A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,17
after all, and we must stick together out here.”
He lifted his hat again and moved to offer his hand.
Before I could take it, I heard a roar over the gathered throng. It must have been a hell of a roar, too, for me to hear it over the chaos of the Nairobi station, but in that moment everything stopped. The shouts of the porters, the wailing babies, the cries of the vendors—everything went silent and heads swivelled to the end of the platform where a pirate stood, booted feet planted wide as he surveyed the scene, hands fisted at his hips.
He wasn’t a pirate of course, but that’s the first impression I ever had of him and first impressions die hard. He was dressed haphazardly, with a filthy shirt tucked into even filthier trousers that were themselves tucked into a high pair of scuffed leather riding boots. His sleeves were rolled back and his collar was open, and every muscle seemed to vibrate with rage. He wore a beaten leather Stetson jammed down on his head, throwing his face into shadow. He strode straight to one of the native fellows and said something unintelligible in the native lingo. The man promptly handed over a long, slender whip. The pirate took it and walked directly to where Anthony Wickenden was still reaching for my hand. He didn’t even pause before he reached out and grasped Wickenden by the shoulders and lifted him clean off his feet. He threw Wickenden to the platform. Then he raised the whip, and the first crack of it was so loud the sound echoed straight down to the base of my spine.
What commenced was the bloodiest thrashing I had ever seen in my life, and when it was done, Wickenden was rolling on the platform, spitting blood and testing his loosened teeth.
“Goddamn you, White,” he managed to say before he rolled over and heaved out his stomach.
His assailant had lost his hat in the fray, and he bent to pick it up, leaning close over Mr. Wickenden as he did so. He pitched his voice low, but I heard him quite distinctly. “I saw the bruises, Tony. If you ever so much as think about touching her again, I will kill you—so slowly you will beg me to finish you off. Do you understand me?”
Wickenden spat out another mouthful of blood and gave a short groan by way of reply.
The pirate clapped his hat back onto his head and strode off, tossing the whip back to its owner without even breaking stride. There was a moment of sustained silence, and then the crowd began to move again, shouting and pushing as porters hurried to the injured man and the rest began to spread the story of what they’d just seen. A flashbulb went off in my face and some ferrety fellow asked me for a story, but before I could give him a piece of my mind, a slender gentleman appeared at my elbow.
“Miss Drummond, I presume? I’m Bates, Government House. I am afraid I must ask you to come with me.” I didn’t bother to protest. He had tucked my hand through his arm and towed me swiftly away.
“Delilah! Where are you going?” Dodo shrieked from behind me. I shrugged, but the gentleman turned and called over his shoulder.
“Government House. You may rendezvous with Miss Drummond at the Norfolk Hotel.”
He hurried me through the crowds and out of the station and down the street to Government House. I thought of invoking the name of Sir William Kendall, but decided to wait until a more opportune time. We entered through the wide doors and proceeded straight up a broad staircase of polished wood, down a few corridors and stopped outside a closed door. A pair of chairs had been arranged outside, and to my astonishment, I saw the assailant from the platform had already taken up occupancy of one of them. He looked as cool and unruffled as if he’d spent the morning totting up figures in a ledger instead of beating a man sideways.
Mr. Bates stopped and indicated the vacant chair. “Wait here, please, Miss Drummond.”
He disappeared inside the closed door and I heard voices from within. I seated myself as instructed and immediately applied myself to a study of my companion. He looked out of place in the polished rectitude of the Government House, with his scuffed boots and unshaven chin. I noticed that his earlobes had been pierced, and through each hole he