‘Ah, so, would they not be dangerous, then?’
‘They would be very dangerous. Even more so if they were wounded,’ Leon conceded, ‘but—’
Graf Otto cut him off. ‘But is a word I do not like very much, Courtney.’ His mood had altered instantly and dramatically. ‘Usually it is a signal that somebody is about to make an excuse to disobey me.’ He scowled and the duelling scar across his cheek changed from glassy white to rose pink.
Leon had not yet learned that this was a danger sign. He went on regardless:
‘I was just going to say that—’
‘I have no great interest in what you were going to say, Courtney. I would rather you listened to what
Leon flushed at the rebuke, but then he saw Eva, who was sitting out of Graf Otto’s direct line of sight, purse her lips and shake her head almost imperceptibly. He drew a deep breath and, with an effort, took heed of her warning. ‘You wish to hunt those bulls, sir?’
‘Ah, Courtney, you are not such a
‘I did not bring my rifle from Tandala.’
‘You do not need it. I am the one who will do the shooting.’
‘You wish me to accompany you unarmed?’
‘Is the sauce too rich for your stomach, Courtney? If so, you may remain in bed tomorrow or under it. Wherever you feel warmest and safest.’
‘When you hunt, I shall be at your side.’
‘I am pleased that we understand each other. It makes everything simpler, does it not?’ He drew on his cigar until the tip glowed brightly, then blew a perfect smoke-ring that rolled across the table towards Leon’s face. Leon poked a finger through its centre and broke it before it reached him.
Eva intervened smoothly to quench the rising flames of their tempers. ‘Otto, what was that beautiful flat-topped mountain you flew us over this afternoon?’
‘Tell us about it, Courtney,’ he commanded.
‘It is called Lonsonyo Mountain, a sacred site to the Masai, and the home of one of their most powerful spiritual leaders. She is a seer who is able to divine the future with amazing accuracy.’ Leon did not look in Eva’s direction as he replied.
‘Oh, Otto!’ she exclaimed. ‘That must have been the woman we saw coming out of the largest hut. What is her name, this prophetess?’
‘You are amused by all this magical mumbo-jumbo, silly one?’ Graf Otto asked indulgently.
‘You know I love to have my fortune told.’ She smiled prettily and the last of his anger evaporated. ‘Don’t you remember the Gypsy woman in Prague? She told me my heart truly belonged to a strong loving man, who would cherish me always. That was you, of course!’
‘Of course. Who else could it have been?’
‘Otto, what is her name, this diviner?’
He turned from her and raised a ginger eyebrow at Leon. ‘Her name is Lusima, sir.’ Leon had learned how to play this game of elliptical questions and answers.
‘How well do you know her?’ Graf Otto demanded.
Leon laughed lightly. ‘She has adopted me as her son so we are well enough acquainted.’
‘Ha, ha! If she has adopted you, it seems she is not a woman of good judgement. However . . .’ Graf Otto spread his hands in surrender as he gazed at Eva ‘. . . I see that I will have no peace until I agree to this whimsy of yours. Very well, I will take you to visit this old woman of the mountain to have your fortune told.’
‘Thank you so much, Otto.’ Eva stroked the back of his hand. Leon felt an acidic flood of jealousy burn the lining of his stomach. ‘Now you see that the Prague Gypsy was right. You are so kind to me. When will you take me there? After you have hunted these buffalo of yours, perhaps?’
‘We shall see,’ Graf Otto hedged, and changed the subject. ‘Courtney, I will be ready at daybreak. It is no more than a few kilometres to where we last saw that herd. I wish to arrive before the sun is up.’
The hushed world was waiting for the sun and the chill of the night was still in the air when Graf Otto parked the hunting car at the edge of the thicket of thorn scrub beyond the airstrip. One of his men had driven it to the camp overnight. Manyoro and Loikot were squatting before a smoky little fire of dry twigs, warming their hands. They kicked earth over the flames and stood up as Leon jumped out and came to them. ‘What do you have to tell me?’
‘After the moon went down we heard them drink at the waterhole near the camp. When we found the spoor this morning, we tracked them from the waterhole to here. They are close by in the thorn. Only a short while ago we heard them moving about in there,’ Manyoro reported, and went on, ‘They are truly very old and very ugly. Is Kichwa Muzuru sure that he wishes to shoot one?’ They had named Graf Otto ‘Fire Head’ for the colour of his hair and also for his apparent lack of fear, which the Masai admired greatly.
‘Yes, he is certain. I could not make him change his mind,’ Leon told him.
