Beyond Mombasa by Frank Coates

Author:Frank Coates
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

PRESTON WAS DOWN THE LINE at Voi, finishing the turning triangle, when Singh’s body was found. On his return to railhead in the gathering gloom of late afternoon, he climbed down from the carriage into a silent throng of coolies lining his path to the mess tent.

Sharaf Din made him tea and described the situation. ‘Mr Turk found him. They say the beasts dragged him from his tent.’

‘What do you mean beasts?’

‘Mr Turk says there were two! And there was a tug-of-war between them. Poor Singh’s body was torn and chewed. Except for the head.’ Sharaf’s bushy white eyebrows knotted above his sharp green eyes. ‘It was found a long way from the body.’

Preston sipped his tea, feeling worse now that he knew the details. There was something obscene about it which seemed to make the tragedy worse. It was as if he had been twice murdered.

The old man continued in a hushed voice. ‘And Colonel Patterson carried the head into camp.’

‘He did what?’

‘Buried the body under some stones, and brought the head to the doctors’ tent.’

Preston was stunned but kept his thoughts to himself. Perhaps there was an explanation for Patterson’s bizarre behaviour. A matter of medical identification. But he couldn’t help wondering if this was not another of the colonel’s tricks to underline his authority. Perhaps his personal staff, simple men seeking truth in all manner of events, would read into it the ultimate fate awaiting a failure of duty. The incident of the India-rubber bath would be on their minds. Preston wished he could feel more anger. Instead, this tragedy, Singh’s ultimate indignity, profoundly saddened him.

At the mess tent door he paused. The coolies were still there, waiting in silence for him to pass. Waiting, perhaps, for him to show some sign that all was well. He looked above their heads at the towering cumulus clouds, red against the gathering dusk. A roll of distant thunder reminded him that the rain was late. Every few days the clouds would gather, tease them, and disappear without a drop.

Preston felt stifled by the crowd and the brooding heat of the evening. Sharaf Din waved his arms and pushed to clear a path for him. Finally, at Preston’s tent, he threatened to see them off with his stick. The coolies grumbled and began to drift away.

Florence greeted him in silence, touching her lips to his cheek. He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze before going to his chest at the back of the tent.

She lit the lantern and watched in silence as he put the bundle on the bed. The Winchester had lain untouched in its oiled shroud since the elephant kill near Makindu. He unrolled the canvas wrap, clicked open the shiny mahogany box and took out the rifle and its cleaning rod.

The thrill he had felt each time he previously had held the weapon was gone. The way the Winchester sat in his hands with perfectly balanced weight had always satisfied his engineer’s soul.

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