Stones of Nairobi Page 7

  “Exasperating?” I offered.

  “As exasperating as you,” Koki continued, “until now. I can’t believe you two have survived this long.”

  I couldn’t discern if she was amused or infuriated. Since she hadn’t transformed into a giant Mantis and sliced off our heads, I decided to believe she was highly entertained by my horse’s antics.

  “Come along then,” Koki said, and this time there was a clear hint of laughter in her voice. “We’ll need to get into the hole and push the little brute up.”

  “You’re going to help me then?” I asked, my astonishment only matched by my incomprehension. Why hadn’t she shape shifted and departed? She didn’t need Nelly to carry her to Nairobi; we were close enough.

  “I’m merely protecting my investment,” she said, her chin raised in haughty disinterest. “You’re no use to me dead.”

  So saying, she stood up and led the way through the herd. I hadn’t fully appreciated how impressively hefty elephants truly were until then. As we made our way to the hole, the truth inescapably loomed above us in weighty grandeur. Man-sized tusks swiveled in our direction, ears flapped in warning, and colossal legs stomped the ground.

  “Do you know that adult elephants have no natural predators?” Koki said, her manner unconcerned by our proximity to numerous sets of large tusks.

  I thought about our recent brush with Tompandrano. “Even crocodiles?”

  “Even them,” she said. “Size doesn’t matter either. Elephants are the true queens of the land.”

  “Do you think they’ll stampede over us?” I asked as the matriarch eased away from the hole and faced us, her trunk weaving patterns in the air.

  Koki chuckled softly. “It’s very possible.”

  “How reassuring,” I said.

  Yet they didn’t. They shifted their mammoth feet, flicked their ears to and fro, and slapped their trunks against the ground, but they didn’t lunge forward to crush our bones into the dust. When we reached the edge of the hole, the baby squealed and pointed his trunk at us, as if hoping we’d reach down and pull him out.

  “After you,” Koki said, one arm gesturing with an elegance I could never hope to achieve.

  I attempted a graceful entrance but no sooner had my boot lodged itself into the side of the hole, the edge collapsed. My arms flailing about me, I shouted wordlessly as I toppled down a small mudslide and flopped against the baby.

  One glance at my clothes confirmed what I felt: I was covered from hat to toe in sticky, reddish mud. Smirking at me, Koki leaped down and landed with only a few splatters on her bare feet.

  “I hate you,” I muttered as she laughed at my appearance.

  “It’s fortunate for you that the feeling isn’t mutual,” she cackled. “Come on, let’s heave and hoe, as your drunken sailors say.”

  Flicking clumps of heavy soil off my clothes, I said, “I do not have any drunken sailors amongst my acquaintances, I’ll have you know.”

  “My mistake,” she purred without a trace of contriteness.

  Positioning ourselves behind the skinny rump of the baby, we set ourselves to pushing. As more of the baby’s body rose up the slope, the one-tusked matriarch wrapped her trunk around its torso and added her weight to the effort.

  In a few muddy moments, the baby elephant popped out of the hole and fell with a splat amongst its family, its limbs splayed in all directions. Jubilant trumpeting blasted above our heads as each elephant patted the baby for reassurance that all was well.

  Before we could scramble out the other side of the hole, something brushed against my face. I peered up into the aged eyes of the matriarch, the wrinkled skin adding to the sense of wisdom that beamed from her face. The end of her trunk patted my cheeks, smushed my hat atop my head and then retreated.

  “You’ve just made a friend for life,” Koki commented as she assisted me out of the hole.

  We sat amongst the grass to dry off, watching the herd amble away, the little baby trailing mud behind it as it stumbled beside its mother.

  “Surely you exaggerate,” I said even as I experienced a thrill at the prospect that an elephant might be listed amongst my circle of friends.

  “Not at all,” Koki said as she stretched her arms above her head. “She’ll remember you, even if years pass without seeing you again. And they make very loyal friends indeed.”

  I smiled at the quaint notion and allowed myself to enjoy the moment of peace. Sunlight warmed my skin, a breeze cooled my flushed face, and grass prickled my hands and the back of my legs.

  “Do you have a death wish?” Koki asked, interrupting my revery. Her fine eyebrows rose in bemused inquiry. “I’ve heard that humans do fall into suicidal tendencies on occasion.”

  “I most certainly do not,” I retorted. “Saving a baby elephant isn’t suicidal.”

  “Walking through a herd of its adults certainly is,” she quipped.

  Sighing, I wondered how I would explain the day to Mr. Timmons. He was sure to be infuriated by my antics. I flung up my hands and searched for answers in the cloudless sky. “I suppose it is. I don’t always think before I act.”

  “Clearly not.”

  Glaring at her, I continued, “I prefer not to sit at home knitting sweaters and doing needlepoint. I’ve better ways to utilize my time. If that’s considered suicidal, then so be it.”

  She clapped slowly. “And I applaud the sentiment, Miss Knight. Life is wasted on many women. It takes effort to break out of cultural chains. But you make a career out of doing so.”

  “Well, what else would you have me do then?” I demanded as I searched the retreating herd for a last view of the baby elephant. The rumbling of heavy steps overpowered almost all other sounds.

  “Apart from confronting man-eating beasts and herds of giant herbivores? Oh, I don’t know,” Koki answered. “Perhaps you could open a tea shop.”

  “A tea shop?” I repeated, gaping at her.

  She shrugged. It was an elegant gesture when she performed it. “You like tea.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I interrupted. “I don’t just ‘like’ tea. I love, adore and worship tea.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “You like tea. The settlers like tea. Even the white hunters like tea. At least, they do after they’ve finished consuming enough alcoholic beverages to inebriate a rhino.”

  She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Besides, that way, you could use your shop as a venue to sell spells and potions. There’s always a good market for such concoctions.”

  “Outrageous,” I huffed, my face flushing once again. “Only witches create spells and potions.”

  Straightening, she studied me, her eyelids lowered so only a slit of glittering darkness indicated the direction of her gaze. “Dear Miss Knight, are you still in denial? I’ve heard your mother was one of the greatest witches of her generation. Such a pity she turned her back on her true calling in order to appease a man who was too insecure to handle the truth.”

  I bit my lip, for the truth was actually a scandal. Then again, Koki would think nothing of my mother having a child out of wedlock with a vampire. I imagined she’d be more appalled that my mother felt obliged to marry a human to provide the baby with legitimacy that only a wedding could offer.

  Rather than indulge her with an answer, I stood up, brushed off as much mud as I could and stomped toward Nelly. At that moment, I was particularly eager to return and could only hope that Jonas was around to fetch water for my bath.

  “There is at least one benefit in your approach to life, Miss Knight,” Koki said as we retreated from the scene. “You’ll die young and make a pretty cadaver.”

  “It’s a benefit that shouldn’t be underestimated, especially if it’s an open casket funeral service,” I said agreeably. “One does abhor an ugly corpse.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’M RATHER PLEASED with the day’s events,” I informed Jonas while caressing one of Mr. Timmons’ horses. Despite my determination not to dwell on the curr
ent predicament of the horse’s owner, I couldn’t help but do just that. Irked by my treacherous thoughts, I stalked over to the ox, rubbed the bewildered beast’s nose and breathed deeply. The scent of warm animals, clean hay and sweet oats eased my nerves.

  “Hm,” Jonas grunted as he brushed the mud off Nelly’s legs using firm, downward strokes. One gnarled hand gripped the bristle brush, the other hand patted her shoulder.

  “After all,” I prattled on, “it’s not every day one is in a position to collect such a useful souvenir as a fire-proof shield.”

  Ignoring me, he dragged one of Nelly’s hoofs onto his knee and began to pick at the clumps of mud embedded therein. The horse snuffled at his short black­-and-­gray curls, the ox chomped on its cud, hay rustled underfoot, and a pair of birds tweeted from the rafters.

  Leaving the ox to its rumination, I stepped over to the crocodile scale and tapped it with my nails. “It could easily pass for a dragon’s scale, and those are terribly valuable. I also saved a baby elephant and avoided being decapitated. All in all, it was a marvelous time.”

  Pausing, Jonas scrutinized me, a bemused expression gracing his pinched features. His gaze swept over my attire.

  “Well, yes, there is the matter of being covered in filth,” I admitted and swatted at the stains. “I might never see the original color of this skirt again.”

  Shaking his wrinkled head, Jonas resumed picking the hoof clean.

  Wiping a cloth over the scale, I asked as nonchalantly as I could, “So, has any news been received while I was out? Has a letter or note arrived, anything at all?”

  Jonas dropped the hoof he was cleaning, stood up and brandished the small pick in my direction. “No letters. No visitors. No news.” He paused as if to assess my reaction before continuing. “Bwana Timmons will be fine, Miss Knight. Don’t worry. You’re very dirty.”

  “Ah, yes, thank you, Jonas.” I glanced down at my bedraggled outfit. “I believe I shall go clean up. You’ll bring some water for me then?”

  “Hm.” He led Nelly to her stall.

  Trusting that the grunt indicated acquiescence, I stomped my way back through the muddy grass to the empty cottage, grateful that it wasn’t raining. Then again, the cool, gray sky did little to warm my body or encourage my soul.

  Inside the kitchen, I had to restrain the impulse to call for Mr. Timmons. Instead, I carried a large pot of cold water over to the hot stove and settled it on the surface so I’d have a decent temperature for my bath. I then filled up the blackened kettle and huddled by the heat while I waited for the water to boil. My fingers stroked the engravings on my mother’s metal teapot while my thoughts meandered through memories I yearned to share with someone. Never had I felt so lonely.

  “Hello, Bee,” a soft voice whispered by my side.

  Startled, I bumped my hip against the kitchen counter. Scowling at the ghost, I rubbed what was certain to be a bruise and said in a snippy tone, “Why are you here?”

  Pouting playfully, Gideon sunk into the stove. “I knew you’d be lonely without that hairy brute around, so I thought I’d amuse you.”

  “Oh.” Glancing at Gideon, I said, “He’s not hairy.”

  “You would know,” he replied, shrugging and snickering, his head next to the steaming kettle.

  “And I do wish you wouldn’t do that,” I said as I removed the kettle and poured water into my teapot. “It’s highly distracting to see a head on the stovetop beside the pot.”

  “Oh, cheer up,” Gideon said. “There’s Jonas with buckets of water for you. You do know you’re filthy dirty, don’t you?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  I sighed as Jonas marched through the kitchen with a large bucket in each hand. Water sloshed over the edges with his every step. I waited for him to exit the room before continuing, “I wish Mr. Timmons was home.”

  “Why?” Gideon scoffed. “He’d interrupt us and scold you for looking like something the cat dragged in.”

  I smiled. “I’d suffer through a hundred lectures to have him back.”

  It was true. Of course, if he was here, he’d mock me for my untidy appearance, interrogate me regarding Koki’s behavior, and reprimand me repeatedly and sternly about the wisdom of exposing myself to a dragon­-sized crocodile just to acquire a shield / picnic table. And that would be his response before I mentioned strolling through a herd of distraught elephants, after which he’d scowl and fume at me.

  “Really?” Gideon floated out of the stove, a rascally grin brightening his beautiful features. “Well, I shall be sure to inform him of that fact the next time I visit him.”

  “You mean harass him,” I said.

  “That too,” he said, chuckling.

  “Speaking of rascals, where’s Shelby?” I asked.

  Frowning at me, Gideon said, “Sleeping under the stove, like any intelligent primate would on such a cold day. And I’m not a rascal.”

  Smiling over my teacup, I said, “I didn’t say you were. Guilty conscience?”

  Just then, Jonas returned to collect the pot of hot water. Glancing at me, he said, “I’m not guilty. Oh, you’re talking to Gideon, aren’t you?”

  Before I could reply, he left to pour the hot water into my bath.

  “The nerve,” Gideon muttered.

  I tried not to laugh out loud. Leaving Gideon to look after Shelby, I retired to the bathing room. As I was about to undress, my hand brushed my skirt pocket containing two envelopes, one still unopened.

  “A pox on that werewolf,” I muttered as I recalled Prof. Runal’s unread letter. Hastening to the guest room, I stuffed both letters into a cubbyhole of my writing desk, almost knocking over a bottle of ink in my haste to be rid of them both.

  Returning to the bathing room, I tossed my filthy clothes onto the rough flagstone floor, sank into the tub and pretended that Mr. Timmons had gone out on an errand and would return at any moment.

  A hot bath, a set of clean, dry clothes and a crackling fire can do wonders for the spirit. Much cheered and still imagining that Mr. Timmons would be home before long, I sat in our little living room, basking in the warmth of the flames, and attempted to read.

  Every noise, every creak, crack, chirp and whistle caused me to jerk my chin up so that I could stare out the nearest window into the approaching dusk, searching for a familiar form that never came. After several such fits of hope, I forced myself to focus on the book. Shelby and Gideon joined me, and it was a scene of domestic bliss. Of course, I’d have preferred to sit beside the other husband who wasn’t a ghost. As for a baby...

  I studied Shelby who was wrestling a pillow into submission with great enthusiasm.

  “I think one baby in the household is sufficient,” I mused.

  Gideon glanced askance at me. “Did you intend to say that aloud?”

  Dipping my head to shield my blush, I asked, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

  Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door. Tossing the book aside and ignoring Shelby’s squalling protest at nearly being flattened in between the pages, I dashed to the entrance.

  “Simon?” I called out, knowing it was impossible yet still I held onto an impossible hope. I yanked open the door and stared at my startled brother.

  Drew peered at me through long bangs, his attire more tattered and mud­ splattered than my skirt had been. His yellow werewolf eyes, reminiscent of my own, glowed in the fading light.

  “Beatrice,” he croaked.

  “Are you hurt?” I demanded, attempting to disguise my disappointment with concern over his welfare. “Come in before it rains.”

  I reached out to take his hand. He flinched but allowed me to lead him inside.

  “What is it with you people?” Gideon joked as he floated around us. “There’s never a clean moment between the two of you.”

  “Shut it, Gids,” I said as I sat Drew on the carpet before the fire. Shelby screeched and hissed from the sofa. “And take that hairy little ape out of here.” />
  Gideon clucked his disapprobation. “How abominable to refer to her as an ape. She’s a Vervet monkey. Come, Shelby. We will retreat to a more hospitable locale.” So saying, he encouraged the monkey to follow him to the kitchen.

  I settled on a pillow next to Drew. Before I could decide between proper etiquette (offer my guest some tea) or sisterly ministrations (castigate my brother for his disappearance and his current dishevelment), my brother turned to me, grabbed my hands and clutched them to his chest. The rapid beating of his heart thumped against my fingers.

  “Beatrice, help me,” he begged, his voice raw with restrained emotion.

  “Whatever is it?” I asked, searching his figure for a sign of injury.

  “I can’t lose her,” he said, squeezing my hands with each word. “I’ll do anything to win her back. Please, help me.”

  “Oh, Drew,” I whispered, feeling my own heart break for him, for me, for everyone. I had only to recall the words of Cilla’s letter to know how futile was his desire. “She’s gone. I can’t imagine her ever returning.”

  “She will,” he asserted, his gaze darting about the room like a trapped bird seeking an open window. “She will, Bee.”

  He leaned closer to me, his yellow eyes filling my view. There was within them a fierce longing, a desperate need. “I know she’ll return,” he continued. “And when she does, I want to be ready. I want to be...”

  He hesitated as if the word to explain his desire was as yet unknown. Lowering his head, he studied something off to my side before raising his chin, his jaw tightening. “I want to be like a human, like you.”

  Not sure how to respond, I blurted out, “I’m hardly one myself, you know. With a witch for a mother, a vampire for a father, and the wolf energy from the werewolf venom in me, I’m the last to accuse anyone else of being inhuman.”

  Shaking his head in violent jerks, Drew thumped my hands against his chest a few times. “No. I mean like a human in behavior. I want to be worthy of Cilla. I want to give her what she wants.”

  I exhaled in a heavy sigh, the presence of the letter making every word a challenge to utter. “Drew, all she wants is you. That’s all you have to give her.”