A/N: A long time in coming. My apologies as usual. At last I have me own study, so one would hope I'll get a chappie out every couple of weeks or so. Hope ye enjoy, please R&R (that's read and review to you newbies) so that, particularly if ye enjoy it, other readers might take a peek! Ta muchly -x-
"Little man in waistcoat," a voice growled out of the darkness. "Wake up."
Constable Crane started from unconsciousness and shot into a sitting position. "Yes, Father. Sorry, Father." He glanced about at the circle of jaguar warriors kneeling around him and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Was that the first test?" he asked.
The circle nodded.
As he suspected. "How soon before the next?"
The circle parted at the edge he faced and held their torches up to illuminate the entrance to a cave in the cliffside. Apparently they had taken the liberty of moving him during his faint. He was really going to have to get over that reaction of his. He had lost count now of how many times he had conked out on their journey.
"Follow path through cave and sit in stone chair. When we sound gong, you can come out," said one of the warriors.
Ichabod got to his feet and crept towards the cave, swallowing. He glanced back timidly at the watching broken circle. "It is rather dark in there. May I have a torch?"
"Torch in bracket just inside cave mouth. You must light on fire halfway in. More torches near stone chair. You may light when you bring lit torch to them." The jaguar intoned the 'may' in a disconcerting fashion.
"Very well," said the constable. He bit his lip and proceeded into the cave. Dripping resounded along the path, the air smelling of damp and sated mosses. His hands groped at the walls, searching for the means to light his way. His fingers located the clasp of the metal bracket and he lifted the wooden torch free. Ahead he could see the distant glimmer of fire. Willing himself onward, Crane moved deeper in, closer towards the lightly crackling flames. Other sounds began to reach his senses, faint rustling, mostly drowned out by the roar of the waterfall further across the cliff. Just plants being upset by the water, he told himself. The shadows felt as though they were crawling. Just his imagination.
At last Ichabod arrived at the basin of fire at the halfway point. It sat upon a pedestal, waiting for him to dip his torch inside. Gently, he moved the end of the torch into the fire and let the flames catch. He chanced a glimpse of the exit – it was still there – and continued on the path. The rustlings grew louder; he pressed himself to believe that it was just the fall echoing strangely. He was already trembling, jumping at every droplet that splattered his head.
Crane reached the chamber at the end of the path. The rustling was horribly loud and the room plunged in darkness, which his torch seemed to do little to alleviate. The silhouette of the great stone throne could be seen in the centre and to one side of the room he thought he could see another pedestal, this one unlit. He was drawn to the basin, despite the gnawing dread that clustered in his stomach. His shaking hand tilted the torch into the basin. The flames flared high, throwing back the blanket of shadow.
Ichabod dropped the torch. Terror gripped his every muscle, hardly bearing to let his eyes take in what he had hoped against hope were not there. The top half of every wall and every inch of the ceiling of the chamber were swarming with spiders. Big, small, hairy, black, spindly, darting, sitting, watching, climbing, crawling! The constable stammered unintelligible syllables and teetered backwards from the nearest wall, only stopping when he backed into the stone chair.
Something moved behind him.
Crane's eyes widened to their full extent. He didn't know why he turned around. He wished he hadn't. He stepped slowly around and stared levelly into the compound eyes of a gigantic tarantula.
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A gloop-coated glove slapped what had once been a golden trinket, now liberally slobbered with black slime, into the jaguar child's paw. The Mr Wonka-shaped mud man glowered at the little creature.
"There, ya happy?" he grumbled.
The cub giggled.
"Well come on, scoot, let's zip through this already." He tried to ignore the mocking sounds of the ooze dripping from him. "Next test."
The jaguar put on a more solemn expression and nodded. "You wash up in lagoon first, then meet back in village centre." It turned to leave.
"Hey, wait! Little kitten!" Willy called. His response was a deadly glare. "Uh," he gulped. "About my other clothes? My hat…coat…? Can you or one of your little buddies come pick them up so's they don't get all dirty?"
The jaguar merely stared for a full minute and then vanished back through the forest.
"Okay then…" Wonka blathered nervously. "I'll just go get them myself, shall I? Yeah…just go get them…okay…" He squelched over to his mostly unblemished accessories and, hardly daring to look, peeled off his gungy gloves in order to pick up what he so dearly valued.
Grimacing all the way, he hurried back to the village, arms outstretched to keep his coat and hat from contamination. The cane was easier to wash. The Tchixoc were not particularly helpful in directing him to the lagoon but it had been a fair assumption that it lay at the foot of the cliffs. Once there, Willy placed his effects delicately aside from the still waters and tested them for signs of dangerous life with a hurled stone. Satisfied, he stripped in a hedge, not quite sure why he needed to be so modest when the mud caking him was so opaque, and slipped into the water. He took the muddied clothes with him, unaware that amused, yellow eyes watched, and gave them a good scrub before placing upon the bank to dry and turning his attention to his own skin. The chocolatier bathed childishly, splashing with vigour, holding his nose and dunking below the surface.
Once he was as squeaky clean as he could get, chocolate-toned hair pasted flat to his scalp, Willy swam back to the edge of the lagoon. His suddenly anxious eyes scanned the grass for his garments. "What in the heck -?" Desperately he scooted back and forth in the water, hoping his sight was providing a momentary deception. They weren't there.
Then he saw it. Sitting alone on the bank was his hat, nothing more. Feeling nauseous, Mr Wonka paddled up as close as he could get.
"Hey!" he called out to the village. "You rotten snozzberries, gimme my clothes back!"
After a few minutes, the jaguar child appeared. "You supposed to meet me," it said, grinning.
Willy scowled. "Yeah, well, that ain't happening when I don't have a stitch nor thread to wear! I mean, haha, ya won't catch me walkin' around butt naked, gosh golly no siree!"
The cub's grin widened to include its teeth. Mr Wonka's face demolished.
"Go find clothes," it said. "All in village." It snickered, leant down near Wonka's top hat and flicked it towards the lagoon.
Muttering sourly, Willy caught his hat and emerged from the pool. He swiftly used his headwear to snatch the only morsel of decency he had been allowed and trudged, dripping cleanly this time, into the village.
He had not gone far on his quest to regain his propriety when a certain constable burst into the camp, whiter than he had ever been even when faced with the Headless Horseman, screaming in a less than masculine manner. Needless to say, whether or not he had intended to pause for breath, Ichabod ceased yelling when he saw the chocolatier.
"M-m-mister W-Wonka?" he gasped.
"What?" Willy snapped.
"I…" Crane's hair was splayed out from the extremity of his fear. He could not find the words to speak. He managed a feeble, "Nnnhh?"
Mr Wonka sucked his teeth, not in the mood to console the constable over whatever he had just been through. It could not possibly be as humiliating as this.
"Mr Crane," he hissed. "This is not me, I am no way in a flutin' tootin' winglebat striding through a jungle au naturel. You didn't see me, you never talked to me, do I make myself absoposalutely clear?"
Ichabod grimaced, too bemused and terror-stricken to laugh. "Er…abso…yes, perfectly c-clear."
With a firm nod, the chocolatier strode off in search of dignity and left the constable to whimper alone.
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Jack threw himself into a sideways spin as the axe blade arced down and bit a chunk out of the soil where he stood. The momentum of the weighted pole almost made him career into the wall of jaguars. As a precaution, the 'wall' raised its myriad paws and out of each feline toe whipped out claws. With a yelp, the pirate strained against the teetering force and brought the pole down. The impact with the earth jarred his bones painfully. His arm strength gave way and he collapsed, spiralling down the upright staff until he hit the ground. Nigh on instantly he rolled aside, avoiding another swipe of the gladiator's weapon. Dizzy from so much spinning, Jack scrambled to his feet and stood with the soil-embedded pole in between him and the great jaguar. He grasped the haft with tentative hands. The club part of the warrior's weapon thrust forward. Jack jumped aside, hands still gripping the bamboo staff.
The jaguar narrowed its eyes, standing still. Jack returned its gaze, calculating. The axe blade tilted; ready to hew both pirate and the pole that blocked its path. The gladiator's arm drew back. Sparrow gave one brief glance of alarm before he dropped down. The axe cleaved through the top half of the staff, skimming an inch above his head. Jack dove through the gap between the warrior's legs, leapt upright and snatched hold of the cat's tail, taking care not to catch any barbs with his fingers. The wall gasped. With a yowl, the gladiator whirled around to slice at his attacker. Jack ducked and ran rings around the jaguar, pulling its tail as he went. The huge cat roared its anguish and hurled its club-axe, not at the pirate, but just before his dashing feet.
Too late to prevent it, Jack tripped and sprawled across the floor. In triumph, the jaguar seized its weapon and wielded it high above its opponent. The bludgeoning edge rose skyward and – stayed. The solemn beast stared down into the barrel of a pistol.
"Drop it!" said Jack.
Growling begrudgingly, the gladiator lowered the weapon before releasing it entirely. Jack got to his feet, keeping the flintlock trained on the warrior.
"Granted it's not exactly original of me to keep pullin' the same trick, but you got to admit, works like a charm. Now, no more tryin' to chop ol' Captain Jack into mincemeat, all right?" He crept as close as he dared to the hulking beast. "An' just as a matter o' security…" The pistol spun in his fingers, the backend clonked hard between the gladiator's ears. Jack sidestepped as the comatose cat fell. Sparrow let the currently useless pistol drift to his side and looked to the surrounding circle of jaguars, wondering if they would take up where the fallen warrior left off.
The slow, yet mockingly appreciative, clapping sounded at about the same instance that the wall sheathed its claws. The edge of the circle nearest the central campfire parted. The tinkling and shifting of trinkets and skirts whispered in Jack's ears as the silhouette approached.
"Well, well, eef et eesn't my dearest Sparrow I coom to discover."
As if to share in the Captain's surprise, the abandoned pole chose that moment to topple from its vertical position.
"Tia Dalma…"
The ethereal voodoo priestess, in all her disturbing dark beauty, moved into the light of the fire and gave Jack a taunting smile. "Yayss. Were you expectink someone else?"
"Oh only a fleeting nuisance of a goblin hierarch hiding be'ind the face of a gaudy strumpet," the pirate answered wistfully, his eyes glazing over. Blissfully ignoring the feline crowd, Jack drew towards Tia. Tendrils of power from this latent goddess beckoned him closer, fogging his admittedly doused brain with a thousand sultry promises. "Nothing we need concern ourselves with."
Tia uttered a patronising half laugh. "Indeed." She curled a finger towards her and turned away coquettishly. "Wid me now," she instructed softly.
The spell faltered momentarily. Jack stepped up to her, eyes narrowing, searching for trickery. Tia outmatched his stare with an abyssal attack of her own.
"Jack Sparrow does not want a reward for hees trouble?"
The Captain blinked, suddenly appearing lost. His gaze drifted downward. He realised his pistol had been raised vertically in between them. She cast her eye-line upon it and smirked. He swallowed, gave an awkward, wincing smile, and then holstered it before looking to her once again. Tia smiled in return and inclined her head.
"Dis way, den…"
Jack followed her to a hut that emanated with sense-caressing aromas, his entranced eyes betraying sparkles that would make his production company envious.