by Vered Ehsani
We loaded up wagons as if we were moving house again, but in reality, as camp superintendent and hunt organizer Mr. Adams had explained to Cilla, “I have sworn to let nothing stop me in my quest to rid the camp of those goat-devouring lions. However, this is the Christmas season, my dear. And we would be very amiss if we failed to have suitable celebrations and a feast on hand, lions or no.”
It was the first week of December, and I was astounded that we were already speaking of Christmas. Then again, any man who put such thought into food was perfectly agreeable to me. In fact, I would dare go so far as to say I would have to like him prodigiously.
Unfortunately, not all the men in the party were as gracious and well bred. Of Mr. Timmons I need not elaborate, and I ignored him as politely as social norms allowed, despite the fact he was Cilla’s chaperon. Fortunately, he was far more interested in chatting with Mr. Adams, an unlikely pair of friends as I’d ever seen.
Oblivious to the demerits of his conversational partner, Mr. Adams was expounding on the virtues of the railway, the loss of good goat meat courtesy of the lions, and the antagonism toward him from the workers whose goats had been devoured.
I couldn’t fathom why anyone would be overly fussed about the lack of goat meat, apart from the goats’ owners, of course; it had a most repulsive, pungent smell that unsettled even my stout appetite.
Kam also maintained a certain distance from me, apart from an initial nod in my direction. I wondered what mischief he was devising. His warning regarding Mr. Timmons also flitted through my mind.
Goodness, I thought, there’s far too much to keep track of. And I thought life would be simpler here.
As to be expected, Cilla and I were offered a covered wagon. I preferred to ride, even if it was on Nelly, who alternated between falling asleep while walking and generating rude bodily emissions that caused everyone in hearing distance to send scandalized looks at me. Beyond that, the nag was incapable of any significant exertion.
But apart from these minor nuisances, both Cilla and I were of the same opinion: it was a grand idea to ride and I congratulated myself for ignoring Gideon’s plea to stay at home and Mrs. Steward’s horror at the very idea that two ladies could go off on a hunt. Cilla, for her part, had reminded Mrs. Steward that we weren’t in London anymore.
“As if any of us needs reminding,” Mrs. Steward had huffed.
And we certainly didn’t, what with the zebras and giraffe that littered the grasslands. They weren’t fussed at all when we rode up close to the herds, even with a horse whose digestive system was the noisiest in all of creation. I was relieved to note that the possessed zebra hadn’t follow me, despite the evil eye it gave me as I left the house. I knew it was too much to hope the beast might wander off into the night and be eaten by lions in my absence, but I did cross my fingers.
“Oh my,” Cilla said, interrupting my pleasant reverie. “I think that’s a runaway wagon.”
I glanced behind us and saw a small, two-wheeled wagon bouncing behind a rather excited ox, which was an odd state for any ox to be in. The oxen I had encountered were the complete contradiction of excitement. What this one could be so energetic about was beyond me. The creature was willfully ignoring the efforts of the sole human occupant to slow it down.
“Is that…?” Cilla asked.
I sighed. “It is.”
Dr. Cricket’s wagon almost crashed into us, and it was only the quick footedness of Cilla’s horse that prevented such an unfortunate event. With great determination, her mount shoved Nelly to the side and out of harm’s way. Nelly jerked awake and continued chomping grass, oblivious to the commotion.
A thoroughly rattled Dr. Cricket nodded at us, eyes blinking furiously as he tugged at the reins, which the ox clearly ignored. Fortunately, the stubborn beast had decided to go at our pace, in our direction, having achieved its goal of joining the caravan.
“Good morning, ladies,” Dr. Cricket said in between gulping air as if it were he who had pulled the wagon at breakneck speed.
I smiled politely and noticed a coffin in the back of the wagon. “I see you’re prepared for any eventuality,” I noted with more than a small degree of approval.
“Oh, that,” Dr. Cricket said.
He looked quickly around and leaned close to us as if anyone was near enough to hear him above the crunch of dry grass beneath heavy wheels and people shouting at each other. Basically, everyone and everything was conspiring to make as much noise as possible, thus chasing away any creature we might actually be interested in hunting.
“Truth is, it’s Liam in there,” he whispered, his face tense. I had to strain to hear him over the grunts and wheezing of his ox and Nelly’s belching. “Last night, someone broke into my place and tried to steal him.” He sat back on the narrow plank that served as a seat and nodded at us seriously.
I was about to ask who could possibly want to steal his contraption in this country when Cilla gasped with compassion. “How ghastly!” she said. “Did you catch the thief?”
Dr. Cricket frowned and blinked with superhuman speed several times before replying. “Sadly, no, Miss White. I heard someone rattling the chains securing the cupboard, but when I ran into the room, the person had fled without a sound or trace. It was most alarming. And I couldn’t in all good conscience leave him there, undefended, now could I?”
“Absolutely not,” Cilla said, her hat bobbing energetically around her face.
“And,” I added, “there’s always the benefit of having a coffin at our easy disposal if need should arise.”
Dr. Cricket stared at me blankly while Cilla coughed to cover her laugh.
After the initial excitement of Dr. Cricket’s news and the thrill of riding amongst the wildlife had worn off, we settled into a sort of dusty, heat-induced stupor. I can’t say how many hours we plodded along, but when we finally reached our campsite near a stand of trees and a river, I was more than ready to leave the confines of the hot saddle and enjoy the cool shade by the water’s edge.
The site had been used previously. A large fire pit still retained charred bits of wood in its maw. Porters quickly set up camp, including a number of tents. The wagons were maneuvered to form a circle around the area just as dusk extended itself across the land.
“Why are they doing that? Are we expecting an attack of some sort?” I asked as I joined Cilla and Dr. Cricket near the fire pit, which was full of comforting flames and a giant kettle hanging over them. I could smell tea. Ah yes, gallant Mr. Adams really was the civilized sort, for as everyone knows, the only substance more potent in its rejuvenating powers than tea was chocolate.
“Why, Miss Knight, surely you know of the legendary man-eating lions of Tsavo?” Dr. Cricket enthused.
“You mean the two lions that were shot dead halfway across the country a year ago?” I asked. “By now they’ve been skinned and stuffed.”
Dr. Cricket looked put out by my bored tone. “Well, my dear, if you’d been residing here for those nine months last year when they were alive and eating men, you’d be a tad nervous yourself.”
I wasn’t too enamored with his patronizing tone. After all, had he ever faced down an angry vampire or cleaned up after a shedding werewolf? Where did he imagine all that hair went to once the full moon passed? It made a right mess, I can tell you. But I didn’t inform Dr. Cricket of all of that, since most civilians weren’t privy to such information.
“Do tell,” I said instead, almost biting my tongue in half in the process.
Somewhat mollified, Dr. Cricket continued. “Those two lions terrorized the main railroad camp and ate over a hundred men.”
“I heard it was no more than thirty-five,” I interrupted.
Dr. Cricket stiffened. “One hundred and thirty-five, actually. They were so famous they were even given names: The Ghost and the Darkness. They were huge, over nine feet long. One was almost ten feet and took eight men to carry the carcass back to camp.”
I still wasn’t impressed. I’d seen hellhounds bigger
than that. Maybe Prof. Runal’s interest in the local paranormal wildlife was misplaced. Certainly, I had observed nothing too exceptional apart from a possessed zebra that did nothing but eat grass all day.
Dr. Cricket droned on. “If not for Lieutenant Colonel John Patterson, they’d still be out there.”
“And far away from here, at the Tsavo River,” I pointed out. “But now it seems we have a problem with their ghosts, who aren’t limited by geography.”
Dr. Cricket huffed and blinked fiercely at me. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
I raised my eyebrows. For a brilliant inventor, he really was a simpleton.
“They’re just another pair of hungry lions and we’d best take care,” he continued. “During the last three months of that previous reign of terror, those lions attacked almost every night, and the laborers refused to work.”
“Can’t say I blame them,” Cilla murmured.
“Well, the British Parliament certainly did,” Dr. Cricket said. “Such a delay on the train project was most undesirable.”
“Indeed,” I added. “It must have presented quite an inconvenience, what with all those dead laborers refusing to work.”
“Well, be that as it may,” Dr. Cricket said, clearly not paying me any attention, “the construction crews tried everything to scare the lions off, including campfires and thorn fences, but nothing stopped them.”
“Then how’s a circle of wagons going to help us here?” I asked innocently.
Flustered, Dr. Cricket rose and left us, mumbling some excuse about needing to check on Liam as if the automaton needed a babysitter.
“You are terrible,” Cilla scolded me with a laugh.
I couldn’t argue with that.
Chapter 15
