Stalking Ivory (3 page)

“I’m not angry with Jelani, but if I ever see Harry Hascombe again, I’m going to thrash him.” After being shot at and finding both a murdered askari and an elephant left to bleed to death, or die at the hands of scavengers, Jade definitely wanted to hit something, and Harry, her last season’s safari leader, seemed as good a target as any. Last June he had connived to trick her into passing on her dead fiancé’s legacy to an impostor, Roger Forster. Hascombe claimed he didn’t know the man had been a drug smuggler and a murderer, but it didn’t lessen his guilt in Jade’s eyes. She didn’t care to be lied to for any reason. Biscuit had been one of Hascombe’s pets.

Avery, who until then had stayed out of the conversation, raised one eyebrow as an inquiry.

“Hascombe could have trained the animal better,” Jade answered, “and he shouldn’t have abandoned the cat.”

“He didn’t exactly abandon it, darling,” Beverly said. “He turned it over to Madeline and Neville to keep for him. After all, with his man Ruta deceased, who would be able to watch him?”

“Quite right,” echoed Avery. “And after Hascombe decided to give up ranching and turn full-time hunter and safari leader, he couldn’t very well drag the poor beast around with him.”

Jade arched her thick black brows and fixed her intense green eyes on Avery. He stammered and shifted his feet before replying, “Sorry, I didn’t quite mean that
you
are dragging Biscuit around. I meant—oh, bloody hell, I have no idea what I meant. Stop staring at me! You know I hate it when you do that. It gives me goose bumps.”

Jade only smiled a Mona Lisa smirk. “Harry Hascombe is a lying, thieving, low-down, conniving snake in the grass.” After her dealings with him on her last safari in Tsavo, she couldn’t find one iota of respect for the man.

“He’s not that bad a sort,” protested Beverly. “And he tried to do right by Biscuit. He couldn’t very well turn him loose. The poor creature would have wandered to some unsuspecting human and then been shot.”

When Jade transferred her hypnotic, predatory stare to Beverly, the pretty blond Englishwoman stuck out her chin in defiance and retorted, “Anyway, who would have thought that Biscuit would take such a liking to
you
, Jade? He ran away from Neville and Maddy twice before they finally decided you should keep him.”

Jade stroked the big cat and took hold of his broken tether. “Don’t forget Jelani. Biscuit seems to love Jelani.”

As if the Kikuyu boy heard his name, twelve-year-old Jelani came running towards them, breathing heavily. “Ah, Miss Jade,” he said as he fought to catch his breath. “He found you. I’m sorry. I—”

Jade raised her hand to cut him off in midapology. “Jelani, I’m not upset that Biscuit got loose. But I am unhappy that you chose to go trailing after him alone. You could have been hurt. You don’t know this forest.” She thought of Captain Smythe’s warnings and wondered if she should perhaps heed them for the boy’s sake. “I’m surprised Chiumbo didn’t stop you.”

Jelani hung his head, and Jade felt a twinge of guilt for chastising the young Kikuyu. “I’m sorry, Jelani. I should know that any young warrior who could face down a witch’s hyena like you did would not be afraid to follow Biscuit or bother to wait for the headman’s permission.”

The lad’s black eyes glowed at Jade’s reference to his encounter the previous June with a man-eating hyena that had raided his village. Never mind that Jade had already shot the beast before Jelani stuck his knife in it. Jade handed the broken lead to the boy. He took it, squared his narrow shoulders, and scolded the big cat at length in a mixture of Swahili, English, and Kikuyu. Biscuit stood by his side, his tongue lolling. When Jelani finished his diatribe, the cheetah rubbed his head against Jelani’s waist and licked his hand as if making a tacit apology for being so much trouble.

“Let’s get back,” Jade said. “It will be dark soon and I don’t care to get eaten or shot at—again.”

“And I’m hungry,” Beverly repeated.

T
HEY DINED IN MIDAFTERNOON ON
roasted bustard that had been smothered in a clay coating and baked under hot coals in a pit. When the fire-hardened clay was cracked aside, the resulting turkey-sized bird nearly fell off the bones, after having spent the day steaming in its own juices. Whole potatoes baked among the coals completed the meal. Jade couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed a bird more. She poured a second cup of her beloved coffee and sipped it.
Pure nectar!
Beverly, she noted, had decided on tea again. Jade grimaced. To her, drinking tea was only a little better than swallowing warm ditch water after the fall leaves had stewed in it for a month.

Jelani ate with Jade and the Dunburys at the trio’s insistence. Since the few remaining porters were predominately Wakamba and not interested in conversing with a Kikuyu lad, Jelani didn’t mind sacrificing the men’s tales for Jade’s company. Jade had her own reasons for keeping the boy close. She wanted him to become more than someone’s servant or porter, a man forced to eke out a living just to pay the colony’s hut tax. Her hope was for him to become a leader of his own people, one who could hold his own against the Protectorate’s bureaucracy. Even the tribe’s
mundu-mugo
, or spiritual healer, approved her decision. After supper, she motioned for Jelani to move closer to her kerosene lantern and handed him a children’s book of Aesop’s fables.

“Time for a reading lesson, Jelani. Did you practice today?”

“Yes, Miss Jade, but some of the words are strange to me. I tried to sound them out as you and Miss Beverly taught me, but…” He shrugged to indicate his uncertainty over his success and his general feeling of perturbation over the English language’s irregularities.

“Read to us and we shall see.” She smiled her encouragement.

Jelani opened the book to one of the fables and began. “‘The Crow and the Water Pitcher.’ There once was a crow who was half-dead from thirst when he saw a pitcher with some water inside. ‘Ah,’ said the crow, ‘now I shall have water and live,’ but when the crow tried to put his head into the pitcher, it would not fit, and the water was too far down for him to reach. ‘What shall I do?’ he said. ‘If I do not get a drink, I shall die.’ The crow began to…” Jelani paused and pointed to the next word. “Dee-spair?” he asked.

“That’s very close. It is ‘despair,’” Jade said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means giving up all hope,” answered Lord Dunbury. “Something you should never do.”

Jelani nodded. “Now the story makes sense. If the crow gives up, he will die.”

“And did he?” Beverly asked.

Jelani shook his head and turned back to the book. “Then the crow saw some little rocks. He picked one up and dropped it into the pitcher. He took another and another. He dropped many rocks into the pitcher. The water rose higher and higher till he could reach it with his beak. Then he could take a drink and save his life.”

Jelani looked up and grinned at Jade. “He was a smart bird.”

“Very,” Jade agreed. “And what is the moral of this fable?”

Jelani recited the final line of the tale. “Little by little does the job.”

“A good lesson,” agreed Avery, “but I should think it could also be ‘Never give up’ or, perhaps, ‘Use your brain when you’re in trouble.’”

Jelani closed the book carefully and hugged it to his chest. “I like this book. Some of the animals are very wise and others are funny. I found another story about a wolf that chewed off its own foot to escape from a trap. Do you want to hear that one, too?”

Beverly shook her head rapidly. “No! It sounds awful.” Then she quickly added, “But you did very well to read it on your own.”

Jelani shrugged, not understanding her distaste. “He was a brave animal, but I still like Bwana Avery’s books better.”

“You little scamp,” Avery said in mock anger. “Have you been reading my Tarzan novels?” He jumped up from his seat on a wooden chop box and grabbed the boy.

Jelani laughed as the tall blond man tickled him around the ribs. Biscuit joined in by rearing up and swatting Avery on the backside. Avery lost his balance and collapsed onto the ground as Jelani and the slender cat pounced on top of him.

“All right, all right,” Avery called out between laughs. “You win. No fair, two against one.”

The boy and the cheetah desisted, and Avery scrambled to his feet and brushed off his trousers. “Tarzan wouldn’t have stood for that sort of rowdiness.”

“Tarzan spoke a strange language,” Jelani said.

“Ah, you mean Mangani,” Jade replied. “That’s supposed to be the language of the great apes.”

“Do these apes really speak?”

Jade shook her head. “I’m sure they make some calls to each other, but Mangani is something that the author made up. Much,” she added with a sidewise glance at Beverly, “like Memsabu Madeline did in her book.”

“She didn’t make anything up,” protested Beverly.

“Right. And just when did I ever say to a lion, and I quote, ‘You can go back and tell your witch master that I’m not afraid of you or him’?”

“I don’t care what you say,” replied Bev with a sniff. “
Stalking Death
is a wonderful book and very true to life. And Madeline is rather like your own personal Dr. Watson, dramatizing your adventures. It will be a tremendous smash. She’s already sent it off to her London publisher.”

“I say,” said Avery in a gallant attempt to redirect the conversation, “since we’re all reading those Tarzan books, we should learn Mangani and speak it ourselves. Sort of a private code. Won’t that be fun?”

“I will make a list of words,” Jelani said. “I will look through
all
of Bwana Avery’s books.” He stopped and glanced up at Avery, a look of hopeful anticipation welling in his large brown eyes.

Avery couldn’t resist. “Yes, you may make a list from my books.” He rubbed the boy’s short black hair. “I’m pleased to see you enjoy reading so much.”

“It is a good idea, Jelani,” added Jade. “That way you can also practice your writing.” She noticed the sudden frown. “Yes, I know you don’t enjoy that nearly as much as reading, but it’s also important.”

Jelani stuck out his lower lip and pouted like any youngster being told what to do. “I am going to read my story to Chiumbo,” he said, indicating their headman. “He likes my stories.”

The boy patted his leg as a signal for Biscuit to follow, but the cat opted to stay at Jade’s feet.

“That’s fine, Jelani,” said Jade, “but remember your proper bedtime tonight. I’ll send Biscuit to guard you later.”

Jelani made a face when Jade mentioned bedtime, but didn’t argue the point. Instead, he wandered off, looking for the safari’s headman.

“He’s a good little chap,” Beverly noted as the boy left. “It’s very good, what you’re doing for him.”

Jade shrugged. “I’m not doing all that much, but I agree, he is good.” She poked a stick into the fire and stirred up the wood. The fire burned more brightly after she opened up another air passage. A safe distance away, the evening noises started with a tree limb’s prolonged groaning, followed by a sharp crack as the branch broke under some elephant’s persistent pull. “He has only an old mother and father, no siblings. It’s the least one can do.” She tossed the stick into the fire and added three bigger chunks of wood. “Besides, Biscuit needed a keeper.”

“Now, don’t try to disclaim any interest in the boy, Jade,” scolded Beverly. “I know you too well for that. You like him and you needed something to give you a purpose in life. There’s no shame in caring for someone, you know.” She frowned and shook her head, causing her soft corn silk curls to shimmer in the firelight. “You’ve been a lost soul, Jade. I thought you’d snap out of it once you found David’s brother, but you haven’t.”

At the mention of her deceased fiancé’s name, Jade unconsciously reached for his ring, which she wore around her neck as a talisman. British pilot David Worthy had been her sweetheart during the war until his plane crashed in a dogfight in which he had defended her and the evac hospital. He died in her arms, pressing this same ring into her hands with the request that she use it to find his brother. That search had brought her to East Africa and to Jelani.

Beverly watched her friend and scowled. “Heavens, if anyone needs a keeper, it’s not Biscuit—it’s you!” She pressed her point despite all of Jade’s warning looks. “Avery and I won’t be able to follow after you forever, you know.”

“No one is asking you to,” snapped Jade.

Beverly ignored her and continued. “It’s high time you quit traipsing all over the continent and settled down with some nice man who can watch over you.” She glanced at her husband for support. “Right, darling?”

Avery decided that discretion was the better part of valor and kept his mouth shut, pretending to be fascinated by his boots.

Jade picked up a stout stick and hurled it into the fire. “I don’t need a blasted keeper!” She rose to her feet and glared at Beverly. “So if you have any more plans about setting me up, you can just forget it. Both you and Maddy were determined that I should marry that louse Hascombe last year, so I don’t put a great deal of stock in your matchmaking abilities.”

Just then a deep baritone voice sang out from the edge of the forest. “There’s my bright beauty.”

Jade turned and looked straight into the face of Harry Hascombe. “Spit fire and save the matches! It’s you.”