The biologist shrugged.
From a distance, there was no telling if any of the animals were altered. Still, Gray remembered Benjie’s warning. The danger would grow as they neared the source.
Kowalski was no happier to continue deeper into the dark heart of the Congo. “Kid, how much farther to that dead king’s village?”
Faraji pressed his nose against the side window, then the windshield. “This look all wrong. Should be at the bonde, the valley. But not here.”
Lightning crackled through the cloud layer. Thunder boomed, loud enough to rattle the ATV’s windows. As if on this signal, the constant hanging drizzle turned into a heavy shower. The drops pelted the water, pebbling the black surface.
Benjie nudged Gray and pointed out his window. “Look.”
Gray shifted over and squinted outside. All he saw was a rainswept jungle. The entire forest vibrated under the storm’s assault. “What?”
Benjie searched the cabin and picked up his flashlight. He ignited it, momentarily blinding everyone. He twisted and pointed its beam out the window. He splashed the light across the dancing water, aiming it slightly behind the ATV. He fixed his beam on a grassy raft that looked stuck in place, undisturbed by the wake of their passage.
“We passed another a moment ago,” Benjie said. “I didn’t pay attention.”
“What is it?”
Benjie kept the flashlight pointed but turned to Gray. “I think that’s thatch.”
Gray understood and grabbed Kowalski’s shoulder. “Hold up.”
Kowalski braked the spinning tires but kept the engine idling. He glanced back. “Why?”
“I think Faraji’s suspicions were right all along. We did reach the valley.” Gray scooted over and turned on his own flashlight, sweeping the beam along the other side of the ATV. More of the thatched rafts dotted the pebbling waters. “Those are roofs. We’re at the king’s village. Only the valley’s been entirely flooded over.”
Now focused, Gray picked out several beams and poles poking out of the water, further evidence that a large village once stood here.
Kowalski groaned. “No way we’re finding any clue hidden here.”
“Not without scuba gear,” Benjie added.
Gray’s heart sank, recognizing this truth. If there was a king’s tomb somewhere below them, it would be hard to find it, especially in the dark. And even then, trying to excavate any answer out of it would be impossible. They would have to wait for these floodwaters to recede.
And that could take months.
Gray turned to the front passenger seat, grasping at straws. “Faraji, do you have any suggestions?”
The boy cast his gaze down and shook his head. “Samahani,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
“So, it’s the end of the road,” Kowalski concluded, sounding almost relieved.
11:22 P.M.
Ten minutes later, Gray worried that Kowalski might be right. Still, he refused to give up—at least, not yet. They’d come all this way.
He had collected his digital pad and briefly pinged the GPS to mark this location.
It appeared as a red diamond on the glowing topo map.
One more bread crumb left by Sheppard.
He shifted the sheaf of photos to his lap. He took out all seven, hoping for some answers. Three photos led to this place: the okapi lake, the missionary church, and now this drowned village. Three more photos extended the path to the very last picture, which showed a crack in a jagged cliff, flanked by stone pillars, marking the possible entrance to Mfupa Ufalme, the Kingdom of Bones.
But how can we reach that place?
He fanned through the next three photos, three more bread crumbs. Could their team skip over the clue lost here and move forward? He studied the next picture. It simply showed a dagger stuck into the trunk of a palm. Faraji had previously studied it and remained clueless. If there was any further meaning to it, that answer was drowned under them. The other two black-and-white photos offered no better direction. In one, Sheppard stood in front of two slabs of stone, as tall as him, that leaned against one another, forming a shelter beneath where a fire burned. In the other, the reverend filled a canteen at the confluence of two streams. The sketches drawn on the photos’ backs didn’t help either: a scrawled compass rose and a collection of stick figures, all carrying spears taller than the hunters themselves.
Gray wondered if the latter might represent pygmies. Such tribes still made their home in the Ituri forests. Though their population, along with their tribal lands, had dwindled to a fraction of their size from Sheppard’s time. Still, even if Gray was right about this assumption, it didn’t help. It offered no clue to their path forward.
He picked up the topo map and zoomed out, studying their route backward. Two more red diamonds marked the site of the okapi lake and the missionary church. He noted that the three diamonds formed a relatively straight line across this corner of the Congo, as if Sheppard had trekked a beeline through the jungle.
Gray frowned. That didn’t seem likely, considering the stubborn terrain. Then again, Sheppard buried these bread crumbs and left the photos with the Kuba after he had returned. Had the reverend chosen these locations less to mark his own original path and more to guide others in the future along a straighter route?
He closed his eyes, trying to put himself in the boots of William Sheppard. The man was an excellent cartographer and explorer, even discovering a lake that had been named after him. From the beginning, they had all supposed that Sheppard had left these clues in case a great danger should ever threaten the Congo again, a peril tied to Prester John’s lost Kingdom of Bones. If so, in such a dire emergency, the reverend would not want those future hunters led on a wild-goose chase, running hither and yon.
He wouldn’t do that.
Gray opened his eyes. “He would’ve drawn a straight arrow, pointing to the lost kingdom.”
Benjie overheard him. “What are you talking about?”
Gray shook his head. He wanted further reassurance. “Faraji, can you hop back here?”
The kid scrambled over the seat, nearly kicking Kowalski in the head. The big man had lit a new cigar, puffing a stream of foul smoke toward the window which he’d cracked open. The smell of diesel flowed in, rising from the exhaust snorkel, as the engine idled.
Faraji joined him, waving a palm by his nose, looking grateful to escape the cigar stench up front. His eyes glowed with curiosity.
Gray lifted the topo map. “Can you pinpoint the location of the village that Sheppard visited when he first met your people?”
“Yes. Easy. Village is my home. King now is same as king from Sheppard time.”
Which meant the village hadn’t moved as the monarchs changed.
The Kuba Box, the one that held Sheppard’s clues, had been left at Faraji’s hometown. If so, it had to mark the true starting point of this journey.
Faraji scooted closer to study the digital pad. He used a finger to trace some rivers, then tapped a spot on the map. Pride filled his voice. “Here. Here where I live.”
Gray converted the location to a red diamond and let out a sigh of relief. The additional mark was in direct line with the other three. Gray drew a blue line connecting all four.
Even Benjie saw it now, too. “They’re all in a row.”
And if this was indeed a straight arrow . . .
Gray extended the line eastward, broken now into dashes. The first three clues had led them into lands that sunk ever lower, ending at this drowned valley. The continuing line crossed terrain that climbed again, stretching toward the broken highlands at the eastern edge of the Ituri forest.
Benjie leaned closer to the glowing pad. “Is that where we’re supposed to go? Up into those mountains?”
“We’d better hope so.”
Benjie sat back with a sigh. “That’s a lot of hard terrain. On the topo, it looks like some angry god hit that area with a hammer, shattering it apart. Even if you’re right, it would take us months, if not longer, to search through there.”