A Spider Comes Calling

by Vered Ehsani

  “And of course Jonas is absent,” I grumbled as I tugged off the saddle and dropped it at my feet. “As is common when there’s work to be done.” Tossing the bridle onto a bale of hay, I settled Nelly into her stall, providing her a handful of oats and a bucket of water, and stomped away.

  “And get back into your bed,” I said as I plucked Shelby off my shoulder and plunked her into the basket where the nibbled potato lay. She chattered her upset at me but I ignored her. “I take pity on a monkey, and now everyone’s blabbering about babies. Ludicrous. Well, I shall take great care in future when considering upon whom to bestow my compassion.”

  By the time I exited the barn, the wind had picked up force and moisture, and the moon was tucked behind gloomy clouds. Shivering at the drop in temperature, I turned toward the cottage when I saw a flicker of light off in the trees.

  “Who could that possibly be?” I wondered and then clucked at my insatiable curiosity. “I should really go straight home to a spot of tea and avoid even the hint of peril, as Mr. Timmons has requested of me. Not only will he be pleasantly surprised that I took heed of his wise counsel, but I shall doubly benefit by being safely tucked away during the downpour that’s sure to occur,” I informed Shelby who ignored my friendly attempts to engage in conversation.

  Staring after the light, I could almost taste the intrigue; it summoned me as a Siren does to the sailor. I sighed. “Or maybe not.”

  Perversely and contrary to common sense, I altered my direction, praying that Mr. Timmons would forgive me. Not even the prospect of a cup of tea could dissuade me from my course. I set out for the light that was bobbing ahead, hoping the rain would hold off long enough for me to investigate and return.

  “After all,” I reassured Shelby, “how much trouble could possibly be found only a stone’s throw from home?”

  As I approached the light, I could discern its source: a kerosene storm lantern hung from a low tree branch. Beneath its glow squatted Jonas, talking with great animation to the ground.

  How peculiar, I thought, curiosity overcoming my irritation at his absence when I needed assistance in the barn. Grass swished against me as I approached him, but his back was to me, and the rattling of leaves in the branches overhead masked the noise of my passage. I was almost by his side when he must have sensed a presence. He swung around and stood up, blocking my view.

  “Miss Knight, you shouldn’t be out and about,” he said with a scowl that did little to disguise his concern.

  “And you should be wearing the clothes I gave you,” I reprimanded him. “Why did we bother procuring you proper attire when you insist on wearing those threadbare rags? Goodness, you’ll catch your death in this chill, running about with not even a jacket.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that,” he said, not meeting my gaze. “My jacket. I’ll wear it next time.”

  The quickness of his response caused my eyes to narrow at him. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Nothing.” Perhaps if his eyes hadn’t shifted to the side and down, I might not have noticed his strange companion.

  “What is that, Jonas?” I demanded and stepped around him.

  I kneeled down and ignored the moisture that immediately began soaking through my skirt. All my attention was fixed on the little humanoid standing atop a flat rock. Its height was no greater than the length of my pinkie finger. I had only spotted it because I was searching for Jonas’ conversational partner and because the stone on which it stood was nearly white. An ant from a species that was considerably larger than normal stood to one side, seeming the size of a pony in comparison to the humanoid.

  “What is it?” I breathed out.

  Jonas squatted beside me, his knees remaining clean and dry, and I decided then and there that I would have to practice squatting more. My knees and lower legs were now benumbed while my skirt was certain to be filthy in addition to being damp. Still, it was a minor inconvenience given the discovery before me.

  Jonas scratched at the stubbly little curls on his head. “This is Zawadi, chief of the Abatwa who live in this area.”

  I leaned closer until my face was a few inches away from Zawadi. Squinting my eyes, I studied its energy. “A fairy of some sort,” I noted. “And a female. That’s uncommon, isn’t it? A woman chief?”

  Jonas shrugged. “They’re dwarf fairies. They do as they please.”

  “Where are they from?”

  “Central Africa.” When he saw me open my mouth to question him further, he added in a monotone, “And they ride the large ants, like this one. The Abatwa are usually gentle and friendly, unless you step on them, in which case they will send you to an early grave.”

  I sensed he was attempting to answer any and all questions I might ask in order to hasten my departure. “I shall consider myself forewarned,” I said, chuckling while marveling how anything that tiny could possibly be a menace.

  Jonas grunted and glanced around. “They may be small but they have powerful curses. Don’t underestimate them. It’s about to rain, Miss Knight. Maybe you should go inside?”

  I shook my head and continued to study Zawadi as intently as she studied me, her gaze unwavering. Her dark, lithe form would’ve easily been lost in the shadows of night had she not been standing atop the pale stone. She reminded me of sketches I’d seen of the Pygmies, a tribe of people living in the forests of equatorial Africa; her features were strikingly similar, but in miniature. She was dressed in the skin of a mouse, the rodent’s tail still attached and swinging behind her. She was not in the least intimidated by a being that was immensely bigger than her. I was utterly charmed and hoped I hadn’t inadvertently stepped on any of her tribe members.

  “She’s delightful,” I said and leaned back.

  “Humph,” was Jonas’ only response.

  “And what are you conversing about?” I inquired, unable to remove myself from the fascinating sight. I regretted not having my sketchpad with me and attempted to memorize every aspect of the Abatwa chief.

  Shifting slightly, Jonas scratched his head. “Me, I’m just talking.”

  Without studying his energy, I could feel his evasion. “Yes, I know you were just talking. What about?”

  Sighing and shaking his head, Jonas picked up a small twig nearby and began rubbing his teeth with it. I let him ponder his answer for I was in no hurry to depart. “Wanjiru,” he finally replied. “The Abatwa, they can find people and things.”

  “And have they found your daughter?” I asked, although it was a redundant question. If they had found her, Jonas surely wouldn’t be squatting here, cleaning his teeth.

  Jonas didn’t bother to provide a response at first but stood up and snapped the twig. “She is not to be found on the land.”

  I rose with a little less grace, my knees cold and stiff. “So then?”

  He turned to face me, his features grave. “Wanjiru is either hiding in a house of stone where the Abatwa can’t enter or she’s under the earth.”

  Unsure how to respond tactfully to that, I abandoned the effort and said, “If she’s under the earth, would that mean she’s deceased?”

  Jonas frowned. “No, that would be too easy.”

  I had to admire a man who held such sentiments regarding death. Before I could press him, he continued, “The dead go to the place in the sky where they are welcomed around a fire and served food. If Wanjiru is under the earth, it would mean that she is still alive but has been taken by Le-Eyo.”

  Zawadi hissed and leaped atop her ant while Jonas smacked his lips as if he’d eaten something sour.

  “And Le-Eyo is…?” I prompted, although I suspected I knew.

  Jonas squared his shoulders and frowned. “He is the God of Death.”

  I sighed. “Of course.”

  Chapter 12

  “WHAT SORT OF character is this Le-Eyo?” I asked as Jonas escorted me to the cottage, Zawadi and her ant having left us at the first mention of the god.

  “Deadly,” Jonas replied and spat to one sid
e.

  “Given that he’s the God of Death, I should hope so,” I muttered as I swished my walking stick through a clump of tall grass that had somehow survived the combined assault of elephants, zebras and Nelly. “But is he a vindictive creature? Or is he amenable to negotiation?”

  Jonas snorted, yet I sensed an unease in the set of his shoulders and the tightening around his eyes. “Have you ever tried to negotiate with Death?”

  “Numerously,” I said. “The proof is that I’m still breathing.”

  With a shake of his head, Jonas said, “Miss Knight, maybe the English version of Death is a skeleton holding a farming implement, but our Death has muscles on his bones and walks amongst us with such familiarity that we know the color of his eyes.”

  “What color?”

  “Golden.” Jonas glanced at me. “Almost like yours. But brighter.”

  That gave me cause to pause. Did the Africans flinch away from gazing in my eyes because I was a colonialist or because my eyes reminded them of Death? Or was that one and the same? We reached the back door to the cottage, and I could see a kettle set on the stove. Despite that tempting vision, I didn’t enter straight away.

  “Tell me a story about him,” I asked.

  That startled Jonas and he stared at me as if trying to gauge how serious I was. When I didn’t make any movement to proceed inside, he relented. “The Maasai, they say that Le-Eyo was not always the God of Death. He was told by the Supreme God Ngai that he must say a prayer when a child dies. If he did so, the child would return to the land of the living.”

  Gazing up at the slightly obscured moon, Jonas rubbed the top of his head. “Yet Le-Eyo was selfish and in love with the moon. One night, when a child died that was not his own, Le-Eyo said a prayer for the moon to return instead, for he missed its light.” He shrugged. “This is the reason that when men die, they do not return, but when the moon dies, it comes back to life.”

  I was unimpressed. “He seems a disaster of a god if he can’t manage to follow one simple order. Because of his celestial mismanagement, the moon wanes and waxes, while we just wane.”

  Jonas grinned at that before sobering enough to warn me. “He may be incompetent at times but he can still be dangerous. He is not to be trifled with.”

  “That is understandable, given that he is the God of Death,” I said and then returned to the original point of the conversation. “So how do we discover if she is with Le-Eyo?”

  Jonas’ very being seemed to deflate as his head and shoulders drooped. “Oh, Miss Knight, it is not possible.”

  “Why ever not?” I demanded for the very concept of impossibility was, ironically, impossible for my nature to tolerate.

  “The entrance to the Underworld, it’s not so easy to find,” he admitted, his eyes downcast. “I have searched. The Abatwa have searched. Kam has—”

  “Yes, I believe I detect a pattern here: everyone has searched,” I interrupted his weary admission. “Perhaps I can ask Anansi when next I meet him.”

  Jonas peered up at me, both astounded and horrified. “You are meeting the Spider?”

  “Supposedly,” I said, hoping my face didn’t give away the true extent of my apprehension. I wasn’t particularly fond of spiders, and an elephant-sized arachnid was decidedly of greater concern. “He wants to meet me or so I’ve been told, but I’ve not seen hide nor hair of Kam, so I don’t know when, where or why.”

  On that dreary note, we parted ways, although it would be some time before I could settle my thoughts sufficiently to sleep. When I did, I beheld in my dreams house-sized ants and a laughing skeleton.

  Chapter 13

  MY SPIRITS ROSE as the sun did, and I woke with greater confidence in the prospects of the day. Mr. Timmons grumbled about the early hour so I left him to his slumber, breakfasted with Shelby and wandered outside with the monkey in her basket. As I passed by the Hardinge household, the gardener reassured me that everyone seemed sufficiently awake to allow me to visit Lilly.

  I found her in the library, sitting by the fire, a book lying neglected in her lap as she stared out the window. From the doorway I observed her. Her midsection was beginning to protrude noticeably due to her condition, yet the radiant pregnancy-induced glow I expected to see was rather lacking. Instead, there was a weariness to her as if she could barely keep her head upright, and I wondered if perhaps she was suffering from the maladies of morning sickness which I’d been told plague some women.

  As I made my way into the room, Lilly glanced around at me and smiled, a wilted little movement of her lips. Hurrying to her side, lest she try to stand, I took the seat next to hers and grasped her hands. They were cold, far colder than the morning chill and dampness could explain.

  “Are you well?” I asked, almost breathless with concern. While we hadn’t been particularly affectionate with each other when we were children, I found myself greatly attached to my cousin since our arrival in Nairobi and I couldn’t bear for any ill to take hold of her.

  “Of course, I’m very much all right,” she insisted, although her gaze shifted away from mine.

  I squinted at her, wondering why she was lying. If it was merely the common issues of pregnancy, surely she would inform me? Her energy field seemed noticeably brighter and stronger; yet if that was so, how could she be so deflated herself? I studied the field further, sensing some oddity yet I was unable to pinpoint what it could be.

  “Stop squinting at me, Bee,” Lilly said with some irritation. “I’m fine.”

  “Why not call upon Dr. Ribeiro to attend to you?” I suggested.

  Lilly turned away slightly to stare out the window. Light gray clouds had drawn across the sky, casting everything in a silvery haze. “Does he have any experience in such matters?” she asked although without any real interest.

  “I’m not sure that we have much choice, given that he is the only doctor we have available to us,” I pointed out. “But I’m sure he’ll manage with his usual competence.”

  At that, she smiled with greater warmth and faced me. “That’s all true enough, but don’t remind my mother of it for she has once again taken up her complaints about our home and position here.”

  “Of course she has,” I said. “She needs some occupation with which to employ herself, and if it’s not a wedding, then it’s a complaint.”

  “What’s to complain about?” Father asked as he entered the room. He kept to the side farthest from the window, and I hastened to draw the curtains so he could join us by the fire. After grasping me to him with great tenderness and inquiring after everyone’s health, he sat with us.

  At that moment, Shelby popped out of her nest and scrambled to my side. Chattering, she clambered swiftly up my side and clung to my neck, shrieking at Father.

  “Animals tend not to enjoy my company,” he admitted.

  Chagrined at my ward’s behavior, I stated, “Well, I do enjoy it.” I scolded Shelby who settled against my neck and contented herself with the occasional soft hiss.

  Our conversation drifted to more pleasant matters. Father was in the midst of an entertaining story regarding a mermaid and a sailor when a loud and hostile voice interrupted him. We all gazed about, alarmed that such angry tones could be found in this house of all places.

  “I don’t much care for the attitude, girl,” Nurse Manton said, her raised voice clearer as she entered the corridor from another room. Her heavy steps approached our location. “I’ve asked you numerously to get to the chores, as the stableboy’s taken off to attend yet another funeral. How many grandmothers can that boy possibly need to bury? At any rate, with him gone, I need you to get out there and collect the eggs from the henhouse. And no excuses about it.”

  The solidly built woman marched past the doorway, her hair even more frizzled with the increased humidity the rains had brought. She didn’t notice us, so determined was she in escorting someone to the backdoor. That someone appeared immediately after, walking a few steps behind. I recognized the girl. It was Esther, the n
ew maid who seemed incapable of speech beyond ‘Yes, ma’am’.

  After the two women had passed, I questioned Lilly on what had transpired.

  “The new girl’s afraid to go outside, and Nurse Manton believes she’s shirking her duties with some excuse,” she said with a disinterest that reminded me of the old Lilly.

  I turned to Father. “If she’s genuinely frightened, perhaps other arrangements should be made.”

  His smile soft and his gaze loving, Father patted my hand. “I shall inquire into the matter and see what can be done,” he promised. “If necessary, I’ll collect the eggs every night, so that Esther can be comfortable.”

  If I’d been the sentimental sort, I’m sure tears would have flowed from my eyes at witnessing his concern and consideration for another person with whom he had no connection, and a maid at that. Even still, I couldn’t prevent the happy sigh at having such a man as my father. In that state, I quite forgot the strangely bright energy surrounding Lilly.

  Chapter 14

  “I DETEST PARTIES,” I complained.

  “Come now, it’s your birthday. Surely, a party will provide some amusement,” Mr. Timmons coaxed me as he escorted me through the garden and toward the Hardinge house. “After all, your aunt will be there and she should provide enough entertainment singlehandedly.”

  I glowered at him but begrudgingly acknowledged that it may indeed be as he described.

  “Especially if you let Shelby loose,” Gideon smirked as he appeared by my other side.

  “It’s bad enough for you to haunt her when you were alive,” Mr. Timmons remarked in a tone too mild for the circumstance. “But to do so after you died and she has remarried is the height of indecency.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Gideon seemed to be in a suspiciously agreeable mood.

  “Am I to understand that you have nothing better to do than haunt us?” Mr. Timmons said with a hint of exasperation. I suspected he was far too engrossed in visions of monkeys bouncing from one guest’s head to the other to be incensed.