Mark of the Lion (34 page)

“You mean the eau de incontinent ferret in heat? Trying to court a ferret, Madeline? What would Neville say?”

Madeline frowned. “I thought perhaps we might just go ahead and anoint the tent. I mean, as long as we’re out here in man-eater country and …”

“And Bev’s been telling tales about how I always seem to get into some scrape.” Jade sat up on her cot.

“It did protect you when you had the flat.”

Jade pulled the packet of ointment from her bag. She ran a swipe down the buttoned tent flaps and added a few spots along the tent walls and on her belt for good measure. “I don’t know what you’re worried about, Madeline. Tsavo lions are
man
-eaters. We’re women.”

Madeline didn’t find the joke particularly amusing, and didn’t reply. Jade hung up the lantern, turned down the wick, and made certain her Winchester was handy. Part of her was ready to head back to Nairobi and concentrate on Gil’s killer, but she did have an obligation to her editor for a safari article. Besides, she reasoned, this would give the commissioner more time to track down those other guests. Maybe she’d visit the
mundu-mugo
again and see if anyone else knew how a white man could have annoyed a
laibon
at the time of the war. Finally she plopped on the cot and dropped off to sleep. Once again she dreamed of silence and menace in the tall grass.

Hours later, a high-pitched shriek of terror roused the camp. Jade jumped up with the instantaneous readiness that came from long experience, heightened by her dream. She snatched up her rifle and undid the tent fly, leaving Madeline to turn up the lantern. Then she raced towards the screams, oblivious to the ache in her left knee. Avery emerged barechested, pulling the suspenders of his trousers over his shoulders as Jade ran past his tent. Excited voices, some nearly hysterical, guided her to the porters’ quarters, where men waved blazing firebrands in the pitch blackness. Harry arrived at the same time.

“Can you see anything?” he shouted to her above the din.

“No. Between the light and the dark, it’s too hard.” She squinted, her pupils struggling to adjust. “There!” she yelled and pointed to one of the tents. One side was slashed into shreds of canvas ribbons. Then Jade caught the unmistakable musky aroma of a large animal mixed in with the scent of human bodies and burning wood. “Lion!”

Cries of
“Simba”
rang in the air, and quivering fingers pointed to the
boma
wall beyond the tents. Two golden-green orbs flashed in the gloom. Behind those glowing eyes crouched the tawny body of a male lion. Most of him remained hidden in the shadows. He snarled, and his muzzle wrinkled back to reveal flashing white daggers in the firelight.

Harry raised his rifle and had drawn a bead on the beast when Roger raced up. He tripped and stumbled into Harry. The shot went wild. The great cat turned to leap the
boma
wall, and Jade saw its lush gold-and-black mane as it crossed part of the firelight. She fired one round, but it only nicked the animal’s hind leg as it scrambled to safety in the blackness beyond.

“Bloody hell,” swore Harry.

“Sorry,” said Roger. “Something was on the ground, and I tripped.”

Jade didn’t see anything on the ground, but then it was too dark to see anything clearly. She looked back to the dark
boma
wall. “I’m afraid all I did was nick it.”

“Bring that torch over to the wall,” Harry ordered one of the men. He examined the spot where the cat had jumped the wall and saw a streak of blood. “It’ll bleed for a while,” he said. “That should give us a decent trail to follow tomorrow when it’s light.” He looked around at the men. “Is anyone hurt?” he asked first in English and then again in Wakamba.

Pili stepped forward, holding his right arm. He was barechested, his gold cross and his sweat glinting in the firelight. A gash ran from shoulder to elbow, but not deep enough to cause excessive blood loss or permanent muscle damage. “The lion ripped through the tent. Before I could escape, it clawed me.” An expression of shame crossed his face. “I am sorry, memsahib. In my fear I grabbed what was at hand and struck the lion on his nose.” He held up the Mannlicher so she could see the bent sights and broken stock. “I have ruined your new rifle.”

Jade peered down the barrel. Gradually her shoulders started shaking, lightly at first, then harder until she broke out in audible laughter. “Ah, Pili,” she exclaimed, “what’s an untried rifle compared to a tried-and-true gun bearer? I’m happy you weren’t hurt worse than that.” She examined the gash. The blood had clotted in spots, but she wanted to wash and bandage it before any infection set in. “Come with me. We’ll fix that right up.”

She turned and paused when she noticed that her knee ached in a dull throb.
Must be getting ready to rain.
After all, the danger was past and nothing had tried to kill
her
. As she limped to the front tents and the medical kit, she commented to Harry, “Next time you promise us lion, could you keep it outside? It’s a bit more sporting that way.”

—The Traveler

HARRY ROUSED THE CAMP BEFORE DAWN, and a groggy assortment of would-be hunters spilled out of their tents in search of breakfast. Jade found Pili and examined his arm before joining the others. A healthy-looking scab covered the deeper rakes, and the almond-colored skin showed no signs of inflammation around the wound.

“You were fortunate, Pili,” she commented as she rewrapped the bandage around his biceps. “If you hadn’t acted so quickly, he would have killed you.” She pulled the loose sleeve of his tunic down over the arm. “But why would the lion choose
your
tent? Did you have food?”

Pili shook his head. “The men slept outside the tents. They would be easier to take.”

“Perhaps the fires kept the lion away from them?”

“Perhaps,” Pili answered in a voice that expressed his doubts.

“Well, tonight you must take the tent with the bathtub. We’ll move the tub somewhere else. I have a special guard against lions. I’ll rub some on your tent.”

“I hear the men say that it is a charm against witches, not lions, mistress.”

“Perhaps, Pili, but at any rate, lions don’t seem to like it, either.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Come, let’s find some breakfast.”

The cook served up a delicious-smelling hash concocted of chunks of leftover gazelle and various diced tubers enveloped in thick brown gravy and dolloped on slabs of bread baked in round patties over hot stones.

“Are we hiking to Poacher’s Lookout today?” asked Madeline.

Roger shook his head. “Tracking that lion. Probably won’t leave enough time today.”

“We can’t allow any men to stay behind at this camp knowing that cheeky bast—er, cat is out there ready to come back,” added Harry with a sheepish sidelong glance at Roger. “Besides, Dunbury wants a lion, and this one has a good story to go with it.”

Avery pushed his plate aside and took out his pipe. “That alone increases the value of any trophy. It makes my rhino head worth many nights of brandy and cigars with my comrades. They only have worn-out tales of German fighter planes to rehash.”

“You’ll have to tell me, Beverly, how long it takes before I’m no longer in the rhino story,” added Jade. “I’m guessing by the second telling.”

Jade looked around as the tracker appeared at the
boma
gate and Roger conferred with him. Memba Sasa didn’t have Ruta’s height or easy grace, yet the man radiated arrogance. She tried to analyze what it was about him that did it. Posture? Mouth? His eyes! They bore through everything as though they saw inside people. Roger rejoined the others.

“Memba Sasa has spotted some spoor left by our nocturnal visitor. Shall we?”

Jade took up her Winchester, and Pili went to bring what ammunition she might need. At least her knee didn’t ache. She retrieved her hat and camera bag from the tent and followed Harry and Ruta outside the
boma
. They looked west, and Jade stopped dead in her tracks, dumbstruck.

Kilima Njaro, the White or Shining Mountain, hovered in the dawn sky over a cushion of thick, snowy cumulus clouds. The ethereal peaks of Kilimanjaro, as it was known to the mapmakers, glistened as the sun’s light danced off its crystalline glaciers. Born during the time when larger glaciers scoured Europe and North America, the giant volcano had bathed the region in lava and ash belched up from its depths. Now it shone white and benign, the antithesis of its fiery youth. The Africans said it descended from the sky, and indeed it appeared to float atop the clouds.

“Quite a sight, eh, Jade?” whispered Harry.

She nodded dumbly and fumbled in her bag for the Graflex. Then, with a sudden sense of urgency, she attempted to capture the hypnotic illusion on film. After her shot, the mountain tired of posing and disappeared behind the rising clouds.

“Does it do that every morning?”

“Only if you’re lucky. You, miss, appear to be quite lucky. So is your gun bearer.”

Roger trailed the crew and secured the
boma
entrance. Since Jade’s Mannlicher was useless, she handed Pili her camera bag, which he treated as seriously as he did the rifle.

“Over here,” said Roger. He led the way around the
boma
. “Here’s where the brute took the fence.” He pointed to a rivulet of brown dried blood nearly camouflaged on the thorny wood. “Memba Sasa found more on the grass and followed it. These beasts are territorial. He won’t have gone far.”

“Just how big a territory is being discussed here?” asked Avery.

“A few square miles, if the game is plentiful. This close to the river, it should be.”

Memba Sasa led them west towards a confluence of two tributaries, which carried melted snow and rain from Kilimanjaro and other uplifted areas into a union that gave birth to the Tsavo. Smaller gullies, called
dongas
, cut gashes through the thin topsoil and the hardened volcanic rock beneath. They were dry now in the winter season between rains, but the party still skirted them. More than once they heard the heavy snort of a rhino or buffalo rise out of the brushy depths.

For two hours they followed Memba Sasa at a swift pace through the thorny scrub. The man walked like one certain of the path rather than one looking for a sign. Only twice did he stop to get his bearings and never did he actually bother to show them any spoor. Jade looked to see what the man followed and saw nothing. The scrub punished the hunters for their intrusion. Wait-a-bit thorns tugged at their clothes and scratched their arms, legs, and faces.

Finally they stopped while Memba Sasa crouched in the grass and examined the ground. Roger squatted next to him and Jade heard them exchange a few, brief comments in another language. Harry stayed with Ruta to the back of the group as a rear guard. Jade pulled a few ticks from her clothes and another from her arm while the tracker studied a wider circle around the area. She saw several bad rakes from the thorns across his bare legs. The left one in particular bore a fresh, nasty-looking gash along with older scars.

Suddenly Memba Sasa grunted softly as if to say “aha” and pointed to a bare spot on the ground. Everyone crowded around and stared at the pug mark in the dust. The paw print was the size of a saucer and showed little sign of disturbance, which Roger pointed out as an indication of freshness. Everyone went instantly on alert as they peered intently into the grass for the telltale triangular ears. By gestures, they established that Avery should have first crack at the cat with the understanding that Roger and Harry were there for immediate backup. Another dry
donga
cut a winding swath ahead of them, and the tracker pointed to it and nodded.

“We don’t go in there, do we?” asked Beverly.

“How’s your throwing arm?” answered Harry as he hefted a volcanic stone in his right hand. He hurled the rock into the thorny brush and waited. Something rustled within. Harry nodded to Ruta, Pili, and the Wakamba man chosen to carry Lord Dunbury’s second rifle. They sent a barrage of black basalt into the brush as the hunters slowly paralleled the ravine towards its upper end. Memba Sasa stood silently to one side, refusing to demean himself with such low labor.

An enraged snarl issued from the ravine. The brush shuddered from the force of a large body plowing through it, and the
donga
coughed out an immense male lion. It stood but thirty yards away and glared at them for a second before hunkering down in the grass. Only its golden eyes gleamed through the dry plants as it appraised its own situation. Ruta ran in closer and pelted it with another rock on its left flank. The cat snarled in rage and scrambled sideways farther away from the rock. It also moved farther from the ravine. Pili saw the plan and joined in, driving the lion more to their right and into the open.