Stones of Nairobi

by Vered Ehsani

  Again he shook his head, his limbs quivering. “She can’t live in a barn or in a cave with wolves. Or run with wild creatures as I do. She needs someone who can at least act human. Teach me how to be like them.”

  “Them?” I repeated, knowing what he implied but still unwilling to admit out loud that we were not ‘them’.

  “Humans,” he said. “Teach me to live and act like a human.” He shuffled closer so that our knees were touching. “You and Mr. Timmons, you’re accepted by the wider world. You can teach me. Please.”

  His last word, so plaintive and imploring, brought moisture to my eyes. For a moment, we were small children in the forest, hiding from a monster, his little hand in mine, his trust in me absolute.

  I blinked the vision and the tears away, straightened up and said, “Of course I will. I’ll do anything for you. And the first lesson is bathing.”

  I stood up and tugged at his hands to follow me.

  “I know how to bathe, sister,” Drew said, smiling for the first time.

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t appear that you do,” I replied, softening my tart tone by smiling in return. “Come on, then. Let’s heat up some water and pray that Jonas is around to fetch some more.”

  The hope and gratitude in his eyes caused me to turn away before he could see the guilt in my expression. While I covered the pang in my heart with idle chatter, a soft voice whispered the truth: eventually, he would have to be told that Cilla was never coming back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I PACED THE length of the cell in great agitation. “This is beyond irksome,” I huffed.

  “Patience, Beatrice,” Mr. Timmons murmured, his arms resting against the metal bars, his hands limp, his posture relaxed. “It will all be sorted out eventually.”

  I spun about and stared aghast at the casualness of his tone. “How can you speak so? That… that woman claims to hold evidence against you. It’s insupportable.”

  “It’s not as dreadful as it appears,” Gideon reassured me.

  “It very well is,” I protested, flinging up my hands. “My husband is locked up like a common criminal, and he is anything but common.”

  Mr. Timmons smirked as he shifted to lean one shoulder against the bars.

  “Oh, I wasn’t referring to his situation,” Gideon said, grinning as he pirouetted around me. “It’s been marvelous at home, without him around.”

  “Gideon,” I scolded. “Speak for yourself.”

  The ghost shrugged. “I always do. Well, I see that all is as it should be over here. I’m off to check on Shelby who, by the way, is growing up beautifully.” He glowered at Mr. Timmons. “No thanks to you.”

  Before either of us could castigate him, he faded away, his saucy grin lingering for a moment.

  “How did you tolerate him when you were married?” Mr. Timmons asked.

  “He lost some of his better manners along with his body when he died,” I explained. “Oh, who am I kidding? He was always a nuisance.”

  At that, we exchanged a smile but mine disintegrated into a sniff. “Oh, Simon, what are we to do for you?”

  He reached his arms through the bars and gestured to me. Despite having metal in my way, I still derived some comfort from the embrace.

  “Not to worry, love,” Mr. Timmons said, his voice gruff with emotion.

  “I can’t bear for you to be sent away,” I said, tightening my hold on him. “If the trial is held in London, it could be weeks or months of separation, unless they allow me to accompany you. But then, what of Lilly? And—”

  “She has it with her,” he interrupted in a soft murmur just as Chief Constable Dougal walked in.

  “Time’s up, madam,” the constable said.

  “What?” I asked as I stepped away, my gaze fixed on Mr. Timmons’ face.

  “I said time’s up,” the constable repeated, eyeing me as if I might cause him trouble.

  “Gideon and Yao,” Mr. Timmons said and nodded at me.

  No more conversation was possible, and I was escorted out of the jail and to my horse. The Chief Constable said something conciliatory to me but his words didn’t register amongst my befuddled thoughts.

  “The wretch,” I cursed as I pulled myself up into the saddle. Nelly peered back at me with sleepy eyes. “I wasn’t referring to you, although the term applies equally.”

  Snorting, the horse plodded forward, setting her nose to home and a bag of oats. Clouds skittered across the sky, creating an alternating pattern of sun and shadow on the ground. In the horizon, dark clouds foretold a stormy night. As we meandered through a zebra herd, I pondered on Mr. Timmons’ parting words.

  “He must be referring to that condemning letter,” I muttered to myself. “So Miss Baxter has admitted to being in possession of it. At least we know where it is now.”

  While I was acutely aware of the dangers of talking out loud to oneself, at times one must be permitted to converse with a reasonable and logical voice. Given that I was associated with ghosts, monkeys and flying horses, that voice was my own.

  As I spoke, the unwanted image of Miss Baxter shimmered in my mind’s eye. My husband’s former fiancée mocked me in my thoughts and waved a letter at me. The clenching of my stomach only confirmed my sneaking suspicion that I harbored a hint of jealousy. Just a hint, mind you.

  Normally, I wasn’t prone to such lapses in emotional discipline. Still, I had preferred to imagine I was the only seriously significant woman in Mr. Timmons’ life. To be faced with an alternate reality didn’t sit well with me at all.

  “What poppycock,” I said and kicked at Nelly’s sides with more force than was warranted.

  Bestowing on me a wounded glance, the horse picked up her hooves and cantered at an easy pace, the soft thudding of hoofs against the ground echoing my heartbeat. I allowed the rocking motion to lull me but the peculiarity of the situation continued to plague my agitated mind.

  “Why now?” I demanded as the homestead came into view. “Why at all? I despise people who hold onto grudges.”

  Speaking of which, Koki was waiting for me at the barn’s entrance. Her lithe height was swathed in a purple fabric in which geometrical patterns had been woven. Her blue-black skin glowed with an oily sheen. She was using a twig to clean her teeth, and I hoped we weren’t missing any livestock.

  Jonas was absent but it was too much to expect that she would have eaten him. I clucked at the thought even as my lips twitched in a half smile. I’d miss the cranky old man.

  “You do realize it’s a bad sign when you talk to yourself?” she asked, a sly expression gracing her finely formed features.

  “At least I receive a comprehensible response,” I retorted as I slid out of the saddle and marched past her without any of the normal courtesies I would bestow upon a visitor. After all, she wasn’t so much a visitor as a pest.

  She followed me into the cool shadows of the barn. “I found the body.”

  I didn’t turn around or provide any indication that I might care.

  “It was here all along,” she continued as she strolled about the hay-­scented space. “Imagine that.”

  “Indeed.”

  Leaning against a wooden column, she mused, “I don’t understand why they would bring him here of all places, except perhaps to avoid any desecration of his grave by his enemies.”

  She shrugged and flicked her twig away. “I only noticed it because the stones around the burial spot aren’t from this area.”

  “How very observant of you,” I said in a flat tone as I tugged at Nelly’s halter and led her into her stall. “Have you seen Yao?”

  “What am I, your personal assistant?” she snarled.

  I spun to face her, expecting an attack, but she merely laughed at me before saying, “You’ll need something a bit more impressive than your walking stick.”

  Frowning at the abrupt alteration in the conversation, I said, “It’s served me well enough until now.”

  “A tad defensive, are we?”


  “I am not,” I retorted, my cheeks flushed.

  She pushed herself away from the column and sauntered toward me, her dress swishing around her, unsullied by the muck. I didn’t dare glance down at the seam of my skirt which I knew to be besmirched with mud.

  “All I’m suggesting is a quick detour to collect a weapon more suitable for the mission,” she said. “One that’s more...” She paused and tapped a long finger against lush lips. “Effective.”

  I refrained from reminding her that I’d cut off one of her legs with my unimpressive, ineffective walking stick. Such a rejoinder would only serve to inflame her temper and possibly result in my messy demise.

  Instead, I swallowed my words and my own fiery emotions, and asked, “What precisely do you have in mind?”

  “Let’s go find out, shall we?” she invited me, her leering smile suggesting all sorts of trouble and mayhem in my immediate future.

  I glanced at Nelly who had already fallen asleep. “Oh, bother. Just give me a few minutes.”

  So saying, I departed for the cottage in great haste and was much gratified to find Jonas in the kitchen perched on his short, three-legged stool, a cup of milky tea in his gnarled hands.

  He flicked a glance at me. “Tea’s there,” he said.

  I sighed. “Sadly, I shall have to decline.”

  Startled at such a provocative remark, Jonas stared at me. “Miss Knight, you’re not well?”

  “That’s open for debate,” I replied. “I need to give a message to Yao and Gideon.”

  “Me, I can’t see ghosts,” Jonas stated and, having satisfied himself that I wasn’t about to collapse under the strain of my current predicament, returned his focus to his tea.

  “Yes, but you can see the Adze,” I rebuked him. “So please find him and tell him that the letter keeping Mr. Timmons in jail is here, in Nairobi, with… Well, you know. With that woman—”

  “The bwana’s fiancée,” Jonas finished for me, a crafty smile brightening his wrinkled features.

  “His former fiancée,” I corrected curtly. “Gideon can scout out the letter’s precise location, and Yao can retrieve that evil bit of correspondence.”

  “Retrieve?” Jonas repeated, his smirk drowning in the tea. “Or steal?”

  I huffed. “As the letter originated from Mr. Timmons, we are merely retrieving it and returning it to its original owner.”

  “So, we’re stealing,” Jonas said.

  I ground my boot heel into the stone slabs with more force than was indispensably necessary, wishing it was a certain letter underfoot or, better yet, a certain former fiancée.

  “Just give Yao the message,” I ordered him before spinning about and marching back to the barn.

  “Ready?” Koki greeted me, her eyes half-lidded as she observed my irritation.

  Muttering incomprehensible gibberish under my breath, I snatched at Nelly’s bridle and tugged fiercely at it to wake her. Shaking her head, the horse peered reproachfully at me.

  “I’ll give you a double ration of oats when we return,” I promised, only because I didn’t want to be unseated mid-ride or pushed into a thorny bush.

  Neighing in agreement, Nelly nuzzled me with her nose and plodded by my side until we were outside. Koki followed behind me, her natural perfume of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers enveloping me. As we stepped into the pale sunlight, I eyed her surreptitiously.

  “To where?” I asked as I pulled myself into the saddle, an unaccustomed weariness settling into my bones. What I wouldn’t give to be seated in my cozy kitchen with a pot of tea in one hand and a book in the other, with Mr. Timmons pottering around his office.

  “I’ll see you there,” she replied and whispered into Nelly’s ear.

  Her eyes lighting up like twin lanterns, the horse surged forward in a blur of color. I had only just settled myself into her motion before Nelly halted so abruptly that I was nearly thrown off and only barely managed to avoid falling over her neck.

  “Wretched beast,” I cursed her before studying my new location.

  We were in a small forest clearing in which there was a house. To the side was a vegetable garden containing numerous tomato vines that were secured by a small army of bamboo poles. What looked like weeds had overtaken most of the plants. Hidden amongst the vegetation was, I knew, the unmarked grave of the former Mrs. Cricket.

  With some trepidation, I dismounted and approached Dr. Cricket’s home. My previous encounter with the inventor had disturbed me somewhat. Normally a meticulous man, Dr. Cricket’s mental stability and physical appearance had noticeably declined as a direct result of observing his dead wife in his dreams.

  To be fair, the woman had been a psychotic murderer both before and after her physical demise. She’d used her power of possession to carry out all sorts of atrocities. After Mr. Timmons had drained her, she’d somehow summoned sufficient energy to haunt her husband. Still, that was hardly an excuse for Dr. Cricket to suffer from a debilitating case of nerves.

  My only consolation was observing that the windows were sealed firmly shut, blocking all dust, pollen and fresh air from entering the laboratory. This suggested to me that the inventor had recovered adequately from his nervous disorder and had returned to his profession.

  Of course, the final proof would be in the condition of his lab coat. Normally sterile white, Dr. Cricket had allowed his signature attire to become dingy, wrinkled and stained during his breakdown.

  As Koki had yet to appear, I rapped the metal fist atop of my walking stick against the door. Not a moment passed before a tall, thin man appeared before me. Pale blue eyes peered out of a bony face and his thin mustache twitched. His straight hair and skin were pale strawberry in coloring, although the tone of his skin was more the result of too much time outdoors while living so near the equator. His lab coat was blindingly white, indicating his restoration to better health.

  “Miss… Er, Mrs. Knight, or rather, Mrs. Timmons,” the man fumbled out.

  “Dr. Cricket,” I replied, maintaining a certain formality. “Are you well?”

  “Very much so, madam,” he replied as he glanced behind me. “Are you alone?”

  Deciding that he probably wouldn’t include a horse, I answered in the affirmative.

  “Excellent,” he said, his eyes blinking. “Do come in. Quickly, then.”

  I did as bidden, inhaling my last gasp of fresh air before entering the stuffy environment of the inventor’s workshop. He slammed the door closed and bolted it shut behind us.

  As I studied the various tables and counters upon which crowded various chemicals, instruments and inventions, I inquired, “Are you worried about thieves, Dr. Cricket?”

  “No, not at all,” he said, his breathing rapid and gasping. “It’s a precaution against unwanted visitors.”

  Before I could question him on the enigmatic response, the man waved me to a table upon which lay an extraordinary contraption.

  “I assume you’ve come to collect this?” he asked, his eyes blinking rapidly as he flapped his hands over the table.

  “Apparently,” I replied. “If you don’t mind my asking…” I paused and studied the article before me. “Is it a—”

  “Yes,” he blurted out, his eyelids a blur of motion, his hands quivering before him. “It’s a bow the likes of which the world has never witnessed.”

  “Indeed they haven’t,” I readily agreed, wondering if the world was prepared for the device laid out before me.

  Interpreting my comment in the most favorable of ways, Dr. Cricket launched into an enthusiastic recitation of the bow’s praiseworthy qualities. “Imagine if you could add more force behind your arrow without having to use more effort. What a distance it would fly and what an impact it would make,” he said in one breath.

  “That is quite a bit of imagination,” I said, my eyebrows rising.

  Dr. Cricket blushed. “Well, yes, I do allow myself the occasional flight of fancy, but under strictly monitored conditions, you understand.�
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  “Of course,” I said, my fingers trailing the length of the bow. “I’ve never before seen such intricacies of design in a bow, nor one made of cogs and layers of metal.”

  “And you won’t, I wager,” he said.

  He prattled on about distributing weight and thrust and other technical details that, while fascinating I’m sure, held little interest when compared to the article itself.

  I traced a finger over the silvery-gray metal. The knobs and decorative pieces were made of golden-hued brass. A pulley system held taut the metal string facing the archer while on the outside curve of the bow, three gold-colored spikes jutted out. If I ran out of arrows, I reasoned, I could use the bow as an effective club.

  I hefted the bow in my hands. Despite being constructed of metal, it was not in the least heavy or unwieldy. Fiddling with a couple of the knobs, I adjusted the curve to a tensile strength more suited to my capacity. There was an eyepiece around the middle point, and I assumed it must be for sighting the target. I flicked it down into position and peered through.

  “This is exceptional,” I said, my awe enforcing Dr. Cricket’s high opinion of his invention. “How ever did you come up with such a unique design?”

  At the question, Dr. Cricket reddened well beyond his natural state. After several starts and stops, he confessed, “The concept isn’t mine. It was provided to me by a… a person, along with the request to make it.”

  “Oh?” I cleared my throat and squinted at the inventor. His energy spasmed before me, black threads of terror coursing through it. “And precisely which person provided it to you?”

  Eyelids flickering rapidly, he gulped, his Adam’s apple prominent in his scrawny throat. “She was forceful, Mrs. Timmons,” he blurted. “A formidable woman, if I might be so bold to say, especially for a native. I’ve never witnessed such aggression in the feminine form.”

  “Clearly you don’t associate with those in my circle,” I muttered under my breath but directed a non-aggressive smile at the nervous man. “I’m sure she’ll be most pleased with your efforts, Dr. Cricket.”