Curse of the Nandi (Society for Paranormals Book 5) (27 page)

Chapter 30

As Lord Hardinge predicted, the town buzzed with the news of the neatly defeated Bubonic Plague. Dr. Spurrier remained confined to his quarters, where he engaged in meetings with various officials. Tiberius needn’t have bothered requesting our father’s assistance: by evening, the Medical Officer had convinced himself and any who cared to listen that it was he who had detected the first signs of the Plague; thanks to his decisive actions, he had prevented a disaster of immense proportions from overtaking the Queen’s colony. Of the zombies and Kerit, there was no mention.

I couldn’t care less.

It was as if a bandit had suckled at my energy field, yet the only identity thief in the vicinity, my dear husband, was equally drained and listless in his movements and words. I was in no mood to comfort him, for I could barely provide that service for myself.

As Cilla was disinclined to entertaining visitors, I sought out Lilly for consolation, but she was resting to escape the heat of the afternoon. So I joined my husband at our cottage, where we sat on the veranda, side by side in canvas camping chairs. We spoke very little and merely contented ourselves with gazing morosely at the distant horizon. To one side, plumes of smoke continued to rise above Nairobi, dark smudges against a blue sky that perversely reminded me of Cilla’s eyes.

“I wonder how much of the town was damaged in the fire,” I said, my tone flat and disinterested, the words lost in the stifling dry heat.

Mr. Timmons shrugged, his gaze fixed elsewhere. After a moment, he murmured, “There’s rain coming.”

I shifted in the canvas chair. Far across the tawny landscape, a vague blotch bloomed in the sky. Darker than the smoke, it seemed too distant to be of concern.

“Surely not,” I replied without conviction as I eased into the conversation as gingerly as one might enter a hot bath. There was however some reassurance in the fact that if all else failed, one could always discuss the weather.

“The rainy season is late this year,” he replied as he rested his head against one hand, his eyes dim, his posture sagging with the effort of remaining upright. “There will be a ferocious storm tonight.”

My lips turned upward of their own accord. Perhaps the tracks would flood and prevent Cilla from departing. Perhaps there would be rains of biblical proportion, forcing her to abandon her plans, thus providing us sufficient time to find Drew and knock some sense and manners into his thick, canine brain.

As if divining the direction of my thoughts, Mr. Timmons finally turned to me, grasped my hand, raised it to his lips and said, “But she will have safely left by then.”

Thus the day dribbled out, minute by minute. Tedium settled upon me, as stifling as the heavy air with its threat of rain. Although there were tasks to do, I had neither will nor energy to do them. Nor was I content to remain on the veranda, yet there was nowhere else to go that would distract my agitated thoughts. I leafed through a chapter of a forgettable book, and by the end I couldn’t recall who the characters were, what the plot was or why I should care. I shifted upon the canvas chair, unable to find a position that was comfortable enough in which to waste the remainder of the day. Not even the pot of tea that Jonas brought, unbidden, to me could console my inner agitation.

Supper was a sorry affair, for Lilly was still ill-disposed, and Tiberius couldn’t be persuaded to abandon his vigil over her. Dr. Ribeiro had departed for town, to salvage what building materials he could to re-start his clinic. Father and Lord Hardinge were conferring in soft voices, and so contributed little to what scant conversation there was to be had. Cilla stirred her food about her plate, with no intention of consuming more than a token. Lady Hardinge, her eyes glistening with the emotions we were all experiencing, attempted to rally us with stories from their previous posting in India, but to no avail.

It was almost a relief then when the meal finished and Mr. Timmons, Cilla and I bade our farewells and joined Jonas in the barn. The little man was slumped against the two-wheeled wagon, absentmindedly scratching the ox’s back. The disrespectful twinkle I’d come to expect from him was absent from his eyes as he watched Cilla enter. After securing her trunk and valise, we set off into the twilight.

“I’ll write every day,” Cilla promised, a forced cheer in her voice. “And I’ll want the same in return from you. Oh, and you must telegraph the very moment Lilly’s baby is born.”

“Of course,” I murmured, although I couldn’t imagine maintaining a daily correspondence. After all, there wasn’t that much that happened in Nairobi.

As we approached our destination, we could see tendrils of smoke still swirling amongst the ruins of the embryonic town. Too soon, the train station and the menagerie of rickshaws and wagons were before us. The unassuming, elongated building squatted between Nairobi and the wilds. At that moment, I was struck at the temerity of the railway building enterprise: to lay slim sets of metal across vast distances seemed the height of both absurdity and audacity.

All these mental meanderings did little to distract me from the bitterness of the moment, but the glimmer in the darkening air around us did. I squinted my eyes, peered up at the overcast sky and gasped as ethereal forms swam overhead, their limbs long and graceful. Humanoid in shape, they glowed like liquid moonlight, if moonlight could contain lightning.

“What are you looking at?” Cilla asked, leaning into my side.

I bit my lower lip to dull the smile of wonderment, but couldn’t prevent the awe in my voice. “Wind and storm spirits. They’re so lovely.”

After a moment, Cilla whispered to me, “I shall miss you.”

Storm spirits forgotten, I turned to face her and was pulled into the fiercest of embraces. There we remained, and would have done so for longer if Mr. Timmons hadn’t cleared his throat.

“We need to go in,” he said, his voice almost timid.

Cilla managed to startle Jonas by grasping his hands tightly. “Take care of them, will you? And yourself, of course.” She smiled. “Dear Jonas.”

He nodded, struck mute, his eyes wide.

The train station was its usual chaotic jumble of noise and color, with boxes, livestock and people being pushed about this way and that. We had timed our arrival to avoid a long wait, and the train conductor was already blowing into his whistle, the sharp sound letting all know that this was their last chance to board.

I was grateful for the rapidity of it all, for I did detest prolonged farewells. With another hug and hastily spoken words of endearment and promises that we might not be able to keep, we settled Cilla into her berth, and a few minutes later, the train pulled out of the station with a piercing toot and the squeal of metal against metal.

Mr. Timmons and I stood on the platform, his arm around my shoulders. I wondered who was the source of the trembling that communicated itself along my shoulders. Perhaps it was merely the force of the train moving against the earth.

“We’ll see her again,” I said with more confidence than was warranted.

Mr. Timmons said nothing but smiled in a grim manner.

We turned to go, and I blurted out, “Now what?”

Blocking our passage was Kam. He tilted his great, bald, ebony head a tad to the side, as if to better view me. Given his advantage of height, he had a marvelous view of the top of my sunhat. His lips twitched into a smile.

“Did you receive the assistance I sent?” he asked, his voice rumbling like thunder.

I allowed my tumultuous emotions free rein, for now they had a target. “You mean the bloodsucking fireflies?” I retorted. “Oh yes, a great help they were.”

Then the God of Lightning shocked me: he flung his head back and laughed. If his voice reminded me of thunder, his laughter encompassed the entire storm, but the sort of tempest that beckons the end of winter and the beginning of spring, the bringer of life and relief, the cleanser of foul air. His body shimmered with the energy of the approaching rain, and the scent of ozone flowed around us. The trembling along my shoulders subsided and warmth surrounded me.

The laughter ended as abruptly as it began, in the fashion of true African showers. “As I see no zombies staggering around, I assume the Adze were successful.”

“Yes, and successful at burning down half the town,” Mr. Timmons said but there was a lightness in his voice, as if this was a minor detail.

Kam chuckled. “Yes, they do enjoy a good fire.” He turned about and gestured for us to continue our exit from the station.

Outside, the area was cleared of most of the train-related traffic. Our little ox and wagon were one of the few transports remaining. Jonas started at seeing Kam looming over us, and he scowled while lowering his gaze. Somehow that scowl reassured me that all was right in the world.

The wind and storm spirits began to dart around us with greater speed. Kam angled his face to the brooding clouds overhead. We could all smell it now: rain. After months of drought, the sky finally was preparing to provide deliverance to the land and its occupants. The wild animals had all disappeared; even the insects were silent. Our ox began to shake its head in agitation. Only humans were daft enough to defy the elements by remaining outside.

“What of the Kerit?” I asked, for Kam was often privy to random facts. Of course, just the mention of the beasts brought to mind my last sighting of Drew.

“They will not be returning,” Kam said. “Your brother did well. He’s leading them back to their home in the bamboo forests of the mountain.”

There was only one mountain to which he could be referring: Mt. Kenya. It was a few days’ ride from Nairobi, and I wondered how long it would take Drew to return. I swallowed around a thickness in my throat, and I couldn’t tell if it was emotion or the onslaught of a malaise. I shivered as a gust of cold, damp wind blew around us, and I rubbed my hands over my arms.

Mr. Timmons placed a steadying hand on my back. “And the Nandi?” he inquired. “The troops have arrived and unless the Nandi agree to the terms of the Crown, it will not end well for them.”

Kam shook his head. “Some things are more important than life.”

I understood that to mean the Nandi would not surrender. While a part of me cheered for them, the more pragmatic side knew the glum truth of the matter: bows and arrows were no match against the war machinery of the British.

We reached our wagon and were about to climb up when Kam announced, “The Spider summons you.”

My neck twanged as I craned it back to stare into his calm eyes. “Anansi?”

Kam nodded and glanced away to smile at the spirits and the dark clouds.

“Why?” I asked. That one word could’ve referred to a number of questions:
Why are you telling me this? Why is he summing me? Why can’t I be left in peace? Why did Drew abandon us? Why, oh why, did Cilla have to go?

Lowering his head, Kam gazed at me, his eyes oddly compassionate, his muscles devoid of their usual tension. “Anansi is aware that Prof Runal visited your home.”

“More like invaded my life,” I spat.

Shrugging, Kam said, “He knows the professor was here on other business. The Spider wishes to stop him before this proceeds any further.”

“Before what proceeds?” I asked, my forehead crunched up in consternation and discombobulation. Even as I did so, I called to mind Mrs. Steward’s admonitions against scrunching up my face. I glanced at Mr. Timmons, wondering if he placed similar importance on smooth skin.

But Kam was already drifting away, his attention captured by the activity above us.

“What does Anansi wish to stop?” I demanded, reaching out to grab Kam’s arm. It was like holding onto warm rock.

With a slight chuckle, Kam glanced at my hand and then at me, an eyebrow flicking up slightly. I removed my hand but not my gaze.

“He wishes to stop a second colonization,” he said and, with a crack of lightning and a puff of ozone, he vanished.

Chapter 31