She urged her horse into a canter and caught up with Lord Colridge, who was busily lecturing Neville on the merits of the chestnut-vented sandgrouse for sport. Neville, for his part, acted as though he’d never before heard of the bird and hung on every word.
“Lord Colridge,” Jade called as she rode up to him. “Pardon me, but I’d like to stop and photograph that view.” Seeing the old aristocrat’s irritation, she added, “I promise you, sir, it will only be the matter of a moment. My camera has a fast lens. I don’t need a long exposure.”
“Very well, Miss del Cameron. I suppose you must.” He shifted in his saddle. “Er, I’ll just wander over to those trees to the left and, er, scout around a bit.” He turned abruptly to Mr. Thompson before leaving. “I depend on you, Thompson, to keep an eye out. Never know what comes out of those ravines there: buffalo, lion.”
Neville gripped his rifle firmly and nodded. Jade, in the meantime, dismounted and took her Graflex out of the saddlebag. She inserted a film sheet, pulled up the collapsible viewing hood, took a wider stance for stability, and shot. She inserted another sheet and took a second shot a little to the west of the first, making certain to overlap a portion of the two pictures. With careful cropping, she’d have a splendid panoramic view. Next she pulled a small leather-bound notebook and a pencil from the camera bag and jotted down a few notes as Colridge returned.
“You’re finished?” he stated in a tone that expected an affirmative answer.
“Yes, sir. May I ask, what is that hill across the river?”
“That’s what the Kikuyu call Kea-Njahe. It means the Mountain of the Big Rain. They believe it’s one of the homes of their supreme being, Ngai.”
Jade jotted the name into her notebook. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Do Kikuyu live there?”
“Only on this near side of it, though they graze goats farther up the slope. Harry Hascombe’s ranch abuts their land, and Roger Forster has his ranch on the southernmost base.”
“So these Kikuyu that you’re helping, they live on your land?”
“No. Mostly on Forster’s and Hascombe’s, but so many of those villagers have worked for me that they come to me to settle problems. I’ve often wondered why they don’t bother Forster or Hascombe instead, but Hascombe employs more Maasai than Kikuyu. Forster’s probably off on safari again.”
Jade remounted and fell in line behind Lord Colridge and Madeline. Neville had been directed to bring up the rear and keep a watch out for any danger from the brush. Jade checked her own rifle to be certain of its ready availability. Experience had taught her never to count on someone else, but only a bushbuck, startled by their approach, leaped from one of the brushier ravines. His coat flashed rusty brown in the sunlight, but whether that was his natural coloring or if the reddish dust from a wallow aided in the tint, Jade couldn’t tell. It was a male, and Jade admired his long, nearly straight horns with their one tight spiraling twist. The animal reminded her of the pronghorn in size and markings.
They descended to the Athi River and let their horses pick their footing through the slope’s tall grass. The long rains had ended two weeks ago with the close of May, but even when the tributaries turned to dry gulches, the Athi itself maintained a steady if somewhat lower flow. Jade’s sensitive hearing detected a persistent churning rumble characteristic of rapids or falls.
“We’ll cross below the falls,” Colridge shouted back, verifying her guess. “Safer there. Crocs don’t care for a fast current, and it’s too shallow for hippos. Miss del Cameron will probably insist on taking a photograph, so, Thompson, you be at the ready for trouble behind her.”
The low grumble grew more distinct but the high wall of a volcanic dike on the right hid the source from view. Jade scanned the top of the rocky wall for overhead wildlife and, seeing none, followed Colridge and Madeline along the trail at its base. Small mica sheets and quartz crystals flashed out of rich black feldspar.
A full and spectacular view of the waterfall cascading over the volcanic rocks greeted her when she rounded the corner of the outcrop. The falls initially dropped from a height of at least ten feet before tumbling the last three over two shorter stair steps. Fine white spray ricocheted off the dark boulders and splattered the surroundings with refreshing dampness. Lush, flowering shrubs and vines clung to seemingly impossible places on the rock, their roots grasping for a purchase in the precious, wet environment, while feathery papyrus heads undulated gracefully along the shoreline. A kingfisher, resplendent with a large turquoise-colored crest, dived from its perch into the basin at the foot of the falls. He emerged a moment later with a fish every bit as long as himself in his massive red beak. It’s Eden, thought Jade.
She stopped her horse in midstream and unbuckled the saddlebag. Her horse twitched a hind leg and swatted a fly with its tail, and Jade decided not to chance the exposure to her mount’s steadiness. She slid off the saddle and landed with both boots in a foot of churning, frothing water. Two boulders stabilized her as she took a photograph. She wanted to linger, but knowing that Lord Colridge’s patience wouldn’t last, she jotted a few notes in her book and packed up her gear. Jade led the horse out of the river shallows and remounted on the bank.
“Thank you, Lord Colridge,” she said. “I appreciate your giving me this time when I know you must be anxious to press on.”
Colridge waved a hand in a gesture of benevolent dismissal while Neville Thompson crossed the river and joined them. “We are nearly at the village. I’ll talk to their headman and scout around for spoor, but to be frank with you, we cannot do much of anything until nightfall.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“I don’t intend to trudge around all afternoon and evening looking for a blasted hyena. Don’t want to miss tea. If this one is as bold as the runner told me, he’ll show up again tonight. Especially,” he added, “if I leave him some bait.” He turned his horse away from the river. “Come along. No time to dawdle.”
Jade smiled. One moment, the old man allowed a break for photographs because there was no need to rush. The next instant the flutter of his bushy white mustache punctuated an imperial edict to quit wasting time. The Kikuyu had named him well.
The quartet rode on to the northern base of Kea-Njahe and found a narrow path that wended tortuously through the brush, as meandering as an old stream doubling back.
“The Kikuyu put a good value on their safety,” explained Madeline. “I suspect this sort of path is easier to defend physically as well as with magic charms.”
The path eventually broke into the village, a collection of round thatched huts that sat like pointed beehives around a clearing. Small shambas, or farm plots, of banana trees and sweet potatoes clustered around the periphery, and thorny bomas made safe enclosures for goats. An elderly man dressed in monkey skins and a multitude of copper ornaments came forward to receive them. He, like the other elders, lacked the braided pigtails of the young warriors, and a snuff horn hung around his neck as a badge of service.
“Jambo,” said the old man, using the Swahili word for hello.
“Jambo. Na furie sana ku wanana na wewe—I am happy to see you again,” replied Lord Colridge. The elderly man returned the compliment with a small, stately bow and invited them to sit outside his hut to speak. Jade caught snatches of the conversation, enough to make her frustrated. Madeline sat next to her and whispered a condensed translation along with a brief history of tribal politics, which Jade recorded in her leather notebook.
“The Kikuyu have elders, but the government finds it easier to deal with one headman, so they appoint a chief,” Madeline explained. “Colridge asked him how many people the hyena has killed. The chief says only one since their return, his youngest son, but many goats have been taken since the long rains stopped. He says this hyena is strong. It breaks into the boma.”
“Why did Colridge say simba? Doesn’t that mean lion?” asked Jade.
“He wants to be certain it’s not a lion doing this. The chief says the
tracks are not lion. They are hyena. He says it’s a witch’s hyena with his spirit soul guiding it. He claims someone is trying to make them move their village again.”
“Does he say who?”
Madeline listened for a while longer and shook her head. “No, and Lord Colridge isn’t pressing for that information, either. He’s asking for practical facts: time of night, location, that sort of thing.”
Jade photographed the conference between Lord Colridge, the chief, and the other elders. Neville sat next to Colridge like a young disciple. Jade mentioned as much to Madeline.
“Yes,” Mrs. Thompson agreed, “Neville is fascinated by any of the prerailroaders, especially Lord Colridge. Just being a part of this adventure may be Neville’s finest hour.”
The men rose and walked to one of the bomas. Jade and Madeline followed. The chief pointed out the most recently repaired section of the thorny fence and a clear paw print. Jade was trying to decide if the print would show up distinctly enough on film when she recognized a young voice calling from behind her. She turned to see Jelani run into the village.
“Memsabu Jade,” he called.
“Jelani, what are you doing here?” she demanded.
“This is my village, memsabu,” he said, panting. “I have come to help.” He then pointed to Jade and proceeded to relate with great feeling something in the Kikuyu tongue to the chief and other village elders. At one point he struck his left wrist with his right hand in an elaborate pantomime. The chief nodded and said a few words in Swahili to Lord Colridge. Jade saw Colridge’s eyes widen and heard Madeline stifle an outburst. Jade demanded a translation.
“I didn’t catch everything, mind you,” said Madeline, “although that swiping hand gesture spoke volumes. Something about a mongoose striking a snake. I think he told the chief about your rather dramatic encounter with Harry the other night. Congratulations, my dear. You might be on your way to earning a name for yourself.”
The Kikuyu chief looked at Jade for the first time and spoke to her in Swahili. “Will you help kill the witch’s hyena?”
Jade understood more this time, thanks to Madeline’s previous translations and to her own ability to pick up languages quickly. She asked Jelani to help her answer. “I am happy to help, but I am certain that Bwana Pua Nywele can handle this without me or my rifle.”
The elder nodded and said something that made Colridge puff his bushy mustache in a derisive snort. Jade looked to Jelani.
“The chief says it is well you do not help because you might not be powerful enough or fast enough to escape the witch’s anger when you kill his hyena. Then he will send revenge against you. Bwana Pua Nywele is strong with the English king, so the magic will not hurt him.”
“Please ask your chief who is this laibon that bothers his people,” Jade said.
Jelani posed the question, but the old man shook his head adamantly. “He will not tell me, memsabu. Already the laibon has taken his youngest son.”
Colridge clasped her arm and pulled her aside. “Rightly he doesn’t know because there’s no witch, Miss del Cameron,” he exclaimed. “Don’t support their superstitions with foolish bunk!”
“I beg your pardon,” she replied flatly. “Only doing a journalist’s job.”
“I daresay Lord Colridge is correct,” echoed Neville. “Best leave the business to him.”
“Why, Mr. Thompson,” whispered Jade, “I do believe your nose is getting a bit brown.”
Neville stared down at his nose cross-eyed before he took out a linen handkerchief and swiped at it. “Probably just the sun,” he said. Jade covered her smile with her hand.
Colridge conferred with the chief again. Eventually he put several coins in the Kikuyu’s hand, and the old chief turned and gave some orders to one of his warriors. The young man trotted to the boma and returned dragging a goat behind him.
“Our bait,” explained Lord Colridge. “We’ll tie it up near the boma where the other goats were taken. I’ve ordered the construction of an elevated blind for tonight and paid the chief for the goat as compensation in case the hyena kills it before I bag the blighter.”
Jade saw that the old nanny was long past her prime and near to drying up for good. Hardly a loss if she was killed, and not worth near the amount that Colridge paid for her. Like most leaders, the old Kikuyu man knew how to turn a bad situation into a potential gain.
“Come along then,” ordered Colridge. “No use waiting around here for the next couple of hours. I want my tea.” He started to walk past Jade and paused to look her in the eyes. “I daresay you would like coffee.” Jade grinned.
The four of them had begun riding out of the village when Jade noticed Jelani following. She stopped and waited for him to catch up. “Jelani, what are you doing here? You’ll be in trouble.”
“I told them I must take care of you, memsabu. I tell them you asked for me. I came here after you left for Bwana Pua Nywele’s house.”
“Jelani, you could have been hurt. I told you to stay, and you know it.”
“Please, memsabu. A warrior cannot hold back because of fear. This is my village. I have to help you fight the laibon. Do not send me back.”
Jade didn’t know if he meant to the village or the hotel, but not being the best at following orders herself, she understood the boy’s sentiment. She certainly couldn’t fault his courage. “Well, you’re not a warrior yet, and you’ve run far enough. Give me your hand and jump up.”
Jade scooted up in the saddle, and Jelani settled himself behind her. The others had stopped to see what kept her, and Jade detected an expression of surprise mingled with impatience on Lord Colridge’s face. Madeline looked amused, and Neville appeared about to panic lest they offend his newly adopted patron. Jade ignored them all.
“Tell me a story, Jelani,” she said. “Tell me about the hyena we will hunt tonight.”
“That is a good story, memsabu,” said Jelani, and he proceeded to relate it in the pattern of all good storytellers, with a lilting, musical quality in his voice. “The first hyena saw some ravens with something white and shining in their beaks. She thought it was fat to eat and wanted some. She asked the ravens, ‘Where did you get that fat to eat? I want some for myself.’ The ravens looked at each other and answered, ‘On the other side of the sun. Come, take hold of us. We will take you there.’ So the greedy hyena, she took hold of the ravens and they flew up and up and up. Soon the earth disappeared below. The ravens asked the hyena, ‘Can you see the land?’ ‘No,’ said the hyena, so the ravens shook themselves and shook loose the hyena. The hyena fell a long way to the earth and landed on the hard ground, for it was the dry season. She broke both her hind legs. That is why all the hyenas walk like they have broken legs.”
“That is a very good story, Jelani. Greed often brings ruin. Now tell me this. Do witches always use hyenas for their evil work?”
“Not always, memsabu. The witch can send his soul spirit into many animals. Night animals are best. You can tell the witch animal because it carries the mark of the witch on it. If the laibon is strong enough, he can enter the body himself. I have even heard where a powerful witch changed his own body into an animal.”
The universal werewolf stories, thought Jade. “So do you know who this witch is?” She felt Jelani shrug behind her. “Well then, do you know why this witch is angry with your village?”
“No, memsabu. Only that someone wants to hurt us. Perhaps they have hired the witch to make us leave in fear. He made us leave once, but we came back. We had nowhere to go.”
“Hired the witch,” echoed Jade in surprise. “I thought the witch himself was the one angry with your people.”
“Not always, memsabu. All I know is, someone is angry with the chief. They fight over the village. We have a saying: When two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers.”
Jade pondered the truth of that African aphorism as they rode into the camp. She also considered the idea of a man cruel enough to send a trained hyena to kill f
or him. Only a coward would send an animal to kill a child, and if she could find a way to thwart him, she would.
CHAPTER 8
“The colors of the African uplands are cool. Round, smoky blue hills dot the landscape like the bloom on ripe grapes and cast deep violet shadows over the blue-green grass. They blend with a marbling of white clouds by day and fall under a sparkling blanket at night. Yet beneath this soothing veneer is an underlayer of hot red blood.”
—The Traveler
THREE CANVAS TENTS COMPLETE WITH COTS, mats, and canopies ringed a small campfire in military precision. To one side of the fire, the Thompsons, Lord Colridge, and Jade sat and sipped drinks. Behind them stood a small camp table decked out with linen napkins and a tablecloth. The three colonists drank wine, Lord Colridge because he preferred it, the Thompsons because Colridge drank it. Jade chose coffee to top off a splendid dinner of chicken cooked in burgundy with assorted vegetables and freshly baked bread.
Jade had grown up with campfire cooking and considered herself very capable of making delicious meals in Dutch ovens over hot coals, but Colridge’s cook used a collection of empty five-gallon paraffin tins, or debes. If the cook’s skill impressed Jade, the lavishness of the table setting astounded her. They ate dinner from Wedgwood china, and her three companions drank from crystal goblets. Even her coffee, brewed in an iron pot, was poured from a silver carafe.
“Can’t let civilized behavior slide, Miss del Cameron,” Colridge said. “It’s inexcusable out here.”
“Yes, then we risk becoming savages ourselves, don’t we,” exclaimed a man’s baritone voice from behind Lord Colridge.
Everyone turned towards the speaker, Jade suddenly, the others in a more relaxed manner, as though they had expected the intrusion.
“Harry,” said Colridge, rising out of his camp chair. “I wasn’t certain if you were around or not. Good of you to drop by.” He signaled one of his servants. “Another chair.”
Mark of the Lion Page 8
