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A novel of adventure in the skies of colonial Africa. Work in Progress. |
Kisumu  Friday evening“This is simply unbelievable!” Monroe fumed, pacing back and forth in front of Jinx. “And when did this happen?” “Lunch time, noon, I don’t know.” “And you just left her there?” “She wasn’t there. That’s the whole point. I searched for hours. I asked everybody in the area. Nobody saw anything. I went into the toilet, I came out, she was gone. I finally came back here in the hope that she’d be here.” “Patty’d never leave without telling you,” Smith said. “She ain’t stupid.” “I never thought she was,” Jinx retorted. “That’s why I spent so much time looking for her.” “Wait a minute,” Monroe said, “this is getting us nowhere. Who would have taken her?” “Slavers,” Smith said. “They took her before.” “Any criminal, for money or worse,” Bakari added. “There are many in this town.” “Don’t take this long for a rape or a robbery,” Smith said. “But if the criminals don’t want to be identified later, they kill her,” the engineer said, making a chopping motion at his throat with his good hand. “All right, nobody’s talking about anybody being killed,” Monroe said, closing off that discussion before it could gather any momentum. “What about this Reinhard, Miss Jenkins? What are the chances he’s done something with her?” “Reinhard is just a name to me. The organization we think he works for has no scruples, no sense of decency. They’ll cut down anyone who stands in the way without a second thought. But if it was them, they should have taken me. Patience never did anything but follow me about. I asked the questions, I did the talking, she just stood there.” “Doctor Ellsworth can attest to the fact that they’ve made mistakes before,” Monroe said. “God, why did you leave her?” “Because the alternative was dragging her into the water closet with me. I think I could have managed it, but is that something you’d have wanted us to fight over?” “Jesus,” Monroe muttered, and turned away squeezing the bridge of his nose. “No, of course not. We have to think. If she was able, she’d have come back to the ship by now, so we have to assume she’s being held against her will.” “Or that she’s dead,” Bakari said. “She’s being held against her will!” Monroe repeated. “Since she can’t get to us, we'll have to go over there and find her. We can cover more ground if we split up, but I don’t want anyone left on their own. David, you’re the best with a gun. Take Bakari with you. Search every alley, every brushy area, every abandoned building. Talk to everyone you see. Someone of Patty’s appearance doesn't go unnoticed up here.” “Aye, Cap’n.” “Jinx, my feeling based on Malinde is that you’re the best fighter. You’ll be with me. We’ll all go to the restaurant and begin our search in opposite directions.” “Authorities, Captain?” she asked. “There isn’t any substantial redcoat presence here, unfortunately,” Monroe told her. “We have a good relationship with the native police contingent, and we’ll certainly report her missing, but they aren’t going to turn out the force for a house to house search. Well, unless you have the kind of pull with them that you demonstrated with Sanderson.” “Afraid not. I doubt anyone else in the colony knows of the existence of the Darklighters.” “Well, we’re on our own, then. Let’s get ready.” “What about me?” Darweshi asked. “Someone needs to stay here,” Monroe said, “in case she comes back, or if word of her is brought to the ship. David, do you think she might use your shotgun?” “Yeah, I’ll show her how to use it before we go.” “Excellent. I won’t try to hide the danger, Darweshi. You could receive a visit while we’re gone, but I suspect that no one holding a double-barreled sawed-off ten-gauge is going to be mistaken for a helpless woman.” “You got that right,” Smith said. “It kicks like a Georgia mule, but it’s a mite worse to be in front of it. Thing to remember is to hold it tight. Squeeze it like you’re trying to hurt it.” “We’ll need a signal, in case you need us," Monroe told her. “Bakari, is there pressure in the reserve tank?” “Yes, Nahodha.” “Good. Darweshi, if Patty returns while we’re gone, blow two long blasts on the whistle. If something else happens, blow five short. Wait a few minutes and repeat it just in case, but we should be able to hear it just fine over there. Understand?” “Yes, Nahodha.” “All right, let’s get ready. Bring your most intimidating looks. I don’t want anyone to mistake us for people who don’t mean business. And make sure you stay together! We don’t need another one of us to go missing.” Kisumu 7:30 PMThe motor airship Leprechaun drew up against Dock 4 at Kisumu Aerodrome in darkness that was attacked, and in some spots vanquished, by the harsh work lights of the facility. Captain Finney bellowed orders all the while, not trusting his vision in the stark environment of light and shadows, and letting his anxiety rule his mouth. Lines secured, he finally dared to relax a bit. “Shut ’er down, Patrick,” he shouted toward the pilot house. “We’re done for the night!” “Aye, Cap’n.” His ship secure, Finney turned his attention to taking down the rail section to allow his passengers access to the dock. He was pleasantly surprised to find the fancy lady of the group approaching with a radiant smile in place. “Good evenin’, Miss Bellouard,” he said, bowing slightly and tipping his cap. “I expected you’d be gettin’ your things ready to depart.” “The boys are taking care of that, Captain,” she said in her captivating Creole accent, part French, part American south. “I wonder if you could tell me what ship that is yonder?” Finney looked across to the far dock where the dark ship in question lay tied. The oval envelope and graceful fins identified her at once, even with her hull almost invisible behind the dock. “That’s the Kestrel, ma’am, Captain Monroe’s boat. Why do ye ask, then?” “Just curious. Is this a lot of traffic this far inland?” “Not really, ma’am. We all get up here pretty frequently. I'm thinkin’ it won't be like that when they finish the rails, though.” “That’s a shame,” she said. “This is such a progressive way to travel, fast and leisurely all at the same time. Well, here come the boys. Time for us to be going.” “You’re welcome to stay aboard tonight,” Finney told her. “’T’isn’t as though were goin’ anywhere.” “That’s very kind of you, Captain, but we need to get established in town. We’ve pressing business there, you see. Good night, and thank you for everything.” She took her leave of Captain Finney, followed by her two men, one carrying a suitcase, the other dragging a trunk with one hand, two bags under his other arm. At the bottom of the loading ramp, she signaled for a carriage, then pointed out the Kestrel, lying dark and quiet outside the ring of light. “That’s his ship,” she said. “He’s here somewhere.” “Looks deserted,” Two-Fives said. “Maybe we should slip aboard and set up an ambush.” “And what if they are aboard, just have their lights out for some reason?” she countered. “What if somebody else comes back instead? What do you do then? No, we’ll go to town and get the lay of the land first.” “Are we ever gonna move on this bastard? Mombasa was too busy, they weren’t in Nairobi, and now there’s his ship just sitting there waiting for him to come back, and we’re just gonna walk away?” “No, Johnny, we’re going to ride away.” “I swear I don’t understand you. We could have sat on our hands in New Orleans, and at least been comfortable.” “Johnny,” she said, and hesitated for dramatic effect, “Mr. Southwick retained me because I’m the best man-hunter in the business. I retained you because you’re the best shootist I could find. Mr. Southwick wants Charlie Bender alive, the better to extract his revenge, and we aren’t likely to take him alive if we blunder into a situation where he has an even chance. I’m telling you that we’re going to go into town, learn the lay of the land, and create a situation in which we have the deck stacked in our favor. If you cannot follow my lead on this, then I will provide you with a ticket back to the States, and Benjamin and I will bring him in ourselves and split the reward between us. Am I getting through to you?” “Ahhh!” Two-Fives folded his arms and leaned back against the carriage, studying the dark form of the Kestrel in the distance. “Just seems like we don’t do nothin’ but plan what we’re gonna do the next time we see him. I’m startin’ to wonder if next time’s ever gonna come.” “It’s coming, Johnny, at whatever time I say it is. Now, do stop your sulking. Had I wanted drama, I would have hired an actor.” Kisumu 9:00 PMDarweshi sat on the engineering console in the darkened pilot house, back flush against the port bulkhead, Smith’s sawed-off 10-gauge lying in her lap. Spurred to a high state of vigilance by the crew’s talk of intrigue and danger, she never considered relaxing her guard for a moment. There was movement in every shadow, and every movement spelled danger. Why had she agreed to stay behind? Out in the bush, she was formidable, a creature of great power, but here in the white man’s town, everything was strange to her, and she knew not what was normal and what might be a threat. Her eyes rose for the hundredth time to the brass handle that would blow the airship’s whistle. Why didn’t they return? The other airship landing in the dark had provided some diversion. Once they tied up, three people came down the ramp, hired a carriage, and departed toward town. Now it was darker and much quieter than it had been earlier, and still no sign of them. She put her back in the corner, looking out through the big windows over the starboard bow, and tried to relax. There was none of the familiar animal noise of her home, just an occasional sound drifting across the inlet, an occasional burst of distant laughter, or the long hiss of one of the belching engines discharging its white breath. She shifted to get more comfortable, and began imperceptibly to drift in and out of sleep. This went almost unnoticed by the woman, as she dreamed of sitting in the dark holding a shotgun on her lap. Her dream was interrupted by a loud thump! outside on the deck, followed by a couple of clunks. She instantly came wide awake, hands tightening on the gun. How could she have fallen asleep? It was incredibly irresponsible! There must already be interlopers on the ship. What if they did something to it? What would the captain say? Moving as silently as only a born-to-the-bush Maasai could, she uncoiled her legs and put one foot on the floor, followed soundlessly by the other. Standing upright, she cocked the left barrel of the shotgun, the click of the sere sounding like a pistol shot in the enclosed space. Mentally cursing the noise, she waited for a response from outside, considering, as she did, blowing the whistle. She decided against it. Whoever had come aboard didn't know she was here, and it would take the crew far too long to return. No one was forward, she could see that well enough through the large front windows. Slipping her feet out of her sandals, she moved to the door, risking a quick peek aft. Seeing nothing, she took a longer look. Still nothing. Moving ghost-like to the rear of the pilot house, she still saw no one, nor was anyone in view when she moved across the deck and looked forward. Relaxing a bit, she examined the deck, and soon found a rock the size of two fists with a note tied around it with twine. Here, then, was the source of her noise. She carried it back into the pilot house, and switched on the small electric lamp on its articulated arm above the engineering console. Working the twine off, she opened the paper and found, as she expected, the squiggly lines and loops of the white man’s writing. Turning to the brass handle, she blew five short blasts, counted slowly to five and repeated the action, and then for good measure, did it again. Summons sent, she climbed back onto the engineering console and settled back to wait. Kisumu 9:45 PMThe light of the approaching carriage she assumed would be bringing the crew appeared coming around the bay a half hour later. Her assumption was correct, and the vehicle disgorged Monroe and Jinx, who paid their driver and hurried up the ramp. She laid the shotgun down and met them at the rail, paper in hand. “Someone came, Nahodha,” she greeted Monroe, “and threw this on the deck.” “What is it?” he asked, taking the paper from her. “I cannot read your words.” Monroe took it into the pilot house, the two women following closely, and held it under the lamp. My dear Captain Monroe, it read, my name is not important. A much more important name to you, I'm sure, is Patience Hobbs. The young lady is currently my guest, and if you hope to see her again, you will place the unarmed Miss Abigail Jenkins aboard the transport that will present itself at your gangway promptly at 10:00 PM tomorrow. Miss Hobbs will be returned to you by the same conveyance, unless, of course, we catch sight of any police or military personnel, or if the conveyance is followed. Failure to deliver Miss Jenkins will result in an untimely accident for poor Miss Hobbs, and she is so looking forward to seeing you again. 10:00 PM tomorrow. Simple instructions, Captain. Don't complicate things. “Well,” Monroe said, “I guess you were right about Reinhard after all.” |
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