The Secret of Suriname: Chapter IV

By Ben Hansen

Hugh's realisation upon returning to consciousness that he had a splitting headache was followed closely by the realisation that the pounding sound in his head, loud though it seemed, paled in comparison to the pounding sound from outside of it.
Ever so gingerly, he opened his eyes, revealing an expanse of bizarre pistons smacking into a wall and retracting, repeatedly. As Hugh lifted his head, his eyes cleared and the pistons realigned themselves into hundreds of legs, apparently attached to a multitude of dancing people at a rate of about two each.
Tiny, tiny dancing people.
All of which seemed to center around him.
What?
"Morning, sleepyhead," came Ben's voice from behind him. Hugh turned around slowly, in case his brain would spill from his ear as he did so.
One thing Hugh had not expected was to see Ben sitting in one of a pair of stone thrones on a raised dais, wearing a crown of wood and a cape of feathers, boredly nibbling at a banana being timorously offered to him by one of the tiny people that had surrounded him as well. Although, when he thought about it, he couldn't work out why this would be any stranger than most of the other things that turned up as a matter of course.
"Uh." Was all Hugh could think of to say.
"Yeah, we're gods now," Ben said, by way of explanation.
"Uh," Hugh acknowledged.
After a moment or two, he realised that Ben wasn't actually intending to follow this last comment up with anything, and mentally assembled a scathing indictment of Ben's recent inability to communicate even the most important points to people who needed to know, coupled with a detailed description of the physical torments Ben and all his loved ones would experience were he to delay in giving a decent explanation immediately.
Somewhere between his brain and his mouth, it got translated into "what?"
"So that C.I.A. guy apparently drugged us, carted us to this... I dunno, island? Atoll? Jungle?"
"Cave," Hugh suggested.
"Carted us to this cave, and dumped us in the hands of the locals, along with some gibberish about us being the Chosen Ones."
"The Chosen Ones of what?"
"You know, for whatever reason I've found it difficult to get that much information from them. Maybe because  they're a stereotypical South American lost tribe and I only speak English?"
"Did you try speaking to them slowly and loudly?" Hugh asked.
"I spoke my slowest and my loudest. They decided I was asking for a banana."
"Why would anyone do something this pointlessly elaborate and useless?"
"Well, you have to admit this gets us out of the way while Charlie's plans unfold."
"He had plans?"
"Oh, my bad. He just drugged, kidnapped and deified us for the amusement factor."
Hugh sighed and propped himself up on the unoccupied throne. A handful of natives were suddenly at his side with a basin of water and a bowl of fruits.
"This is the stupidest thing that's ever happened to us," he ruminated before popping the first of what he imagined would be many grapes into his mouth.
"It really, really is," Ben agreed.