajun. When I struck the hair of Raja Bali Cajun's enemies, fell 20 centuries ago. When I struck the figure of Siva and the 17 jewels of Siva, the jewels are for the 17 sons, gentlemen. Come, come closer to the lights, and I will name them. You really do know that sword, don't you? It has been my very life, Captain. See here, here, the shining one. The diamond for the first son, Ki E Balalanka. The ruddy one, the ruby for the second, Ki E Balalanka Cajun. The pure one, the pearl for... No! No, it cannot be! What's the matter? No, not now! Hey, what? It cannot be! He started with hysteria and worked through it all in Saturday. His first swing with the sword shattered some glasses off the table. His eyes glazed, the sweat poured from him. He mumbled incoherently, then he swung the sword in continual arcs, from one side to the other. He hit a chair from the top and it fell in two neatly divided pieces. The table went the same way. Then he stopped. You've tricked me. This is not the sword of Apple Cajun. What's it, Skipper? I'm down, Whitehead. That's the sword that was there. You learned the truth from Trudmore or someone else in Cane. It's China Trader. What's it, Skipper? But you'll not stop me now. Two more heads credited to the DX will matter. There's my red! He made his lumbering rush and the bright steel of the blade flashed in the light again. He'd reached the insanity, swinging the sword in magnificent chops. Gelliver and I separated. Whitehead put an end to any idea we'd had of getting out by way of the doors when he moved toward it. And he made clear who his first victim would be when he moved back into the room toward me. I did what I could, which was nothing but slow him down. I picked up a bamboo table and threw it at him. It hit him, but if he felt that he didn't show it, his eyes glared. His great fat chest heaved and fell. And he plotted slowly towards me. The sword crossing his body, continual slashes. I was heading toward the heaviest piece of furniture in the room, a teakwood table to try to stop him once more with that. I saw red working his way behind him. I tried to warn him away, but he went in. His knees hit the lower part of the fat back. Whitehead shut it for a moment and then turned toward Gallagher. I took the chance, made the teakwood table, picked it up, moved back in, and swung it into the back of Whitehead. Max! Fat man weapon and table landed in a heap. I followed it in, kicked the sword across the room and turned back to Whitehead. His act was finished. He lay on the floor, one pink arm pinned under the table. It was almost a surprise when I felt for his pulse and found his heart still beating. In ten minutes Gallagher and I had him lashed hand and foot with everything we could find. Belts, wire torn from lamps, curtain cords, anything that would take a knot. He couldn't move an inch when we left him and headed for Trudmore's house for some answers. I'm glad you've come, Captain Kearney. Your orders. A cable from Koochee Kang was delivered here to you. Thanks, but right now I'm interested in a fat man named Whitehead and a sword from Apple Cajun. Where is Whitehead? He passed up in his cottage at the Orange Hotel. He said that the China traders were interested in this sword. What's it all about? I just got an understanding of that myself by cable from Kang. Chinese were sent after the sword because it's worth not thousands, but millions of pounds every year. Worth that much to a museum? Is that the story Whitehead told you? No, not in museums, in diamonds. That sword is the strongest magic unbornial. The chief, this hand is, will be the strongest chief unbornial. Channing found a certain chief in the village of Longtamaloe with unworked diamond mines that would be some of the richest in the world. In trade for the sword, the chief people would dig the diamonds and bring them here to China traders. Now do you see? Yeah, vaguely. Do you think there are any dyacs in town? I don't know. I asked at the garrison, they don't know. They do know that the sword is important to the dyacs for what it is itself and they would gladly kill to get it back. Yeah, it looks like everybody would. Yeah. The only question is, who's got it? I'm afraid I can answer that, Captain. Huh? Channing had the copy of the sword made in case anybody would force it away from him. The original, it was hidden in one of the boxes you put aboard your ship. Abort our ship? Who else does that, Trotmar? There's only one who knew it with Channing, but Kim is dead. But Captain, now you know the importance of the sword to China traders. Yeah. I think you'd better contact the garrison and have somebody go after Whitehead. Better than that, I'll go with him. I think there's no question but that he killed Channing. I'd like to be there to hear him say it. What are you going to do, Captain? I think we'd better pull out of Santa Can tonight and stand by till things cool off with the sword aboard the ship at least I'll feel better at sea. It was about two hours before dawn when we left Trotmar and headed back to the ship. On the way down, I tried to remember what we had in the way of tides and currents in Santa Can harbor. By the time we reached our dock, I decided that there was no reason that we couldn't cast off right away and at least get started away from this place before daylight. First thing that changed my mind was the fact that the gangway watch wasn't at a station. We ran into the second when we walked into the cabin. It was Gilly who was lying on his back but there was nothing dyke about the way he'd gone out. His eyes stared deadly upward and between them was a carefully placed bullet hole. The third reason moved heavily out of a corner with an automatic clutch in his pudgy hand. Our meetings are becoming not only numerous but monotonous, Captain, and Mr. Gallica. I trust this will be the last. What'd you do with my crewman, Whitehead? He's trust up in somewhat the same fashion as that in which you left me. What's Gilly doing here? He accompanied me. As a matter of fact, he brought me. In this order, he told me where the original sword from Apple Cajun was hidden, loosed my buns and then here on your ship, the scoundrel had the effrontery to bargain with me for a share of the proceeds. You see my answer between his eyes. How did Gilly know where the side was? Very simple, Captain. Very simple. He was told by the Chinese clerk, Kim, and immediately thereupon saw to it that said Chinese clerk would reveal said location to no others. Do you follow me? Yeah. We saw Kim. And you don't deny that the priceless sword is here aboard your vessel. Gentlemen, the deaths of Channing and Gilly will, I hope, discourage any further cleverness on your part. Okay, Whitehead. Where'd you stole those stores, Red? You mean it, Skipper? Yeah, I mean it. Okay, Skipper. It's all here in the gun locker. A million pounds a year. Drag it out and we'll go through it. Red pulled the crates and boxes out of the locker and I started opening them. Under the watchful gun, dumping the contents on the deck. Whitehead wouldn't have had to bother with the automatic because I wanted to find the sword as badly as he did. I wanted to give it to him, watch him leave and wipe my hands of the whole thing. It was there, all right. It showed up in a long box of new spring steel grappling hooks. As far as I could see, it was exactly similar to the other one. Whitehead snatched it out of my hands as though I was about to make it disappear. He took it into a brighter light. His attention was diverted for a few seconds and Red looked at me expectantly, but I shook my head. I didn't want action. I just wanted him off my ship. There's no mistake this time. The original sword of Apple Cajun. I hope you're miserably happy with it, Whitehead. I hope it brings you nothing but trouble until you stretch out. Oh, come now, Captain. I must say it's an odd way to compliment my final success. Not quite the final, Whitehead. Trudmore! Trudmore! Well, Trudmore, welcome aboard. Come right in. Whitehead will first drop his gun when I have a steady sight on his fat spine. Then we'll talk about freedom, Whitehead. Drop it. How the devil did you happen to show up, Trudmore? I've been here. I came right away when I found his cottage empty. I'm a trader myself. I waited until he had the sword in his hands. I know that freedom will now bring a good price from the fat one. How much, Whitehead? If I let you take your sword and leave the ship... I have 500 pounds with me. Well, if that's all, then it has to be enough. Mr. Trudmore, you're a reasonable man. You have but to reach it to my hip pocket from my wallet. My part of the transaction is fulfilled. All right. You can go now. Well... Well, a night of extremes, gentlemen. Good fortune, you all. What's going on? I've never had the idea, Trudmore. Not yet, Captain. Yeah, but you're letting Whitehead go to make the million-dollar deal with the sword. I don't want a sword. And I hope Kochi Kang agrees even for a million pounds a year. It brings too much death. Because it should never have been taken from the caverns of Sanyang. Come out on deck. There's enough dawn. I'll show you something. The soggy day was barely lighting the sky to the east when we stopped on deck. The harbor had not yet come to life. The pier was deserted. Trudmore held up a gnarled hand and pointed. Whitehead. Watch well where he goes. There was enough gray brightness to see Whitehead's fat figure walking shoreward near the foot of the pier. He reached the end of it. There was a small depression in the ground to his right. He faltered, stopped, started back. And that's when Trudmore's word rang with truth. A swarm of dark figures surged out of the depression. Bright blades glided briefly in the dawn. The swarm scattered and disappeared and we could see the shapeless mass that had been Whitehead sprawled on the ground. The sword brought death again. Who were they, Trudmore? Kenja Dyax down from Apokazhan to get their sword and take it back to the caverns of Sanyang and a new head back to their Kampong. You said they told you at the garrison that there weren't any Kenja Dyax in town. The garrison doesn't know everything, Captain. What the Dyax do, huh? What do you mean? They knew just when and where to meet Whitehead and you knew just when and where they wouldn't meet, huh? You couldn't have passed the word along to them, could you? I could have. Communication is pretty fast in Borneo. And the Kenja Dyax and I shared the problem. Their sword and deaths in my office. I could have. And I think he cheated me. I don't think there's much over 300 pounds in this wallet. At that same morning, we'd nosed out through the muddy water of the harbor, the lighter water of Santa Canpe and into the clearness of the Celebes Sea. And well off the mangrove boarded coast, we picked up a trickle of the northeast trade. Bare to the waist moved to their station, shining wet in the humid heat. The starboard's feet make the sound. The castle called, hopefully, up toward an azure sky, reached for the wind, founded and slowly filled. The starboard rail leaned down toward the cooling water. Did it get cheap, man? Probably now! The mizzen went lazily to work in the light breeze and the scarlet queen stood out in her easy rocky motion towards the Makasa Straits and the port of Makasa in the Celebes below. That's the best we can do with what's blown down to us, Skipper. Not much wind, Red, but we got all the ocean in the world and all the time in the world, so who cares? You sound so carefree, Skipper. What's gotten into you? I was thinking of how lucky we were to have a diamond mine loading us down with a few million pounds a year. Yeah, yeah. That'd be worse than being married. High finance is a terrible thing. You get big in the middle from sitting and small in the head from worrying. And look at us. Yeah, nothing to worry about but wind, which is pretty close to nothing. And show me an office man that can dangle his toes in the Celebes sea during working hours. Well, it's just because we don't have a diamond mine, Skipper. I have to admit it's a gruesome thought. Yeah, I guess it is. Well, let's forget it. Drink, Skipper. If I only had somebody to tilt the bottle. After you, mate, after you. Log entry, the Ketch Scarlet Queen. 5.30 p.m. Miles traveled from San Francisco 15,816. Sky fair, wind light. Carrying full sail. Ship secure for night. Signed Phillip Carney. Master. Mute will invite you to sail into further adventure on the voyage of the Scarlet Queen next week at the same time.