Stalking Ivory (6 page)

Good heavens,
thought Jade. If the elephants hadn’t uncovered the trap, she and Chiumbo might have fallen in and been speared. “Come on,” she said, “we need to do something about that pit.”

Jade scrambled back to the bottom branch, and after lowering the pack with the rope, she removed the rope and let it drop to the ground. She couldn’t afford to leave the rope behind. They’d need it to get in and out of the pit safely. Chiumbo voiced her thoughts before she could.

“We must pull up the stakes, Simba Jike,” he said. “The elephants will stay away, but other animals might fall in.”

“I wish we could fill it in,” added Jade, “but the poachers probably spread the dirt around rather than leaving it in a pile for the animals to see. Blaney Percival told me about these pit traps, but I never expected to see one.”

She tied the rope to a nearby tree, letting the loose end dangle into the pit. Then both she and Chiumbo climbed down it. The trap was only four feet deep, but that was more than enough for an elephant to become impaled. They rocked the stakes back and forth to loosen them in their holes, then yanked them up and tossed them out. “We need to get rid of these where no one will find them easily. I don’t want anyone resetting this trap. We can fill in the hole later.”

“I saw a water hole,” said Chiumbo. “It is not very full now, but we can toss them into the mud. They will soon be covered.”

“Good idea.” Jade hefted one of the six stakes and followed Chiumbo, who carried two. After two trips, they returned to the pit and threw in the smaller twigs and branches until the hole was only three feet deep.

“A leopard can jump out of that,” said Jade, “although I doubt a rhino or buffalo could.”

Chiumbo pointed at the lengthening shadows. “Simba Jike,” he said softly. “The day now shifts into afternoon. We do not have tents or food. We must go.”

Jade nodded. “You’re right, of course.” She took a swig of water from her canteen and handed it over to Chiumbo to drink. “The others will get worried if we’re late. I’m supposed to dine at Hascombe’s camp with them this evening anyway.”

They gathered their supplies and were headed back along the trail when the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps came from a ravine on their left. Instantly Jade flattened herself against the rocky ground and motioned for Chiumbo to do the same. They were just in time. Less than a minute later, eight Abyssinian raiders marched into view beneath them.

Sharp volcanic rocks pressed and bit into Jade’s and Chiumbo’s stomachs, but they endured the discomfort without a sound. Any movement, any noise, meant discovery from the band of raiders passing below. The first man carried no other burden than his elephant gun, and since it lay cradled across his arms, it appeared that he didn’t anticipate any serious confrontation on their route. The next six labored under the weight of two creamy white ivory tusks. One of them had a rifle slung over his shoulder, while the others carried bows. An eighth man trailed with a bow in his hands, an arrow nocked and ready.

Jade waited until the rear guard had just passed below her before she dared to raise her camera. The shutter’s click sounded as loud as a gunshot to her ears, and she ducked back down immediately. Luckily the men grunting beneath the weight of ivory made more noise than the camera, so none of them noticed the click.

Once the raiders marched out of sight, Jade and Chiumbo retreated down the elephant trail and hastened back to camp. They stopped only long enough to pick up her other cameras, which had been tripped during the day.

The pair arrived in camp by midafternoon, and Biscuit immediately bounded to Jade and butted his head against her thigh. Beverly looked up from the Tarzan book she was sharing with Jelani, smiled, and started to wave. The wave and her smile immediately vanished when she saw Jade’s scowl.

“What happened this time?” asked Beverly. “Did one of your cameras break down?”

Jade shook her head. “We ran into raiders.” She watched Beverly’s jaw drop in shock. “Close your mouth, Bev. You look like a codfish.”

Beverly jumped up from her chair and followed Jade to the darkroom tent. “See here, Jade. You can’t just waltz into camp with news like that, then wander off. Come back here this instant.”

Jade emerged from the tent empty-handed. “I have every intention of telling you all about it. Where’s Avery?”

Beverly waved her hand in the general direction of the supply tent. “He’s smoking his pipe and cleaning his rifle.”

“Well, go get him. I’m not telling this twice.”

Beverly returned shortly, dragging her husband by the arm, and Jade launched into her narrative. She kept strictly to the facts as she related direction, number, and weapons. “That may be all of them,” she said in summary, “but we can’t be certain. No one should take any chances.”

Beverly rolled her eyes. “By ‘no one’ I presume you mean everyone except yourself.”

Jade didn’t reply, and Beverly let out an exasperated string of mildly vulgar words. Jade arched her brows in surprise. “There is an impressionable child present in the camp, Beverly, or have you forgotten about Jelani?” She pointed a finger at the boy, who sat on his own, engrossed in the Tarzan book.

“If I may be so bold as to intrude
my
opinion,” Avery began. He held his pipe in one hand and used it like a lecturer might use a pointer. “I suggest we talk about this with Mr. Hascombe’s people at dinner this evening. Once we have more information, we can better examine all our options.”

“To hell with Hascombe’s opinion,” groused Jade. “I don’t trust him.”

“As we are all only too aware,” added Avery. “But it doesn’t lessen the need for his experience. He’s lived in the Protectorate all his life. We are relative newcomers. And,” he added quickly before Jade could jump in with another rebuttal, “trust him or not, he deserves to know what’s going on.”

Jade conceded his final point with a soft grunt.

“If we knew where Captain Smythe’s patrol was, we could alert him,” suggested Beverly.

“Probably gone back to Isiolo to gather up the rest of his men,” said Avery. “He can’t very well arrest a gang of poachers with his one man.”

Jade took a deep preparatory breath. “Maybe that bloody Hascombe knows where he is. Whether he does or not, we should send a runner with a message to either Marsabit Post or Kampia Tembo to alert whoever is on duty there.”

Beverly grinned. “That’s the spirit, Jade. And I’m sure Harry isn’t as bad as all that. You simply—” She stopped abruptly when she saw the scowl on Jade’s face. “Yes, well. You had better get cleaned up. We’ll be leaving shortly, I’m sure.”

Jade passed a hand through her bobbed black hair. “I have no intention of cleaning up for Hascombe. I’m going to catch a nap while I can, since once we get back tonight I plan on developing my film.”

“Jade!” scolded Beverly.

Jade ignored her friend’s tone and slipped into her tent. “Wake me when that horse’s backside gets here.”

The “horse’s backside,” as Jade termed Harry, showed up an hour later and led them to his camp. Jelani walked alongside Jade while Biscuit alternated between tugging at his lead and butting the pair from behind. Avery and Beverly followed Harry, who managed to sidestep every one of their questions about his safari members’ identities.

“I would rather wait for formal introductions,” he explained. “However, I can tell you that they are not professional hunters.” He directed that comment at Jade. “One man is a banker and another is in manufacturing. Motors, I believe. I’m not sure about the third man. Part of the idle rich, I suppose.”

Beverly expressed her astonishment that he would know so little about the people who’d hired him, but Harry declared that as long as their checks cleared the bank, he was satisfied. Harry’s “three miles” turned out to be as the crow flew. The path itself took a few more tortuous turns before they entered his camp.

Three men and three women lounged in canvas folding chairs set around wooden camp tables, and Jade took them in instantly. Two of the women were Jade’s age or younger. One had chin-length, sandy blond hair carefully coiffed in marcelled waves. The other young woman was a peroxide blonde who looked as if she was trying to imitate the more modern screen actresses. Her bobbed hair lay straight except for two tight curls on her forehead, one over each eye. If the effect was intended to be “vampish,” it looked more ludicrous to Jade. She dismissed both of them as silly.

The third woman appeared to be in her forties, with a slightly thickened albeit athletic carriage. Her hair, also blond, was swept back in a less modern but very practical roll from her round face. Jade saw her stare inquisitively at Biscuit, her head tilted as though a new angle would make seeing a sleek African cat on a leash more comprehensible.

Jade had less opportunity to study the men before they acknowledged the newcomers. They all wore khaki-colored bush jackets and heavy trousers tucked into their boots. Two of the three men stood immediately on the guests’ entrance and made sharp bows. One of them also clicked his heels together in a military salute.

“Sweet Millard Fillmore on a bicycle,” muttered Jade. “They’re Germans.”

H
ARRY STEPPED
into the center of the group and began the introductions as though the Great War hadn’t recently occurred and the English and Americans had never been bitter enemies with the kaiser’s empire or felt the brunt of its Big Berthas. Harry first directed his open hand towards a portly, older man with receding brown hair heavily flecked with gray. “Herr Otto von Gretchmar,” he said. The man inclined his head in a deep bow, exposing a bald spot at the back. “And this,” said Harry as he indicated the older woman of the set with a polite bow, “is Frau von Gretchmar.”

The woman smiled. “Please, you will call me Claudia,” she said in heavily accented English. “And allow me our daughter, Mercedes, to introduce.” The woman nodded to the girl with the marcel-waved hair, who barely looked up from her immaculately manicured nails. Jade wasn’t certain if she was shy, browbeaten, or just incredibly self-centered.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Beverly with a show of impeccable breeding.

The second man jumped into the breach and introduced himself. He looked to be in his midforties with the muscular build of an athlete. He wore his dark brown hair clipped short in what Jade supposed was a military cut, and the traditional saber scar ran across his right cheek. Her suspicions were heightened when he clicked his heels together and bowed. “I am Herr Eric Vogelsanger from Prussia.”

Since the last two individuals showed no such inclination to introduce themselves, Harry did it for them. “Herr Heinrich Mueller,” he said as he extended his hand to point out a slender young man still sprawled lazily in his chair. The man peered at them through foppishly long brown hair and smiled. “And,” finished Harry, “this is his charming wife, Liesel Mueller.”

Jade noticed that Harry didn’t introduce the peroxide blonde as “Frau” Liesel and wondered just how “charming” the woman was. She decided she didn’t care. Liesel had a petite and well-formed frame but didn’t appear any more energetic than her husband until she set her hazel eyes on Avery. She immediately sat up straighter and preened, running a finger through each forehead curl like the proverbial villain curling his mustache.

Jade sidled next to Beverly and whispered, “Watch out for that one.” She thought she heard Bev snarl in reply. As an afterthought, Jade whispered, “By the way, I don’t speak any German.”

Beverly turned her head and arched her delicate brows at Jade. “But you studied…” Then her eyes opened wide as she comprehended Jade’s plan to eavesdrop. She smiled and whispered back, “Of course not. None of us do.”

Harry shifted his introductions to Jade’s group and identified everyone except Jelani and Biscuit. Jade waited with the instinct of someone well versed in human behavior. Sure enough, one of the women, Liesel, inquired about the cat. Jelani might as well not exist. Yes, Jade thought, her plan to have the boy infiltrate the ranks of gun bearers would work. No one would think anything of it because they didn’t even bother to notice him.

“This is Biscuit,” said Jade. She took the lead from Jelani and quietly motioned for him to slip away. The boy grinned at her, enjoying their secret game, and obliged. Jade took a deep breath and resigned herself to enduring dinner.

“Please sit down,” said Harry. He stepped behind a seventh and vacant camp chair and held it. “Lady Dunbury, won’t you have my seat? I’m afraid I didn’t think about a shortage of chairs when I invited you. As you can see, I set out three, um, of the best chop boxes for the rest of us.”

Jade maintained her poker face while she watched Harry display his very best company manners. If the act was meant to impress her, at least it succeeded in providing amusement.

“Thank you, Harry,” said Bev as she sat, “and please just call me Beverly. We’ve been beyond formality for quite some time.”

Vogelsanger made a sharp bow in Jade’s direction and extended a hand towards his seat. “Fräulein, you will please sit here.” The offer sounded more like a military order than an invitation.

Jade flashed a dazzling smile and shook her head no. “Thank you, but I would not dream of taking your chair. You looked so comfortable when we arrived.”

Harry still stood beside Beverly, and Jade thought she detected the red flush of momentary embarrassment on his tanned face. She decided to toy with him. “Why, Harry, aren’t you going to hold my chop box for me while I sit down?” Before he could decide what to do, she slid gracefully onto the wooden box. Avery took a spot next to his wife, leaving Harry to sit between Avery and Jade.

Immediately, the camp cook directed two native Africans to serve a savory lentil soup as a first course. Jade noticed that Harry still kept to using practical tin dinnerware rather than the more impressive and fragile china and crystal that other safari companies preferred. She nodded her approval, especially when Liesel Mueller scowled as red wine was poured into her tin mug. Jade turned down the wine and asked for a mug of coffee instead. After that, a palpable silence punctuated only by the occasional slurp from Otto von Gretchmar hung over the group.

Beverly did her best to fill the breach. “How are you enjoying Africa?” she asked of no one in particular.

Claudia von Gretchmar rolled her eyes and placed a hand at her bosom for dramatic emphasis. “
Mein Gott,
but it is horrid this mountain! It is damp and so much noise. I cannot at night sleep.”

“I think it is
wunderbar
,” proclaimed Vogelsanger as the servants replaced the soup with a fragrant stew of game birds and vegetables over a bed of saffron rice, “but perhaps not so much for the ladies?” He glanced meaningfully at first Claudia, then Mercedes.

“Shooting many animals?” asked Jade with another beaming smile. She thought she heard Mueller whisper,
“Sagen Sie nichts”
(Say nothing) to his companions.

“Herr Hascombe has done the hunting or we would not these fine birds be eating,” said Mueller. “Do you hunt, Fräulein?”

“Oh yes,” said Jade. “Generally in self-defense, of course, quite necessary in the Western states, you know. Never know when you need to kill a rattlesnake. But I must admit that I’ve always enjoyed bringing down the bloviated buffoon. Very dangerous animal, but excellent sport.”

Vogelsanger leaned forward, his interest showing. “I am not familiar with that animal,” he said. “Is it a good trophy?”

“Magnificent,” Jade began while Harry squirmed next to her and nudged her right foot with his left.

“Er, I’m sure that Jade is referring to the American
buffalo
,” said Harry. He kicked her foot again.

“I’m sorry you have to rely on Harry in order to eat,” Jade continued. “I just assumed that you came here to hunt. Perhaps it’s all on your game permits. I could read them for you if you’re not sure.”

“All this talk of hunting,” exclaimed Liesel Mueller, “I find it boring.” She leaned across the table towards Avery and batted her eyelashes, heavy with mascara, at him. “So you are a British lord? You must be very rich. Do you own an automobile?”

“Oh, so you’re interested in automobiles?” said Beverly as she edged closer to her husband. “Jade and I both adore working on them. Tell me, Liesel, what do you find more enjoyable, cleaning a carburetor or the spark plugs?”

Liesel made a face as though she’d eaten a bug. “I do not know about such things. Automobiles are pretty toys to ride in. I am more interested in
das Kino
.”

“Is that a game or a wine?” asked Beverly.

“I think she means fashions,” suggested Jade.

Liesel let loose an exasperated sigh. “The moving pictures.”

“Oh!” said Jade. “You’ll have to excuse us. We don’t speak German. So you like the cinema?”

“I adore it,” said Liesel. She closed her eyes and crossed both hands over her chest for dramatic emphasis. “Have you seen Pola Negri in”—she paused to consider the correct translation—“
The Eyes of the Mummy Ma
?”

At the mention of the German actress, Mercedes immediately perked up. “I would like to be an actress in the movies.”

“Nonsense!” bellowed her father. “That is not a proper future for my Mercedes. Your success is with how you marry.”

Jade studied the group’s reaction. Mercedes sank into her chair, head bowed. Harry scowled, Liesel Mueller rolled her eyes, and her husband yawned, but Claudia’s face remained a complete blank. That is, until Mercedes began to sob. Then Claudia stiffened.

“Mercedes!” she snapped. “Go to your tent at once.”

Only Vogelsanger looked remotely sympathetic as his gaze followed the girl’s retreating figure, but when he turned the conversation away from movies, Jade wasn’t certain if he did it to spare Claudia any more distress or for more selfish motives. “Do you also enjoy motors, Lord Dunbury?” he asked. “I was telling Herr Hascombe about our newest models.” Liesel immediately groaned aloud as the two men embarked on a discussion of pistons.

“Is this your first trip to Africa?” Jade asked. Vogelsanger, busily lecturing Avery and Harry, did not hear her. Claudia sat quietly, looking at von Gretchmar, waiting for him to speak for her.

“Yes,” he replied.

“I have been to Egypt,” said Mueller. “It is most interesting if it is sand you like.”

More silence reigned, and Jade contemplated asking one of the other men if she could admire his firearms. If nothing else, the model would give her an idea of what type of game they were after. Before she could voice her question, she heard a sharp whistle. Immediately Biscuit jumped up and ran to the other end of the camp.

“What was that?” asked Otto von Gretchmar, his eyes wide in alarm.

“That would be Jelani calling for Biscuit,” said Jade. “By the way, did I mention that we found someone murdered yesterday?”

A
S SOON AS
J
ADE
had sent him off, Jelani had trotted around to the rear of the tents, back to where the porters, cook, and gun bearers sat around their own fire. The boy heard male laughter and conversation mingled with the assorted sounds that indicated food consumption. His mouth watered as he smelled the aromas of meat and
posho
wafting from the cook pots. Having previously known only other Kikuyu and the few Wakamba men in his own safari, he had never experienced rejection from fellow Africans before and didn’t expect any here. It surprised him when it came.

He plopped himself on the ground near a pot of
posho
and started helping himself to the cooked cornmeal when a man sitting opposite scowled at him. The man spoke in a language Jelani did not fully understand but assumed to be Wakamba based on the man’s pointed teeth. Whatever his words, Jelani recognized the anger behind them. He clearly wasn’t welcome around this fire.

Just when Jelani thought perhaps he should leave, a big man sitting closer to him started arguing with the antagonist. The two traded heated words and angry gestures until the camp’s cook came to see what the noise was all about. He listened for a moment to each of the two men.

“Makelele!”
he shouted. The command that could mean either “start” or “stop the ruckus” caused the argument to cease immediately, and the cook turned to Jelani and addressed him in broken English.

“Hey, you, boy. How come you sitting there? You not with Big Bwana,” he said, referring to Harry Hascombe.

“I came with Memsabu Simba Jike and her two English friends to visit.”

“Ayah, they are welcome, but I do not think that Big Bwana invite you.” He jabbed a finger at Jelani.

Jelani stood as tall as his dozen years allowed and folded his arms across his chest. “I have come with Simba Jike. It is my job to watch her
duma
,” he said, using the Swahili word for cheetah.

The cook translated this for some of the other men and they laughed at his story. “Then where,” asked the cook, “is this cheetah and why aren’t you with it? Is this a magical animal that disappears?” Again the other men laughed.

Jelani didn’t care for this sort of treatment. No one had ever questioned his honor before. After all, hadn’t he already proved himself when he helped kill the witch’s hyena last year? Wasn’t he almost a warrior now?

He put his two middle fingers in his mouth and whistled once, a short, sharp blast. A moment later, Biscuit raced past the other men and butted his head against Jelani’s chest. He wrapped his arms around the big cat’s neck and hugged him. Several of the men, including the one who had first yelled at Jelani, broke into broad grins and laughed. One of the men scooped a large helping of
posho
and stewed meat onto a slab of flat bread and handed it to him while the cook placed some on a leaf for the cheetah.

Jelani’s mouth did double duty as he tried to answer the men’s questions and do just service to the food. While he took pride in sharing meals with Simba Jike and her friends, he sometimes thought their food was too spicy and the meals too complicated. He missed the simple taste of
posho
, which reminded him of his mother’s hut.

Only the cook and the headman spoke English, and only two others spoke any Swahili. With those men acting as interpreters, the conversation resumed. Jelani explained his job taking care of Biscuit and proudly related his adventure last year with the man-eating hyena that had plagued his village. By the time he got to the part about plunging his knife into the beast’s heart, he was on his feet acting out the role, driving an invisible knife into an equally invisible hyena. If he neglected to mention that the animal was already dead when he stabbed it, no one noticed.