Ghosts of Tsavo (Society for Paranormals Book 1) Read online

  “Do you mean the automaton?” Cilla breathed out with equal delicacy. She hadn’t found the other items in the room terribly interesting.

  “Where’s the tin man?” Bobby shouted.

  Dr. Cricket flinched and forced a smile. “Now, young man, he’s not made of tin. His skeleton is nothing less than steel with a covering of carefully preserved pigskin, which is very much like human skin in texture.”

  Cilla blanched; I stifled a yawn. It really was warm and stuffy in the mini-museum. Personally, I would’ve preferred a bit of dust to the lack of air.

  “I assure you,” Dr. Cricket enthused, “this is unlike any automaton you’ve seen before. Those others are poor imitations of the human form. They’re rickety, wind-up toys at best, performing repetitive motions and nothing more. Mine looks nothing like a tin man. His face, arms and legs were constructed by the finest doll makers in Europe. And at a glance, you might believe you’re seeing a man, not a puppet.”

  Bobby rolled his eyes and would’ve kicked Dr. Cricket in the shin, had I not grabbed the boy by his skinny shoulders. Unaware of his close brush with pain, Dr. Cricket led the way, almost skipping as he did.

  Actually, he did skip.

  He skipped the way little girls do with a jump rope, his hands flapping around his shoulders, as if the anticipation of seeing our reaction was too much for his body to hold in.

  Gideon snickered. Cilla smiled in the way one smiles when embarrassed on someone else’s behalf. Bobby mimicked our guide’s happy steps. I did my best to ignore all of them as I didn’t feel inclined to mocking, mimicking, or being embarrassed for or about Dr. Cricket.

  At the back of the room, we halted in front of a tall, narrow cupboard made of heavy, dark wood and wrapped in chains.

  “Here,” he said in a reverent tone normally reserved for holy artefacts like a saint’s finger bone. “I keep him in here under lock and key. One cannot be too careful.”

  “Indeed,” Cilla murmured while I wondered who would steal anything in this place; where would a thief take it and for what purpose?

  He withdrew a pair of keys from one of his voluminous lab coat pockets and opened the padlock the size of my hand. The chain fell away with an echoing clank. In the silence, I could hear Dr Cricket’s rattling breath, as if the excitement of the moment was simply too much to bear, as was the turn of the second key in the door’s keyhole.

  “Finally,” he breathed out as he slowly twisted the door handle. “Behold!”

  With a flourish, he swept the door open and stepped aside, watching us eagerly for our reactions, eyes blinking rapidly.

  Cilla gasped while Bobby jumped up and down. “Make it do something,” he shouted, clapping his hands.

  “It’s…” I stared into the face of the automaton. “It’s impressive. And so life-like.” Disturbingly so, I thought.

  “Beyond words,” Cilla breathed out.

  “Make it move,” Bobby demanded in that torturous tone of voice that only children can possibly master, all while tugging at Dr. Cricket’s coat sleeve. “Now!”

  Gideon said nothing, only floated closer, his gaze fixed on the automaton in the closet. It was clothed in a dark suit and a red cravat. A sharp dresser, I noted, certainly better than its creator.

  Unlike other large automatons I’d seen, this one didn’t show any indication of its structure, which Dr. Cricket had mentioned metal. Instead, its pigskin face, so delicate and intricately created, could almost pass for a real one, at least at a glance. A faint blush was painted on its cheeks and the lips were a tender rose as if ready for a first kiss. I wondered if the mouth would move when the limbs did. Certainly the eyelids, closed and lined with thick, dark eyelashes, looked like they would pop open at any moment.

  Dr. Cricket tenderly brushed black hair from its brow and gently pushed an eyelid up. “Glass eyes,” he whispered. “The best quality available in Europe.”

  “I can see that,” I said, for the dark-blue eye staring back at me glowed with reflected light, as if a life existed behind it. “Truly remarkable.”

  “Oh but you haven’t seen the best part,” Dr. Cricket enthused, rubbing his hands together. “Let me demonstrate.”

  He pushed himself into the closet and hugged the automaton. I glanced at Cilla and Bobby, certain they could hear Gideon’s raucous laughter. They were staring slack-jawed and mesmerised at the doctor’s efforts to enliven his metal man.

  “Just… one… moment…” Dr Cricket said in puffs of breath as he worked on something we couldn’t see. A windup mechanism at the back, perhaps? That wouldn’t be novel for an automaton.

  Gideon floated closer, laughter replaced by an intent, searching expression that didn’t bode well. The last time I’d seen that countenance was just before he was murdered, and the expression and his murder were connected.

  “There!” Dr. Cricket stumbled backwards and almost knocked Cilla into a table in the process. But none of us paid attention to that for the automaton had opened its eyes.

  With a jerky nod of its head, it stepped out of the closet, its dark-blue eyes gazing at each of us in turn. While I would never have mistaken it for a living person—there was no energy field, no real twinkle in the eyes apart from light reflecting off glass—still, it was an impressive piece of machinery. It reached out its hand toward Dr. Cricket, who eagerly shook it.

  “May I introduce Mrs. Knight,” the good doctor said to his creation. “Mrs. Knight, this is Liam, or Life Imitating Automaton Machine.” He chuckled at his clever acronym.

  “Pleased to meet you, Liam,” I said with a smile and took the proffered hand.

  The skin was soft, like a lady who always wore gloves and never worked. It was as Dr. Cricket had said: pigskin was remarkably human-like. Liam adjusted its—his?—grip to match my own.

  “Impressive,” I admitted again as I watched it politely greet Cilla and Bobby. It then extended a hand to Gideon.

  “Oops, no one there,” Dr. Cricket said with an embarrassed giggle as he pushed the arm down. “Well, there are a few little quirks to be worked out, I suppose.”

  “Do you read anything in it?” Gideon asked me in his whispery voice.

  I shook my head slightly. On closer inspection, I had found a small energy field inside Liam, but I assumed it was from whatever energy source the doctor had installed. Why, then, had the automaton detected Gideon when no one else could?

  Steam puffed out of its mouth with a sharp hiss.

  “Goodness,” Cilla said, jumping back to avoid the hot air.

  “Brilliant,” I said.

  Dr. Cricket’s smile widened, his eyelids twitching. It seemed the rapidity of their blink was linked to the intensity of emotion he was feeling. “Yes, this is one of the unique aspects of Liam. His engine is fuelled by a steam engine. And he can refill the fuel chamber on his own, so he never runs out of steam, so to speak.”

  “Can it talk?” Bobby asked as he grabbed Liam’s arm and tugged at it. “Say something. Talk. Now.”

  Liam’s head slowly swivelled about, well past the point a normal person with an intact neck could manage. Its dark-blue eyes peered over its own shoulder, down at Bobby. The boy quickly pulled his hand back and reached for mine, and Cilla reached for my other arm. I could feel both of them shaking at the bizarre sight.

  “There is an audio device, but I haven’t yet programmed words into it,” Dr Cricket enthused, completely oblivious to his guests’ discomfort.

  Gideon smirked at me and drifted until he was floating right in front of me. “Ask him how to programme it,” he suggested.

  “Why?” I breathed softly.

  “Oh, I just haven’t had time,” Dr. Cricket explained, frowning at the oversight. “But I will, I will.”

  Gideon chuckled and whispered into my ear, “Because we’re both bored and curious. A deliciously dangerous combination, wouldn’t you agree?”

  I most certainly didn’t agree as I was too distracted by his voice floating through my head with a de
licious promise held loosely in his tone.

  “So… um…” Goodness, I thought, pull yourself together, Bee. This is no time to get all weak around the knees.

  I cleared my throat and tried again. “How do you programme it? Him?”

  Dr Cricket waved a finger at me as if I were a naughty child asking for a sweetie before dinner. “Now, now, Mrs. Knight, an inventor must have a few secrets. Otherwise what would stop others from copying his work?”

  “Of course.” I smiled back, even though I wanted to inform him that the last thing I wanted was another Liam wandering around. One was creepy enough.

  “I’m hungry,” Bobby whined. “This is boring.”

  “I could use a bite to eat too,” Cilla said as she waved her paper fan with greater vigour than before.

  Clever girl, preparing herself with a fan, I thought. A stout walking stick and a bag of powdered cinnamon, while useful, weren’t much assistance in the stuffy warmth.

  As we murmured our good-byes, I remembered the vial of lion blood.

  “Dr. Cricket, you’re a scientist, and I’m sure you have a number of clever devices at your disposal,” I said demurely, thinking of his blood testing invention. “Could I bother you greatly with a little favour?”

  “Of course, anything,” the man spluttered out.

  “I’m a bit of an amateur zoologist, and I want to know what’s in this blood sample I collected.” I handed him the vial. “I think it’s lion, but I’m not sure.”

  “Fascinating,” he breathed out. “I shall get on it immediately.”

  I smiled. “How kind of you.”

  He escorted us to the door and sent us off with a courtly bow and a wave. Liam had followed us and stood behind its creator, its glass eyes fixed on Gideon. Or perhaps, I scolded myself, you’re making up a story. For really, Gideon was invisible to all save me.

  Still, I couldn’t shake the idea.

  Chapter 15

  We loaded up wagons as if we were moving house again, but in reality, as camp superintendent and hunt organiser Mr. Adams had explained to Cilla, “I have sworn to let nothing stop me in my quest to rid the camp of those goat-devouring lions. However, this is the Christmas season, my dear. And we would be very amiss if we failed to have suitable celebrations and a feast on hand, lions or no.”

  It was the first week of December, and I was astounded that we were already speaking of Christmas. Then again, any man who puts such thought into food is perfectly agreeable to me. In fact, I would dare go so far as to say I would have to like him greatly.

  Unfortunately, not all the men in the party were as gracious and well-bred. Of Mr. Timmons I need not elaborate, and I ignored him as politely as social norms allowed, despite the fact he was Cilla’s chaperon. Fortunately, he was far more interested in chatting with Mr. Adams, an unlikely pair of friends that I’d ever seen.

  Oblivious to the demerits of his conversational partner, Mr. Adams was expounding on the virtues of the railway, the loss of good goat meat courtesy of the lions, and the antagonism toward him from the workers whose goats had been devoured.

  I couldn’t fathom why anyone would be overly fussed about the lack of goat meat (apart from the goats’ owners, of course); it has a most repulsive, pungent smell that unsettles even my stout appetite.

  Kam also maintained a certain distance from me, apart from an initial nod in my direction. I wondered what mischief he was up to. His warning regarding Mr. Timmons also flitted through my mind.

  Goodness, I thought, there’s far too much to keep track of. And I thought life would be simpler here.

  As to be expected, Cilla and I were offered a covered wagon. I preferred to ride, even if it was on Nelly, who alternated between falling asleep while walking and generating rude bodily emissions that caused everyone in hearing distance to send scandalised looks at me. Beyond that, the nag was incapable of any significant exertion.

  But apart from these minor nuisances, both Cilla and I were of the same opinion: it was a grand idea to ride and I congratulated myself for ignoring Gideon’s plea to stay at home and Mrs. Steward’s horror at the very idea that two ladies could go off on a hunt. Cilla, for her part, had reminded Mrs. Steward that we weren’t in London anymore.

  “As if any of us need reminding,” Mrs. Steward had huffed.

  And we certainly didn’t, what with the zebras and giraffe that littered the grasslands. They didn’t mind at all when we rode up close to the herds, even with a horse whose digestive system was the noisiest in all of creation. I was relieved to note that the possessed zebra hadn’t follow me despite the evil eye it gave me as I left the house. I knew it was too much to hope the beast might wander off into the night and be eaten by lions in my absence, but I did cross my fingers.

  “Oh my,” Cilla said, interrupting my pleasant reverie. “I think that’s a runaway wagon.”

  I glanced behind us and saw a small wagon bouncing behind a rather excited ox, which is an odd state for any ox to be in. The oxen I had encountered were the complete contradiction of excitement. What this one could be so energetic about was beyond me. The creature was ignoring the efforts of the sole human occupant to slow it down.

  “Is that…?” Cilla asked.

  I sighed. “It is.”

  Dr. Cricket’s wagon almost crashed into us, and it was only the quick footedness of Cilla’s horse that prevented such an unfortunate event. With great determination, her mount shoved Nelly to the side and out of harm’s way. Nelly jerked awake and continued chomping grass, oblivious to the commotion.

  A thoroughly rattled Dr. Cricket nodded at us, eyes blinking furiously as he tugged at the reins, which the ox clearly ignored. Fortunately, the stubborn little beast had decided to go at our pace, in our direction, having achieved its goal of joining the caravan.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said in between gulping air as if it were he who had pulled the wagon at breakneck speed.

  I smiled politely and noticed a coffin in the back of the wagon. “I see you’re prepared for any eventuality,” I noted with more than a small degree of approval.

  “Oh, that,” Dr. Cricket said.

  He looked quickly around and leaned close to us as if anyone was near enough to hear him above the crunch of dry ground beneath heavy wheels and people shouting at each other. Basically, everyone and everything was conspiring to make as much noise as possible, thus chasing away any creature we might actually be interested in hunting.

  “Truth is, it’s Liam in there,” he whispered, his face tense. I had to strain to hear him over the grunts and wheezing of his ox and Nelly’s belching. “Last night, someone broke into my place and tried to steal him.” He sat back on the narrow plank that served as a seat and nodded at us seriously.

  “How ghastly,” Cilla gasped. “Did you catch the thief?”

  Dr. Cricket frowned and blinked with superhuman speed several times before replying. “Sadly, no, Miss White. I heard someone rattling the chains securing the cupboard, but when I ran into the room, the person had fled without a sound or trace. It was most alarming. And I couldn’t in all good conscious leave him there, undefended, now could I?”

  “Absolutely not,” Cilla said, her hat bobbing energetically around her face.

  “And,” I added, “there’s always the benefit of having a coffin at our easy disposal if need should arise.”

  Dr Cricket stared at me blankly while Cilla coughed to cover her laugh.

  After the initial excitement of Dr Cricket’s news—who could possibly want to steal his contraption in this country?—and the thrill of riding amongst the wildlife had worn off, we settled into a sort of dusty, heat-induced stupor. I can’t say how many hours we plodded along, but when we finally reached our camp site near a stand of trees and a river, I was more than ready to leave the confines of the hot saddle and enjoy the cool shade by the river’s edge.

  The site had been used previously. A large fire pit still retained charred bits of wood in its maw. Porters quickly set up
camp, including a number of tents. The wagons were manoeuvred to form a circle around the area just as dusk extended itself across the land.

  “Why are they doing that? Are we expecting an attack of some sort?” I asked as I joined Cilla and Dr. Cricket near the fire pit, which was full of comforting flames and a giant kettle hanging over them. I could smell tea. Ah yes, gallant Mr. Adams really was the civilised sort, for as everyone knows, the only substance more potent in its rejuvenating powers than tea is chocolate.

  “Why, Mrs. Knight, surely you know of the legendary man-eating lions of Tsavo?” Dr. Cricket enthused.

  “You mean the two lions that were shot dead halfway across the country a year ago?” I asked. “By now they’ve been skinned and stuffed.”

  Dr. Cricket looked put out by my bored tone. “Well, my dear, if you’d been residing here for those nine months last year when they were alive and eating men, you’d be a tad nervous yourself.”

  I wasn’t too enamoured with his patronising tone. After all, had he ever faced down an angry vampire or cleaned up after a shedding werewolf? Where do you think all that hair goes to once the full moon passes? It’s a right mess, I can tell you. But I didn’t inform Dr. Cricket of all of that since most civilians aren’t privy to such information.

  “Do tell,” I said instead, almost biting my tongue in half in the process.

  Somewhat mollified, Dr. Cricket continued. “Those two lions terrorized the main railroad camp and ate over a hundred men.”

  “I heard it was no more than thirty-five,” I interrupted.

  Dr. Cricket stiffened. “One hundred and thirty, actually. They were so famous they were even given names: The Ghost and the Darkness. They were huge, over nine feet long. One was almost ten feet and took eight men to carry the carcass back to camp.”

  I still wasn’t impressed. I’d seen hellhounds bigger than that. Maybe Prof. Runal’s interest in the local paranormal wildlife was misplaced. Certainly, I had observed nothing too exceptional apart from a possessed zebra that did nothing but eat grass all day.