The third woman appeared to be in her forties, with a slightly thickened albeit athletic carriage. Her hair, also blond, was swept back in a less modern but very practical roll from her round face. Jade saw her stare inquisitively at Biscuit, her head tilted as though a new angle would make seeing a sleek African cat on a leash more comprehensible.
Jade had less opportunity to study the men before they acknowledged the newcomers. They all wore khaki-colored bush jackets and heavy trousers tucked into their boots. Two of the three men stood immediately on the guests’ entrance and made sharp bows. One of them also clicked his heels together in a military salute.
“Sweet Millard Fillmore on a bicycle,” muttered Jade. “They’re Germans.”
CHAPTER 6
Food, danger, maternal love, passion, and security as well as the accumulated wisdom of countless years along ancient trails: these are the topics that make up the elephants’ conversations. These subjects are the very essence of life.
—The Traveler
HARRY STEPPED into the center of the group and began the introductions as though the Great War hadn’t recently occurred and the English and Americans had never been bitter enemies with the kaiser’s empire or felt the brunt of its Big Berthas. Harry first directed his open hand towards a portly, older man with receding brown hair heavily flecked with gray. “Herr Otto von Gretchmar,” he said. The man inclined his head in a deep bow, exposing a bald spot at the back. “And this,” said Harry as he indicated the older woman of the set with a polite bow, “is Frau von Gretchmar.”
The woman smiled. “Please, you will call me Claudia,” she said in heavily accented English. “And allow me our daughter, Mercedes, to introduce.” The woman nodded to the girl with the marcel-waved hair, who barely looked up from her immaculately manicured nails. Jade wasn’t certain if she was shy, browbeaten, or just incredibly self-centered.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Beverly with a show of impeccable breeding.
The second man jumped into the breach and introduced himself. He looked to be in his midforties with the muscular build of an athlete. He wore his dark brown hair clipped short in what Jade supposed was a military cut, and the traditional saber scar ran across his right cheek. Her suspicions were heightened when he clicked his heels together and bowed. “I am Herr Eric Vogelsanger from Prussia.”
Since the last two individuals showed no such inclination to introduce themselves, Harry did it for them. “Herr Heinrich Mueller,” he said as he extended his hand to point out a slender young man still sprawled lazily in his chair. The man peered at them through foppishly long brown hair and smiled. “And,” finished Harry, “this is his charming wife, Liesel Mueller.”
Jade noticed that Harry didn’t introduce the peroxide blonde as “Frau” Liesel and wondered just how “charming” the woman was. She decided she didn’t care. Liesel had a petite and well-formed frame but didn’t appear any more energetic than her husband until she set her hazel eyes on Avery. She immediately sat up straighter and preened, running a finger through each forehead curl like the proverbial villain curling his mustache.
Jade sidled next to Beverly and whispered, “Watch out for that one.” She thought she heard Bev snarl in reply. As an afterthought, Jade whispered, “By the way, I don’t speak any German.”
Beverly turned her head and arched her delicate brows at Jade. “But you studied…” Then her eyes opened wide as she comprehended Jade’s plan to eavesdrop. She smiled and whispered back, “Of course not. None of us do.”
Harry shifted his introductions to Jade’s group and identified everyone except Jelani and Biscuit. Jade waited with the instinct of someone well versed in human behavior. Sure enough, one of the women, Liesel, inquired about the cat. Jelani might as well not exist. Yes, Jade thought, her plan to have the boy infiltrate the ranks of gun bearers would work. No one would think anything of it because they didn’t even bother to notice him.
“This is Biscuit,” said Jade. She took the lead from Jelani and quietly motioned for him to slip away. The boy grinned at her, enjoying their secret game, and obliged. Jade took a deep breath and resigned herself to enduring dinner.
“Please sit down,” said Harry. He stepped behind a seventh and vacant camp chair and held it. “Lady Dunbury, won’t you have my seat? I’m afraid I didn’t think about a shortage of chairs when I invited you. As you can see, I set out three, um, of the best chop boxes for the rest of us.”
Jade maintained her poker face while she watched Harry display his very best company manners. If the act was meant to impress her, at least it succeeded in providing amusement.
“Thank you, Harry,” said Bev as she sat, “and please just call me Beverly. We’ve been beyond formality for quite some time.”
Vogelsanger made a sharp bow in Jade’s direction and extended a hand towards his seat. “Fräulein, you will please sit here.” The offer sounded more like a military order than an invitation.
Jade flashed a dazzling smile and shook her head no. “Thank you, but I would not dream of taking your chair. You looked so comfortable when we arrived.”
Harry still stood beside Beverly, and Jade thought she detected the red flush of momentary embarrassment on his tanned face. She decided to toy with him. “Why, Harry, aren’t you going to hold my chop box for me while I sit down?” Before he could decide what to do, she slid gracefully onto the wooden box. Avery took a spot next to his wife, leaving Harry to sit between Avery and Jade.
Immediately, the camp cook directed two native Africans to serve a savory lentil soup as a first course. Jade noticed that Harry still kept to using practical tin dinnerware rather than the more impressive and fragile china and crystal that other safari companies preferred. She nodded her approval, especially when Liesel Mueller scowled as red wine was poured into her tin mug. Jade turned down the wine and asked for a mug of coffee instead. After that, a palpable silence punctuated only by the occasional slurp from Otto von Gretchmar hung over the group.
Beverly did her best to fill the breach. “How are you enjoying Africa?” she asked of no one in particular.
Claudia von Gretchmar rolled her eyes and placed a hand at her bosom for dramatic emphasis. “Mein Gott, but it is horrid this mountain! It is damp and so much noise. I cannot at night sleep.”
“I think it is wunderbar,” proclaimed Vogelsanger as the servants replaced the soup with a fragrant stew of game birds and vegetables over a bed of saffron rice, “but perhaps not so much for the ladies?” He glanced meaningfully at first Claudia, then Mercedes.
“Shooting many animals?” asked Jade with another beaming smile. She thought she heard Mueller whisper, “Sagen Sie nichts” (Say nothing) to his companions.
“Herr Hascombe has done the hunting or we would not these fine birds be eating,” said Mueller. “Do you hunt, Fräulein?”
“Oh yes,” said Jade. “Generally in self-defense, of course, quite necessary in the Western states, you know. Never know when you need to kill a rattlesnake. But I must admit that I’ve always enjoyed bringing down the bloviated buffoon. Very dangerous animal, but excellent sport.”
Vogelsanger leaned forward, his interest showing. “I am not familiar with that animal,” he said. “Is it a good trophy?”
“Magnificent,” Jade began while Harry squirmed next to her and nudged her right foot with his left.
“Er, I’m sure that Jade is referring to the American buffalo,” said Harry. He kicked her foot again.
“I’m sorry you have to rely on Harry in order to eat,” Jade continued. “I just assumed that you came here to hunt. Perhaps it’s all on your game permits. I could read them for you if you’re not sure.”
“All this talk of hunting,” exclaimed Liesel Mueller, “I find it boring.” She leaned across the table towards Avery and batted her eyelashes, heavy with mascara, at him. “So you are a British lord? You must be very rich. Do you own an automobile?”
“Oh, so you’re interested in automobiles?” said Beverly as
she edged closer to her husband. “Jade and I both adore working on them. Tell me, Liesel, what do you find more enjoyable, cleaning a carburetor or the spark plugs?”
Liesel made a face as though she’d eaten a bug. “I do not know about such things. Automobiles are pretty toys to ride in. I am more interested in das Kino.”
“Is that a game or a wine?” asked Beverly.
“I think she means fashions,” suggested Jade.
Liesel let loose an exasperated sigh. “The moving pictures.”
“Oh!” said Jade. “You’ll have to excuse us. We don’t speak German. So you like the cinema?”
“I adore it,” said Liesel. She closed her eyes and crossed both hands over her chest for dramatic emphasis. “Have you seen Pola Negri in”—she paused to consider the correct translation—“The Eyes of the Mummy Ma?”
At the mention of the German actress, Mercedes immediately perked up. “I would like to be an actress in the movies.”
“Nonsense!” bellowed her father. “That is not a proper future for my Mercedes. Your success is with how you marry.”
Jade studied the group’s reaction. Mercedes sank into her chair, head bowed. Harry scowled, Liesel Mueller rolled her eyes, and her husband yawned, but Claudia’s face remained a complete blank. That is, until Mercedes began to sob. Then Claudia stiffened.
“Mercedes!” she snapped. “Go to your tent at once.”
Only Vogelsanger looked remotely sympathetic as his gaze followed the girl’s retreating figure, but when he turned the conversation away from movies, Jade wasn’t certain if he did it to spare Claudia any more distress or for more selfish motives. “Do you also enjoy motors, Lord Dunbury?” he asked. “I was telling Herr Hascombe about our newest models.” Liesel immediately groaned aloud as the two men embarked on a discussion of pistons.
“Is this your first trip to Africa?” Jade asked. Vogelsanger, busily lecturing Avery and Harry, did not hear her. Claudia sat quietly, looking at von Gretchmar, waiting for him to speak for her.
“Yes,” he replied.
“I have been to Egypt,” said Mueller. “It is most interesting if it is sand you like.”
More silence reigned, and Jade contemplated asking one of the other men if she could admire his firearms. If nothing else, the model would give her an idea of what type of game they were after. Before she could voice her question, she heard a sharp whistle. Immediately Biscuit jumped up and ran to the other end of the camp.
“What was that?” asked Otto von Gretchmar, his eyes wide in alarm.
“That would be Jelani calling for Biscuit,” said Jade. “By the way, did I mention that we found someone murdered yesterday?”
AS SOON AS JADE had sent him off, Jelani had trotted around to the rear of the tents, back to where the porters, cook, and gun bearers sat around their own fire. The boy heard male laughter and conversation mingled with the assorted sounds that indicated food consumption. His mouth watered as he smelled the aromas of meat and posho wafting from the cook pots. Having previously known only other Kikuyu and the few Wakamba men in his own safari, he had never experienced rejection from fellow Africans before and didn’t expect any here. It surprised him when it came.
He plopped himself on the ground near a pot of posho and started helping himself to the cooked cornmeal when a man sitting opposite scowled at him. The man spoke in a language Jelani did not fully understand but assumed to be Wakamba based on the man’s pointed teeth. Whatever his words, Jelani recognized the anger behind them. He clearly wasn’t welcome around this fire.
Just when Jelani thought perhaps he should leave, a big man sitting closer to him started arguing with the antagonist. The two traded heated words and angry gestures until the camp’s cook came to see what the noise was all about. He listened for a moment to each of the two men.
“Makelele!” he shouted. The command that could mean either “start” or “stop the ruckus” caused the argument to cease immediately, and the cook turned to Jelani and addressed him in broken English.
“Hey, you, boy. How come you sitting there? You not with Big Bwana,” he said, referring to Harry Hascombe.
“I came with Memsabu Simba Jike and her two English friends to visit.”
“Ayah, they are welcome, but I do not think that Big Bwana invite you.” He jabbed a finger at Jelani.
Jelani stood as tall as his dozen years allowed and folded his arms across his chest. “I have come with Simba Jike. It is my job to watch her duma,” he said, using the Swahili word for cheetah.
The cook translated this for some of the other men and they laughed at his story. “Then where,” asked the cook, “is this cheetah and why aren’t you with it? Is this a magical animal that disappears?” Again the other men laughed.
Jelani didn’t care for this sort of treatment. No one had ever questioned his honor before. After all, hadn’t he already proved himself when he helped kill the witch’s hyena last year? Wasn’t he almost a warrior now?
He put his two middle fingers in his mouth and whistled once, a short, sharp blast. A moment later, Biscuit raced past the other men and butted his head against Jelani’s chest. He wrapped his arms around the big cat’s neck and hugged him. Several of the men, including the one who had first yelled at Jelani, broke into broad grins and laughed. One of the men scooped a large helping of posho and stewed meat onto a slab of flat bread and handed it to him while the cook placed some on a leaf for the cheetah.
Jelani’s mouth did double duty as he tried to answer the men’s questions and do just service to the food. While he took pride in sharing meals with Simba Jike and her friends, he sometimes thought their food was too spicy and the meals too complicated. He missed the simple taste of posho, which reminded him of his mother’s hut.
Only the cook and the headman spoke English, and only two others spoke any Swahili. With those men acting as interpreters, the conversation resumed. Jelani explained his job taking care of Biscuit and proudly related his adventure last year with the man-eating hyena that had plagued his village. By the time he got to the part about plunging his knife into the beast’s heart, he was on his feet acting out the role, driving an invisible knife into an equally invisible hyena. If he neglected to mention that the animal was already dead when he stabbed it, no one noticed.
Finally, Jelani managed to interject questions of his own. “Who are these people traveling with your Big Bwana? Are they good hunters?”
The cook, knowing that the reputation and social standing of the entire camp rested on the capabilities of the hunters, puffed out his chest. “Ayah, they are elephant hunters. Only a brave man would face an angry elephant.”
“I know of Big Bwana,” said Jelani. “He is a brave man, but I do not know these others. They do not look like hunters.” He shoved more posho into his mouth.
The cook stood and motioned for Jelani to come with him. “I will show you.”
Jelani stood and barked an order to the cat. Biscuit didn’t need any order to follow him, but the action impressed the men even more. Jelani followed the cook, and by the time Memsabu Jade called for him, he had discovered the answers to most of her questions. He returned to her with great dignity, head high and back straight, Biscuit’s leash firmly in hand.
“Did you have a nice visit with the men, Jelani?” asked Jade when he rejoined her.
“Yes, Simba Jike. Tarmangani bundolo Tantor.”
“Balu Tantor?” asked Jade. Jelani shook his head no.
“I CAN’T RECALL a more boring evening,” said Beverly once they were settled around the fire back in their own camp. She stretched and grimaced as she worked out a kink in her lower back. “I suppose I could, but I don’t want to.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Avery said. He glanced at his wife, who stared back at him and rolled her eyes. “Well, perhaps it was,” he amended. “But I’m not sure ‘boring’ is the right word for his crew. ‘Smoldering’ is more like it.”
Beverly nodded. “I know what you mean, my lov
e. One would never suppose from listening to those arrogant, egotistical people that they had just lost the war and, with it, part of the Congo and German East Africa. And then there’s Frau Peroxide hoping to make my Avery her next conquest.” She raised her chin and sniffed in disgust.
Avery shifted closer to his wife and put an arm around her in a rare public display of affection. “Not to fear, my darling. She’s as bloody likely to take me from you as they are to regain their territories.”
Jade drained her coffee mug, looked at the empty cup longingly, and rose to refill it. Biscuit lolled at her feet and watched her movements. “I learned quite a bit.” She finished filling her mug and held out the pot to the others in an unspoken offer. Beverly declined, but her husband extended his half-empty cup. Jade topped it off and replaced the pot.
“Are you going to tell us or leave us in suspense all evening?” Beverly asked. “And by the way, you still haven’t finished your story about that elk and the horse.”
“That can wait,” said Jade. “I want to tally what we know about Harry’s crew. First, tell me what specifics you learned about Harry’s party, and I’m not talking about their past political history.”
Beverly began ticking off points on her fingers. “Von Gretchmar is a banker and his wife, Claudia, is a classic wealthy hausfrau who goes to a spa every year in Bad Harzburg to take the cure. Absolutely doting on her Mann and terribly short with poor little Mercedes. Not sure she knows one end of a rifle from another.”
“That’s a supposition, not a fact,” argued Jade.
Beverly nodded and stuck out a second finger. “Two, Mercedes does not belong in Africa. And her father has antiquated notions about her proper place. Three, the Prussian, Vogelsanger, loves to talk motors. Whatever business Mueller is in, if any, must not require much supervision from him. He doesn’t seem to have a brain in his head, and his wife—” She raised her hand to arrest Jade’s comment on making suppositions. “I know. Stick to the facts. Just don’t get me started on that hussy.”
Stalking Ivory Page 7
