Akan and Huxley followed the river, staying near the tree line and confident only in the knowledge that no dangerous creatures roamed this part of the jungle at night. They could hear only the constant drone of insects perched high in the trees and the occasional rustle of small nocturnal primate rituals. They carried a single torch, held low to the ground by the onyx-skinned giant, leading the way while crouched low to the ground, that his enormous height would not immediately betray their position and intentions.
"Have you seen anything yet?" Huxley asked, staying carefully behind his partner with his hat clutched tightly against his head, keeping his head warm from the cool air that came in off the river.
"No, not yet. I smell fire, though."
"You are aware that you're carrying a torch, aren't you?"
Akan replied only by pausing in his tracks and turning back to his partner, the torch burning mere inches from both of their faces. The look on his face was straight and grave, his eyes squinting from lack of humor.
"I smell a campfire," he added, qualifying his statement to a more specific degree that seemed to completely satisfy Huxley's wild pedantry. "Someone is cooking meat--great quantities from the scent of it. Can you smell it?"
Huxley sniffed the air. "Yes, and that's no wild jungle meat."
They continued their improvised trail, their keen eyes ever on the lookout for signs of a camp. Before long, they both believed they could discern a faint wisp that hung in the air, set against the dark night in such a way that screened what few stars they could see above them in that thin strip of sky provided by the river. The smoke seemed to emanate from a slight indention on the same bank they were now following, tucked away in a small pocket that was not immediately visible from their current path.
"There, up ahead," said Akan, gesturing with the torch.
"Put it out," Huxley ordered.
"Beg your pardon?"
"The torch--put it out. I'll not risk being seen, and we can find our way back to the village easily enough. So please put it out."
Wordlessly, Akan stooped at the river's edge, plunging the flame beneath the surface so that it scraped the loose soil that lined the bank, and they were plunged into near total darkness, with only the stingy light of the stars above to guide them, yet as they continued forward, slowly and more carefully, they soon discovered a warm, orange glow that intensified with every step, revealing the heart of a camp, toward which they crept ever nearer, eager to see what exactly waited for them there.
Nearly a dozen men sat around it, with the evidence of several more just out of view. They spoke with loud, boisterous voices, laughing and filling the air with extended curses and fine examples of foul language that they never before heard. Akan and Huxley peeked through the bushes and saw the skin--white, reflecting the orange and red of the fire, bathed in dark shadows. They were white men just the same, and all signs pointed toward them being slavers.
"What now?" Akan asked.
"Now we go back to the village, and we go very quickly."
"What of everything else? What of the diamonds and all our plans?"
"At this moment, do those things really matter so much to you?"
"No," said Akan, "they don't."
"Then we go back to the village and tell the people there that there worst fears have come to light. Count yourself among the lucky if we make it through this night without trouble."
Silently, they retreated to the sheltering shadows and stole away in the night, walking against the river's surging path. They never stopped to consider the sort of men they were--the sort of men they had once been and those that they had become. They set out to protect those they once sought to exploit, and the world churned ever on.
"Have you seen anything yet?" Huxley asked, staying carefully behind his partner with his hat clutched tightly against his head, keeping his head warm from the cool air that came in off the river.
"No, not yet. I smell fire, though."
"You are aware that you're carrying a torch, aren't you?"
Akan replied only by pausing in his tracks and turning back to his partner, the torch burning mere inches from both of their faces. The look on his face was straight and grave, his eyes squinting from lack of humor.
"I smell a campfire," he added, qualifying his statement to a more specific degree that seemed to completely satisfy Huxley's wild pedantry. "Someone is cooking meat--great quantities from the scent of it. Can you smell it?"
Huxley sniffed the air. "Yes, and that's no wild jungle meat."
They continued their improvised trail, their keen eyes ever on the lookout for signs of a camp. Before long, they both believed they could discern a faint wisp that hung in the air, set against the dark night in such a way that screened what few stars they could see above them in that thin strip of sky provided by the river. The smoke seemed to emanate from a slight indention on the same bank they were now following, tucked away in a small pocket that was not immediately visible from their current path.
"There, up ahead," said Akan, gesturing with the torch.
"Put it out," Huxley ordered.
"Beg your pardon?"
"The torch--put it out. I'll not risk being seen, and we can find our way back to the village easily enough. So please put it out."
Wordlessly, Akan stooped at the river's edge, plunging the flame beneath the surface so that it scraped the loose soil that lined the bank, and they were plunged into near total darkness, with only the stingy light of the stars above to guide them, yet as they continued forward, slowly and more carefully, they soon discovered a warm, orange glow that intensified with every step, revealing the heart of a camp, toward which they crept ever nearer, eager to see what exactly waited for them there.
Nearly a dozen men sat around it, with the evidence of several more just out of view. They spoke with loud, boisterous voices, laughing and filling the air with extended curses and fine examples of foul language that they never before heard. Akan and Huxley peeked through the bushes and saw the skin--white, reflecting the orange and red of the fire, bathed in dark shadows. They were white men just the same, and all signs pointed toward them being slavers.
"What now?" Akan asked.
"Now we go back to the village, and we go very quickly."
"What of everything else? What of the diamonds and all our plans?"
"At this moment, do those things really matter so much to you?"
"No," said Akan, "they don't."
"Then we go back to the village and tell the people there that there worst fears have come to light. Count yourself among the lucky if we make it through this night without trouble."
Silently, they retreated to the sheltering shadows and stole away in the night, walking against the river's surging path. They never stopped to consider the sort of men they were--the sort of men they had once been and those that they had become. They set out to protect those they once sought to exploit, and the world churned ever on.
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