Treasure of the Golden Cheetah (17 page)

 

 

FOR ALL HER bravery and wisdom, she is still foolish about many things
. Jelani sat cross-legged on the ground inside the tent he shared with the cook. Muturi liked working for Bwana Nyati. He took care of his men and paid them well, not only with money but also with good blankets and plenty of meat. And that last part was good, because Jelani needed a goat to sacrifice if he was going to save Simba Jike.

Getting the goat would take some time, but he needed that time anyway to find out where to make the most propitious sacrifice. At home, Jelani and his teacher would go to one of the sacred groves of trees where their ancestral spirits lived. But this time he was not appeasing his ancestors’ spirits. He needed to mollify the Chagga’s ancestors. Would they accept his offering in Simba Jike’s name?

She sat by the house now, laughing and playing a card game with the white men. Now was his time to act. From his own animal-skin bag, Jelani took out a dried gourd sliced along one side to form a dipper. Next he retrieved a sprig of wild thyme and walked to the nearby spring. He filled the gourd with water and took it to Jade’s tent. Then he dipped the thyme into the water and sprinkled Jade’s tent on all sides, chanting as he went.

“
Ngugwitia
, Ngai, I plead, oh, God.”

Going around the tent he continued to sprinkle the water and chant. “Protect, oh, God.” Finally, he returned to the front and stepped inside, sprinkling Jade’s cot and belongings before marking her tent with pieces of clay and charcoal.

It was not enough, but it would have to do for now.

 

 

JADE SAT OUTSIDE her tent the next morning, writing in her notebook for want of anything better to do. She regretted not accompanying Harry and Julian and a few of the actors back to the village, but Harry had insisted that she stay behind to watch over the women. Of the three actresses, only Cynthia had opted to return up the hill, most likely because Harry was going. Jade had noticed how Cynthia had gravitated to him these past few days. Was she looking for male solace to replace her husband? Or was Cynthia less bereaved than she’d said?
It’s none of my business.

As she finished recording the Chagga’s creation account, Jade set aside her book and looked at the black and ocher stripes and starbursts that Jelani had added to her tent. He wasn’t the only one trying to protect her. Harry was concerned about her making another trip across the stream so soon after yesterday’s mishap. He thought she might be coming down with some illness and wanted to be sure she was rested. Only he didn’t say it in so many words. What surprised Jade the most was that Jelani had returned to the Chagga village. After yesterday’s slip, she expected him to follow her constantly, warding off whatever curse he felt she was under.

Still, staying here wasn’t entirely pointless. She’d been interested in seeing if any of the Chagga women involved in yesterday’s fracas came into their camp to sell their wares again. In particular, she hoped to spy the one who’d issued the curse. Jade feared Rehema would renew her efforts to kill herself after they’d left.

But Rehema showed up at the fringes of the camp around midmorning, just before Harry and the others went up to the village. Jade toyed with the idea of greeting her, letting her know that she carried no grudge. Then she rejected the idea. For all she knew, it would set the woman off again. Jade kept out of sight until the young Chagga woman had gone.

Find something useful to do while you’re hiding
. Jade decided to clean her as yet unused Winchester rifle. Her father had given her a new one, a model 95 with better range and stopping power. Once they were on the saddle, they’d need to hunt for meat. Even an unfired rifle collected grime. Biscuit lay at her feet, one eye closed, the other keeping watch on a rodent that darted nearby. When Jade put away her rifle an hour later, the camp seemed quiet. She decided that could mean trouble as much as noise could.

Reasoning that a patrol of the camp seemed in order, she called to Biscuit. The cheetah stood up and stretched, his front limbs extended, his rear upraised. He fell in beside her, heeling like a well-trained dog. Jade spotted Budendorfer, the lucky cameraman who hadn’t had to climb the mountain with a heavy camera today, heading out of their makeshift darkroom and into the house. Talmadge stood in front of the more opulent-looking tent, draping fabric from tall poles to create the illusion of an interior. The man seemed to be a jack-of-all-trades in this movie, filling in as an extra or as a double for dangerous scenes as well as acting as all-around handyman.

Lwiza knelt beside the tin bathtub, hand-washing someone’s clothes. Jade noted that she had set aside her more traditional garb for the shirtwaist, split skirt, and tall boots Jade had purchased for her. Pearl reclined in a chair outside her tent, reading a book, though she watched Lwiza’s progress as much as anything else. Bebe sat on the veranda, fanning herself to keep away insects. She held her script and, judging by her changing expressions, seemed to be holding her own private rehearsal.
The consummate professional.

Jade decided to visit with the cook and see if he needed anything or had a cut of meat to spare as a midday snack for Biscuit. Halfway there, she noticed the cat’s head jerk to the northwest. Biscuit chirped once and nudged Jade’s knee with his head.

Jade heard them before she saw them.

“Of all the dag-blasted nonsense, Hascombe! I’m telling you right now, I won’t put up with any more of this bull shine. If you can’t exercise some control, then—”

“Then what, Mr. Julian? You won’t find another safari leader out here on a moment’s notice. I’ll grant you Miss del Cameron could handle the job just fine, but Nakuru would leave with me and then where would you be?”

“Are you threatening me, Hascombe?”

They emerged from the tree line and into the clearing. Harry turned and put his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m not threatening anything. I’m just telling you the facts, Mr. Julian.”

“What happened?” asked Jade, hurrying over to them.

Brown staggered out of the woods and, after carefully placing the camera and tripod to one side, collapsed in a heap on the ground. The others followed him and gave Jade surreptitious looks behind the director’s back, rolling their eyes.

“Your boss man did not fulfill his promise, that’s what happened,” bellowed Julian.

Jade placed a hand on the director’s arm and kept her voice low. “Sir, please calm yourself. It’s not good for your health out here to get too worked up.”

“He told me that the old man up there would tell us Menelik’s story today,” ranted Julian. “And he didn’t! Instead, all I got was some damned long-winded yarn about a giant magic snail that brings dead warriors back to life with his slime. I want to hear about Menelik and all his grave goods!”

Jade looked to Harry, her brows raised. “A giant snail?”

Harry shrugged. “Called Kikorwi. Actually a morality tale about not trusting women.”

“Interesting,” said Jade. “I’d have paid a quarter to hear that one myself.”

“What?” Julian shouted. “This is intolerable. You should have insisted that old coot tell me what I wanted to know. He’s bilking us for more gifts.”

“What did you give him today, Harry?” asked Jade.

“Two handkerchiefs. A white one and a red checked one.” Harry took a deep breath and faced the angry director. “He promised he’d tell us about that old warrior king tomorrow. It’s just one more trip back up. We have to give him what he wants.”

Jade heard Brown groan from behind Harry. Something in Harry’s voice told her there was more to the story. “And just
what
might that be, Harry?”

“You.”

Jade folded her arms across her chest and locked her eyes on Harry’s. He looked away first. “Actually, not you, per se, but Biscuit. He said he’d only tell the story in front of the . . . What were his exact words?” Harry paused, pulled off his pith helmet, and rubbed the sleeve of his forearm across his brow. “Only in front of the golden cheetah and the lioness that walks with it.” He clamped his hat back on his head. “How the hell he knew your nickname is Simba Jike is beyond me.”

“Probably heard Jelani or one of the men say it. I’d bet he speaks at least some Swahili.”

“Well, Hascombe,” sputtered Mr. Julian, “you are going to demand that she goes with us tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Harry’s eyes widened as he shot an alarmed look at Jade. “Mr. Julian,” he said, “I’d as soon wrestle a croc as demand that Jade—”

“Biscuit and I would be delighted to come,” broke in Jade. “On one condition.”

“Oh?” asked Harry and Mr. Julian simultaneously.

“I really want to hear about the giant magic snail first.”

Mr. Julian sputtered and stormed off to bully someone else. Harry grinned, his teeth flashing in his tanned face. “Ah, Jade,” he purred. “You really are a little devil. You know that, don’t you?”

She smiled.

CHAPTER 11

—The Traveler

“WAR WENT ON FOR AS MANY YEARS AS MEN HAVE FINGERS. MEN fought as they eat or sleep. They knew no other way. The Una ran red with the blood of slain warriors.”

Jade sat cross-legged on the ground near Sina. Biscuit had dined on a scrawny hen that was presented to him as a gift from the old man. Now he lay contentedly at her side, his hindquarters wrapping around to her back. Zakayo sat to her right, in between her and Harry. Most of the others sat on camp chairs behind them, but because so many had elected to stay in camp, including all of the women, Harry had left Nakuru behind with the Nyamwezi men as guards. Jade looked for Rehema but didn’t see her.

“Ngowi fought against a powerful chief. But most of all, Ngowi fought against the magic of Kikorwi, who could bring slain warriors back to life. In this way, Ngowi’s army grew ever smaller while Mawache’s army sprang back fresh each day. Ngowi’s people used to hide in the long caverns here by the Una to avoid slaughter. But they could not hide forever.”

“This is taking even longer than yesterday,” muttered Julian from behind Jade. She shushed him with a sweep of her hand.

The elder continued to tell of Ngowi’s plan to send a beautiful girl into the enemy camp as a spy. He elaborated on her travels into the rival chief’s lands, how she followed the herds-boys and was admitted to the royal harem. Eventually, the woman was shown Kikorwi’s lair among the great rocks. “Then came the dawn when Mawache went to Kikorwi’s den and found the great snail had been slain. When Mawache questioned everyone, he learned of the girl’s trickery. She’d killed Kikorwi and fled.” The elder passed his gaze over Biscuit and Jade. “The treachery of a woman can burn you in fire.”

Jade didn’t know if this was meant as a warning to her, to Biscuit, or to Harry and the men not to trust her. But then, she recalled, she was the one who’d requested this retelling. The elder had demanded her presence and Biscuit’s for Menelik’s story.

The end of this tale was marked with refreshments, reminding Jade of intermission at a theater. Woven banana-frond mats heaped with cooked meat and roasted plantains were passed around the group. Jade accepted a plantain for herself but gave her portion of the meat to Biscuit, who suddenly seemed to find the proceedings interesting again. Jade took the opportunity of stretching her legs, taking Biscuit with her as she wandered off into the woods for a few moments of needed privacy. Her head hurt and she wished she’d brought some aspirin.

A decent night’s sleep would help more than anything.
Last night’s had been broken badly, and when she did sleep, it was riddled with bizarre dreams. She’d had this problem before, often reliving her ambulance runs during the war. But this one was about Kilimanjaro, and for some reason, the first syllables kept getting emphasized. Almost as if she was hearing “kill a man.” She kept seeing a retinue of ancient warriors climbing the mountain, wailing and moaning. Gold and gems flashed from their heavy burdens. As they disappeared into the mountain’s clouds, one of them beckoned her to follow, but somehow, Jade knew if she did, she’d be sacrificed along with the slaves.

Biscuit rubbed against her knee, a raspy purr issuing from his throat. Then he lifted his head and stared up the slope and his body tensed.

“What is it, Biscuit? What do you see?” Jade searched the forest for some movement, a monkey or a bird that might have attracted the cat’s attention.
He did that in the dream last night.

And she’d followed him. While she did, his coat changed until his spots resembled a leopard’s. She followed up the mountain, above the tree line and the saddle, always climbing. After he, too, disappeared into the clouds, she woke up in a sweat. That in itself was odd, because in the dream she’d felt cold: the penetrating, numbing, soul-chilling cold of the grave.