Mark of the Lion (28 page)

Only Jade maintained her inner excitement. At its base lay a sense of coming closer to the truth about David’s father and brother. Her large camera bag rested on the floor between her feet, and she nudged it gently. In the bottom, hidden from view, were the second ring, the map of names, and the packet marked Abel. Somewhere out there, she reasoned, was David’s half brother, and she wanted to be ready for him. Since Gil had listed the Chyulu Hills on his map, there was a good chance she could pick up his trail there. Perhaps she’d find this Kruger fellow nearby. Eventually the sun set, and stars crystallized out of the cooling night air. She drifted off to sleep, which, for once, was not disturbed by nightmares.

The train stopped at the Tsavo station just before one o’clock in the morning. Jade and Pili were the first to disembark and Harry the last as he made certain everyone in their party was off with their personal belongings. Nothing rustled in the distant grass or called out in the night except a few nocturnal insects that played the rhythm by which the stars arced across the sky. The first sound to send a ripple through the darkness was Beverly’s sleepy voice.

“There had better not be any man-eaters about. It’s positively uncivilized to be mauled at this hour of the night,” she said, and Avery growled behind her.

Tsavo boasted a better station than most of the previous water stops. Besides its famous bridge, there were several round huts, and a small, wood-frame station house. The usual veranda ran around the building, but the floor was packed earth without a platform. A little house for the Indian stationmaster sat farther back surrounded by thick, thorny scrub. The train started off for Voi and left them alone with the stars and whatever lurked in the brush beyond.

A small fire crackled a few feet in front of the station door, and Roger materialized from behind it. He touched his hat brim in greeting. “I took the liberty of setting cots up inside the station for tonight. Borrowed them from the old stationmaster. That way, we won’t have tents to take down and we can snag another hour’s sleep before starting out in the morning.” As he took in the party members, his eyes opened a little wider in puzzlement. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought there were only two ladies in the party. Who are these other two people?”

“We replaced one lord with another,” said Harry. “It seems Thompson and Colridge are out, but Lord and Lady Dunbury are in instead. Same number. Supplies shouldn’t matter.” As an afterthought, he introduced Roger to the Dunburys.

“I see,” said Roger in a confused tone that indicated he didn’t. He roused two natives from one of the huts and directed them to move the baggage into the station. Jade didn’t wait for anyone to assist her. She left her untried Mannlicher with Pili, took her Winchester and the camera bag inside, selected a cot, and set them beside it. Beverly staggered in after her and threw herself on the very cot Jade had marked for her own.

Jade looked down at her and kicked the cot. “Nice of you to think of us, Bev, and help out,” she said. Beverly only groaned.

“Let her be,” whispered Madeline. “She’s exhausted.” Jade made a scoffing sound.

Madeline and Jade moved one of the men’s cots to their area without waiting for the porters to do it, and Jade made certain to again “accidentally” kick Beverly’s cot in the process. This time Bev didn’t stir, and Jade knew she’d fallen asleep already. Roger brought in blankets. Jade tossed one on top of Beverly, rolled herself up in another, and fell asleep.

She woke before the others and went out to stand on the tracks, facing west. She heard Roger wake the rest just after the first golden rays shot across the horizon from behind her. She heard Avery groan and Beverly comment on nocturnal ambulance runs. The comment turned into a mild swear, and Jade presumed Bev had discovered Jade’s cot was empty.

“There you are, Jade.” Bev stood beside her friend, their long shadows cast like advance scouts into the scrub. Jade held her camera idly at her waist and gazed out to the distant hills while Beverly hugged herself against the morning dampness.

The Tsavo station stood on a sidehill and looked out over the Tsavo River valley with its steep gorges, buttes, rounded hills like native huts or sugar loaves, and expansive thornriddled grasslands. The scene spread before them like a golden brocaded cloak trimmed in plush velvet greens around the waterways.

“He’s out there somewhere,” said Jade in a hushed voice. “I’ll find him, and once I do, I’ll find out who killed his father.”

Beverly took Jade’s hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Of course you will, love.”

Madeline called from behind them in a cheery voice, “Good morn—Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb a private conversation.”

Beverly graciously eased the moment by releasing Jade’s hand and extending her own towards Madeline in invitation. “Good morning to you, Madeline. May I call you Madeline? And you must call me Beverly. I feel I know you very well after our little talk yesterday.”

“Lies, all lies,” muttered Jade.

Madeline joined them and yawned. “Please do. I know I should feel dreadful this morning knowing poor Neville is home harvesting the crop, but I don’t. I feel like a schoolgirl on holiday. Isn’t that wicked?”

Beverly grinned. “Terribly, and good girl, I say. But you and I also have an important job. Who knows what would befall our American friend here if we weren’t around to take care of her? Only consider the mischief she’s gotten into so far, killing bewitched hyenas and slapping pistols out of strange men’s hands. And look at the consequences. Now she has to go about smelling like an incontinent ferret in heat.”

Jade glowered at her former ambulance corps comrade. Beverly looked away from that formidable stare but didn’t apologize.

“I must be getting used to it,” suggested Madeline. “I don’t smell anything now.”

“It’s worn off the belt and boots,” Jade explained.

“But not the hat,” added Beverly. “Ah, well, I suppose in this environment, Simba Jike will blend right in with the elephants, rhinos, and other wild beasties at that.”

“If you’re going to continue in this vein,” said Jade, “I’ll just go see about our gear.” She pivoted and strode back to the station. Her friends followed hot on her heels.

Jade ignored them and found Roger talking with Harry and an old wiry African native dressed in khaki shorts and a red blanket. They spoke in some clipped dialect that sounded to Jade like the language Ruta spoke. Most likely Maasai. Harry saw her first, touched his hat brim in greeting, and walked off behind the station house.

Jade thanked him inwardly for having enough gentlemanly notions to avoid embarrassing scenes in front of her friends. She knew from their dance at the Muthaiga that he wanted her, and she half feared that he’d continue his pursuit out here. Jade smiled.
Half feared.
That meant that she half hoped, too.
Chalk that one up to feminine vanity.

Roger spotted her, nodded, and dismissed the African. Jade stepped forward. “Good morning, Mr. Forster.” She pointed to the retreating figure. “Who’s that man?”

Roger’s nose wrinkled and he stepped back a couple of paces. “That is our tracker, Memba Sasa. I’ve worked with him before.”

“Very good. Where are all the porters? I haven’t seen very many here.”

Roger’s lips straightened into a rigid line like those of a schoolboy who resents being questioned. “I sent the regular porters ahead with an oxcart the morning after we arrived. As soon as everyone eats, we’ll load up the cars and drive west, Miss del Cameron. We’ll catch up to them in no time with the motorcars.”

“Cars?” asked Jade. “I thought you only used oxcarts on safaris.”

Roger pursed his lips with a look of mounting impatience and shuffled his boots in the dust. “I sent one with the porters to carry the supplies, water barrels, and extra petrol, but I thought we would try something more modern this time. Ox can be a bloo—excuse me, a nuisance in this type of country. Too many lions about. The next thing you know, your transportation is being digested somewhere in the scrub. I had the cars brought up from a man in Mombasa. Box bodies made like lorries actually. And,” he added with the slightest hint of a relaxed smile, “they’re American like yourself, Miss del Cameron.”

Jade arched one brow as a question and waited for the answer.

“A Dodge and a Ford,” said Roger.

Beverly overheard the last part and groaned. “Am I never going to see you drive something more suitable than an old Ford flivver, Jade?”

Roger looked from one lady to the other in confusion. “Well, I hardly think she will be driving, Lady Dunbury—”

“Oh, just try to keep her from behind the wheel, Mr. Forster.” She shook her blond head in disgust. “Come along, Madeline. Let’s find some breakfast. Maybe an impala fell into the pot. I am absolutely famished.”

Roger watched them leave and shifted his boots again as he tried to determine the best course of action now. Jade read something akin to annoyance in his body movements. She decided he probably felt his authority was challenged and tried to put him at ease.

“Mr. Forster, please excuse my friend. It’s true, I am a very experienced driver. I drove a Ford along the front lines during the war. So, if you’ll accept my offer, I’ll be more than happy to help. But, of course, that is your decision. You and Harry are in charge.”

A faint smile resembling a sneer showed on Roger’s face.
Honestly,
thought Jade,
no wonder he lost Leticia.
The man was surly bordering on irascible.

“I’ll pass your offer along to Harry,” he said. “Remember, he’s actually first in charge on this hunt. This opportunity is his way of helping me stay a half step ahead of the bank and the overdrafts. But you really must get some breakfast now before the porridge gets cold. I’m afraid it’s all we know how to make ourselves. I sent the cook ahead, too.”

Jade joined the others for a bowl of hot oatmeal, something she enjoyed about as much as moldy bread and tea. Thank heavens someone had made coffee. She poured a little on the oatmeal and stirred it around. Better, she thought. At least it added some flavor. Madeline, Avery, and Harry looked amused, Roger shocked. Beverly pretended she didn’t see.

Breakfast over, one native man scoured the pot with sand, and the other stowed the gear into the motorcars. The cars looked like mutt dogs put together out of various parts. Like mutts, they were hardier for the mixture. Both the Dodge and the Ford owned only a little of their original chassis after the transition to box-bodied cars. Wooden slats had been hammered together and held in place with bolts and wire to make the sides. Wire netting, roofing felt, and rolls of canvas made the vehicle relatively rain resistant and created places along the exterior from which to hang assorted baggage and cans of water. Makeshift benches had replaced the seats, so the vehicles held more passengers than would otherwise be possible, although far less comfortably. As Roger said, they resembled lorries or ambulances more than pleasure cars.

Harry delegated bodies to the vehicles. “Roger, you travel in the Ford with our eager and hardy guests. I’ll take Memba Sasa, Colridge’s man, and the other two men in the Dodge.”

“I should warn you, Mr. Hascombe,” said Beverly. “Our American friend here will fight you or Mr. Forster for the wheel. She’s like a fire horse that way. Can’t be kept out of the run. Especially if there’s a flivver involved.”

Harry regarded Beverly with a look of confusion on his handsome face. She simply gathered up her new felt hat and climbed into the Ford with her husband’s assistance. Avery next helped Madeline into the bench seat, then waited for Jade.

“Where’s that blasted gypsy?” he muttered.

“She’s photographing us, my love. Smile pleasantly, please, or all the world will see you scowl in some magazine. Mr. Forster,” Beverly added, “pose for future publicity.”

Roger was busy tying a satchel onto the wire-and-wood frame. He looked up, saw Jade with her Graflex, and jauntily posed by leaning against the Ford’s hood. Jade finished her shot, packed up her camera, and trotted to the car. She waved away Avery’s chivalrous offer of aid and neatly sprang up and into the passenger’s side of the front seat next to Roger. One of the remaining native Africans cranked the machine and it sputtered to life just as Roger sneezed loudly.

Jade pretended not to notice while Roger nervously adjusted the magneto and fidgeted with the side lever. Whether he was in charge or not, she was about to push him aside and show him how it was done when Beverly rescued Roger by calling Jade’s attention to the stationmaster’s house.

“Look, Jade. Who’s that little man with that horrid-looking implement in his hand?”

Jade saw a small turbaned man wielding what looked like a medieval battle-ax painted bright green. In that moment, Roger managed to find low gear, and the car lurched forward.

“Did I just see what I thought I saw?” Jade asked.

“That’s the stationmaster,” said Roger. “Curious man. Carries that grotesque ax around all the time. Claims there are very bad men around here. When they see his ax, they decide that he, too, is a very bad man and leave him alone.” Roger shrugged. “Daresay it works. He’s alive at any rate.” He rubbed his nose with his sleeve and tried unsuccessfully to hold back another sneeze. “Miss del Cameron, I must ask you to remove that hat. I’m afraid whatever is on it is making me sneeze.”

Jade took off her hat and pushed it into a crevice under the seat. “I’m sorry.”

Roger rubbed his nose. “Horrid-smelling stuff. I’m surprised that you tolerate it.” He pointed to the canvas covering. “The canopy will protect you from the sun.”

Jade sighed. “I love this country. It reminds me so much of home.”

“You have men carrying battle-axes around at home?” asked Madeline from behind.

“Well, metaphorically speaking, yes. My father has one horse wrangler who never goes anywhere without this old, rusty bayonet from the Civil War. Claims it’s the best guarantee against rattlesnakes. But we have counterparts to many of the people I’ve seen in Africa. Lord Colridge, from what I hear, used to ride down the streets of Nairobi and shoot out the streetlights.”