by J. Burchett
“It’s fine when you get used to it,” said Ben smugly. “And there’s a great view from this height.”
They gazed out over the amazing panorama of the Kenyan plain. The flat landscape was broken up by clumps of bushes and the occasional acacia, its branches stretching like a fan towards the deep blue sky.
“There are animals wherever we look!” exclaimed Zoe, shading her eyes. “Zebra, deer, and that’s a massive herd of wildebeest on the horizon.”
“And giraffes feeding at those trees!” added Ben.
“Ahh! Look at those sweet little piglets!” cried Zoe, as a family of warthogs snuffled past, noses to the ground.
Ben raised his eyebrows. “Gooey overload, Zoe!” he complained.
They followed a well-trodden path through the yellow grass, towards some far distant dome-shaped huts surrounded by a thick fence.
“I told you this would be easy,” called Ben. “I’m going to try and go faster.” He squeezed the camel’s flanks with his legs. Nothing happened. He squeezed a bit harder. With that the camel gave a deepthroated snort and bucked him off.
Ben hit the ground in a cloud of dust.
“It’s not funny!” he grunted, rubbing his bottom as Zoe burst out laughing.
His camel blinked its long lashes and then began to plod towards the village. “After you,” said Ben, as he followed on foot at a safe distance.
Finally, they reached the entrance to the village – not much more than a narrow gap in the thorny fence. Zoe persuaded her camel to kneel and then dismounted.
“That’s a barrier to keep the elephants out,” said Ben. “I read about it on the plane. Even though the Samburu care a lot about them they don’t want them trampling their homes.”
Zoe tied both camels securely to the fence, and tucked Wambua’s package under her arm. They walked between the round huts with walls of upright branches and woven sticks that they could see were filled with dried mud. Stretched skins and grass mats formed the domed roofs. Women were squatting at pots over cooking fires and a group of men were tending their goats. They all wore cloths wrapped round them like skirts and strings of shiny beads hung round their heads, necks, wrists and from their ears. They looked up when they saw Ben and Zoe approaching, then lowered their heads to their tasks. No-one greeted them, although some of the little children stared wide-eyed.
“These people don’t look very friendly,” Zoe whispered to Ben.
“Perhaps they’re shy,” he replied. “Let’s put in our translators.” He rummaged in his rucksack and peeled off the small earpiece from the side of his BUG. “Then if they talk amongst themselves, we’ll understand what they’re saying.”
They slipped the earpieces in.
Ben and Zoe wandered around, trying in vain to approach any villager who passed, but they scuttled away, heads bowed.
“Nobody wants to talk to us,” whispered Zoe. “And what’s really strange is they’re not even talking to each other.”
She gave a sudden gasp. “Something bad happened here,” she said, pointing beyond the goat pen. The blackened ruins of a hut stood stark against the blue sky.
“That looks like a recent fire,” said Ben.
“Here’s another burnt hut – and another,” said Zoe, as they walked through the village. “How strange. It can’t have been one fire – the huts in between are untouched.”
A woman walked by, clutching a baby.
“Excuse me,” said Zoe, holding up the parcel. “Wambua?”
The woman didn’t look at her, but hastily pointed towards a goat pen nearby.
An old man was splashing water into a trough and the goats were nudging him eagerly. He spotted the package under Zoe’s arm as the children approached him.
“From Runo,” said Zoe with a smile.
“Thank you,” said the old man. His face was painted with blue zigzags and his earlobes were pulled down by heavy bead earrings. “You are staying at the lodge?”
“We’re on holiday,” said Zoe, glad to find someone ready to talk. “We’re with our tutor and she’s sent us to find out all about elephants.”
“They’re such magnificent animals,” added Ben. “Can you tell us more about them?”
The old man’s face softened. “They are wonderful beasts,” he said. “We are blessed with a herd that lives on the plain. It is led by a matriarch called Nyeupe – that means white in your language. She is much paler than the other elephants. She is nearly fifty years old now and a grandmother many times over.”
He gestured for them to sit by a small fire. Nearby, a woman grinding corn in a wooden bowl gave them a nervous glance.
“Is it a big herd?” asked Zoe.
“Four grown females and two younger… you would call them teenagers?” said Wambua. “And somewhere out there are two bull elephants. They do not live with the herd.”
“Could you take us to see them?” said Ben.
For a moment Wambua’s eyes lit up. “It is a wonderful trek. We walk for a day and make a camp by the Tulivu waterhole at nightfall, ready to see the elephants when they come to drink at first light. That is while the lake still has enough water, as it does now.”
The woman suddenly called out to him in Samburu. Ben and Zoe heard her words translated through their earpieces.
“Be quiet, you foolish old man! Do you want to bring more trouble?”
Ben and Zoe forced themselves not to react. The woman had sounded very scared.
Wambua seemed to heed her warning, for he sighed heavily and shook his head.
“We don’t take visitors there anymore,” he said sadly. He gave an involuntary glance over to the burnt huts.
Ben patted his pockets. “We’ll pay well.”
“It is not possible,” said Wambua flatly.
Zoe decided to play the spoilt rich girl. “But I want to see a baby elephant,” she whined.
“There is only one left,” Wambua told her. “So it’s not worth it. Now I must tend my goats. Goodbye.”
He turned away.
Ben and Zoe got to their feet. “Thank you,” called Ben and they began to walk back through the village.
A little girl came plodding across their path, waving her arm in front of her like an elephant’s trunk.
“How sweet,” said Zoe.
A little boy jumped up and followed the girl, pretending to be an elephant as well. He had a rope tied round his leg and was limping badly. He cried out in his own language.
“Wait for me, Mum!” The translated words came through loud and clear. “My leg hurts.”
“Come on, baby,” said the girl. “We’re getting left behind.”
Suddenly, two older boys rose up from behind a box, holding sticks to their shoulders like rifles.
“Bang…bang!” they yelled and the two “elephants” fell to the ground.
Then they got up laughing.
“Now I’ll put a snare on you,” said the girl to one of the older boys. “And Pili and I are the hunters.”
She started to untie the rope from her friend’s leg. But at that moment one of the women came running over and the little girl froze, looking guilty.
“Stop that!” cried the woman. “I’ve told you before. No more talk of elephants! You don’t know who’s listening. Remember what happened last week.”
She gave Ben and Zoe a scared glance and ushered the children inside a nearby hut.
“They were acting out a hunt!” said Ben. “A hunt where young elephants were being snared to slow them down. They must have overheard their parents talking.”
“The baby and its mother are separated from the herd so they’re easy to pick off,” said Zoe. “How horrible. So hunters have snared poor Tomboi to get at his mum. The villagers seem too frightened to talk about it.”
“I wonder if the burnt huts are connected with this,” said Ben. “After all, something’s stopping the villagers from having anything to do with the elephants.”
“Then we’ve got to protect the herd fo
r them,” declared Zoe.
CHAPTER FOUR
The sun was low over the plain by the time Ben and Zoe got back to the lodge. Runo quickly sneaked their camels back to the compound.
“We have to set off to find Tomboi tomorrow,” said Ben, as they made their way back to their room. “Wambua said the herd go to the waterhole every sunrise. If we set off early in the morning and camp out overnight we should get there at the right time.”
“The sooner we sort out his leg the better,” said Zoe. “We don’t know when the hunt is going to be, but if we can get Tomboi fit, he won’t be trailing the herd and the hunters will find it much harder to get him and his mum.”
They were just crossing the lobby to collect their key from reception when Zoe grabbed her brother’s arm.
“Recognise that man leaning on the desk?” she hissed.
Ben studied the tall, plump man in shorts and a T-shirt who was talking loudly in English to the hotel manager. “No.”
“Look at his hat with all the badges and feathers on it,” insisted Zoe. “We saw enough photos of him wearing it on that awful hunting site.”
“Oh, yes!” said Ben. “It’s that idiot who boasted he’d shot game on every continent.”
“What was his name?” hissed Zoe. “It was all over the site.”
Ben thought for a minute. “Hall! Frank Hall.”
They retrieved their key with its large wooden rhino-shaped fob and let themselves into their bedroom.
“It can’t be a coincidence that a big-game hunter turns up where elephants are being shot illegally,” said Ben, pacing up and down between the two beds. “But we haven’t got any proof that’s what he’s here for.”
“Which is where Uncle Stephen’s OWL comes in,” said Zoe eagerly. “We plant it on Mr Hall. Then we’ll hear if he’s up to anything.” She dug the box that contained the OWL out of her backpack and opened it. “There’s only one problem. When are we going to get the chance to attach it to him? And what do we attach it to?”
Ben frowned. “It needs to go wherever he goes.”
“We can’t exactly go up to him and slap it on his shirt!” said Zoe. “And besides, he won’t be wearing the same things every day.”
They thought for a moment.
“His hat!” cried Ben. “We could plant the OWL on that.”
“Good plan!” said Zoe, slipping the little box into the pocket of her shorts. “But finding the right moment’s going to be difficult.”
“And I’ve got another plan,” said Ben. “Dinner. I’m starving.”
Ben and Zoe sat at a table on the wooden deck of the restaurant, overlooking a small lake. Citronella candles burned fiercely to keep the mosquitoes at bay. The sun had gone down behind the low hills to the west, leaving a warm glow on the horizon. Occasionally a security guard passed by, rifle over his shoulder, watching in case any predators came too close for comfort.
Every now and then there was a stir in the restaurant as a nocturnal animal was spotted coming for a drink at the lake.
“What’s that?” said Zoe, as a small creature with a bushy black-and-white striped tail slunk up to the water’s edge.
Ben got out his BUG and began to fiddle with it under the table. “Genet cat,” he read. “Though interestingly it’s not a cat, but a member of the mongoose family.”
“It’s so cute,” said Zoe. Ben rolled his eyes.
Eating their fish curry as slowly as they could, the children watched the diners come and go, but there was no sign of Frank Hall. Ben started playing with his BUG again.
“The BUG has identified caracal cries,” he told Zoe, eyes shining. “You know, those lynx-like cats with the amazing pointed ears.”
“Cool Gameboy you’ve got there,” came a voice. Ben looked up. A boy of about twelve with short blond hair was grinning at them from the next table. “Have you got ‘Alien Escape 4’?” As the boy got up to take a closer look, Ben quickly pressed a button and a decoy game flashed up on the screen.
“No, I’ve only got a football game so far.” Ben showed him. “It’s not that good.” He slid the BUG quickly into his pocket.
“I don’t think we’ll be playing many computer games,” said Zoe. “There’s too much to see.”
“It’s great here, isn’t it?” said the boy eagerly. “I’ve got a new camera and I can’t wait to try it out. We’re going on a trek later this week to photograph the wildlife. I’m hoping to get the big five. Lions, elephants, rhinos and buffaloes will be easy, but leopards are going to be harder.”
“Making friends, Lester?” boomed a voice behind them.
Lester’s manner changed abruptly. “Just chatting, Dad,” he muttered.
Ben and Zoe looked round to see the newcomer.
It was Frank Hall.
CHAPTER FIVE
The big-game hunter flung his jacket on the back of his chair and sat down with a loud grunt, making Lester wince with embarrassment.
“I was just talking about our trek,” the boy explained, sitting back down and fingering the flowers in the vase between them.
“You’ll be part of a real man’s world for a change,” said his father. “Walking the plain like a bushman, roughing it in a tent, cooking your own food and –”
He stopped as Lester let out a wail of horror and backed away from the flowers.
“What’s the matter?” snapped Mr Hall.
“Spider,” croaked Lester. “A great big one. On that petal!”
Red with anger, Mr Hall knocked the spider on to the table and squashed it with his fist. “Fuss about nothing,” he grumbled, flicking the body away.
“Why did you kill it?” protested Lester. Ben and Zoe buried their heads in their menus.
“Poor Lester,” whispered Zoe, “having a dad like that.”
“Whatever else Mr Hall’s up to,” said Ben, “at least he’s taking his son on a photography expedition. Maybe that’s the only reason he’s here.”
“We need to be sure,” said Zoe, patting the pocket that contained the OWL. “Look, he hasn’t got his hat with him.”
“Then it must be in his room,” said Ben.
“We can’t go in there,” whispered Zoe.
“We’ve got to,” said Ben. “And for that we need the key. I can see the fob sticking out of his jacket pocket. I’ll make a diversion and you grab it.”
“Be careful,” hissed Zoe.
“Trust me.” Ben winked, getting to his feet. He sauntered past the Halls, who were studying their menus, and made for the dessert table. He placed two papayas and a mango on a plate and wove his way back. Just as he reached Lester and his father, he appeared to trip. The fruit rolled off the plate and bounced under their table.
“Oh dear!” gasped Ben. He dived beneath the cloth and crawled over their feet, chasing the lost fruit.
“What are you doing?” growled Frank Hall, pushing his chair back and peering under the table.
Ben rolled the mango towards Zoe across the floor. She leapt from her seat and made a great show of scrabbling for it on the ground. At the same time she slipped her other hand deftly into Mr Hall’s jacket pocket, removed the key and hid it up her sweatshirt sleeve.
Ben emerged from under the table, holding the papayas. “Got them!” he beamed.
“And here’s the mango!” said Zoe, producing the fruit. “I’m sorry we disturbed you.”
Lester started to laugh, but caught his father’s eye and stopped.
“Dreadful behaviour!” growled Frank Hall. “You shouldn’t be allowed in here on your own. Where are your parents?”
“Our parents aren’t with us,” said Zoe.
“Disgraceful! Kids on their own.”
Lester looked down at the table in embarrassment.
“But our tutor’s in her room,” said Ben calmly. “She’s not feeling well.”
“Why didn’t you have your meal with her?” grunted Mr Hall. “Then you wouldn’t have bothered the rest of us.”
“We’re just
going there now,” Zoe put in quickly. “The fruit’s for her. Come on, Ben,” she said, grabbing her brother by the arm.
Checking that the corridor was empty, Zoe turned the key to room 212. The door swung open on to a huge bedroom. All around the walls were beautiful paintings of lions, leopards and giraffes in their natural surroundings. The children dived inside and shut the door.
“Wow!” gasped Ben. “This is a lot posher than our room.”
On a desk in the corner sat a laptop and some hunting magazines. Clothes were slung on chairs and in the centre of the four-poster bed was the hat.
“Let’s get on with it and go,” said Zoe nervously. She threw down the key and the mango on the bed and grabbed the hat.
She quickly positioned the OWL on the front, between a green feather and a badge with “Hot shot!” emblazoned on it. Within seconds it was stuck fast. She’d just put the hat back on the bed when they heard voices outside the door.
“I’m certain I had the key with me.” It was Mr Hall!
“It is not a problem, sir.” The children recognised the voice of the receptionist and heard a key sliding into the lock. “I have the master key.”
“Quick,” hissed Ben. “Hide!”
The children dived under the bed.
“The mango!” gasped Zoe. “I’ve left it with the key!” She scrambled out and retrieved the telltale fruit.
She slid back just as the door opened.
They heard an exclamation of surprise and saw Mr Hall’s sandalled feet striding over towards them.
The children looked at each other, eyes wide in the dark. Had he seen Zoe?
But then Frank Hall let out a gruff laugh. “Here it is!” He stopped at the bedside, his feet only centimetres from their faces. There was a rattle as he picked up the key, then the chink of coins. He moved away from the bed. “Take that for your trouble.”
“Thank you, sir.” The door closed softly as the receptionist left with his tip.
“Can we stay here and watch telly?” they heard Lester plead. “I’m tired.”
