Beyond the Rails 3: Slayer of Darkness

Chapter 5

Zanzibar Monday morning

          Late morning in Zanzibar found the mercury climbing as it did nearly every morning in this island city just off the equator. Mombasa had its stifling seasons, but Zanzibar was hot every day of the year. Abdul Reinhard sat at his large desk in the office above his shop. It was arranged to overlook the harbor, and while it would be considered in the conventional understanding to be a lovely view, his purpose was to keep his eye on the pulse of the harbor. He had seen the packet from Bagamoyo arrive an hour earlier, and expected the soft knock of his secretary bringing in the mail. He adjusted his thin metal mask to cover his lower face and left eye, and tightened the straps.
          “Come in,” he called.
          His private secretary, Elena, a Portuguese woman of a line left over from the days of their colonization, entered with a handful of envelopes.
          “The mail, Herr Reinhard,” she announced. “Mostly invoices, but there is a letter from your sister that I mistakenly opened. I’m sorry, sir.”
          “No harm done,” he said, waving expansively. “She lives in Köln, you see, on the Rhine, and regales me constantly with tales of planting and harvesting. She wants me to come home.”
          “And will you accede to her wishes?”
          “Nein. Much as I would like to escape this heat, my life is here. How could I return to this?”
          He withdrew his sister’s letter from the stack, opened it, and selected a passage.
          “My dear brother,” he read aloud, “the rains are turning gentle, and all the families in the valley are preparing for the planting. Old Meister Brockman is making his customary fortune repairing the tack that always seems to have broken itself by being stored in the barns all winter, plows are being sharpened, and the horses and mules exercised. Next month comes the planting, and then the big festival. I so wish you could be here this year. Can you not come, if only for a visit? Father would so love to see you.”
          “You see?” he said. “It is easy for a man to leave the farm, but much more difficult to return once he has seen something of the wider world outside, yes? Once a man sees Africa, it claims him with its wildness, with its open spaces, with its warmth. Being limited to a fifty-acre patch and whatever I can grow holds no attraction for me, I’m afraid. But you understand. After all, you are here, and not in Portugal.”
          “Yes, but unlike you, I was born here, and my parents before me. I have never been to Portugal.”
          “I see; you are a true African. Well, I have made myself one, and you must understand that?”
          “Yes, sir.”
          “Good. Now, you must leave me time to go over these invoices. No visitors for the next hour, at least, there’s a good girl.”
          “Yes, sir. Just advise me when you’re finished.”
          She left the office and closed the door. Reinhard gave her a moment to get back to her work, then quietly slid the dead bolt latch into place. He opened his safe, lifted a false bottom, and took out a dog-eared book which he placed on his desk. Sitting down, he removed a Schmidt M1882 pistol from his desk drawer and laid it beside the book. Laying the letter on the other side, he opened the book and began to study the contents.
          The numbers of the date at the top of the letter gave him the key. The first word, the sixth, the second, and so on were the important words, and he found each one in the book, and wrote their true meaning on his notepad. It was a convoluted code, requiring both imagination and creativity on the part of the encoder, but the organization had those things in abundance. The price of security has always been inconvenience, but if one was willing to pay that price, then what emerged was a code like this one, a letter from home that couldn't even be recognized as a code unless one knew what to look for.
          Reinhard’s “sister” was no less a personage than Lady Akiko herself. Probably not her real name any more than Reinhard was his, but she was the current Chairman of the Eight, the ruling council of the organization, and her word was the law of God as far as he was concerned. Over the course of the next twenty minutes as Reinhard flipped back and forth through the pages of the magical book, his “sister’s” true message emerged.

Omarion Fabricators in Kisumu purchased. Contact Belgian there named Gervais. He will have amplifying instructions.

          Putting away his code book and weapon, and pocketing the deciphered message, he stepped to the door.
          “Elena,” he said, “make a note to send Mutala to me as soon as he returns.”
          “Yes, sir,” she replied, and opened her master business dairy, reaching for a pen as she did so.
          Reinhard returned to his invoices, wondering what new vistas were about to open for him.

Nairobi 3:30 PM

          They had returned to Ellsworth’s shop ostensibly to help Darweshi put it back in order, but none of them would deny that they had also come to seek clues in the ravaged shop. There was precious little to find.
          “They really tore this place up,” Smith observed as he and Patience wrestled a rack of shelves to its upright position. “I ain’t seen work this thorough since the Civil War.”
          “Come on, David,” Patience chided him, “your civil war was twenty years ago.”
          “I got memories.”
          “You would have been a teenager.”
          “I turned seventeen the year Sherman took us on the stroll through Georgia. Them prima donnas up around Washington got all the press, but it was us that won the war.”
          She eyed him with an exasperated expression.
          “I’ve known you for almost two years now, and I still can’t tell what’s blarney and what’s true.”
          “It’s all true, darlin’! I’ve swum to Catalina, and rode on the back of the thunderbird. Done everything else I’ve told you, too, and I’m tellin’ you, somebody went to a great deal of trouble to smash everything in here. It’s like they got angry when they couldn’t find what they came for, so they wanted to ruin the business to punish him.”
          “David, really!”
          “It’s true, just like in the war. South Carolina was the state that led the secession, and we laid waste to that place like you would to a foreign invader. Rage, my girl. Makes a man do things he wouldn’t do otherwise. Like destroy a state, or a man’s business.”
          “You raise a good point,” Monroe told him. “Every inch of this place was systematically destroyed. This isn’t the work of someone who found what he was looking for, and just wanted to escape with it. These men were frustrated, and did this to relieve some of it.”
          “That is a sad comment on your vaunted civilization, Nahodha,” Darweshi said.
          “The men who did this were Africans, according to Nicholas,” Monroe pointed out.
          “Civilized Africans,” she countered. “A tribe did not come here from the wilds and do this. Nahodha, when you go after these men, I want to come.”
          “First we have to find out who it is we need to go after. After that, well, putting an innocent young woman in jeopardy for no apparent reason is hardly the act of a gentleman.”
          “You allow missy Hobbs to go with you everywhere, and I am far stronger than she.”
          “What?”
          Monroe held his hand up toward Patience to forestall the coming tirade.
          “Patience flies the ship. I can hardly exclude her.”
          “I have skills as well, as you well know.”
          “If we go after anyone, and we have to work out who that might be first, but if we do, we will go by air. I’m sure you don’t want to take that risk again.”
          “I have already flown with you, Nahodha, willingly, at my own request. If it is the will of the gods that I be punished for flying, then my punishment is already sealed. I would be present when you find the animals who did this to Nicholas.”
          “Can’t deny the value of a healer, Cap’n,” Smith said.
          “Especially one who’s stronger than I am,” Patience added, fuming.
          “I’ll consider it,” Monroe said. “For now, we need to get back to work. I really think the only thing we can save will be the shelves and cabinets. I don’t think they left one jar unbroken. We can put the herbs and that in one of those baskets. Of course, you’ll have to resort them all for sale again.”
          “That can be done. I will have to purchase new jars to keep them in, and that will be costly.”
          “We’ll help as much as we can, of course,” Monroe said.
          “Nahodha,” a deep voice called from the entrance.
          “Bakari,” Monroe greeted his engineer. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.”
          “I had a craving for traditional food,” the man said, “so I went to one of the workhouses that is known for it.”
          “Thought you had to be a railroad worker to eat at the workhouses,” Smith said.
          “Yes, that, or pay money. There is much talk, Nahodha, among the workers. Yesterday morning, two Africans were found murdered in their room at one of the boarding houses. The work sounds very professional. One had his throat cut, the other was stabbed through the heart. Both single strikes, as if a skilled assassin had made them. The oddest point, though, is that no one knew them. They weren’t on anyone’s work crew. I don't think they have yet been identified.”
          “Now that there is what you call one hell of a coincidence,” Smith pointed out. “First the doc is attacked by two men, and now two men are dead. Could be our work’s been done for us.”
          “Could be,” Monroe said, “but why would they be killed? I could see them being killed by a would-be victim if they bit off more than they could chew, but they were killed in their room. Why?”
          “For botchin’ the job,” Smith replied. “They obviously didn't find what they wanted here. Maybe somebody wasn’t pleased with their work.”
          “You’re assuming these are the same two men,” Patience said. “Nairobi’s a rough town. People die here every day, and not always of natural causes.”
          “That’s a good point,” Monroe agreed. “We should try to get Cole to let us view the bodies. Maybe they can tell us something.”
          “How will we know?” Patience asked.
          “Nicholas described them, at least a bit. One was light-skinned, one was tall with a gold earring. We can at least see if they match the description, and if they do, we’ll learn what we can. You lot carry on here. I’m going to go talk to Cole.”

Nairobi 8:00 PM

          Dusk was turning to night when Mutala left Dr. Farnsworth’s office with the much sought after package. It had been delivered two hours earlier by another courier who claimed to have been delayed by a sandstorm. Whatever the reason, it was intact and in-hand. It was, judging by the feel, a sheaf of papers a foot square, in some sort of envelope, wrapped in oilcloth, and cross-strapped with a wax-sealed band. The seal certainly wouldn't keep anyone out, but it would be impossible to replace if it was tampered with.
          Not that Mutala intended to tamper with it. He was paid to be an extension of Herr Reinhard's will, and Herr Reinhard wanted this bundle of paper. That was that, as far as he was concerned; his loyalty to the man was unquestioned. The delay had been unfortunate, but he had a plan to make that up. He turned his footsteps toward the aerodrome where he had noticed the presence of a blimp earlier. Rounding the corner, he saw that it was still there.
          There was something picturesque about these bulbous flying machines. Mutala had flown occasionally, and had always enjoyed it, but it was generally for business, and he had other things on his mind. This would simply be a run home, and he could settle back and take in the scenery. There was the issue of convincing them to fly to Zanzibar, of course, but a fat wad of Mr. Reinhard’s expense money should do the talking in that regard.
          He walked up the loading dock, taking in the vessel in the stark arc lights, the boat hull, the three men sitting atop the raised roof of some interior room with steaming mugs dispensing the rich aroma of coffee, and the weathered plank above the pilot house displaying the name Kestrel in faded but fancy letters. Dropping his rucksack at the rail, he stepped aboard and approached the men.
          “Good evening,” the old graybeard greeted him as their conversation ceased. “I’m Captain Monroe, and this is my ship, the Kestrel. How may we be of service to you?”
          Mutala took note of the other white man’s scrutiny of him, of the African’s missing hand, the lights in the room below shining through the portholes beneath the low roof they sat on, and the darkened pilot house, the only other above-deck structure that could conceal more people. The crew could be as many as six, he estimated, though it wasn’t likely. He could kill them all should the need arise.
          “Good evening, honored sirs,” he greeted them. “My name is Mutala. I am a courier for a most wealthy merchant in Zanzibar. I have been unfortunately delayed on my rounds, and need to be in Zanzibar within hours. If you could possibly take me there, I could pay you very well.”
          “Zanzibar takes us into another country, Cap’n,” the younger white man pointed out.
          “I’m aware of that,” Monroe said. “We don’t as a rule like to leave the colony. This can be a dangerous place, and we prefer to operate under the protection of the crown.”
          “I understand that. I, too, have places I prefer not to go. But Zanzibar is an island, a free island ruled by sultans and merchants, traders like yourselves. There is nothing for you to fear there.”
          “No, nothing except the fact that Prussia would very much like to incorporate your island into their colony, and the sight of an English balloon conducting business there could trigger a major response from them.”
          “You needn’t tarry there. Simply descend to the beach, I will step off, and you can be on your way.”
          “I don’t know. That’s a long trip, and exposes us to a lot of risk. I don’t, as my American friend here says, see the money in it. The Leprechaun should be here tomorrow or the next day, and those crazy Irishmen will fly anywhere.”
          “I don't need to be there in a day or two, I need to be there now.”
          “I’m sorry, friend,” Monroe said, “but the reward just doesn't justify the risk.”
          “You don’t know yet what the reward is, Captain. How does fifty pounds sound?”
          “Excuse me?”
          “Fifty pounds sterling for a ride to Zanzibar.”
          “Jesus, Cap’n,” the young white man exclaimed, “you know how far fifty pounds would go—”
          “Yes, David, yes I do. You must need to get to Zanzibar very badly.”
          “I told you, I have been delayed. My employer expected me back yesterday morning. Having missed that appointment, I need to arrive as soon as possible, and I am willing to pay handsomely for transportation.”
          “So I gather. You have the fifty pounds with you?”
          “In my rucksack. If you agree to this trip, I will hand it to you, but only if we leave here immediately.”
                    “A night flight off the plateau?” David asked.
          “It is what I need.”
          “Patty!” Monroe called toward the darkened pilot house. Immediately, a young blonde woman in mannish garb appeared in the doorway.
          “Aye, Captain?”
          “How do you fancy a trip to Zanzibar?”
          “Not greatly. Whatever would we want to go there for?”
          “This is Mr. Mutala. Patience Hobbs, my pilot and navigator. Mr. Mutala is willing to pay us fifty pounds to take him to Zanzibar, but only if we leave here at once. What are we likely to encounter?”
          “Wait,” Mutala interrupted, “this woman – my apologies, this lady is your pilot?”
          “As I said,” Monroe confirmed as Patience rolled her eyes.
          “And you trust her to fly your ship?”
          “Implicitly. There isn’t another pilot south of Europe who could hold her coat.”
          “Very well, as I have no choice, I must trust your judgment. How long will the trip take?”
          “Patty?”
          “Well, Zanzibar is almost four hundred miles from here, and straight into the wind this time of year. If nothing goes terribly wrong, we can probably do it in, oh, thirteen hours.”
          “I will get the fifty pounds.”
          “Hold on. Is everyone in agreement?”
          “Fifty pounds for one trip?” David asked. “We can’t afford to walk away from this one. It’s just in and out, right? Drop you off, and we’re finished?"
          “That is my request. And, if you can make the trip in twelve hours, I will pay a ten-pound bonus.”
          “Not much of a moon tonight, Patty. Will we be safe?”
          “Should be. I’ll just climb about five hundred feet and fly a compass course until morning. We can pick up some landmarks then.”
          “Well, Mr. Mutala, you have yourself a ride. Bakari, fire up the boiler. David, show Mr. Mutala to his cabin. Patty, plot your course. Looks like it’s going to be a busy night.”

Mombasa 9:00 PM

          Benjamin Crenshaw looked up from his game of Klondike that barely fit on the wobbly table the room provided.
          “Will you calm down?” he pleaded. “They ain’t gonna come in in the dark.”
          “You don’t know that,” Johnny Two-Fives snapped back. “You heard how everybody talks about that lady pilot he flies with. ‘Anytime, anywhere,’ they said.”
          “Exaggerations, Johnny,” Jubilee Bellouard told him from her seat on the ornate sofa. “White women are as rare as hen’s teeth out here. She’s undoubtedly a mascot of sorts for these lonely aeronauts, so of course they delight in telling wild tales about her.”
          “And what if they ain’t wild tales?” Two-Fives asked her, stopping his pacing in front of Crenshaw. “What if she has them in the air right now, and they ease in and out of here while we’re sittin’ around here playin’ with ourselves?”
          A sweep of his arm scattered half of Crenshaw's cards to the floor.
          “What then, huh?”
          “You better knock it off, half-breed,” Crenshaw growled, sliding from the chair and beginning to gather up his cards.
          “Listen, Johnny,” Jubilee said, laying aside her newspaper and standing, a picture of elegant authority in her traveling dress, “I understand that a gunfighter has to be high-strung and ready to act on reflex at a moment’s provocation, but we aren’t your enemies. You have followed me half way around the world, on this job and half a dozen others that no ordinary crew could have done. We started with nothing but someone who thought he might have bought a steamer ticket, and I have led you to his lair by following a string of clues that no one else likely would have recognized. This is a curious time to lose your faith in my man-hunting skills.”
          “Oh, I haven't lost any faith.” He returned to the second-floor window, looking out across the town to the aerodrome he could no longer see in the darkness. “I just don’t know why you’ve led us right to his door, and now we’re just sitting on our hands here. That’s no way to hunt.”
          “We have him, Johnny. Hunting people isn’t like hunting bears. He has established a life here. He has friends, a routine, a way of going about things. We can’t just challenge him in the middle of the street like this was Dodge or Tombstone. We need to learn his rhythms and find a time and a place where nothing that he has come to rely on can help him. Then we shackle him up and take him home to answer for his crimes.”
          “Yeah, and those friends you’re talkin’ about are gonna tell him that people been askin’ about him. What if he runs?”
          “Charlie Bender won’t run from a couple of bounty hunters, even if he suspects a trap.”
          “Well, of course he’s gonna suspect a trap! He don’t have a rich uncle, and just what makes you think he won’t run? He’s run all the way to Africa already, for Christ’s sake!”
          “Language, Johnny! What he’ll hear from those friends is that someone has some money for him. Greed and curiosity are powerful persuaders. He won’t run. Now settle down and get some rest.”
          “What about that pilot?”
          “What about her?”
          “What if she really flies in the dark?”
          “Johnny, it doesn’t matter if we miss him two or three times, or ten times. We’ll meet him once, on ground of our own choosing, and that will be that. Now, why don’t we go down to the bar and have some coffee? I hear they grow wonderful coffee here.”