by Vered Ehsani
Through gritted teeth, I hissed, “Go away.”
Facing me, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “As you didn’t read the contents of my letter, I should inform you of the news, my dear, the momentous news.”
“I’m not your ‘dear’,” I snapped.
Rocking back on his heels, Prof Runal studied me, perhaps wondering when I might explode. “Indeed not. Well, now I can tell you in person that I’ve been posted here.”
“What?”
“I’ve been posted here,” he repeated as if I hadn’t heard him the first time. “The Society wishes a senior member to be here, to keep an eye on things, as it were, to observe.”
“Here,” I said. “In Nairobi.”
“Yes, in Nairobi.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “It’s a large continent, and you have to be here, of all places?”
“Well, this town is becoming an important hub for the British Empire,” his voice boomed through my foggy thoughts. “And for other activities.”
“Other activities,” I repeated.
“And since we can no longer rely on your reports, I was requested to station myself closer to the action,” he continued, ignoring my glare. “Events are moving far too rapidly to leave to chance the occasional bits of news we might receive, too rapidly indeed.”
“To what activities, actions and events are you referring?” I asked, my heart contracting.
What if he knew of Grace’s powers? I’d be damned if I’d let him or the Society near her. Had Koitalel known of Prof Runal’s arrival? Had he in fact attempted to protect the baby, as he’d claimed to be doing?
“The downfall of the Nandi has created an imbalance in the situation and thus an opportunity for us,” he said, his gaze fixed upon a nearby thorn tree from which hung countless nests of a weaver bird colony. Their raucous calls filled in the silence.
“An opportunity for whom?” I growled, unwilling to be part of the ‘us’.
Still not looking at me, he said, “Well, the Society and all it represents. The Nandi defeat was the nail in the coffin of any resistance.” He was not disturbed in the least by the inference of untold suffering.
I frowned at his callousness, marveling that I could ever have seen in him a father figure. “And I’m sure you had something to do with that,” I spat.
He shrugged. “Let us say that the interests of the Society and those of the British Empire are conveniently aligned.”
“For now,” I said, bitterness coating my tongue.
“For now,” Prof Runal agreed amiably. “That being the case, surely we should make amends? We shall be dwelling in the same town, after all, practically neighbors.”
Hands fisted at my side, I glowered at him. “Neighbors implies a certain cordiality and sociability, of which there is none between us.”
“Beatrice—” he started to say.
“It’s Mrs. Timmons,” I said, my voice hissing over each ‘s’. “Only my closest kin and friends may refer to me by my first name.”
“I see.” His broad chest rose and fell heavily as he plotted his next words. “Well, Mrs. Timmons. But there is something you don’t know. Perhaps—”
Again I interrupted him, stepping closer. “My enemies are more trustworthy than you,” I spat. “At least they’ve never lied to me. They’ve kidnapped me, attempted to kill me and inflicted upon me various bodily injuries, but they never pretended to be other than my foes. You…”
At that, I could barely speak through the clenching in my throat. “You who were my mentor, my protector, how you have betrayed me at every turn. And now you wish us to live as neighbors?”
By the end of my tirade, my voice had risen in volume and pitch. My wolf energy had abandoned the metal hand and was pacing around us, lips pulled back in a silent snarl, hackles raised.
Prof Runal stepped back, his posture rigid, his expression aloof despite the twitch of hurt and disappointment in his yellow gaze.
“My apologies for imposing myself on your hospitality,” he said, his tone formal and detached. “I won’t do so again.”
Before I could gather wit to fling another volley of pain-ridden words at him, he bowed, turned and strode toward a waiting carriage. I closed my eyes. The snap of reins against the back of a horse and the rattle of wooden wheels informed me of his departure.
Sobbing, I sunk down, leaning against the door, my forehead resting on my knees. There I might have remained until sunset if not for the tickle of flowery perfume.
Sniffing, I wiped at my tears and peered over to where Koki was standing in the shade of the weaver-infested tree. White fabric swathed her dark form, draping with casual elegance from her strong shoulders to her ankles. Her posture was proud yet there was a glimmer of softness in her eyes.
“You heard it then?” I said, too weary to be mortified at my condition.
She nodded and glided to me. Sitting by my side, she took my human hand in hers and said softly, “I came to say goodbye.”
I nodded, unable to speak, and marveled at how dramatically relationships could shift.
“I came to tell you to protect Grace against the forces of the world that would suppress her,” she continued, her voice warm and soothing. “I want her to know and own the power of an uncaged woman, that it is her right to lift her voice against those who wish to silence her, to stand tall against those who want her to be small.”
She turned slightly to face me, her shoulder rubbing against mine. “But mostly, I came to warn you about the Society. If it should ever learn of what she really is...”
She didn’t finish the sentence; nor did she need to do so. I nodded, my yellow-tinted gaze caught up in her ebony one.
“You needn’t remind me about the danger,” I whispered. “I know first-hand what they can do. And now, he’s here.” My throat clenched around my next words but I forced them out. “Perhaps we should accept Koitalel’s offer.”
Koki’s long-fingered hand tightened over mine. “No. Not now when she’s so young. A child should be with her mother.” Her voice caught slightly before she cleared her throat. “I came to tell you goodbye, and then I saw Prof Runal approach your door. Forgive me for listening.”
I laughed, an ugly, hoarse sound. “Of all that you have done that requires forgiveness, that’s the least of it.”
She smiled, her teeth bright against her glowing skin. “I suppose that’s true. And while eavesdropping, I decided I won’t be saying goodbye. Not yet, at least.”
“Really?” I breathed out. The lingering tears evaporated as we stared at each other.
“Really,” she said, her smile fading into serious intent. “We must protect her.”
“We,” I repeated and smiled at the comforting ring. “Yes, we must.”
The door at my back swung away, the soft squeak accompanied by a sharp exhale of breath.
“This is an unexpected sight,” Mr. Timmons drawled.
“I was just leaving,” Koki purred as she rose up as gracefully as she’d sat. With a nod at me, she strolled toward the open grasslands.
Smirking, Mr. Timmons asked, “And what inspired that tender moment?”
“Don’t,” I muttered as I stumbled into the cottage. Ignoring Mr. Timmons’ raised eyebrows and bemused expression, I returned to the sitting room and my teapot.
“I shall never speak of it again,” he said, placing a hand over his heart before sitting beside me. “However, there is a matter we need to discuss.”
“I’m rather weary of chatter,” I replied, leaning back and closing my eyes. “And if it’s to do with your former fiancée, I have even less inclination to hear of it.”
“I’m afraid it can’t wait,” Mr. Timmons said as he scratched at an untrimmed sideburn. “As for Miss Baxter, your father has done a marvelous job hypnotizing her. She believes all of last night to be nothing more than a dreadful nightmare.”
“How unfortunate,” I muttered. At Mr. Timmons’ disapproving glower, I hastily added, “We would
n’t want her to lose any of her beauty sleep, now would we?”
“Indeed.” Clearing his throat, he stared at his hands clasped on his lap. “But that wasn’t the issue I wished to discuss. It would appear that day by day I am approaching a state of near destitution, Mrs. Timmons.”
I glanced at him but his gaze was fixed upon his hands.
“My incarceration and pending trial have had an impact on my business dealings,” he continued. “It seems people are apprehensive about partnering with a man who’s seen the inside of a jail cell.”
“How thoroughly narrow-minded of them,” I said and clucked disapprovingly.
“Precisely,” he agreed and grinned, although with less enthusiasm than was his custom. “I hope you aren’t too disturbed by our limited situation. I’m certain I can turn it about, but it will take time.”
I nodded as I detected his underlying concern. “We’ll manage somehow, together. You can’t rid yourself of me that easily.”
The smile on his face only barely disguised his relief at my reassurance.
“And with your unique powers of persuasion, I have no doubt that you’ll be back in business in no time at all,” I continued. “At any rate, we’re in no danger of starving, what with all the wildlife outside our door. As long as you can promise me a steady supply of tea leaves, I can manage without such luxuries as new clothes and soap.”
His smile widened into a toothy grin. “That’s an easy order to fill, madam. I’m particularly gratified to hear that you need no clothes.”
“Scandalous man,” I rebuked him while my lips betrayed me with a smile. “Speaking of tea and our current situation, I have in mind to open a tea shop.”
Leaning against the armrest, Mr. Timmons eyed me incredulously. “Whatever put that idea into your head?”
I thought of the conversation with Koki at the elephant’s hole. “Well, I like tea.”
“Love it to the point of insanity, you mean,” Mr. Timmons interrupted.
“Yes, well, there’s that,” I conceded. “And the English settlers like tea. Even the white hunters like tea the morning after they’ve finished celebrating the slaughter of defenseless animals.”
Mr. Timmons’ expression took on a more solemn aspect, causing me to shiver from nerves. If he was engaging seriously with this idea, then perhaps it wasn’t as hare-brained as I’d initially thought.
“You don’t know the first thing about operating a shop,” he said but without dismissing the notion entirely.
“I’ll learn,” I said and leaned against his shoulder, my hand reaching for his, hoping he didn’t hear the doubt in my voice or see the wrinkle between my eyebrows. “That trivial detail aside, do you think it could work?”
I held my breath while he pondered my proposition. He gazed at a point in the middle of the room as if studying the design and accounts of the as-yet unrealized enterprise.
Nodding his head with more gravitas than he customarily displayed, he said, “Yes, I believe it could. Nairobi is growing rapidly, and apart from the Stanley Hotel, there are no other locations in which to enjoy a beverage and a conversation in civilized style.”
His gaze met mine. He squeezed my hand and looked upon me with a touch of pride. “Yes, Beatrice, I do believe you’ve found a suitable occupation for your energetic nature. I approve. I know you don’t need me to, but I do anyway.”
His smile widened as another thought passed through his mind. “And it is highly unlikely that anything more dangerous than a broken cup could befall you in such a venture.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” I said with a giggle. “I’m sure I can brew up some trouble.”
“I’m sure you can,” he replied and pulled me into his embrace.
And despite all the recent upheaval — the battle with Liongo, the birth of Grace, Mr. Timmons’ uncertain business prospects, his forthcoming trial, and the arrival of Prof Runal — the future appeared as bright as a well-polished, metal teapot.
Read on to find out what was Fact and what was Fiction. But before you do:
Get the prequel to this series and a beginner’s guide to African paranormals plus other gifts for free from my website (http://veredehsani.co.za/free-books/).
The misadventures of Beatrice Knight Timmons and her friends continue in “The Cozy Tea Shoppe Mystery series”. Go to my website and sign up for my newsletter so you don’t miss its big launch.
Fact & Fiction
Allow me to clarify what parts of this story are based on some semblance of reality. Below are the facts as I understand them, and the fictional aspects pointed out.
Fact: The Nandi tribe of the Rift Valley did indeed have a prophet called Koitalel. He told them about the Iron Snake that would be brought by the People of the Fog. He warned that these people who talk like birds would take over the land.
Fact: The Nandi fought the British in the late 1800’s for eight years under King Koitalel Arap Samoei. They were defeated in 1905 when Koitalel was killed under suspicious circumstances.
Fiction: The Nandi were not defeated in May 1900, as occurred in this book. I don’t know if Koitalel was killed by a traitor from within the tribe.
Facts: Tana Delta is on the Kenyan coast and is known for its diversity of ecosystems (wetland, grassland, forest and mangroves) and animals.
Fact: Liongo was a King from the Kenyan Coast and lived as early as 1200 or as late as 1600. He was a great poet and warrior. His son betrayed and killed him.
Fiction: Liongo’s son was not the God of Lightning, as far as I know.
Fiction: Although Liongo seems to be an historical figure, some of the legends surrounding his life and death have the touch of mythology. For example, like Achilles, he was impervious to swords and arrows, and had only one weakness that would kill him. Then again, who wouldn’t die if a copper nail or needle was driven through his navel?
Fact: The poem that Beatrice read on Liongo’s tomb is credited to the poet. He supposedly crafted it as part of his escape plan from an enemy’s prison:
O thou handmaid Saada, list my words to-day!
Haste thee to my mother, tell her what I say.
Bid her bake for me a cake of chaff and bran, I pray,
And hide therein an iron file to cut my bonds away,
File to free my fettered feet, swiftly as I may;
Forth I'll glide like serpent's child, silently to slay.
Fact: Mr. Elkhart Senior’s delightful quote about the importance of dying well was in fact penned by José Rizal, who wrote, “One only dies once, and if one does not die well, a good opportunity is lost and will not present itself again.” Born in 1861, Mr. Rizal was a medical doctor, writer, journalist, revolutionary and Filipino national hero.
Fact: Up until this point in the series, Mrs. Timmons has been using a simple recurve bow. The bow that Dr. Cricket designed for her is a version of the compound bow. This modern bow uses a levering system, usually of cables and pulleys, to bend the limbs and increase the force on the arrow.
Fiction: Dr. Cricket couldn’t have created the compound bow, as it was first developed in 1966 by Holless Wilbur Allen in Billings, Missouri. A US patent was granted in 1969. The compound bow has become increasingly popular; in the United States, the compound is the dominant form of bow.
Fact: The misadventures of Beatrice Knight Timmons and her friends continue in “The Cozy Tea Shoppe Mystery series”. Stay tuned for more info!
Fact: Vered doesn’t use the scale from a giant crocodile named Tompandrano as a picnic table. After all, it’s rather difficult to put a picnic table up in a tree. You do remember I live in a treehouse, right?
Fact: If you enjoyed this book, please recommend it to others. I rely on and deeply appreciate your support; plus, you’ll feel awesome from performing your good deed for the day.
Fact: A big round of applause is owed to: Monica La Porta, a good friend, a great Beta reader and an awesome author (http://monicalaporta.com); Starla Huchton, cover designer extraordinair
e (http://www.designedbystarla.com); and Koki for saving Father.
Fact: Subscribe to Vered’s blog at http://veredehsani.co.za and receive the prequel to this series, a beginner’s guide to African paranormals, and other gifts.
Fact: Vered has other books you might want to read. Their descriptions are further on.
Read More
To find sales links for all my books, visit here: http://veredehsani.co.za/my-books/
THE COZY TEA SHOPPE MYSTERY SERIES: Tea isn’t the only thing that’s brewing in this delightful sequel to the “Society for Paranormals” series.
Murder for Tea
While Beatrice Timmons (aka Miss Knight) is part witch, the only thing she’s interested in nowadays is tea, and copious amounts of it. But that’s not all that’s brewing. No sooner does she open her very own tearoom and shop in the small town of Nairobi, someone with a vendetta against brides murders one young lady. With her best friend’s wedding only weeks away, can Miss Knight stop the murderer while making sure her next order of tealeaves arrives on time?
SOCIETY FOR PARANORMALS: A paranormal detective refuses to let danger, death and unwanted suitors inconvenience her in colonial Kenya.
Ghosts of Tsavo
Where African myth meets Victorian manners: Armed with Victorian etiquette, a fully loaded walking stick and a dead husband, Beatrice Knight arrives in colonial Kenya desperate for a pot of tea and a pinch of cinnamon. But she’ll need more than that if she’s to unravel the mystery of the Ghosts of Tsavo without being eaten in the process. All this while surviving the machinations of her best friend’s dashing godfather and the efforts of her safari guide to feed her to any lion willing to drag her away. What is a ghost-chasing widow to do?
The Automaton’s Wife
Jane Austen meets Lara Croft: Beatrice Knight has enough to contend with: a zebra is dead on her lawn, her horse is possessed and a gentleman has arrived with the temerity to propose to her. To top it off, her dead husband Gideon has absconded with an automaton, threatening to return for his wife. The wife in question however soon has other issues, for a killer has moved into town with a nasty habit of carving up the victims. As luck should dictate, who should be the next target but Mrs. Knight herself?
