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A novel of adventure in the skies of colonial Africa. Work in Progress. |
Mombasa  Saturday morningEarly morning in Mombasa found Kestrel being buffeted by a blustering wind under a lead-gray sky, harbingers of the approaching Long Rain. Monroe was awake and seeing to his ship as Kestrel jerked and snapped at her moorings, making her buck like a small boat in a high sea. “If it doesn’t come down in buckets today, my aunt’s a Catholic missionary,” he greeted Hobbs as she joined him at the rail. “Good morning, Captain,” she replied. “I’ve heard Catholics aren’t as bad as they’re made out to be.” “Church propaganda, I assure you. Can't you sleep?” “It’s been a rough couple of days. My neck is killing me.” He stepped behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You aren’t going to take my head off again, are you?” he asked. “Of course not.” “Good,” he said, beginning to work her tight deltoids. “Amazing. I can feel the knots here.” “As can I.” “You should let us spell you. We all know how to steer. Well, maybe not Bakari, but David and I.” “That’s my job, Captain, you made it clear a long time ago.” “I didn’t mean every minute of every trip.” “I don’t feel right asking you gentlemen to steer. No one asks me to grease the shrouds or holystone the deck.” “If that’s all that’s bothering you, feel free to pitch in. It isn’t good for you to spend days at a time at the helm. This pain you’re having is the proof.” “I'll think about it.” “That means you won’t even consider changing your ways.” “She’s your ship, Captain, but I love her too much. Letting someone else fly her seems almost like sharing my husband somehow.” “That isn’t reasonable, Patty.” “We feel what we feel.” “I suppose. As soon as the dockmaster comes up we can order a top-off of the coal bunker. At the risk of setting you off again, would you like to go to Faraji’s for breakfast?” “I would, Captain. And, why are walking on eggs around me?” “Oh, you’ve already forgotten your response when we hauled that harvester up to Nairobi?” That brought out her merry, full-throated laugh. “Captain, I realize you’ve spent most of your life around men, so let me give you a tip. Women, women like me, who have fought hard for our place in a man’s world, don't like to be patronized. Above all else, we don’t like men to assume that our mood can be fixed by buying us something. There’s a whole person in here, and sometimes she’d rather have your respect than your trinkets.” “Point taken. So, breakfast at Faraji’s isn’t patronizing, but supper at Shanee’s is?” “Circumstances, Captain. An angry woman is rarely agreeable to anything. And yes, I would love to have breakfast with you.” “Well, it shouldn’t be too long. The dockmaster just opened his office. I’m sure he’ll be right over to levy his pound of flesh.” It was, in fact, another twenty minutes, by which time the others, including Jinx, were on deck, Jinx handing Monroe a five-pound voucher for the day’s charter. Coal ordered and instructions given, the five of them set out for the Queen’s Royal Hotel. It was a brisk morning’s walk during which a fast-moving drizzle sent them to shelter beneath the eaves of a storehouse, and shortly after eight, they were entering the open-air food and drink emporium in the corner of the grand old hotel. “Welcome, my friends, welcome!” the tall African in casual but still snappy western dress greeted them. “It has been so long, I was afraid something had happened to you.” He ushered them to a large round table with a good view of the street. “What’s gonna happen to us, Faraji?” Smith asked. “We’re just a bunch of peace-lovin’ traders.” “Breakfast, Faraji,” Monroe demanded, taking his seat with the others. “Eggs, bacon, fruit, tea. Anything else?” “Coffee!” Smith added. “Of course, of course! I see your friend Miss Jinx has found you. How about the others?” “What others?” Monroe asked. “Oh, I have not met them, but it is all over town that three people are looking for you. Well, for Mr. David in particular.” “What for?” Smith asked. “I don’t know, but the talk is that two men and a woman, all with American accents, have been showing your picture around.” “That can’t be good,” Smith said. “And they haven’t been here?” “No.” “That’s damned odd. Someone must have told them that this is where we take our ease when we’re in town. And you don’t know what they want?” “No, Mr. David, I have no idea. Shall I start your breakfast now?” “Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” “Bring the other thing, too,” Monroe said as Faraji started toward the kitchen. “Oh, yes, sir!” he said, looking back with a big smile. “What other thing?” Hobbs asked. “I don’t like it, Captain,” Smith said, ignoring her. “What the hell could three people want? It don’t take three people to deliver a message.” “Do you think it has something to do with that past you never talk about?” Monroe asked. “Don’t know. Don’t know, but for three people to bear the cost of coming half way around the world to find me, it don’t make sense.” “Well, I’m sure all will be revealed soon enough, and whatever happens, David, you’re one of us. We’ll be right beside you.” “That’s a comfort, Cap’n. I just hope I don’t turn into a burden for you.” Mombasa 8:40 AMA bakery diagonally across the street specialized in bread loaves of every shape and form, bringing customers from all over town, especially in the morning hours to buy the staple for their kitchens. They also offered a few pastries and confections, and with all the traffic in and out, one would hardly notice the couple seated in shadow at one of their three small outdoor tables, enjoying a plate of lady fingers. The woman, dressed in a drab dress and accoutrements, raised a small pair of opera glasses and pointed them into the open air bar across the street. “That’s Charlie Bender, all right,” she said, studying the group, “no doubt about that.” “You want I should go get Johnny?” Benjamin Crenshaw asked around a mouthful of pastry. “Oh, heavens, no!” Jubilee Bellouard told him. “Johnny will want to cash in his chips right here in the street. We have to learn about him first.” “Thought we already knew about him,” Crenshaw said. “We know the Charlie Bender of Arizona and Montana. Now we need to get acquainted with this David Smith of east Africa he has become, and the cozy little nest he has built himself here. Look at this group he has associated himself with,” she said, passing him the glasses. “It’s a family, plain and simple. There is a father, a brother, and two women. Sisters? Or is one the mother figure to the group?” “They’re both younger than him.” “Yes, Benjamin, but they fill roles.” “Like in a play?” “Sort of. If anyone was to study our group, they would mark you and Johnny as brothers, and myself as the mother figure, because I keep you boys under control and focused on the task. If I just acted on impulse all the time, and did whatever I wanted without thinking too much about the consequences, well then they’d be more likely to write me down as a sister. You see?” “I guess. What difference does it make?” “Those people function as a family, Benjamin,” she said, taking the glasses back. “He’s a member of that family, and they’re going to stand with him when we make our move to take him. They make it complicated, you see? He seems to have an easy rapport with the locals, as well. He’s out in the open, so he has no fear of the law, which means if we just try to take him, they’ll probably side with him. No, we’ll have to study them a bit more first.” “How long?” “Until we identify a weakness.” “What if he don't have one?” “Everyone has a weakness, Benjamin. He might have times he likes to be alone, or maybe we catch him without his whole group walking in a secluded spot. He has one,” she said, raising the glasses again. “All we have to do is watch him until we find it.” Mombasa 8:45 AMAs Goma, Faraji’s lovely young serving girl, prepared the plates of delicious-smelling food, Faraji himself moved back behind his bar, but quickly returned, a look of suppressed excitement written on his features. He held a box wrapped in brown paper, just over a foot on each side, and six inches deep. Fairly beaming, he placed it in front of Patience. “Missy Hobbs,” he said, “this is a gift from your crew, and in small part, my own humble self.” She looked at the box, and around at the faces. Even Jinx seemed to be in on it. “What’s the occasion?” she asked. “Do we need an occasion to surprise our favorite pilot?” Smith asked. “What is it?” “Perhaps you should open it and find out,” Monroe suggested. Hobbs turned words to action, turning the box so one of the closured ends was toward her. “Heavy,” she said, worrying at the paper. The flaps came loose, and she tore it back, revealing a finished box, smooth dark wood with lacquer and a fine brass latch. Handing the paper to Smith, she popped the catch and opened it, responding to the exposed contents with a soft intake of breath. Nestled there in a velvet cradle was a revolver, a very large revolver. The grip and body were of normal size, but the cylinder was of almost comically large diameter, and it had no barrel at all, just a hole in the heavy front strap where the firing chamber lined up to discharge its projectile. She lifted it reverently, testing its considerable weight in her hands, looking into its intimidating maw, then reading the engraving above the grip. REPUBLIQUE NATIONALE des FABRICANTS d'INGENIERIE BRUSSELS Ser. No. 1369 “What... why?” “I’ve been chiding you since Malinde to rearm yourself. Now you’re armed.” “I can’t shoot this. It will take my arm off!” “Actually,” Jinx said, taking it from her and tilting the cylinder out to the left into loading position, “these have a surprisingly gentle recoil. It shoots 20-guage shells, and the weight of the gun itself dampens a lot of it. I would recommend a two-handed grip, though.” She handed it back. “How is it you know so much about this? I’ve certainly never seen one.” “One of my father’s ranch hands had one. I was fascinated by the look, and he let me shoot it a few times. It’s surprisingly smooth. Also, it has some kind of new-fangled firing pin. Inertial, I think they call it. It lets you load all six chambers and still carry it safely.” “Not only that,” Monroe added, “but you’re most likely to do any shooting you need to do while you’re aboard the ship. The spread of a shotgun with no barrel will sweep a whole corridor, and anything that misses is just going to stick in the wood instead of blowing holes in my airship.” “You know, the gun I lost at Malinde wasn’t just a gun, it was a gift from my uncle. It meant a lot to me.” “I know, Patience, and I can’t do anything about that, but this gun is a gift from your crew and Faraji. Does that not mean anything?” “Of course it does! A weapon like this must have cost a fortune, though.” “Actually, Missy, a guest in the hotel, a very bad man, owned it. The authorities came for him, and he made a fight of it. He lost, and his gun became, how do you say, orphan property. It is of no value to me, and when your captain said it would be of value to you, well, it made perfect sense. The gun, in a way, was free, though it does have considerable value. They are very rare. But the box had to be made, and we chipped in for a box of shells for you.” “Well, I thank you all. You know, Captain, I really had my eye on that plasma pistol you took off that Prussian explorer, von-what’s-his-name.” “Von Redesky. I thought you might, but you need specialized equipment to charge one of those, and I doubt any such equipment exists in the colony. Anyway, it may have crossed your mind that shooting superheated blasts of plasma on a ship full of hydrogen might not be your best option.” “I suppose not. Well, thank you. This is the best present... one of the best presents that I hope I never have to use. I suppose after breakfast I should visit one of the harness shops to see about having a holster made.” She turned it this way and that. “Though I confess I’m at a loss to see how that could be done.” This brought a round of light laughter as she passed the odd weapon to Smith for him to inspect, and placed the box on the floor by her feet to make way for their approaching breakfast. Mombasa 10:00 AMJohnny Two-Fives walked into the bar of the Seaview Hotel, unarmed as ordered, and feeling as naked as a newborn. He hadn’t been far, just out to stretch his legs; he didn’t venture far without his weapons. “Whiskey,” he said as he passed the bartender, slapping one of the big shilling coins on the bar. He picked up a newspaper from one of the tables, and moved to a back corner to await his drink. Newspaper, what a joke! There was no news from America, Europe, or any civilized country on Earth that he could find. Tide tables, small craft movements, and the price of eggs in the local market was the extent of it. Oh, and the politics. A white man was apparently robbed by two Africans two nights ago, and now a local agitator was calling on the Empire to eradicate the black scourge from the continent. Mentally substituting “Indian” for “African” gave the story a sense of familiarity, but still no real urgency. The bartender, one of those black scourges, dressed in fine silks to rival a Queen’s guard, arrived with his drink, a shot glass filled with the brown elixir he found so relaxing. “Another,” he said, and the man departed. As he dropped the folded newspaper on the table and picked up his drink, Bellouard and Crenshaw came in through the door to the lobby, spotted him at once, and made for his table. Crenshaw pulled the chair for her, then took one from the vacant table adjacent and sat down. Neither spoke. “You two certainly look like the cat who swallowed the canary,” Two-Fives said. “You find somethin’?” “We seen him, Johnny!” Crenshaw blurted out. “Bender?” “Who else?” “I’ll get my gun,” Two-Fives said, starting to rise. “Hold on, Johnny,” Jubilee said, laying her hand on his arm. “It’s complicated.” “Complicated how?” Two-Fives asked, returning to his seat. “He has a lot of friends here. He’s a member of a crew that will undoubtedly stand with him if we move on him openly.” “How does a cold-blooded killer come by a lot of friends?” “We don’t know the mechanism, Johnny. Perhaps he turned over a new leaf when he came here. It doesn’t matter. Those are the facts.” “So, we do what, give up? Go home with our tails between our legs?” “Nothing of the sort,” she said. “We simply need a plan. It’s apparent that we can’t just stick a gun in his back and put him in irons. We’d have to deal with his crew and all his friends if we did that.” “What do we do, then?” “We watch him some more, find out what his routines are, who he’s close to. When he’s vulnerable. At some point during his day, he’s alone, or close to it, his guard is down, something happens that makes him susceptible to being captured, and when it does, we’ll be there to take him.” “So we’re just gonna watch him?” “Benjamin and I will watch him for now. You might be a bit too high strung for that sort of work.” “So I sit around the hotel getting drunk, waiting for you to decide the time is right?” “There’s no need to get drunk, Johnny,” she told him. “I saw a playhouse here in town—” “A playhouse!” “There are also burlesque houses, gambling establishments, pleasure houses, all sorts of diversions to keep a young man occupied. Unless, of course, you have a better plan.” “Shit!” he spat. “I didn’t come to the ass-end of the world to lay around a whorehouse while our quarry walks around free as a bird.” “Well, Johnny,” she said, almost teasing, “you just let me know if you come up with something we can use.” “Yeah, I’ll do— Hey, he works on an airship, right?” “Obviously.” “Why don’t we charter it?” “To what end?” “Them people don’t know who we are. We charter a long flight. You can engage the pilot in some kind of girl-talk, and while you’re chatting, you learn how to pilot the thing.” “Johnny—” “Not a full course in airmanship, just enough to steer a course and get us down. Then, when we’re out over the badlands somewhere, we cut down the rest of ’em, and throw him in irons. You take us somewhere outside of Kenya, and we catch a ship back to the States. Simple.” “Except for the part where we murder half a dozen people.” “Fortunes of war. They should have chosen better friends.” “I don’t know, Johnny. How does that make us better than him?” “You asked for a plan. That catches him, no complications, no town full of friends to deal with. Six bullets, and it’s done. We can get home and collect our money.” “I don’t like it.” “It will work.” “Benjamin?” “Is he talkin’ about shootin’ them two pretty ladies?” “Two of them are women?” Two-fives asked. “This’ll be easier than I thought!” “I don’t cotton to shootin’ no women, Johnny.” “All right, I’ll shoot the women. All you have to do is—” “Now hold on just a minute here!” Jubilee interrupted. “We’re not talking about shooting any women.” “I am.” “Well, I’m not. It is a plan, and I’ll consider it, but only if nothing else proves workable. You just relax, Johnny. Benjamin and I will keep watching them. You go to a whorehouse, gamble your money away, or whatever you want to do to keep yourself occupied, but we’re not killing a shipload of people except as an absolute last resort.” “All right, then. You just call me when you’re ready.” Mombasa 10:10 AMThe congenial breakfast had finally come to an end amid the planning of the day. Bakari wanted to polish the condenser vanes, Monroe was off to look for something to haul to Nairobi, and Hobbs had decided to take her new pistol to a harness shop near the aerodrome to see what sort of holster could be made for the ungainly weapon. “Would you like some company?” Jinx asked. “Sure, why not?” The two women walked with Bakari in the direction of the aerodrome until their path took them down a side street, at which point the conversation turned from weather and technology to other matters. “Is your Captain always so draconian?” Jinx asked. “What, who, Clinton? You’re completely misreading him.” “How is it misreading him if he won’t even help me find my lost sister?” “What, giving over his ship to your agenda isn’t helping you?” “Giving? I pay him.” “Continuing to work with you after you freely admitted a criminal act isn’t working with you?” “I didn’t admit—” “Sneaking you in and out of Zanzibar isn’t working with you?" “No, Patty, I just mean his insistence on learning a whole lot of my family business that is none of his concern.” “He doesn’t care about your private business. He wants to know what you’re doing that might find its way back to him. We’re already held in something less than high regard by most of the local authorities. The major in charge in Nairobi, Ulysses Cole, believes and openly states that we’re pirates. He’s actively looking for something to pin on us. Can you imagine what his reaction might be if you get caught housebreaking, thieving, or whatever it is you do while you’re on your little forays, and it got back to him that you’re flying with us?” “How would it get back to him?” “I don’t know. These things have a way of coming up during interrogations. What’s her name?” “What? Who?” “The sister that you’re trying to find.” “Oh. Sylvia. Sylvia Jenkins.” “Younger than you?” “Two years.” “A teenager, then?” “Nineteen.” “And still your parents let her trek off across the sea unescorted by a male relative, or at least a hired chaperone.” “Now, you see, that’s just the sort of thing that’s no one’s business but my family.” “Making it conveniently difficult to check the veracity of your story, Miss Jenkins.” “Are you accusing me of lying, Miss Hobbs?” “I am stating the possibility, and if you are, you are putting my friend, mentor, and a man I love like the father who died into jeopardy. There is no more certain way to incur my wrath.” “I’ll keep it in mind.” “You’d best. I was taken by slavers, you know.” “You? How are you here, then?” “I’m here because the men of the Kestrel moved heaven and earth to find me, and take me back. They rescued a dozen other women at the same time, but they came for me. Your old friend Chang Wei saw them throw a bag over me in the market. Pure chance. He followed me to the warehouse where they were taking their captives. The crew broke in that night, but I was already on a boat. They found us at sea, and following a gun battle, boarded the boat and took me back. If your sister was taken, what was it, six months ago, she’s already in Arabia, cloistered in a harem, probably already pregnant, and all the Queen’s soldiers couldn’t find her if they had ten years to do it.” “That simply cannot be.” “No? If she had been arrested here, the governor’s office or the police would have a record. Likewise, had she been the victim of foul play. Have you asked them?” “Of course I have.” “And did they?” “No.” There was a long silence. “Patience, I’m afraid for her. Maybe I’m grasping at straws here, I don’t know, but all I can do is keep grasping. What would you do if it was the captain you’re so fond of?” “The same thing you are, but I would give the people trying to help me every shred of information I had so that they could help as effectively as possible.” Hobbs led her into an open-front shop, the pungent smells of tanning chemicals burning their noses. The leather smith, a coal-black African leaning hard on three hundred pounds, looked up from his bench. “Jambo, ladies, jambo!” "Jambo," Hobbs returned his greeting with a smile. “What brings such beautiful ladies to my humble shop?” “I need a holster,” Hobbs replied, placing her gift box on the counter and opening it. “My goodness,” the man said. “A holster, or perhaps a carriage?” “It is pretty big,” Hobbs said with a sheepish grin, “but it is a gift from dear friends, and I couldn’t possibly snub them by keeping it locked in a trunk. Can you do anything for me?” “No, I suppose you couldn’t do that.” He took the weapon from the box and stepped around the counter, hefting its considerable weight as he came. He started to reach for Hobbs’ shoulder, then stopped. “May I?” “Of course.” He turned her by the shoulder to face him, then held the weapon at her right hip, where it would lie in a conventional holster. “You are right-handed?” “Yes.” “Women, forgive me, your bodies have wider hips than men, so even a conventional pistol needs to be fitted just so. If we place this here, the thickness of the cylinder will cause the handle to dig into your waist. We could put it further down on your leg,” he said, moving it to mid-thigh, “but this makes it harder to reach, and the weight of this would almost certainly affect your gait.” He turned her again to face away from him, and pressed it into the small of her back. “This is a possibility, although it would make sitting almost impossible, and couldn’t be worn if you have need to wear a bustle.” He turned her back to face him and studied her thoughtfully. “A new fashion is becoming popular. It is called the shoulder holster, and places the weapon under your armpit. You can imagine, I suppose, the agony of wearing this under your arm all day.” “Indeed.” “Perhaps here.” He held the huge pistol at her left waist, pointed backward and down, handle in easy reach of her right hand. “I could place it here. You would wear it on a belt with a supporting strap over your right shoulder running to the belt just above the holster.” “Wouldn’t it be in constant danger of falling out?” “Only the cylinder would be contained. The body would have to be exposed, and a strap would come over it and attach to a stud at the top. You would flick it off with your thumb to gain access, then pull it straight out, and you’re ready to shoot. I could add some loops for extra cartridges, and it would be ready to wear. Would that meet with the lady’s approval?” Hobbs took the gun from him and held it in place, turning to Jinx. “What do you think?” “A shoulder strap and ammunition on the belt? You’d look quite the little bushranger, you would.” “I like it,” Hobbs replied without hesitation, placing the gun back in its box. “How much?” “I’m sorry?” “The price. What will it cost?” “Ah. I should be able to manage it for ten... No, make it fifteen shillings just to be sure.” “All right, agreed. How long will it take, do you think?” “You can leave the gun here?” “Yes.” “In that case, I should have it ready in two days. No guarantee, but business is slow right now, and if no surprises present themselves, you come back in two days, and we’ll fit it.” He stepped back behind the counter and took a tape measure from the wall. “Let me get a few measurements, and I’ll get started.” |
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