The Leopard's Prey

by Suzanne Arruda

  “Thanks, Neville,” said Sam, “for everything. I owe you.”

  “Think nothing of it. Just get back to helping me with that new washer as soon as you feel up to it.” He shook hands with Avery, got into his own car, and drove off to his coffee farm.

  “Neville’s right, Sam. The inspector needs to know about this.”

  “Where did you put down, Jade?” Sam asked.

  “South of Lake Naivasha, near Hell’s Gate. Don’t worry about the plane. There are a half dozen Maasai warriors guarding it for you.”

  “No fooling?”

  “One is Ruta’s brother. And I found a rhino calf. I think its mother rammed the train and suffered the worst for it. She died west of Longonot, and true to form, the calf stayed with her. The Maasai have taken the calf back to their kraal until Perkins and Daley come for it.”

  Sam lunged for Jade and grabbed her in a tight lock, hoisting her off her feet. “You saved my job. You’re the bravest, most wonderful—” He leaned in to kiss her, but stopped short and glanced sideways at Avery.

  “Pay no attention to me,” Avery said as he turned his back. “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”

  Sam grinned. Before Jade could remark that there were other people about on the streets now, Sam had already swooped in for the kiss. He tasted of bitter quinine and lime, but Jade didn’t mind. His kiss still made the back of her neck tingle.

  Someone driving by tooted their horn at them, and Sam released Jade. “I’ll go to your compound and tell Perkins right away,” he said. “Where should I direct him?”

  Jade pulled out her notebook, tore out a page and drew a map showing the lake, Longonot, and Hell’s Gate. “When they get to the plane, they should ask for Tajewo. He can lead them to the kraal. They should tell them that Bwana Mti Mguu sent them.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Sam.

  “You. You’re Bwana Tree Leg.” She grinned as she watched his response. “You’re rather famous, actually. Word’s gotten around about the man with the tree leg who flies the big dragonfly across the sky.”

  “Makes sense,” agreed Avery. “I’m jealous. I’m just known for my pipe.”

  Sam folded the map and slipped it into his pocket. “Wait. I can’t go see Perkins now. I need to accompany you to the police,” he said just as Chalmers joined them.

  “I’ll take our Jade to the constabulary,” said Avery. “Finch might toss you behind bars again if he thinks you tried to sabotage your own plane to hurt Jade.”

  Sam ran a hand through his hair, pushing the longer strands on top back from his brow. “You’re right. He probably would.” He noticed Chalmers for the first time. “Ah, Chalmers, thank you for rescuing Jade.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “But did I just hear you say your aeroplane was sabotaged?” He looked at Jade. “Is that what you meant by engine trouble?”

  Jade felt her face grow warm. “That’s right.”

  “Huh. Well, that’s interesting,” he said more to himself than to her. Then he touched his hat. “It seems you’re in capable hands now, so I’ll push off. Good day to you all.”

  “I’d better leave, too,” said Sam, “if I want to catch Perkins or Daley at the warehouse.”

  “Take my car, Sam,” said Avery. “Meet us at my house as soon as you’re done.”

  “Thanks, Avery,” said Sam.

  “Watch your back,” Jade cautioned. “When someone finds out that you weren’t in that plane, they may try again.” She frowned, realizing that both Chalmers and Harding already knew. How long before word spread?

  “Will do.” Sam reached out and touched her hand before driving off in the Hupmobile.

  Jade felt more joy than she had in several days. Just knowing Sam was out of the hospital, alive and not angry at her for busting his plane, did wonders for her.

  “You probably would rather not walk anymore,” said Avery. “I’ll call for a rickshaw.”

  “Don’t. It’s not far, and I don’t feel so tired now.”

  Avery laughed. “Fancy that.”

  They followed Government Road toward the Tin Shanties that served as the police headquarters, but when they were just outside of the New Stanley Hotel, they heard a loud ruckus of shouting and police whistles.

  “Sounds like quite a shauri,” said Avery.

  They hurried ahead to the Court Building to see what the commotion was about. To Jade’s horror, one European constable and three African constables were dragging away a half dozen native prisoners, all of whom where vehemently protesting their arrest. Foremost in the group was Jelani.

  CHAPTER 16

  The colony frowns on cattle raiding and hunting the lions that

  would make sport for others, so they are taking steps to shorten the

  amount of time warriors may stay in a manyatta. Of course,

  Maasai are not proving so tractable as other tribes.

  —The Traveler

  “JELANI!” JADE SHOUTED above the din. The boy looked up at hearing his name. The native man next to him had his hands up protecting his head from a club wielded by one of the African constables. It was Jelani who surprised Jade. She knew the lad had courage, but she’d never seen such a look of defiant superiority on anyone’s face before. It was as though he was willing to be martyred for a cause. She pushed through the growing crowd toward him.

  “And just where do you think you are going, miss?” said a constable, blocking her path.

  “I demand to know why you are arresting these natives. I know one of them personally.”

  “We’re not arresting them,” he said. “Did that yesterday. We’re taking them to court today to charge and sentence them.” He pointed to Jelani. “That boy there. He’s the reason for this shauri. Trying to incite a riot, he is.”

  The officer didn’t stay to continue the conversation. Once the African policemen had the group firmly in hand, the white officer directed them in hauling the offenders into the building.

  Jade saw the grim set of Avery’s jaw and knew he was as upset as she was. “Can you do anything, Avery?” she asked.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said, “but it will have to be through the court. My title might not carry much weight here. I’m not sure who the magistrate is these days. I’ve been gone awhile.”

  They entered another flimsy-looking building, went into a courtroom set aside for native cases, and took seats two rows behind the prisoners. Jelani and his companions weren’t the only ones awaiting judgment. An assortment of natives, mostly male, mostly Kikuyu, filled the first three benches behind the European constable. Everyone rose, willingly or not, when the magistrate entered.

  The first case involved a native woman selling tembo, a euphemism for home-brewed alcohol. She was fined ten rupees, an unheard-of sum for a poor native woman, or had to face thirty days in the native prison. Unfortunately for her, she hadn’t made that much selling the drink.

  Jelani and his companions were the next case to be decided. The officer read the charges: refusing to work and, for Jelani, inciting a revolt. The magistrate’s brows rose at this last charge as though he couldn’t believe a boy of Jelani’s young age could foment a riot. Jelani, for his part, did his best to give the impression that he was capable of that and more. He straightened to his full height, nearly five foot, five inches, and jutted out his chin.

  Avery stood and addressed the magistrate. “Your honor, I would like to speak in defense of these men.”

  “And you are?”

  “Lord Avery Dunbury.”

  “Are these your laborers?”

  “No, sir. In point of fact, I do not know any of them except Jelani.” He motioned to Jade. “This young woman knows the lad as well.”

  The magistrate turned to Jade, who also rose. “And your name, miss?”

  “Jade del Cameron, sir.”

  “An American, by your voice.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, speak your mind, but I should warn you that I take a ve
ry dim view of lazy natives. As they are not your workers, I doubt you will be able to convince me otherwise.”

  Jade took a deep breath and kept her eyes on Jelani, waiting for Avery to have his say.

  “I have known the lad, Jelani, for over a year, as has Miss del Cameron, who has acted as his tutor, teaching the boy to read and write. We are concerned first of all about this charge of refusing to work, especially as the boy is not yet old enough to fall under the laws requiring poll and hut taxes.

  “Is this true, boy?” asked the magistrate, addressing Jelani. “Are you still a child by our reckoning?”

  “I do not know how many long rains I have been alive,” Jelani answered. “But I study with the mundu-mugo in my village, and he has passed to me a symbol of authority. I have also gone through the manhood rite, so I am a man.” His young voice, still cracking, resonated clearly.

  Jade felt a surge of pride as she watched him. He’d grown in the past months, like new grass shooting up after a fire. From where she stood, she couldn’t see his heel, but she knew that he bore the scars there proudly, a sign of his bravery in escaping slavery barely six months ago. Yes, she thought, he is as much a man as any of the others standing with him. But it was the English standards that decided who paid taxes, and by that standard, he should still be exempt.

  “How old is this boy?” asked the magistrate. He looked at Avery for an answer.

  “We don’t know, you honor. Possibly twelve.”

  “And more likely thirteen by the looks of him,” said the magistrate. “In which case he is required to pay the hut tax and work to earn it. When he is not working, he should be in his village, and not wandering without travel papers. But,” he added before Avery could protest, “I will dismiss this charge on the grounds of uncertainty. We will register him as being of age starting next month.” The magistrate turned to the officer in charge. “See to it that this boy is fingerprinted and registered. We will deal with this other charge in a moment.”

  If Jade expected Jelani to show some relief at avoiding one of his charges, she was in for a surprise. His lips tightened and his brows furrowed.

  “As to these other men,” said the magistrate, “they were all found away from their current employers with no papers to justify their movement.” He nodded to the officer in charge. “Repeat offenders?”

  “Only one, your honor,” replied the officer. “A man called Ngigi.”

  “Very well.” He held up his hand when Avery attempted to speak again. “Hold your peace, sir. I am passing sentence. I fine all the first-time offenders ten rupees each. Mr. Ngigi will face thirty days’ imprisonment.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Take those men out, Officer, but leave this boy, Jelani.”

  The officer in charge directed the African constables to take charge of the men while he waited behind to see to Jelani. Jade saw Jelani’s gaze follow the men, and wondered if he knew them well. She thought she recognized one of the constables herself, but didn’t get a second look.

  “Now,” said the magistrate, “about this second charge, inciting a riot.” He folded his hands together and leaned forward, as though expecting a tale of some sort.

  The officer in charge explained. “All of the men had been reported as missing without leave by their employer. We located them at their village and were proceeding to take them into custody when this . . . this boy came out of a hut and told the runaways that they should refuse to go back and demand the right to quit their jobs. He even told the native askaris making the arrest that they should stand by their brothers and refuse to arrest them.”

  Jade exchanged a sidelong look with Avery. Our boy’s becoming a leader earlier than I expected.

  The magistrate leaned over farther and addressed Jelani. “It sounds as if you have been listening to Harry Thuku.”

  At the name of the outspoken African leader, Jelani squared his shoulders.

  “Well, answer me, boy.”

  “You did not ask me a question,” said Jelani.

  Jade heard Avery draw in his breath. She looked back at the magistrate to ascertain his reaction. He did not appear amused.

  “These people,” he said, indicating Avery and Jade with a hand wave, “are present on your behalf. They have asked to hear your side of the story. If you do not explain your actions, you will do them a great dishonor, especially as I understand that the lady has taught you to read.”

  “I will not dishonor Memsahib Simba Jike or Bwana Dunbury, but I will not say anything about the man called Harry Thuku. I said these things to my tribesmen because they are true. One man returned home because his father was very ill. He said he would go back to work for his bwana. Why wouldn’t the bwana wait? Should this man tell his father not to be sick now? Wait until my servitude is over? Do they need a white man’s permission to walk in their own country?”

  Jade’s pulse raced at the words. She admired the strength of a youth who was willing to become a man and risk everything for his people. Surely the magistrate had to be equally affected, but his face was impossible to read, so well had he trained himself to school it in front of the assemblies.

  Jelani continued to list the reasons the men had left their employers. One bore the marks of the kiboko, or hippo-hide lash, on his back. Another was frightened of what he thought was white man’s sorcery. “He said the bwana changed an animal from one kind to another and back again. Another man felt ill and wanted to consult the mundu-mugo for medicine. The last man wanted to visit his wife.”

  “I see,” said the magistrate. “While I am certain each of these men felt his reason was important, it still remains that they broke their promise. They agreed to work for their bwanas for a certain amount of time. In return they would be paid so that they could pay their taxes and have money left to buy things.”

  “There is nothing they want to buy,” said Jelani. “They do not care for lanterns and metal pots. It is the white man that wants them to buy these things, so he has to work. That is why they have to pay the tax. It is so they will work.”

  “You don’t think work is important? Men should not work?”

  “Yes, but they should do their own work.” Jelani took a step forward but the constable stopped him. With a quick glance at the officer, Jelani continued. “Who takes care of the village shambas or protects the goats now?”

  The magistrate placed his hands palm down on his desk and took a deep breath. “You have been listening to Thuku. I recognize his words. But you’re just a boy and do not fully understand the importance of these laws. The hut tax is not an excuse to make men work. It pays for soldiers to protect the villages. It takes care of the roads that go from village to town.”

  “Roads we are not allowed to walk on without travel permits,” said Jelani.

  The magistrate stood. “Enough! I don’t intend to explain the law to a boy. In light of my earlier decision regarding your age, I declare you to be too young to pay the penalty for such activities. Instead, I release you to these people, whom you seem to respect. They will see that you return to your village after you are properly fingerprinted. You will be expected to work starting next month. Case dismissed.” He waved them out of the room and waited for the next case.

  Jelani walked without a word toward Jade and Avery, who escorted him out of the courtroom and into the street. Jade struggled the entire way with what to say to him. But everything she came up with sounded patronizing. What did one say to a fallen warrior?

  SAM HADN’T FELT this rotten or this good since the Armistice. He remembered that day clearly; he’d been drawn, wasted, and wounded. His right leg, gone from the shin down, still taunted him with phantom pains, especially at night. But knowing the war was over, and that he’d soon be released from the German camp to go home, overrode the pain and loneliness he’d felt for those last five months.

  And so it was today. His body struggled to move after suffering through fevers, deliriums, and a diet of thin oatmeal. But Jade was alive! His pulse quickened as he thought of
her. No doubt about it, she was definitely top drawer. It didn’t hurt that his plane wasn’t too badly damaged either, and that Jade had saved his job by finding the rhino calf. Yep! Things were looking up.

  I’ll report to Mr. Perkins. Then I’ll pick up some Irish linen and a sewing kit to fix the wing. He mentally added to the list as he reviewed what else Jade had told him. Wrench set, clean rags, as many of those two and three-gallon cans of fuel as I can find.

  Suddenly his good mood shifted. Somebody had deliberately fouled his engine. Not only that, but they’d done it so as to ensure he’d crash. The fact that they had nearly killed his girl by mistake only made it worse.

  Low-down,stump-sucking,dung-brained, maggot-ridden son of a mule’s backside. When I find out who did this, I’ll kick his face in so hard he’ll have to chew through his rear.

  But who? And why? Someone had wanted him to take the blame for Stokes’ murder. That was why Finch had hauled him in, because someone had said he’d struck Stokes hard. But he’d found out that Stokes was a blackmailer, drawing motive away from himself. Did the real killer hope that his death would end Finch’s investigation? That he’d just assume the murderer had died and close the books? Or had Sam seen or overheard something incriminating and not known it?

  A driver honked his horn at Sam, who hit the brakes before they collided in the intersection. Pay attention. It wouldn’t help matters to wreck Avery’s new Hupmobile. He shifted back into first and crept forward, then into second gear as he sought the side street that would take him to the old warehouses.

  Okay, he could believe someone needed him to be the fall guy here. But was there some other reason for wanting him out of the way? As soon as Sam turned the corner, he saw Perkins talking with Cutter and Anderson. Anderson!

  Now there was a man who didn’t like him. Anderson wanted Jade for himself and the former doughboy resented Sam for being a pilot. And crashing would certainly make me look bad! Trouble was, thought Sam as he set the hand brake, he had no proof. He kept an eye on the men’s faces for any reaction to seeing him.