Curse of the Nandi (Society for Paranormals Book 5) (2 page)

“Where is the brain?” I asked with little perturbation, for in my experience there were many people running about with no brains and they managed sufficiently well.

I handed my neatly packed travel bag to my new and not-dead husband, Simon Timmons. After all that I’d endured, I marveled that I finally had a live one — husband, that is — instead of a ghost. Speaking of which, I wondered to where the previous husband had wandered off, and fervently hoped he wouldn’t disturb my honeymoon.

“Exactly, Miss Knight,” Dr. Ribeiro enthused with his classic, side-to-side head waggle that only an Indian could truly master. “Then again, jellyfish are having no brains, Miss Knight, and they have been existing for 650 million years. So there is hope.”

Around thirty years of age and sporting a neatly trimmed beard, Dr. Ribeiro was as usual impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit and tie with a homburg hat made of light brown felt and a stiff, curled brim. Although he rode his zebra with great confidence, his demeanor had always impressed upon me his humility and sincerity. His warm, brown eyes had a calming effect, while his quaint Indian accent provided a pleasant distraction.

On that day however, I found myself more distracted by his offering than his endearing peculiarities. I peered again into the hatbox and regarded its macabre contents, half my mind on the upcoming honeymoon and half on the brainless head before us.

“And in fact there is another head in the very same-same condition,” the doctor continued. “But one is very sufficient to be making the point.”

“And what exactly is that point, doctor?” Mr. Timmons asked as he tied everything in place on the back of the wagon. “That my bride should discuss brainless heads on our honeymoon?”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Timmons,” Dr. Ribeiro said, his smile shining through his facial hair. “In fact, that’s the very point. The villagers are claiming a creature called the Kerit performed this operation on an unwilling patient. And who else but Miss Knight should I be informing?”

“Quite right,” Mr. Timmons said, his gray eyes glittering. “What else would a newlywed wish to discuss save the culprit who steals brains? I think perhaps there are some people wandering about as brainless as that head.”

It seemed we were all of one mind on the existence of brainless people. However, before the doctor could enthusiastically agree to this, a voice pierced our conversation with a shrill cry of, “Jo-nas!”

“Ah, the remarkable and flamboyant Mrs. Steward,” Dr. Ribeiro gushed. “A most impressively fearsome specimen of the Englishwoman, if you aren’t minding me saying so.”

I didn’t mind at all, but didn’t bother expressing the sentiment. Meanwhile, Jonas shuffled around the corner of the house, gulping down tea from a tin mug and in no hurry to respond to the summons. He nodded at us, his wrinkled face creasing up in a smile.

“Jonas,” Mrs. Steward huffed as she flung open the front door and stepped onto the creaking veranda, her chins wobbling. “Jonas, get that zebra away from my flowers instantly.”

She pointed a pudgy finger at the offending creature who, to its credit, was nowhere near her precious and long-suffering rosebush.

Dr. Ribeiro didn’t bestir himself to inform the good lady that normal zebras, such as the one he rode, weren’t inclined to devouring flowers. Even if she’d bothered to listen, she wouldn’t have believed him. Her only direct experience with a zebra unfortunately involved a specimen possessed by a serpent spirit that had a predilection for devouring flowers and stamping hoof prints upon coffee tables.

Instead and with remarkable forethought, the doctor closed up the box containing the brainless head and proceeded to escort his zebra a reasonable distance away from my aunt’s wrath. Satisfied her roses were secured from pending destruction, Mrs. Steward directed her attention to Jonas.

“Jonas, you’re to accompany the Timmons…” At that, she paused and smiled, a movement that transformed her entire face into a spectacle of near-rapture. Turning her benevolent gaze to me, she sighed with the deepest contentment at having successfully wedded me off to a man who had no objection to marrying a widow. “On their honeymoon,” she finished.

“That’s terribly kind of you, but not necessary,” I protested but she waved my words away.

“Nonsense,” she said. “I do not intend to see you off unassisted. In addition, Lady Hardinge,” and at the mention of her noble in-laws, the radiance of her countenance further increased. “That benevolent gentlewoman is sending me a couple that I may employ here. The boy is an experienced gardener, and the girl has been taught how to cook proper food.”

Rather indelicately, Jonas snorted tea out his nostrils and mumbled words that bore a close resemblance to “White man’s junk,” as he tried to recover his breath.

Mrs. Steward peered down at Jonas, a disapproving tightness around her mouth. “On further consideration, perhaps you would wish to employ Jonas yourself? If these new people work out as well as that illustrious lady vows they will, I may have little need for a third.”

I glanced at Jonas with some trepidation, mortified as I wondered what impact such condescending words from his employer would have on him. A wide grin greeted my concern as he eagerly anticipated my affirmative answer.

“Absolutely,” Mr. Timmons said before I could, his own grin matching Jonas’. “A generous offer and gracious gesture, Mrs. Steward, as could only emanate from a laudable gentlewoman such as yourself. I’m confident we can find suitable tasks for Jonas. Can’t we, dear?” He turned his rascally expression to me and waggled his eyebrows.

Before Mrs. Steward or I could comment further on the matter of suitability, Jonas spun about, tea sloshing in his wake, and dashed away.

“Where are you off to, you scallawag?” Mrs. Steward demanded, her plump cheeks puffing out with exasperation.

“To pack,” Jonas shouted and he clicked his heels as he vanished around the corner of the house.

“Well,” Mrs. Steward said with a sniff, perhaps miffed by the unseemly eagerness displayed by Jonas to exit her employ. “I suppose that settles that.”

“I’m sure he’ll miss you excessively,” I said as I sought to console her.

“Really?” Mr. Timmons said, knowing what I was attempting to do and determined not to allow me. “I’ve never seen the bloke exhibit such a high degree of enthusiasm.”

I gave him a look of rebuke which he ignored as he took my hand and assisted me up into the wagon.

“Don’t forget to collect that horrible horse of yours, Bee,” Mrs. Steward said. “We have enough to contend with here.”

“Perish the thought,” I replied, for I couldn’t possibly leave a possessed horse unattended, now that Jonas wouldn’t be around to keep Nelly out of trouble.

“And don’t depart without Jonas,” my aunt continued, as if concerned we might alter our decision and leave her burdened with the little man.

“Don’t go without me,” the man in question called out as he limped back around the corner, a small sack over one shoulder, a bed roll under the other arm and a bright red blanket draped over his head.

“If only packing were so easy for the rest of us.” I sighed as Jonas tossed his meager worldly possessions into the wagon and scrambled up front. “And Nelly?”

“We’ll pick her up on the way,” Mr. Timmons responded. “She can follow along behind the wagon.”

“I’ll drive, bwana,” Jonas announced, clearly determined to prove his worth to us, his new employers.

An eyebrow raised skeptically, Mr. Timmons inquired while gesturing ahead, “And you know how to drive a pair of horses?”

Jonas shrugged. “They’re like oxen, only prettier.”

Dr. Ribeiro distracted me from whatever pithy advice my husband might have for Jonas by holding the hatbox up. “The head, Miss Knight. What to do? And let’s not be forgetting the Bubonic Plague.”

I had indeed forgotten entirely about the Plague. Then again, Dr. Ribeiro had raised the issue during my wedding, so I was hardly at fault for being distracted by other matters. Brainless heads, decapitated corpses and a Plague! At least I couldn’t complain of ever being without some mystery to occupy my mind. As I mulled over the predicament, the wagon lurched forward.

“We’ll have to discuss it when I return, shall we?” I responded as the horses broke into a gallop.

“They’re horses, man, not oxen!” Mr. Timmons shouted at Jonas as he reined the animals into a more leisurely pace.

My last view of my old home was Mrs. Steward gesturing at the box in Dr. Ribeiro’s hands, and then we rolled around a clump of trees.

Chapter 3

Flamingos, a small zebra herd and a solitary giraffe littered the lakeshore when we finally arrived that evening and stopped in a clearing amongst the yellow-barked fever trees. While I wished nothing more than to scramble off the wagon and collapse onto
terra firma
, I restrained myself. For how thoroughly unromantic would it be if I behaved as if I hadn’t just wed?

Mr. Timmons did his best to live up to the standard of a newly married man and, with a roguish grin, assisted me down while kissing my hand. The two horses snorted as I leaned against one; I imagined they were as equally relieved as I to have finished traversing the narrow, rough path down the Rift Valley’s escarpment from Nairobi to Lake Naivasha. Nelly seemed the least disconcerted by the tiring day and tore off clumps of leaves from a weedy bush.

“We’d have been here faster if I’d driven,” Jonas muttered, scratching his head, his dark face scrunched like a dried-up apple.

“We’d have been dead if you’d driven,” Mr. Timmons retorted.

“Now we must set up camp as the sun is setting,” the little man continued as if Mr. Timmons had said nothing of importance. “And we’ll miss Mama Steward’s after-wedding meal.”

Casting a disgusted look at us, he shuffled off in search of firewood.

“He does have a point,” I said. “My aunt hired a decent cook for the occasion.” I could well imagine at that very moment the extended family assembled for a supper that would please all who consumed it.

“Why did we bring him again?” Mr. Timmons asked, staring after Jonas with an offended expression.

“To make us tea,” I reminded him.

It really didn’t matter why anymore, for here we were and I was determined to enjoy my honeymoon, even if I had to miss the celebratory dinner being held in Nairobi.

As I was incapable of further exertion, I sat on one of the large buttressing roots that jutted out from the yellow trees around us. Thus settled, I allowed the stillness of the air, the songs of colorful birds and the gentle crunching of grass by the zebras to settle upon my weary soul. A wet, whooshing sound alerted me to the presence of a small herd of hippos, although I could only detect their ears and flaring nostrils jutting out of the water.

A couple of fireflies flickered sweetly about our small clearing while a blue-headed lizard shimmied down a tree trunk. Concerns about the Bubonic Plague and the brain-eating monster faded away, and I sighed with utter contentment. The isolation of our camp was thoroughly sublime.

“How delightful. We have company,” a silky male voice wrapped itself around me.

Before I could turn toward the source, a sultry female voice on my other side purred, “Aren’t they a dish?”

I glanced about the clearing. Mr. Timmons was piling up Jonas’ first load of firewood in a rather complicated structure that presumably would enhance the experience of a campfire, assuming the wood pile didn’t collapse on itself. Jonas was doing a brilliant job supervising.

“Who…?” I inquired.

Mr. Timmons peered at me over the wood and raised an eyebrow.

“That’s not the best wood,” the silky voice continued. “It’ll burn far too fast. What a pity.”

“I wouldn’t fret,” the sultry voice said. “Although we do so enjoy a meal by firelight.”

The two voices giggled.

I spun about, flapping away the fireflies. While they had created a romantic atmosphere only a moment ago, now they were a distraction. Jonas had wandered off and Mr. Timmons was admiring his handiwork.

“Mr. Timmons… Er, Simon,” I called to him, thrilled at the unaccustomed informality and intimacy the use of his given name suggested.

He glanced up from the intricate wood stack with a grin.

He’s thinking the same
, I thought, and smiled despite the mystery of the disembodied voices. “Do you hear anyone else? Where’s Jonas?”