Mark of the Lion

by Suzanne Arruda

  Dearest Jade:

  It is done, we are married, and I have only one regret. That you were not here to be my maid of honor instead of my sister, Emily. Avery felt the same way, but he said (and I quote him), “I am not about to wait for that damned gypsy to quit gallivanting about the globe before we can get married.” Wasn’t that romantic of him? I won’t bore you with all the details of the wedding in this letter. Suffice it to say that I was ravishing, of course, and Avery very dashing and handsome. Instead, I’ll tell you in person. That’s right, darling. As you read this, we are already on our way to Africa and should arrive in Nairobi by June 29 or 30. You had better be there, too, or I shall be frightfully put out with you. We know all about your safari plans. (Avery knows everything.) He contacted your magazine and discovered all the particulars. Of course, we intend to come along so make all the proper arrangements for more tents or whatever. I cannot wait to see you again. Till then, all my love.

  Your dear friend,

  (Lady) Beverly Dunbury

  P.S. You must promise to let me shoot the first lion. I must have one before Avery, and I know you will be only too busy photographing to shoot.

  Beverly in Africa! Jade grinned with pleasure. Just what she needed and longed for, and Neville wouldn’t have to worry about Madeline going on the safari, either. Jade folded the letter and stuck it in her shirt pocket with her mother’s. Madeline would worry if she didn’t get back soon. She picked up the mail, mostly government publications and gadget catalogs for the Thompsons and a box of fresh photo chemicals for her sent up from Mombasa, and headed for the garage.

  The dusty street north out of Nairobi quickly returned to the heavily pitted wagon track. Three miles on, Jade slowed to maneuver one of the deeper ruts when the car jolted sharply. This time she heard a loud bang and felt the machine slide and pull to one side.

  “Spit fire and save the matches,” she swore. “Of all the times and places to get a blowout.” She stopped the car but left it running rather than trust it to start up again. “Bev will be mighty put out if I manage to get myself eaten out here and spoil her safari,” she muttered.

  Jade lugged over two large rocks and blocked the front tires. Next she retrieved her loaded rifle, worked a cartridge into the chamber, and set the hammer halfway as a safety. Finally she pulled out the jack and began the tedious process of changing the rear tire.

  Experience had trained her ears to detect any sounds that might signify danger. Habit taught her to pick out the distant rumble of artillery, the high-pitched whistle of shells, and the droning whir of an airplane. The ruined tire already sat beside her on the dusty red ground when it occurred to her that those sounds no longer posed any threat. Suddenly, she felt confused, as if she had awakened in a strange place and didn’t know how she had gotten there. Her head swam as she struggled to orient herself. This wasn’t France. Africa spread around her.

  Listen to Africa, she told herself. All she heard was silence. She had refocused her attention on the flat tire when a chill spread down her back and arms and prickled her skin. Silence itself was a dangerous sound. Active predators traded in silence.

  The afternoon sun beat down. Sweat dripped off a limp black curl and rolled into her eyes. Cissy Estes would pitch a fit. Jade rose to get her hat from the seat before hefting the spare tire onto the axle. Halfway to the hat she froze. Something shifted in the tall grass. My dream! Slowly, very slowly, she crouched down and retrieved her Winchester. Her eyes stayed riveted on that one patch of grass. Nothing. Perhaps she had heard a ground bird, or maybe just the breeze? Jade waited long enough to see the shadows lengthen. Nothing dangerous lurking out there. Panicking over a silly dream. Rifle in hand, she retrieved her hat and moved around to the spare tire.

  Putting the tire on took a matter of moments, but it required two free hands. That meant setting the rifle down again. She scanned the area carefully, let go of her Winchester, and turned her back to the open plains. Jade needed to hunker in close under the heavy tire to lift it into place. It didn’t help that her wounded knee had started aching, too. As she readjusted her squatting position, hoping to relieve the strain on her left knee, her hat brim hit the car’s frame and slid to one side of her head. A breeze blew from the side and caught the old, battered felt hat. It flipped off her head and onto the grass. Jade let it lie. The tire slid into place, and she started to secure it when she froze again.

  Only a little sound arrested her. A soft cough, the type someone used to discreetly announce themselves, came from the car’s opposite rear and whispered by her. Jade slowly leaned back and peered around the car. She stared straight into the face of a massive male lion. The beast shook his black-maned head, the mark of virile prime, and Jade couldn’t help but sense a rising admiration mixed in with her fear.

  On an impulse, she greeted it softly. “Jambo, Simba.” The lion threw back his head and bellowed a deafening challenge. The hellish sound, terrifying in its natural power, vibrated Jade’s bones to the marrow. Long white daggers flashed in his open maw. Jade reached back slowly for her rifle, wincing from the pain in her knee.

  The lion sniffed the air. If animals can smell fear, this one’s certainly getting a snootful. He lowered his huge head and sniffed the ground. His black nostrils swept the road dust. As if the beast wanted to be certain, he opened his mouth and flared, his long, pink tongue curling upwards to taste her scent as well as smell it.

  Jade oozed into a kneeling crouch and shouldered her rifle. She squinted down the metal sights, but the sun fell full in her face and made it impossible to see. One shot was all she’d get, if she was lucky. She needed to see clearly for that shot. The cat continued flaring as if searching for some particular smell. Jade reached back, snagged her hat, and set it on her head to put her face in the brim’s shadow.

  Suddenly the immense tawny-colored cat stiffened. He sniffed deeply once, snorted in disgust, and turned. Jade stared down the rifle’s barrel and watched the animal trot away. Her finger still held the trigger, but the lion and the tall grass blended as one in the distant haze.

  She plopped into a sitting position. The danger gone, every muscle in her body trembled violently. Eventually, she leaned against the car for support, then removed her hat and fanned herself with it. The dank, rancid aroma on the brim made her wince.

  “Phew!” Was that what drove the cat away? But why didn’t it leave before? After all, the sorcerer annointed my belt and boots with it as well and . . . Jade paused in midthought. She’d polished her boots the other day after stepping in manure. There was no scent left on them. But the belt? Her left hand reached for it at her waistline. Gone! Then she remembered. She had taken it off to wash the trousers in the tub and never put it back on. Thank heavens for the hat. Mrs. Estes was right: It was dangerous to go out in the midday sun without a hat.

  His beast came back without the scent of blood on his breath, but he already knew the plan had failed. He had felt his control over his animal weaken despite his best efforts. This one is strong. She is hard and swallows her fear, not like the other. He smiled at the memory. The other one was weak, and he had enjoyed killing him. That simpering man had cringed and trembled as his powerful jaws shook him like a rag. The witch man reconsidered his strategy. The first time he had sent his former mentor, but the old man had weakened. This time he had sent a real lion, a very virile one. Each time he had underestimated the woman’s strength. Not to worry; there were other animals under his control. Eventually, he would take care of the woman himself, when he had her alone, after he had toyed with her nerves. Even lionesses ran from a hyena.

  CHAPTER 15

  “A successful safari requires stout tents, nourishing food, water, fuel, maps, and porters to carry all these essentials. But if only one person can accompany you, a good gun bearer is more vital than any tracker or other companion. This is the person to whom you will entrust the care and safekeeping of your rifles. Should it be necessary, his will be the shoulder on which you rest the gun. In oth
er words, he is entrusted with your life.”

  —The Traveler

  LORD AND LADY DUNBURY’S IMMINENT ARRIVAL convinced Neville to let Madeline go along on safari without him. However, after hearing of Mrs. Estes’ designs on her husband, Madeline had second thoughts herself.

  “If that painted trollop thinks she can just waltz in here and seduce my husband, she is going to find herself in the coffee pulper.”

  “Maddy, I am in no danger of being seduced away from you. Besides,” Neville added with a wink, “Cissy’s body would ruin a perfectly good pulper. You may go on safari without me.”

  The two women rode on the Thompsons’ ponies to Colridge’s farm that afternoon to inform His Lordship of the changes. They were met at the door by one of Colridge’s many hounds and by Pili. As before, the young man wore an immaculate white robe that set off his handsome golden bronze skin, black hair, and hazel eyes.

  The hound extensively sniffed Jade’s boots and belt, which had undergone a thorough reapplication of the Kikuyu’s paste, before insinuating his head under her hand for an ear scratching. Well, dogs don’t seem to be repelled by it. If Pili found the smell offensive, he was too well bred to show it.

  “It is good that you have come,” Pili said. “Bwana Colridge is hurt.”

  Lord Colridge sat in a wingback chair with his left leg raised onto an ottoman. White plaster bandages encased it and his head. He resembled an incomplete mummy.

  “Please sit down, ladies,” he said. “I apologize for not standing in your presence. You’ll excuse the rudeness as you see the cause there before you. Blasted horse threw me yesterday morning, broke my leg. Damned near cracked my skull. Dr. Burkitt came out from Nairobi. Good doctor. Preaches too much, though. Fractured tibia, he called it. Made some crack about having to shoot me if I were a horse.”

  Jade stifled a smile, but Colridge caught it all the same. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

  “Yes,” added Madeline, “that includes Neville and myself, Lord Colridge.”

  “Nothing to be done unless you can work a miracle. The doctor may not shoot me, but he has put me out to pasture, so to speak. I’m out for your safari, Miss del Cameron. Thompson will have to see to you without me.”

  “Neville is busy with the coffee, sir,” said Madeline.

  “Eh? Well, perhaps, Miss del Cameron, you should cancel. Hascombe’s a good shot, but I don’t approve of the two of you going off alone with him off into the wilderness. Not proper. And you must stop gallivanting around on your own.”

  “What do you mean, sir?” asked Jade.

  “That blasted fool, Godfrey Kenton, is missing. Burkitt told me he disappeared sometime between Saturday night and early Sunday morning. Told his wife after the party that he had business to tend to. Hasn’t come back.”

  Madeline sniffed. “Probably ran off to one of Cissy’s wild parties. He seems the type.”

  “I heard him tell his wife about a business meeting,” said Jade. “But I saw Cissy, and she asked me about Kenton as well. Said she saw him Saturday night. I got the impression she meant after the party. You might be right, Madeline,” she added. “If I read his character correctly, he’s probably off cheating on his wife and Cissy.”

  Jade turned back to Colridge. “In any event, Your Lordship, we won’t be alone with Mr. Forster and Mr. Hascombe. Lord and Lady Dunbury are arriving soon and intend to come along.”

  “Oh? Young Dunbury coming, is he? A crack shot? Of course, he would be. Well, that changes matters. Sorry not to be along. Knew his father.” Lord Colridge continued to ask questions that he answered himself and make pronouncements until Jade interrupted him.

  “I’ll inform Lord Dunbury that you want to meet him, sir. In the meantime,” she added and pointed to his leg, “leave breaking colts to your trainers.”

  “I wasn’t breaking any blasted colts, Miss del Cameron. Bakari threw me. A jackal, of all things, ran right under his legs. Damnedest thing. Ran right out of the hedge. Actually aimed for me. Never seen anything like it before. A jackal so close to the house, and in broad daylight.” Madeline shook her head in sympathy and fussed with the comforter on his lap. Lord Colridge snorted in surprise and fluttered his mustache. “Here now! No need to fuss like a mother hen . . . I, er . . . well, yes, that is rather better.”

  Jade hung back and watched the fun. It almost looked as if the old man were blushing. She decided to tease him a bit. “I suppose this is the laibon’s revenge for your interference.”

  “Rubbish! Something frightened a jackal. It ran, scared Bakari, and I fell. Nothing more!”

  “I’m sorry. Just having some fun. I suppose I’d better contact Mr. Hascombe and let him know that you won’t be joining us?”

  “No need. I sent a runner over. I’ll send another to tell him about young Dunbury and his bride. You’ll start from Nairobi in any event. Train will take you south towards Tsavo. You’ll join the bearers there. Did you know that? Of course, you did. Smart woman. Good shot.” He paused, and Jade waited for the next edict. “The outfitters supply gun bearers, of course, but I had intended to take Pili along as my own man. Trustworthy person. Smart, too. You take him, Miss del Cameron. A good shot deserves a good bearer.”

  Jade felt the praise deeply. “Thank you very much. But perhaps we should ask him first? He may not appreciate carrying a gun for a woman or even leaving you behind.”

  “Pish tosh,” snorted Colridge. “A servant does what he’s told to do. But if you insist, we shall speak with him. Pili,” he called. “Pili, come here.” The young man appeared at the door, bowed slightly, and waited for the upcoming order.

  “Pili, Miss del Cameron is going on safari. She shot the hyena at the Kikuyu village. I want you to be her gun bearer. She’s a worthy shot and, er, deserves the best.”

  Pili bowed again in acknowledgment of this implied compliment to himself. “It is no problem for me, Bwana Colridge, but who will watch over you while I am gone?”

  Colridge “pish toshed” any need for extensive care as the doctor allowed he could walk with a cane for short distances. As to dressing himself or serving his meals, there were other house servants. In the end, there was little the young man could do but acquiesce. Madeline promised that Neville would come round and lend a hand later next week, and they took their leave. Outside, Jade spoke further with Pili.

  “I don’t need a personal servant, Pili. I’m more interested in your expertise with African game. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an equal partner in the expedition.”

  Jade watched his face closely for any signs of disgust, respect, fear, uncertainty, or plain and simple tolerance but found few clues. His wide-set hazel eyes never betrayed any symptom of emotion. At least, not until Madeline asked one last question, where to find the privy.

  Pili began to point the way, hesitated, and blushed. “Memsahib must wait outside first. I must correct something before you may enter. It would not be proper.”

  Jade and Madeline followed him. “Now what do you suppose the old coot keeps in there that wouldn’t be appropriate?” Jade asked. “French postcards?”

  “Well, he is a widower,” answered Madeline, “and maybe, if half those tales are true . . .” Just then Pili emerged from the privy with a huge coiled gray snake in his arms.

  Madeline screamed, and Jade stifled a shout. Something’s queer about all this, she thought. No one would keep a poisonous mamba in the privy, and even if they did, no one would be able to tote it around like that. She looked more closely. “The blasted thing is stuffed!” she shouted.

  Pili put the mounted specimen in a shed and closed the door. Then he turned back to Jade with a grin on his well-chiseled face. “Yes, memsahib, it is stuffed. Bwana Colridge likes to play jokes on people. He enjoys watching them run screaming from the privy, but it would not be proper for Mrs. Memsahib to do so. Especially,” he added with a bow to Madeline, “for the friend of the lady who killed the witch’s hyena.” Madeline excused herself.

/>   “Pili, do you believe the hyena was controlled by a witch?” asked Jade.

  “Memsahib, I believe it was controlled by a very bad person. I do not know how. But I have seen men with dogs trained to fight. So I ask myself, why not a hyena?”

  Jade nodded. “Why not, indeed. Have you heard any of the men speak about this laibon? Do any of them know who it is? Because I think he needs to be punished.”

  Pili shook his head. “The Kikuyu men do not speak freely in front of me either for fear that the witch will overhear or for fear that I am the witch.”

  “You? The witch?” Jade found that hard to believe. “I thought the laibon was a Maasai or from one of those related tribes.”

  “Do you believe in him, memsahib?” asked Pili.

  “Please, call me Jade, and I’m not sure. Like you, I’m inclined to think someone wicked has trained a hyena to frighten others. I admit I have a very hard time believing in actual sorcery.”

  Just then, Colridge bellowed from within and Pili grinned. “The old bull stirs, and I must attend.” He hastened inside.

  Jade waited for Madeline by the ponies. She took out her pocketknife, picked some gravel from their hooves, and thought about Pili’s idea of a trained hyena. It was interesting to compare it to an attack dog; she had even said as much herself before. But from the recesses of her mind she recalled stories of Navajo skin walkers who reportedly turned into wolves. Her father had told her those tales and other ghost stories around the campfire when she was an impressionable child. Now she no longer believed someone could shape-shift, but it was curious that such a wide variety of cultures held on to stories of witches and animal familiars. If someone could train a hyena, could he control other beasts? She wondered if those lion encounters were not just accidental meetings, but animals trained to her scent intent on killing her!

  As she pocketed her knife, a Kikuyu man ran to her. “Memsabu Simba Jike,” he called, “the jackal who harmed Bwana Pua Nywele, it was a laibon’s jackal.”