The doctor’s escort of armed constables surrounded Gia’s group, hands resting on their weapons. One of them stood right in front of Gia and she realised that it was Constable Robertson. He lifted his visor and winked at her, but she thought he seemed tense, his eyes moving over the crowd beyond the barrier. Captain Witbooi resumed his position, but it was clear to Gia that he was far from happy with the doctor’s unexpected arrival.
This must have something to do with Doctor Scubbe’s plan. The fake attack. It seemed too much to hope that Nico’s group had received her warning and heeded it, but how else could she explain the doctor’s agitation?
“Yes, tell him to go ahead,” the doctor said, still talking into his radio. “We’ll just have to play it by ear.” He released the transmission button and Gia heard a crackling reply. The doctor’s mouth thinned in irritation. “Save it for later, Mandla. I don’t want to hear it. Don’t reply now unless you have something to report.” Then he clipped the radio to his belt and folded his arms.
The constable next to Robertson was scanning the crowd uneasily. “See that?” he said. “Too many magicals. Don’t like it.”
Robertson jerked his chin up at the African Trading Post. “Check that. That should not have been allowed. Better keep an eye up there.” Gia followed his gaze and saw that the second and third floor balconies were crowded with people.
“...Luxulo Langa...beautiful...Kavitha...” came the announcer’s voice. Mr Langa must have reached the Grand Parade and was about to make his speech. Gia glanced at the doctor, who was looking all around, his eyes returning again and again to the temporary stage. Is he expecting to see them here? Billy and Spyker? Clearly, things were not going the doctor’s way, but Gia did not dare relax. Nothing is safe yet. Anything can happen.
There was a rush of static from the speakers, then the sound improved and Luxulo Langa’s voice came through quite clearly.
“South Africa, my fellow countrymen, my brothers, my sisters! Country of my heart, blood of my blood, I am here today for you.” The speech rolled on. Gia’s attention wandered back to the crowd behind the pierhead barrier. Few of them appeared to be listening to the speech. They were looking out at the harbour and there was an expectant tension in the air.
They’re waiting for the delegates.
The late afternoon sun threw long shadows and tinged everything with a warm, golden light. A line of tugboats rocked at the jetty opposite and beyond them, a tall crane was silhouetted against the dark blue sky. Doctor Scubbe was talking into his radio again, but now he was turned away so that Gia could not hear what he said. Over the speakers, the speech that was taking place on the Grand Parade continued. Luxulo Langa's voice replaced the announcer's again.
“And those cheers you can hear are from the crowd responding to Luxulo Langa’s salute. And now his bride-to-be Kavitha is stepping to the microphone...”
But Gia’s attention was drawn back to her surroundings. “Here they come!” shouted somebody. The woman who’d shown them to their places hopped up from where she’d been sitting. “Can somebody go down there in case they need help with the bubble?”
Several constables moved down to the edge of the wharf. Gia looked out over the water in vain. “Where?” she said.
“Over there.” Mantjies pointed. “Look. That raft-looking thing.”
“That thing?” Gia stared in surprise. She’d been expecting something grand, a large, old-fashioned ship, maybe. Not a raft just a few metres long, so low in the water she’d never noticed it. “Oh, wow! Look at them!”
For a moment she forgot all her worries at the sight of the raft’s occupants. Selkies. Seal-people. They had large, liquid eyes and dark pelts that gleamed in the sun. Most of them wore cloaks slung around their shoulders, made of a net-like fabric so light that long streamers drifted on the breeze. Gia felt a sudden pang of longing for her mother. She would have loved to see this. Those colours! I wonder what those cloaks are made of.
Mantjies elbowed her. “There’s the bubble, look!” She saw what he meant, a translucent shape on the raft, in the middle of the group of selkies.
That’s the tank of the Mere Delegate. It must be heavy. I wonder how they’re going to move it up here. Then she noticed the people in the water, swimming around the raft. Or not people. Meres. Human-like and some not so human, with long hair floating out behind them, dark limbs flashing as they surfaced then dove. A shadow and then another swept past under the raft and surfaced for a moment, cutting the water in muscular curves. Gia gasped and felt Mantjies shake with laughter. “Are those—”
“Sharks,” said Mantjies. “Oh, man, let’s hope nobody falls in.”
It had been in the briefing. Selkies worshipped sharks, as well as hunted them. Gia looked with apprehension at the long, wickedly sharp spears some of the selkies held. Another torpedo shape swam past under the raft, but those on board seemed unconcerned. They were tying the raft to the wharf and manoeuvring the bubble tank on its carrying frame. Four muscular selkies lifted the tank and, in a moment, they were up on the wharf.
Captain Witbooi adjusted his cap and straightened his jacket.
“Come, Grobbelaar,” said Mantjies. “This is it!” He took her by the hand and tugged her forward.
“Don’t run!” came Naudé’s worried bleat.
Mantjies shot her a reassuring grin. “Come, let’s do this.”
-oOo-
The selkies were all ashore now, the spear bearers surrounding the group with the tank. Now that she was closer, Gia could see that their garments were made out of braided fabric, threaded with shells and beach glass. The selkies wore nothing else under their cloaks, nothing but the thick pelt of glossy hair that covered their bodies. Gia was surprised to see that many of the selkie guards were female. They were shorter and broader than the males and each had a double row of softly swelling breasts, but they looked every bit as intimidating as their male counterparts.
The selkies carrying the tank set it down and stepped back, leaving a single selkie standing next to it. This, Gia realised, must be the selkie queen, Ip Mau. She was smaller than the others. Unlike her guards she wore nothing but a golden band around her brow and a wide, decorative collar that wrapped tightly around her neck from her shoulders all the way up to her chin.
Captain Witbooi saluted. “Welcome,” he said. “We are honoured to receive you.”
The queen dipped her head in the slightest of bows. “I am glad to be here once more.” Her voice was low and she spoke with a slight slur, as if she held something hot in her mouth. She turned towards Mantjies and Gia, and looked at them expectantly.
“The people of the land welcome those of the sea,” said Mantjies, speaking just a little too fast. “May the words that bind us remain as solid as the earth beneath our feet and as strong as the ocean waves.”
“May the waves shape the sand,” said the queen, “and the sand shape the waves.”
This is it. Gia stepped towards the tank. “We of the land welcome the folk of the sea,” she said. “The warm and the cold. We honour your sacrifice.”
She could see into the tank now, see the figure who floated there. Human, or what had once been human but now so encrusted with frills and growths, with tiny twitching barnacles and clusters of anemones that it was hard to make out its original shape. Calcified reefs of shell curled around it and undulating kelp strands wrapped its limbs. The face, when Gia found it at last, was framed with branching corals. Dark eyes were set in a dark face behind the curving glass.
The Mere Delegate might once have been human, but now it was far more alien than the selkie queen. Gia saw a hand emerge from between the strands of kelp and then another. It moved from gesture to gesture, a graceful and precise dance.
“The Mere Delegate thanks you for your welcome,” said the queen. “He states that his sacrifice is no sacrifice at all, as long as the cold and the warm, the people of the land and sea remain true.”
Gia saw that the queen was old. And with a shock she realised
that what she had taken for a decorative collar was made of old plastic shopping bags wrapped around her throat. She realised, too late, that her hand had gone to her own throat, in sympathy.
“Yes.” The queen’s dark eyes glinted with irony. “I wear the gifts your people gave ours with pride, landling.”
Captain Witbooi’s radio crackled and a voice spoke, “Captain Witbooi, sir? Just to let you know, the speeches are done and the motorcade is on its way. All still exactly on time, sir.”
“Thanks, Daniels.” The captain turned to the queen. “Mr Langa should be arriving here in about twenty minutes. Your majesty, there have been some— Uh, some disturbing rumours; we’d like to bring some of our men down here to add to your protection.”
The queen’s whiskers swept forward. “There is reason to suspect danger?”
“The Belle Gente, ma’am.”
She looked at him for a moment, whiskers twitching, then turned to the Mere Delegate’s tank. Her hands moved quickly as she signed. The Mere sank back, then its hands emerged from among the seaweed and he replied in a few concise movements.
The queen turned back to Captain Witbooi. “The Belle Gente are opposed to our treaty as you are well aware, I’m sure, captain. But neither myself or the Mere wish to have an escort of armed men at a time like this.”
The captain glanced at her spear-wielding guards, his eyebrows raised.
“Armed men,” the queen repeated.
Captain Witbooi bowed his head and stepped back again.
“And now, we wait,” murmured Mantjies.
-oOo-
“It’s not going to work.” Spyker fussed with the sliders on the little portable control panel. “We should have stayed at the Parade. We were perfectly set up there.”
“You really think so?” Billy lifted the blind a little and peered out the window. “And be sitting in a trap? You might say what you like but I believe that letter. Granny doesn’t play games, and I never trusted that Mr Mandible anyway. If you ask me, we should just have called the whole thing off. It was your idea to move the thing here. Man, you should see the crowd out there.”
Nico could hear them, the rumble of voices far below them. He felt ill with excitement and groggy with lack of sleep. He’d lost track of how long they’d been here, up in the little attic room at the top of the African Trading Post. At first it had been like that first trip to the Werdmuller Centre, the excitement of being out late at night and the pride of being an active member of the gang. After all, they could never have gotten in without his help. Unlocking padlocks, sliding open window catches... But for hours now, all he’d had to do was sleep and wait while Billy and Spyker set up to control whatever it was they were doing on that stage below. He was hungry and he needed to pee.
“Billy?” He touched the big man’s arm. “Toilet.”
“Jeez,” Spyker shot him an irritated look. “How many times?”
“Pipe down, Spyker. You know where to go, duderino? Just don’t let anyone see you come up here, okay?”
Nico nodded and slipped out the door and down the rickety little stair to the floor below. There were people about now, but they were all crowded onto the balconies and nobody saw him flitting past behind them. Luckily the toilets weren’t far away. He was as quick as he could, horrified by the idea of missing anything, and by the sound of the crowd outside, something was about to happen. An open window nearby caught his eye and he looked out of it.
That was better. He had a clear view, from here, onto the stage below. And something was definitely happening. The stage lights were going out, one by one.
-oOo-
As Gia waited, her apprehension returned. She could no longer see the doctor and wondered where he was. The crowd had grown significantly, many of them up against the temporary barrier and staring at the delegates. Gia felt horribly self conscious, although she suspected few eyes were on her. They watched the queen and the queen looked calmly back at them.
Evening fell quickly now and lights came on all around them. Lights from the tugboats made wavy patterns on the now dark harbour water and tiny pearls of light were wound round and round the branches of the nearby trees. The stage lights ignited and the electronic sign still rotated its endless message: Cape Town Luvs the Sea.
There was a series of soft whooshes and Gia saw that some of the selkies were lighting torches. At last she heard the rumbling of engines and sirens in the distance and heads turned in the crowd.
“Here they come,” Mantjies whispering in Gia’s ear. “Now, you remember how this goes. Once Langa and them are on the stage, our guys will make a passage through the crowd and then these dudes with the spears will escort us all through. We’re to walk all the way at the back. Right?”
Gia nodded.
“But it’s a while yet.” Mantjies tugged at his collar again. “I think this crowd is quite a bit larger than they anticipated.”
They waited as the sirens came closer. Even Captain Witbooi was getting anxious now. He kept looking at his watch. At last Gia saw a stir in the crowd. Special Branch officers were clearing a way through.
“That’s them,” said Mantjies. “Look. I think I can see Kavitha. Yes, there she is going up the steps now.”
Gia saw her, a slight figure in a coral-pink sari, waving from the stage.
But then, one by one, the stage lights winked out. There was a gasp from the crowd and there was some laughter and applause. The words on the electronic sign had changed and they were now spelling out the message, “Cape Town Crookz Rulez.” Another movement caught Gia’s eye. The painted stage backdrop twitched and sagged. Gia saw the people on the stage turn to look at it. A stir of movement happened closer by followed by the sound of running feet on boards. Doctor Scubbe and his guards were at the barrier now, pushing into the crowd. Voices were raised in protest and somebody screamed.
“That fool is going to start a riot,” said Captain Witbooi, his voice tight with anger. “What’s he up to?”
The lights were all out now except for one spotlight trained on the sliding backdrop. Gia heard the crowd murmur as they stared up at the glimmering painting that was now revealed. It showed a woman— No, Gia realised, a mermaid, her legs fused and finned, her body covered in silver scales. By some trick of light or magic, the curls and curves of the painting pulsed and changed, like moth wings in moonlight. Small lights dotted the dark canvas surrounding her, their pulsing light adding an illusion of movement to the image. The mermaid’s hands were raised in a parody of the silver salute, but instead of silver bracelets, her wrists were bound with chains. A thin line of light sprang from between her lips and threaded its way across the canvas. It formed words and in a moment, the full, glowing sentence hung there in the dark: Your fear, our chains. But the day of reckoning will come. We will remember you, then.
“Sentient rights!” shouted a voice in the crowd.
“Crooks!” called another, deeper voice. “Crooks!”
“No more hiding, no more talking!” screamed somebody else.
“Captain,” said Mantjies. “There’s got to be somebody close by controlling that thing. The lights and that.”
“The doctor’s already thought of that,” said Captain Witbooi. “His boys will be on it by now.”
Gia looked at him in horror, then back at the stage, but she couldn’t see anything but the spotlit painting.
“We want the queen!” called somebody and soon it became a chant. “The queen! The queen!”
“What’s wrong with the lights?” said the captain. “No, I don’t mean the stage. Look!”
Gia saw what he meant. Everywhere on the pierhead, the lights were dimming. Even the lights in the nearby buildings were flickering.
It looks like candlelight. A haunting. It’s a haunting. But the biggest one ever.
The entire Waterfront, on land and on the water, seemed caught in a web of flickering lights. Already Gia could hear the eerie chanting, the deep, crowd-voice of the guilters moaning out a chant. The
collective voice seemed to fill the night, chilling her to the marrow.
“So—row. Sorrow. Sorrow.”
The painted mermaid was moving, her eyes opening, midnight black. A spiderweb of light flickered in the air around her, then arched and sparked as she was joined in a sparkling web to the surrounding glitter. The lights pulsed and flickered and the chant grew in strength.
Then somebody screamed. The sound came from above. Gia looked up at the Trading Post, which was now a silhouette against the night sky. Robertson had been right. Something was happening up there. With a start, she realised the line of the roof had changed.
There are people up there. On the roof—
But in the time it took her to realise this, the figures were gone again. There were more screams, lower down, from the balconies, Gia guessed, but it was too dark to see. A voice spoke from the shadows, loud and tinny, harsh in contrast to the continued haunting-chant. Afterwards, Gia realised that they must have been using a megaphone, but in the moment the distortion seemed to fit with the nightmare quality of it all.
“HEAR THE VOICE OF THE BELLE GENTE. THERE CAN BE NO NEGOTIATION,” it blared. “THE TRAITORS FROM THE SEA WILL SHARE IN THE BLOOD PRICE. THEIR BLOOD WILL FEED THE ROOTS OF OUR REVOLUTION—”
Something metallic arched through the air. It fell among the crowd and Gia tensed for the explosion, but it never came. There was a movement in her peripheral vision and she saw another black-clad figure on the steps nearby. There was something wrong with its face, a blankness where its eyes should be—
It was wearing a mask. A gas mask. It came charging towards the gathering on the edge of the pier, two more figures close on its heels. The next few seconds dragged into a dreamlike slowness. Gia saw the selkie guards close in around their queen, spears levelled. She saw a canister spin towards her on the ground, a stream of gas hissing from it. She bent to pick it up, meaning to throw it away, then screamed as pain seared her hands.
“Hot!” Mantjies shouted at her. “Don’t touch it, it’s hot!”
Her eyes were burning and something was clawing into her throat, into her lungs. Reality stretched and warped, and she caught a glimpse of the mermaid, gigantic now, hovering over the crowd like a dark marine angel. Her empty eyes glared down, her mouth moving as she spoke with the voice of the crowd. Then Gia fell and somebody stepped on her and somehow she was on her feet again. Mantjies had her by the arm. There was a sound of glass breaking.
Wolf Logic Page 29
