Buccaneer Chronicles

The Buccaneer Chronicles:
City of Gold

By Tony Gallichan (despite interference by Keith Dunn and Adam J Purcell)

Part Two - I try and speak to god. But he just laughs at my plans.

Chapter Six - The Cross of Changes


For a few moments Macfadyan panicked "The ship?"

It was then that the rage began to kick in

"The Ship! THEY HAVE TAKEN THE SHIP! THOSE SANCTIMONIOUS GREY MINDED DUNG BEATLES!!" He started to stride deliberately backwards and forwards kicking the undergrowth as he walked, looking up, shaking his fist up at the sky and shouting.

"I will not permit this!"

* Would you like a vegetable product? *

"Oh shut up, you stupid head!"

Cre'at glided back to give him some room to rant. This was becoming more and more common. Becoming rapidly bored with all this posturing and making the firm decision to make Macfadyan pay for that last comment, Cre'at started to analyze the local fauna. After about five minutes he had already found over five hundred new chemical combinations. It was during this time he detected a set of drag marks leading from where the ship had landed off in to the jungle. Checking the visual spectrum he made sure they were easily seen by the naked eye. Looking over at Macfadyan he confirmed that he was still ranting at the sky. It was at this point that Cre'at opened another file on the Time Lord. When he finally returned to Sotus he would publish hopefully it would get him another award to go with his third place cataloge model posing in the planet wide games.

He expected "Time Lords in and around their natural time stream" (he may have to change that title) to go down rather well. He would call this chapter "Cut off, lost and alone" or "hey dude, where's my ship?"

Macfadyan's crazed rant had started with the fact that his loom had been obviously faulty, that Satthralope had smacked him far too hard when he had come out, and as for Preceptor Brizion was very unprofessional (Cre'at had learned that long ago if Macfadyan considered you unprofessional it was because he didn't understand what you did).

Suddenly Macfadyan had fell silent, a group of figers stood at the edge of the clearing watching him as he stood, fist clenched and razed skyward.

They were rapidly surrounded by two groups of people, all male. There were about ten South American native men all wearing loincloths with blowpipes; the others wore slightly tarnished breastplates and helmets. They had a swarthy middle European look to them. They were armed with swords and simple flintlocks pistols and rifles. They were pointed at Macfadyan and Cre'at. Macfadyan looked around him self rather bemusedly as if just waking up

"Hello, would anyone like a chocolate button?"

They were force marched through the jungle far about two miles, their captors refusing any attempt at communication except for the occasional barked direction. They arrived at a clearing that had been hacked in to the undergrowth of the jungle. The encampment was mix of native and 'civilized'. They were lead to an expanse of pristine white tent with two Spanish guards outside, one of their captors left them and went inside for a few moments, then returned to show them inside.

The tent was split in two, in the open area there was a table set up with a map spread across it. The Spanish flag had been stitched in to one wall of the tent. Pouring over the map was a muscular man somewhere in his late thirties unlike his comrades his amour was polished and shone with a brilliance that spoke of many hours with a cloth. He looked up, as Macfadyan walked in and his face was alive with a fierce intelligence and determination. Sitting in one of the chairs was a strikingly beautiful native woman. She was dressed in a flowery, colorful gown that was atypical for a native. The man strolled confidently forwarded and spoke in stilted French (which Macfadyan understood immediately, it simpley nevcer occured to him why he did so)

"At last, welcome, can I offer you some brandy It is I' am already of an inferior quality but wine doesn't travel well."

With a sudden start he caught sight of Cre'at in all his glory. Macfadyan rushed forward with his hands razed

"Its alright, its alright it might look like a monster from the abyss. But its merely clockwork, you must surly have clocks by now, hmm?" He stared earnestly at the Spaniard "It is an object of science not a thing of mysticism. Would you like that brandy now Mr.?"

"My name, Mr. Jacq, is Captain Fransisco Gonzaliez De Merida y Santunder".

"I m sorry, but who did you say?"

"I said that I am Captain Fran..."

"No, no, no, not your rather unimpressive title, the other name you just gave, Andrew Jack?" The Captain looked puzzled

"You are not Andre Jacq' the French guide to the German expedition?"

"French? French, French! FRENCH! Do I look French to you! Cre'at do I look French to you!"

Cre'at looked critically at Macfadyan for a few moments

* No, though you could come from one of the small islands around the British coast or any of the colonies of Beltroxs 5 *

The Captain was shocked,

"It speaks!"

Cre'at looked at him

* Of coarse I can speak! I can do lots of other things too, like point, stroke my chin, offer a vegetable product * Cre'at held out a small grubby paper bag, * Would you like a vegetable product? *

Macfadyan held his head and winced, then after a few moments ventured

"And the young lady is the Spanish infanter no doubt, Cheswick! Fresh horses!"

* Not Chiswick, Cre'at *

The Captain looked at them for a few moments,

"Allow me to introduce you to my native glide Dona Linda".

Macfadyan inclined his head

"Greetings madam Linda, the pleasure is all yours" Dona Linda looked at him in bemused surprise

"You speak almost like a native Mr.?"

"Do I? It's a gift that I've almost forgotten about. My name by the way is Lord Macfadyanagogobibblebibblelungburrowmas but you can call me "great one" or just lord Macfadyan. The very, very natural and easily explained floating head is called Cre'at."Turning back to the Captain, Macfadyan demanded, "Now Captain perhaps you can please tell me what you are doing here!"

"Were are an expedition that once consisted of some six hundred men, in search of El Dorado."

Macfadyan snorted in contempt as Cre'at floated closer

* Explain. What is El Dorado? *

It was with bored contempt that Macfadyan explained,

"It's meant to be the legendry city of gold, but the place doesn't exist. It's a combination of the rocks that they use in the buildings here, it takes on the appearance of burnished gold at sunrise and sun set, and the golden man ceremony conducted at lake Guatavita."

The Captain leaned forward curiously,

"You seam to be very well informed for some one who is not connected with any German expedition, Lord Macfadyan. Who sent you? Why are you here!"

Macfadyan looked at the Captain in the eye and calmly lied

"I've been sent here by the pope to see how well you have been converting the heathen natives to the one true religion. You said that you had started with six hundred men what happened to them all?"

The captain tock another swig oh brandy as he mulled over the question

"Dead, due to illness, battle, accidents and madness."

"Madness? Oh dear".

"Father Diaz claims it's because of demonic position".

"Father Diaz?"

"Our Jesuit priest, It he who is charged with converting the Indians and dealing with any heresy".

"Oh dear Rassilon, a claptrap mind if ever I heard one. Miss Linda could you please show me what's left of these poor unfortunates and where they are kept".

With a discreet smile she said,

"Of coarse sir". She lead the way out if the tent.

Captain Scamander strolled to the back of the tent, pulling back the curtain to reveal a figure in the red/ orange robes of a Jesuit priest.

"Well Father, what do you make of our new arrivals?"

Diaz seamed to consider before he replied, pulling at the tight black curls of his beard, swirling his robed to come to a decision. It was a dectition that he had made as soon as Macfadyan has walked in to the tent, and all the decision and deliberation was just for show. He looked up at the Captain with a face that seamed unassuming and bland. That was until you looked closely at the eyes, eyes that were full of the passion and fervor of a true believer. They were the eyes of a man who could commit any atrocity or degradation, any torcher or the vilest of acts, but not for the enjoyment of it but rather because it was all for your own good.

"The flying totem is obviously a totem of the evil one and this Macfadyan is a warlock!"

The Captain nodded his head, but some protest was expected

"They claim to be travelers on official Vatican business"

Diaz stopped still and fixed the Captain with a cold, yet fevered stare

"NO! Senor, They are agents of Satan! From Lucifer him self. They must be cleansed by acid and fire, fire and acid.".....



City of Gold: Chapter Seven