“Come, my friend. With this even we may be able to stop Kanaloaiki from destroying Lahaina.”
Malone swung himself up into the saddle and followed. “How? By bribing him with fish?”
Hau looked up and smiled. “You do not fool me, kahuna. I know that when the time comes, you will know what to do. Now that we have a hook, we must find a line to attach to it. The strongest line imaginable. There is good rope in Lahaina, fashioned to sell to the whalers. We will find the toughest there is and buy, borrow, or steal what is needed.”
Malone considered. “That may not be necessary. You say we need a sturdy line?”
“The strongest that can be woven.”
“Will that little hook hold a big line?”
Hau looked back and said in all sincerity, “It once raised from the bottom of the sea all the islands of Polynesia.”
“Okay, I take your meaning. But I think I know where I kin find us an even stronger line than you have in mind.”
“Excellent. But we must hurry, Amos Malone. See that light on the far slope of Pu’u Kukui?” In the distance, on the upper slopes of the West Maui Mountains, Malone could just make out a fitful, flashing light. “Kanaloaiki has begun his evil work. We have little time.”
Malone sighed heavily. “In the wizardry business it seems like a man hardly ever does.”
“What on earth d’you plan t’ do with this ashore, Malone?” George Wilfong indicated the length of material Malone had sought to buy.
“You needn’t know, George. Better you don’t.” Seated next to the whaler, Malone pulled hard on his oar. Around them lights flickered from murderous ships riding innocently at anchor.
“That’s all well and good, I suppose. All I knows is that you’d better give me payment enough to satisfy the captain, as you promised, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“There’ll be hell to pay this night anyway. Rest assured the captain will be satisfied with the trade I have in mind.”
Wilfong frowned. “He had better be, or he’ll have me keelhauled right here in the Roads. Malone, I don’t know what you’re up to this night, but one thing I am sure of: you owe me as well as the captain for this.”
“Fair enough, George.” Malone considered the looming bulk of the island and the tiny but intense light that was now clearly visible just below the shaft of the highest crag. “I hear tell you’re thinking of giving up whaling.”
“How’d you know that?” Wilfong looked startled.
“Sometimes a man thinks loudly, and I reckon myself a good listener. This is a sweet favor you’re doin’ me, so I expect it’s only just and fair that I slip you a sweet notion in return. The far side o’ this island is wet as any in the world, and the soil there is rich. Right now there’s a hunger for all kinds o’ seasonings in California and gold to pay fer them. Myself, I’m here to see to the possibilities o’ raising more cattle in this country, beef cattle t’ feed hungry miners. Someone’s needed t’ see to other items. It’s a known fact that prospectors are most all afflicted with the sweet tooth.”
“What are you saying, Malone?” Wilfong pulled steadily on his oar.
“Sugarcane, George. I’ve a thought that it would do well here. Why not try some on the well-watered side o’ the island?”
“Sugarcane?” Wilfong’s brows drew together in thought. “I’ve seen how it’s done in the Caribbean. But what would I use here to boil the juice? There’s no manufacturing in these islands, and I couldn’t afford to bring heavy gear over from the mainland.”
“Use some of the big blubber pots off any whaler,” Malone suggested.
Wilfong brightened. “Blubber pots. Now, that’s a fine idea, Mr. Malone, a fine idea. It just might work, and Lord knows I’ve experience enough boiling things down. Sugarcane; yes, by God. I’ll give it a try, I think, and thankee.”
“Welcome.”
“But there’s still the matter of the captain’s payment.”
They were very close to shore now. Easing off on his oar while Wilfong did the same, Malone dug deep in a pocket and handed his companion a triangular-shaped object that seemed to glow from within with a supernal whiteness. On both sides were etched in black finely wrought scenes of whales, whalers, and whaling men.
“’Tis the biggest sperm whale tooth I’ve ever seen,” Wilfong admitted, “and the scrimshaw is excellent, but scrimshaw to a whaling man is like ice to an Esquimau. I’m not sure the captain will account it a fair trade.”
Malone’s tone was somber. “Tell him that so long as this sleeps in his sea chest, he need never fear that any ship he commands will come to harm. This ’ere were given to me by a fella name of Herman after I rescued him from the natives down in the Marquesas.” The mountain man chuckled. “Been writin’ about it ever since, he has.
“The scrimshaw on this tooth was done by a Maori fella called Quehquoag, who pried it from the hull of a capsized lugger out o’ the Fijis. Came from a white whale, he told my friend. Last I heard, Herman was still workin’ on a book about thet.” Malone turned thoughtful. “Ought to be out in a year or two, I reckon.”
Wilfong was still doubtful but willing to be convinced. “All seamen are superstitious, captains no less so than common sailors. The size of it…” He hefted the enormous white tooth in both bands. “It’s warm to the touch, as if still connected to the lower jaw of its owner.” He nodded to himself. “I think the captain will accept it. You must be badly in need of this”—he gestured at the cargo they towed behind them—“to part with so powerful a talisman.”
Once more Malone’s gaze turned to the mountain. “The world’s full of talismans, George, but short on good people and shorter still on good schools.”
Hau led the way up the western slope of Pu’u Kukui, which was steeper and brushier than that of Haleakala. They were guided by the baleful light of Kanaloaiki’s work, which pierced the darkness like a malevolent eye.
“There!” The ali’i pointed, and Malone found he could see clearly.
The old man was as wrinkled and bent as an old ohia tree, but his voice was unbowed. The fire into which he was casting ingredients and words blazed higher with each successive addition. Kanaloaiki took those from a pile off to his right, a pile that was growing smaller by the minute.
“See here,” Malone suggested, “why don’t I just ride on over and have a word with the old gent.”
“He is protected.” Hau was looking around worriedly.
“By what?” Malone searched the kahuna ’ana’ana’s immediate vicinity. “I don’t see anything.”
“If you do, you will die.”
“Pretty good protection,” the mountain man agreed solemnly. “How do we deal with guardians if we can’t look for ’em?”
“They will declare themselves. Listen for their presence. Listen for the chanting. The old chanting.” They continued to approach. Once Malone thought he saw Kanaloaiki glance in their direction and smile evilly before returning to his work, but he couldn’t be certain.
What he could be sure of as they drew very near indeed was the rise of a distinctive moaning, the echo of a dirge signifying the proximity of doom incarnate, and the smell of death drifting like black floss on the wind.
Hau shut his eyes tight and turned his back to the sorcerer’s position. “That is it; that is the sound of which I spoke! The Marchers of the Night! To look upon them is to die.”