by Vered Ehsani
“Yes,” he stated. “Your father was correct. And truthfully, I wouldn’t want you to be that other woman. She sounds dreadfully boring. Although…” He paused with a chuckle as he tilted my chin up, “would you kindly consider at least informing me when you’re planning to hurtle blithely toward danger and possible disaster? And if time allows, perhaps you could even consult with me?”
I gazed into his eyes as Shelby squirmed between us. “Yes, I could and I will,” I conceded. “But then don’t be terribly upset when I do.”
Pushing a lock of hair behind my ear, he kissed my forehead. “That I can’t promise but I’ll try to restrain myself.”
I smiled at his honest assessment. “Fair enough.” Desiring to take advantage of his more amenable disposition, I added, “Oh, and while we’re on the topic, sometime in the near future I may possibly need to return to the World of Shadows with Koki to rescue a dead poet.”
Before the astonished man could produce a response, Gideon appeared, his upper body protruding through the wall and into the room. Smirking, he said, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Mr. Timmons gritted his teeth. “Not at all.”
“Your timing is rather awkward,” I reprimanded the ghost.
Shrugging away our criticism, he became very serious. Dramatic clearing his throat, he placed a hand over his heart, lifted his face toward the ceiling and intoned, “It pleases me greatly that you’re learning to accept each other as you are.”
“Brilliant,” Mr. Timmons grumbled. “Marital advice from my wife’s ex-husband.”
Gideon frowned, lowering both his hand and his gaze, and corrected him. “I prefer the term deceased husband.”
“That will be all, Gideon,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him in a manner that suggested his presence was not welcome.
“Very well. I sense when I’m not wanted.” He began to withdraw into the corridor when he paused and pushed his head back into the room. “Oh, there’s one more thing you might want to know.”
“Please, do tell,” Mr. Timmons said as he flung up his arms.
“Why, thank you. I will,” Gideon said, grinning cheerfully. “There’s a giant spider on your lawn.”
Chapter 33
“MRS. TIMMONS,” MY husband asked in a soft voice as his energy snapped around us. “What is a giant spider doing on our lawn?”
“I hope it’s not eating our horses,” I replied as I turned to go. “That would pose a great inconvenience.”
“And I’m sure the oversized arachnid is deeply concerned regarding the matter of our convenience,” Mr. Timmons said with a scoff. “What a pity Anansi doesn’t devour ghosts.”
“Simon,” I chided him as we hastened through the cottage. “Gideon has his uses. After all, he’s training to be a fine babysitter.” On the way through the living room, I snatched up my walking stick with my metal hand while clutching Shelby to my chest with my human hand. The weight of my stick reassured me that at least this time, I wasn’t entering into danger unarmed and I relished the confidence it provided me.
We entered the kitchen and approached the back door. Mr. Timmons paused with his hand over the doorknob. “So are we thinking we would want children?” His eyebrows rose with each word and his eyes were a light gray, his expression caught between thoughtful contemplation and outright panic.
“I’m sure if we did, they wouldn’t be quite so hairy as Shelby,” I reassured him, maintaining a frivolous tone even as my stomach clenched.
“Beatrice,” he murmured, placing his hands on my shoulders as he searched my expression for an answer.
“Simon, this really isn’t the time,” I said with a huff. “While I’m certain Anansi will behave himself, the same cannot be said for Nelly, who might take it into her head to chomp—”
“Beatrice,” he said again, lowering his head until our foreheads touched.
Sighing, I said, “I don’t think I’m able.”
“Of course you are,” he said, drawing back in surprise at my adamant tone. “You’ll develop those… What are they called? Oh, yes. Maternal instincts.”
I shook my head while focusing on the softness of Shelby’s fluffy fur. “That’s not what I was implying.” I paused for emphasis. “I don’t think I’m able at all.”
“Oh.” There was a pause before he added, “I see.”
Mr. Timmons’ face was obscured by shadows as the light outside faded into night, so I was unable to determine the extent of his disappointment or relief. I didn’t dare assay his energy, for I wasn’t certain I wished to know either way. We stood by the door for several moments, a hand-width and a universe apart. I contemplated telling him that Gideon and I had tried for our entire, albeit brief, marriage, but decided against it. He understood the situation. There was no benefit in belaboring the point that it wasn’t only a hand I was missing.
A piercing neigh penetrated the silence between us.
“Surely, he wouldn’t,” Mr. Timmons muttered as he yanked the door open and strode outside.
We hastened toward the barn in which there was something of a commotion. As we approached, we could hear the ox and Mr. Timmons’ horses kicking at their stalls, snorting and neighing with great agitation. From the sound of her snores, it seemed Nelly was doing her utmost to remain in slumber, unperturbed by the large shadow squatting near the barn’s entrance.
“Anansi,” I called out, wondering into what trouble I was marching. At least this time, Mr. Timmons was with me, so he couldn’t very well complain that I’d run off on my own.
“Miss Knight,” the giant arachnid wheezed in his high-pitched tone that reminded me of chirping crickets. The air was infused with the smell of dusty attics and cobwebs. While his eight eyes were invisible in the dark, there was enough light lingering from the sunset to observe the great bulk of insect that was before us.
“Anansi is quite pleased about our progress,” Koki drawled as she sauntered into view.
“And he traveled all the way here to tell me,” I remarked. “How thoughtful.”
Narrowing her eyes at me, Koki wagged a finger at me and said, “You should be flattered, not sarcastic.”
Mr. Timmons snorted at the suggestion.
“Indeed,” I said. “If he’s so pleased, perhaps he could have a word with Le-Eyo regarding Wanjiru. Fretting about a possible abduction tends to spoil one’s appetite.”
“Yours or hers?” Mr. Timmons asked as the Spider hissed.
“Both, of course,” I replied.
Koki laughed and said, “You are audacious, Miss Knight. It’s one of your more endearing qualities.”
“So he will request Le-Eyo to leave Wanjiru alone?” I persisted even as Mr. Timmons nudged me.
“Yes,” Anansi said.
Releasing the tension in my shoulders in one breath, I said, “Thank you.”
“Liongo get,” Anansi ordered and thumped a couple of his legs.
Mr. Timmons stiffened by my side. I was certain that if he had even the slightest hope of success, he’d drain the both of them on the spot and not think twice about it. Then again, we would have an interesting time disposing of a giant spider corpse.
As if divining his agitation, Koki chuckled. “Have some confidence in your wife, Mr. Timmons. She’s quite capable, for a human.”
Shelby gurgled and stretched across my arm, drawing Koki’s attention. Glancing at the monkey, she gazed at me, her eyes inscrutable. Yet there wasn’t the scorn I had expected.
“My wife needs to rest,” Mr. Timmons said, his growl barely restrained.
At the mention of rest, it dawned on me that a hot bath and a bite to eat would not go amiss. Yet as I contemplated the activities of the previous twenty-four hours, I found I wasn’t nearly as fatigued or famished as I ought to have been. What was the beverage that Dr. Ribeiro had given me? I made a mental note to request the recipe or, better yet, a steady supply.
“Of course,” Koki spoke on behalf of her husband who was chittering in his strange languag
e. “We can be benevolent, given the strenuous events of the day.”
As the she-demon wasn’t particularly known for magnanimity, I couldn’t help the edge to my words as I said, “How thoughtful of you.”
Again, she glanced at me without derision. “You might be surprised, Miss Knight.” Then her haughtiness asserted itself and with a dismissive wave at us, she added, “You have one week to recover, and then we shall venture forth to retrieve Liongo. In the meantime, try not to wander off, Miss Knight. You do have that tendency.”
With that, she and the spider departed into the shadows from which they came.
Chapter 34
THE NEXT DAY, the air was submerged in a deluge of rain, making it a perfect day to eat, sleep and indulge in marital benefits. Apart from Shelby, no non-human entities or human ghosts ventured to disturb our privacy. However, Gideon’s influence upon our monkey orphan was clearly noticeable as the little beast began to exhibit signs of a mischievous nature.
When we didn’t rise at the break of dawn to feed her, she swung from the pots and pans hanging in our kitchen, causing such a ruckus that I was unable to feign deafness and had to exit the bed. Displeased by the limited options provided to her for breakfast — a banana that I didn’t bother to cut up — Shelby carried the peel to our bedroom and deposited it on Mr. Timmons’ pillow. Only when he threatened to lock her out of the house did she allow us any peace.
The following day, Mr. Timmons insisted we should take some fresh air despite the drizzle. “You’re too pale,” he admonished, but only saying so after ensuring I’d consumed a small pot of tea first. Such a clever man I married.
With Shelby cozied up into a basket tied to the back of my saddle, we rode our horses into town and were much relieved not to hear any gossip that mentioned giant insects and the like. At the general store, a number of people had congregated to converse with the owner who seemed to be a fount of useless trivia.
As we entered, Mr. Rossenrode was on another rant. “Bloody rains, pardon me language. That bridge o’er past the train station was washed away again yesterday. I’ve lost track of how many times. Must be more than half a dozen, mark my words.”
I made sympathetic noises while marveling at the Inkanyamba’s determination to clear the rivers of all obstacles. Mr. Timmons commiserated with Mr. Rossenrode regarding the lackluster job of the colonial administration. “The least they could do was build a decent bridge, man!” the shopkeeper moaned into his bushy mustache. “And they still insist on taxin’ us. For what, man, for what? It’s goin’ to only go downhill from here, mark my words, now that they’ve just published the municipal regulations.”
A few of the patrons muttered similar sentiments until someone waved an outdated newspaper which Mr. Rossenrode promptly snatched up. Glancing at the front page, he snorted. “Aye, it’s just a rumor. Some idiot protestin’ o’er the Boer war attempted to assassinate the Prince of Wales.” He slapped the newspaper onto the counter. “If it even happened.”
Having satisfied ourselves that normal humans were suitably distracted by matters as innocuous as broken bridges, taxation and assassinations, we continued on our way, allowing the horses to plod along at a pace that allowed Nelly to doze off on occasion.
Our meandering eventually brought us to the location of Dr. Ribeiro’s new clinic.
“It hasn’t collapsed,” I marveled as I studied the simple but remarkably sturdy looking structure of metal walls and roof held together with nails and wooden beams. “How very commendable.”
Mr. Timmons stroked one of his sideburns as we approached the building. “It’s a common belief that medical clinics should be a place to recover from injury. A collapsing roof might not be amenable to that lofty goal.”
“You know my feelings on the intelligence of common beliefs,” I reminded him.
“Yes,” he conceded. “But you must admit that in this case, it’s not too off the mark.”
Before I could respond, Dr. Ribeiro flung open the door with a metallic clang. “I was thinking I heard my dear, dear friends,” he gushed while waggling his head. “We are so very delighted to be welcoming you to the finest health clinic in all of East Africa.”
Rather than suggest that this was the only clinic, I asked, “We?”
The doctor, dressed as always in his three-piece suit and hat, smiled and said, “Oh yes, I am now having a very fine assistant, one who is not being deaf and blind.”
“Speaking of deaf and blind,” I said, “how is George?” I pictured the elderly African squatting in Dr. Ribeiro’s previous clinic, his gnarled and heavily veined hands washing the body of a zombie patient.
“George is still being very helpful,” Dr. Ribeiro said, the set of his features expressing his deep satisfaction.
“But Yao is also,” Yao announced as he bounded out of the building to join us.
“Oh, bollocks,” Mr. Timmons muttered.
I didn’t castigate him for his offensive language but I did wonder at the doctor’s choices in assistants.
Meanwhile, Yao puffed up his exposed chest and said, “Yao is a worker now. Women like that in a man.” He smacked his naked chest a few times with one hand. “And the doctor, he gave Yao clothes that he should wear in the clinic.” He tugged at the baggy, nondescript pants he was wearing; they were too short, hanging around his mid-calf. “Soon, we’ll have a grand opening and there will be lots of blood and dying people inside.”
“Talking about grand, will you be wanting a grand tour now?” Dr. Ribeiro asked.
“Perhaps George isn’t the only person who’s deaf,” Mr. Timmons whispered to me as we followed the doctor. “He seems oblivious in regards to the dubious qualifications of his assistants.”
I coughed to cover my snicker for I’d been thinking the same. “You don’t by any chance have mind reading powers?” I inquired in a soft voice. “You routinely verbalize my thoughts.”
He waggled his eyebrows and refrained from responding. Instead, he produced the appropriate words of praise and sounds of awe as we walked through the four rooms of the clinic.
At the end of the brief tour, I admitted, “Well, I believe this structure might actually withstand a heavy rain. Possibly even a Kerit landing on the roof.”
“Yes, yes, Miss Knight,” Dr. Ribeiro said, his smile lifting his goatee and brightening his eyes. “I am making sure that the very specifications of the building is to keep standing.”
“Jolly good, sir,” I said. “Oh, before I forget. Would you mind visiting Lilly one of these days? I would be grateful for your opinion on how her pregnancy is progressing.”
Mr. Timmons cocked his head toward me. “Is there something wrong?”
“Of course not,” I hastily reassured him. “I’m sure it’s nothing. She just seems to be bigger than I would expect at this point.”
“I am being so happy you asked me,” Dr. Ribeiro said. “I will be making a visit very promptly.”
On that cheery note, we departed.
Our final stop was the Hardinge household. I longed to inform Wanjiru of the good news that Anansi would ensure her freedom from the undesired arrangement with the God of Death. When he heard of our destination, Yao dropped a toolbox to the ground.
“Yao too has an urgent matter,” he announced as he yanked off his work pants and tossed them onto a nail.
Mr. Timmons smirked. “Nothing to do with a certain maid of the Hardinge household?”
“Ah,” Yao began and licked his lips. “Shouldn’t we go?”
So we did. The Adze ran alongside us, his youthful features set in an uncharacteristically concentrated expression.
Upon arriving, we knocked on the front door. Nurse Manton let us in, her frizzy hair more pronounced in its untidiness. “Oh, Mrs. Timmons, madam, you won’t believe the to-do that’s ongoing,” she gushed before bestowing upon Yao a questioning and not very welcoming glance.
“He’s with us,” I explained.
“Hm,” she huffed, her lips pursed as she
eyed his dusty, bare feet. Indeed, the only scrap of clothing on the Adze was a loincloth made of animal hide. “Well, that’s not the oddest I’ve seen today, by far. Is that a monkey, Mrs. Timmons?”
I glanced down at the bundle in my arms as if only just realizing its presence. “So it is. How remarkably astute of you.”
“Oh,” she said and then hastened to change the topic. “There’s a suitor of sorts, strolling about the house as if he might own it.”
All three of us stared at the woman, marveling that there should be a suitor at all. “Congratulations,” Yao said, his toothy grin brightening the entranceway. He was utterly insensible that any attempt on his part to engage with her would only increase her irritation.
“Not for me, you fool,” she said with asperity. “The man’s come for that strange and irresponsible girl who refuses to work outside. Only a few days ago, she picked up and left without so much as a word, abandoning her duties without a care. And then yesterday evening, she waltzed back in as if nothing happened.”
Yao gasped and whispered, “Wanjiru.”
“No,” Nurse Manton said, again glancing at Yao in a disapproving manner, clearly not impressed by his bold behavior. “Her name is Esther, and I’ve no clue why Lady Hardinge insists—”
At that point, she lost her audience, for Yao dashed past her with no regard for her startled noise of protest. Blurting out a brief apology, Mr. Timmons and I hastened after him, leaving the astonished woman gaping after us.
Sniffing the air as if he were a human bloodhound — which in a way is exactly what a vampire is — Yao led us through the house and into the kitchen. Wanjiru stood by the counter, conversing with a man I didn’t recognize. Her words and gestures were animated and determined, as if by the very force of her hands and vocal cords, she could change the world. Upon seeing us, she instantly stilled, her voice faded away, and she dropped her gaze to the floor.
“Wanjiru!” Yao cried. “What is this news of a suitor?”
The man before her, an older fellow, grunted while crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s it to you?” he grumbled.
