The Crocodile's Last Embrace Page 7

  “Oh, dear,” said Beverly. “He may be a bit of a scamp, but I’d hate to see someone take advantage of him.”

  “Aren’t you both jumping to conclusions?” asked Jade. “We know nothing about this gold mine beyond Holly’s boasts.”

  “You’re probably correct, Jade,” said Avery. “It’s just that I think it would be rather simpleminded for Mr. Holly to enter into something unproven. He’s a bank clerk. I’d expect him to know something about business.”

  “But he said that this man Waters had samples,” said Beverly. “Isn’t that proof?”

  Avery smiled at his wife. “You are too trusting, my dear. Anyone could carry in a bit of gold he had purchased and say it came from his mine. Mr. Holly would have done better to go to the site himself and take a sample of the area for assay.”

  Jade rubbed her arms and twitched her shoulders. Beverly frowned. “You’re very agitated this evening, Jade. You might be catching something. Are you feverish? Have you been drinking your tonic water and using the mosquito netting?”

  “Bev,” said Jade, “I love you dearly, but I’m not sick.”

  “I could call old Dr. Burkitt in,” Beverly said. “Malaria is nothing to be sneezed at.”

  “I don’t want or need a doctor.”

  “Then at least stay at the house tonight. Let our cook prepare something for you. Matthew mpishi makes lovely chicken soup.”

  The left side of Jade’s mouth twitched. “I don’t have malaria. I need solitude, Bev, not mothering. And I don’t need a personal mpishi. I can cook for myself. I plan to scramble some eggs over my little spirit stove, butter up a slab of bread, and call it an early night.”

  “You’re not riding your motorcycle on the trip tomorrow, are you?” asked Beverly. “I don’t think—”

  Avery coughed and shook his head, hinting to his wife to drop the matter. “Our Jade knows that she can have the use of my new motor truck anytime she wishes. I shan’t need it for a few days. I’m sure Biscuit will be much more comfortable riding in it than running alongside the motorcycle for such a distance. There won’t be room in the sidecar with the gear.”

  “Thank you, Avery. I thought about going into town to hire a truck.”

  “Nonsense. It’s too late in the day for that. And she’s full of petrol and ready to go.” He stood and gently raised his wife to her feet. “Come along, darling. Time to get ready. Jade’s a big girl, you know.”

  Beverly laughed. “You’re quite right, Avery. I’ve been horrid. It’s motherhood, you know. I suddenly want to fuss over everyone. Forgive me, Jade?”

  “Nothing to forgive, Bev. You’re a good friend. Have a lovely time and if I don’t see you early tomorrow morning, I’ll see you when I return.”

  She watched them stroll arm in arm back to their house, waiting until they were inside before she gave in to the shudder that she’d tightly controlled. Her right eye twitched twice. “Some peace and quiet is all I need, Biscuit. That and a good night’s sleep.”

  She got neither.

  She tried reading, but the letters on the page jiggled like crawling bugs. Jade put aside the book, a Jack London adventure, and undressed. She lay on her bed, wearing her camisole and linen drawers, and prayed for her skin to stop creeping before she shed it like a snake. Waking reality blended with her sleeping dreams. The very walls of her bedroom shifted and moved, sometimes receding, sometimes closing in on her.

  Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She felt as she had when she’d sat in the bait half of a leopard trap. Jade’s fingers clawed at the bed frame, fighting for a way out. Her chest tightened as her lungs struggled to pull in enough air.

  Maybe I do have malaria! Jade struggled out of bed, intent on pouring a glass of tonic water, but she spilled half the bottle onto the floor.

  Then she heard Biscuit’s soft growl, an agitated churring sound. She froze, listening.

  Something moaned outside, and her nose caught the faintest whiff of smoke.

  Fire?

  She stumbled into her trousers and stepped outside in her bare feet. She looked first to the main house, then to the stables. Nothing. Biscuit churred again and she followed his gaze. Her darkroom stood several hundred feet away, and the hazy white smoke of a smoldering fire wafted in front of it.

  Jade started for the tool hut, intent on finding a shovel, when a flickering movement caught her eye. Out of the haze emerged a figure, shifting and shimmying with the smoke.

  David!

  He wore his leather flying jacket and a silk scarf, and raised his hand in greeting. Jade blinked twice, then a third time, hoping each time that the vision would disappear.

  It didn’t. Instead, as she watched, his face melted into nothing and, in its place, a skull grinned back at her. The apparition moaned again.

  Jade collapsed to the ground, her own anguished cry ringing through the night.

  CHAPTER 6

  The irony is—it’s not safe to fish when the fishing is good.

  —The Traveler

  BISCUIT NOSED JADE, prodding her with his big head. She felt him, but didn’t move. She was too terrified, frightened in a way she hadn’t experienced since she’d fought the rising panic when a shell-shocked victim had broken into insane laughter in the back of her ambulance. A hyena’s warbling laugh had triggered the reaction, too, at least until she’d faced it and fought it down.

  She lay on the ground huddled in a ball, clutching herself and trembling, afraid to open her eyes for fear of seeing that hideous apparition. She’d seen soldiers react to firecrackers popping or to wafting scents. Some became belligerent; others cringed. Many never knew what set off the attacks. Why was she seeing apparitions now? What was triggering her terrors?

  Am I going insane? She recalled Sam’s violent ravings during a recent illness. Maybe I do have malaria. At present she’d take the disease over losing her mind.

  Biscuit’s raspy tongue scraped her cheek, and Jade drew reassurance from the cheetah’s solid presence. She raised her head and risked a glance at the darkroom. Nothing. Barely a remnant of smoke.

  Suddenly, Jade felt embarrassed. “Sweet Millard Fillmore’s bathtub, what is the matter with me?” she muttered. “Overreacting to nothing!”

  Well, not entirely nothing. Someone had sent her the bloody scarf and the first letter. Those items were real, and Jade had an idea who was behind them. David’s mother, Olivia Lilith Worthy, hated her and had tried to kill her once before. That she was in prison in London only meant she must have a confederate in Africa doing her bidding. A minion could be dealt with. Jade had done it before. The problem was in discovering who it was. And it still didn’t explain her hallucinations.

  So what’s wrong with me? The problem lay in her mind, in seeing crawling letters, shifting walls, and creeping blood. And David.

  She knew what Beverly would say, that she should see Dr. Burkitt or talk to the French priests at the Ngong mission. But Jade dreaded doctors and she’d avoided the holy fathers, attending the Catholic church in town instead. The last time she’d been to the mission, they’d invited her to bring Sam to visit. And Sam’s not here.

  Her jaw clenched with a twinge of anger. He ought to be here, blast it!

  Jade got to her feet and stroked Biscuit’s back, building up her resolve to inspect the darkroom. After a few moments’ hesitation, she took a step towards the structure. “Let’s go, Biscuit. If I don’t face this now, I never will.”

  There was little to see. Jade squatted and pawed at some damp straw. It felt warm to the touch. Underneath it were a few blackened patches. She picked up a handful and sniffed. Definitely burned. Nearby were a spent match and a cigarette butt.

  “It looks as if the cook or one of the kitchen help decided to have an evening smoke, Biscuit.” She held up the remnants of the hand-rolled butt. Biscuit sneezed and took a step back. “It’s a good thing some of this straw was still damp or we might have had a serious problem.”

&nbs
p; And the vision? Jade put it down to a lack of sleep.

  She stood, wondering if she should leave a note for Bev and Avery to find when they came home, then decided against waking the rest of the household. “I’ll be back in a day or two anyway.”

  In the end, Jade returned to her bungalow, and the next morning, after early Mass at St. Joseph’s, loaded up Avery’s truck with her gear and Biscuit and drove towards Ol Donyo Sabuk. Immediately after Thika, she left the main road and cut southeast on a smaller road towards the mountain. Recently, a bridge spanning the Athi had been built, making the trip to Ol Donyo Sabuk easier. Jade wasn’t surprised. Sir William Northrup McMillan’s farm, Juja, sat near and, in part, on it. Game was good and many people, including President Roosevelt, had hunted there. A bridge was inevitable. But as far as she knew, McMillan himself, in all his seven-foot glory, was abroad now, his health failing.

  The first time Jade had made this trip she’d been on horseback, on her way to Jelani’s village to hunt a man-eating hyena. She’d forded the river below the falls, watching for crocodiles. Everything she’d seen had inspired awe, from the lone antelope bounding away to the sight of Mount Kenya looming in the distance. Mount Kenya’s imposing grandeur still moved her and she wondered why she’d never yet made a trip to it. Perhaps she could go there. It was one place that held no memories shared with Sam.

  Two kudu, startled by the truck, darted out of the thicket where they had been browsing. Jade admired their gracefully spiraled horns and their beautiful tawny coats. The thin white stripes that ran down their sides from their spines reminded her of icing drizzled on a cake. Biscuit wriggled in the seat beside Jade, his head hanging out the open window.

  “They’re too big for you, boy.”

  The kudu stopped several hundred feet away and looked over their shoulders at the truck with an air that said, “You cannot catch us.” Farther on, a family of baboons watched them, the nearby thorn tree promising them a safe haven should they need it. One juvenile hid behind his mother, peering over her back as Jade drove by.

  Jade slowed to take the bridge, amazed at the volume of water that still gushed underneath, remnants of the longer rainy season. Not far downstream, the flow met with large blocks of blackened igneous rock that divided the water and sent it cascading in an arc of waterfalls, enough to earn the area its name of Fourteen Falls.

  A mile downstream on the south side of the river sat Jelani’s village, but Jade skirted the mountain towards Harry Hascombe’s old cattle ranch at the southern end. Jade had stayed there in a guest hut after killing that hyena. A hankering to see both Harry’s ranch and that of his deceased neighbor, Roger Forster, seized Jade. She couldn’t have explained why the sudden need except that both men had been involved in that first search for David Worthy’s missing half brother. With David haunting her waking hours, it was reason enough. The detour might supply her with some answers.

  Biscuit chirped once, his eyes intently searching the landscape.

  “You recognize your old home, boy? You know Harry doesn’t live there anymore.”

  She found the ranch, or rather, what was left of it. Harry’s house still stood, but the outbuildings had long been stripped of every usable scrap of wood or galvanized tin by neighboring tribes. Most of the mud and thatch guest huts had crumbled and collapsed. Jade found the one she’d slept in once. It still stood, but the door was gone and the thatch roof had decayed and fallen into the interior. A mouse scurried off as she kicked at the pile.

  “There’s not much left, is there, Biscuit? All the old animal pens are gone.”

  Biscuit padded softly around the grounds, pausing to inspect some rubble.

  “Come on, boy. I don’t know what I hoped to see here, but we’re wasting our time.” She led the cat back to the truck and drove away, steering the truck towards Roger Forster’s farm, which adjoined to the east. Again, she had no real reason to go there, just a feeling that she needed to see it. Forster’s farm had been sold to a woman after his death, but when a fire destroyed the house, no one had ever taken up residence. Like Harry’s land, it had reverted to wilderness as the forested slopes of Ol Donyo Sabuk, the mountain of the buffalo, crept down to reclaim their rightful realm.

  Jade had never seen Forster’s farm. If she had expected old ostrich pens and a great blackened char where the house had stood, she was bound to be disappointed. Grasses and a few seedlings sprang from one spot, where the house had probably stood, but the fire ash had long since been absorbed by the ground and seedlings starved for nutrients. Orange, bronze, black, and white swallowtails flitted and supped at invisible flowers tucked into the dense forest. The thick green hardwoods were broken only by black-and-white-banded boulders like petrified zebra.

  She had no idea how many outbuildings Forster had possessed, but like those on Harry’s farm, most had collapsed or stood as hollow shells without roofs. Only one remained intact, a small shed or kitchen made of masonry. A thorn tree that grew directly in front of the door explained why no one had managed to scavenge that wood.

  She heard a soft noise as dried leaves rustled and a twig cracked. Biscuit heard it, too, which gave Jade a feeling of relief. The way her mind had been working lately, she didn’t know if she could trust her senses. Wary of the buffalo that roamed this region, she slipped her rifle from her shoulder. A vervet monkey, her black face prominent above her white chest, had left her treetop to scavenge for food on the ground. She’d found what looked like a creamy white tuber and was turning it over in her hands. Then she spied Biscuit and screamed. Biscuit gave chase, but the little monkey was quicker. She leaped onto the stone building, dropping her prize. Jade picked it up and was surprised to see it was a candle stub. She dropped it onto the ground.

  “Leave her alone, Biscuit. It’s time to leave and go see Jelani.”

  At the sound of the youth’s name, Biscuit trotted back to the truck and jumped inside. Next to Jade, the cheetah loved Jelani best, and Biscuit never missed an opportunity to visit the young Kikuyu healer. Jade took the drive slowly, maneuvering Avery’s Dodge truck around the rocks, wallows, and occasional termite mound. Her route would have taken her closer to the river not far below the falls, but she saw another truck parked beside it. Assuming that someone was fishing and wouldn’t appreciate the noise, she veered away from the Athi until she neared Jelani’s village.

  She parked the truck at the base of the short hill and walked the narrow, winding path to the huts. On the way she passed several shambas, the gardens being hoed by women with sticks. A few had babies strapped to their hips, snuggled in cloth. Most of the women were without children. Jade recalled Jelani’s concern that fewer babies were being born, with so many of the men forced to work farther afield in order to pay their hut taxes.

  Biscuit padded in front of Jade, the path being too narrow to admit them side by side. The twists and turns gave the Kikuyu a defensive position. It also muffled the village noise, but as they neared the entrance, Jade heard the clamor of angry voices. She nudged Biscuit to hurry.

  They entered the compound through a narrow arch in the wooden palisade, low enough that she had to duck her head. She pushed her way past the clusters of women and saw two Kikuyu men engaged in a heated argument. They both wore only castoff khaki shorts, but one man had a necklace of sorts made of a strip of leather threaded through an empty shell casing. A broad scar stretched across his chest from some old wound. A Kikuyu woman wrapped in a dingy ocher cloth wailed behind the other man. The remaining villagers, mostly old men, stood in a crescent around the combatants, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

  Jade recognized the two older men seated on logs in the shadows. A plump man swaddled in a new, striped blanket was an elder who served as the village chief as prescribed by the British officials. A thin sort of turban sat perched on his head, and large brass rings dangled from his ears. He held a stout staff the height of a cane.

  The other man was the old mondo-mogo, the village seer and healer. He appeared to be mo
re shadow and bones than anything substantial, a manifestation of the spirit world that he guarded. Unlike the chief, he wore no adornments beyond a leather pouch around his neck and his threadbare blanket. Behind him stood Jelani, his apprentice. Like his mentor, he also wore a rawhide medicine sack that was draped onto his bare chest. As the two arguing men became locked in a shoving match, the chief raised his voice and called a halt to the squabble. He prodded the pair with his staff, and they separated.

  The chief began a lengthy monologue in Kikuyu. Jade caught one word, “police,” because it was spoken in English. Immediately, the two combatants turned and pleaded their cases to the chief. To Jade, it appeared that the chief had recommended turning the matter over to the Nairobi justice system, and the two men didn’t like that idea at all. Neither, Jade noted, did Jelani. He bent over and whispered in the mondo-mogo’s ear. The grizzled old man nodded once and held out his arms to the sides. Jelani placed his own hands under his teacher’s upper arms and hoisted him to his feet.

  The effect was electric. If the chief represented the British influence in the village, the mondo-mogo was the true power. Even the few children fell silent, expressions of awe, expectation, and fear on their waiting faces. He spoke and his voice, cracked with age, carried across the palisade to Jade.

  His pronouncement was brief. Jade caught the word for “test” or “ordeal” as well as a dismissal. When he finished, he motioned for Jelani to help him to his hut. The other villagers hurried back to their garden plots or other chores, their children scurrying after them until only the combatants, the wailing woman, the chief, Jade, and Biscuit remained.

  Jelani stepped back out of the mondo-mogo’s hut and approached the chief, speaking as one equal to another. Each time she saw Jelani, Jade was impressed by how much he’d grown inwardly as well as in stature from the boy she’d befriended nearly two years ago. The chief pushed the two squabblers into the hut. When the woman would have followed, he ordered her with a sharp word to wait outside. But he beckoned Jade to come inside with them. Jelani nodded and fell in beside her, one hand resting on Biscuit’s head. The cheetah’s throat erupted in a loud and raspy purr.