Maori

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Where did it go?” Similar expressions of confusion came from all the tourists. Coffin glanced toward the rear of the boat, saw that Halifax was as baffled as anyone else.

  Another man pointed. “Toward the shore, there, where the mist rises. It went into the mist.”

  Except it hadn’t gone into the mist. It had simply disappeared. Coffin sat very close to Sophia. The old guide was staring out at the lake, hunting something which one minute had been plain as day, the next invisible as air.

  “You saw it,” he said to her in Maori.

  At first she didn’t seem to have heard him. Finally she blinked. “Yes, I saw it, Mr. Coffin.”

  “I didn’t think there were any canoes of that size and design anywhere on the lake.”

  “There are not.”

  It jibed with what he knew. There was no reason for any of the local tribes to have an ocean-going war canoe. Why haul such an enormous vessel overland, and to what purpose? Even on Lake Taupo, which was a good deal larger even than Tarawera, there was no need for a craft of that size.

  “Then what was it?”

  “An atua. A spirit. A very particular kind of spirit. You saw the feathers in their hair?” He nodded. “Emblems of death. Have you never heard, Mr. Coffin, of the waka-wairua? The death canoe?”

  He shook his head. After all these years there were still Maori secrets he knew nothing of. He nodded toward the excited tourists.

  “What are you going to tell them? The truth?”

  “No.” Sophia shook her head slowly. “They would not believe me anyway.”

  “It couldn’t have been an atua. I’ve seen illusions before. That was real. Eighteen people don’t experience the same hallucination.”

  “Then you tell me, Mr. Coffin. What was it?”

  He looked back at the empty lake. “I don’t know, Sophia. I don’t know.”

  Everyone was still talking about the vision when the boat pulled in to shore. At the same time another boat was arriving from a short cruise to the eastern side of the lake. It contained the usual complement of rowers, a smaller group of tourists, and guide Kate.

  Coaches stood waiting to convey the visitors back to their respective hotels, but everyone was too excited to board. Coffin stayed too, watching as Halifax mounted a tethered horse and rode briskly toward town. Everything was going as planned. Halifax would carry out his part of the scheme.

  So why was Coffin worried? Because he’d been one of the many witnesses to an elaborate hallucination?

  He was heading for his own mount when the conversation behind him intensified. Curious, he paused and looked back. The occupants of Sophia’s boat were talking to those from guide Kate’s. Torn between a desire to be on his way and an interest in what was being discussed, he rejoined the milling group. Besides, he wanted one more look at the priest’s drawing.

  Kelleher was showing his sketch of the death canoe to someone else. Coffin recognized Squire Martin. The man had made an extensive survey of the Rotorua District and considered himself something of an expert on the region.

  “Coffin. Did you see it too?” Martin asked him.

  Coffin frowned. “You mean, the people in your boat also saw it?” He found himself gazing unwillingly at the lake. “That’s crazy. We never saw your craft. You were at least a mile away from us.”

  “Nevertheless, we saw it.” Martin removed a piece of paper from his coat pocket and held it next to Kelleher’s. It was a hastily-drawn sketch of a large canoe.

  The same canoe. A mirror-image of the mirage.

  Why was he wasting his time with this nonsense? He should be concentrating on tonight. On how shocked and surprised he was going to act when the news of Valerie’s disappearance was made known.

  Everyone was going to need his support, and they would have it. Robert Coffin would be in the forefront of any search party, comforting Andrew, reassuring Merita, giving directions and bellowing orders while calling down imprecations on whoever had committed the foul deed. Oh yes, he would be very convincing. Even Andrew would believe him without hesitation. Andrew, on behalf of whose future he had formulated the elaborate plan.

  He tried to concentrate on details as he rode back to the house, but something else kept creeping into his thoughts: the image of the canoe. He could see it plainly in his mind, as clear and sharp of outline as it had been out on the lake.

  It had to have been a mirage. But mirages were only reflections of real objects far away, and a canoe of that size and design hadn’t been seen anywhere in years. More than twenty people, Maori and pakeha, had seen it.

  Abruptly his mount shied and he had to fight to steady her. Then he heard the noise, saw the leaves moving, the bushes trembling.

  Earthquake. A gentle one. Such tremors were common in this part of the world, with its bubbling hot springs, geysers and thermal pools.

  A shaking this strong was rare, though. At least they had been, until a year or so ago. Since then the district had experienced roughly one good jolt a month. Today’s lasted but a few seconds. Ordinarily he would have paid it no mind, but coming as it did on the heels of the canoe sighting it unsettled him badly.

  It was only when he drew within sight of home that he realized he’d been whipping his horse to an unnecessary gallop.

  6

  There was another mild quake during supper. It was hardly strong enough to cause Merita to look up from her plate. The servants ignored it. Coffin tried to.

  He hadn’t told anyone in the household about the mass sighting of the waka-wairua. He was tense enough already.

  He waited nervously for the ground to move again. As the evening passed and the ground remained stable, he was able to relax a little. He tried to lose himself in the book he was trying to read: one of the American James Cooper’s frontier novels. Merita sat in the big chair opposite his, the two of them flanking the blaze in the fireplace as she worked quietly at her sewing. They did not have the advantage of the natural steam-heating that the citizens of Rotorua enjoyed.

  It was late when Merita looked up from her fine needlepoint. “Robert, it is good that you find what you are reading so fascinating, but it would be nice to hear from you now and then. I have never seen you read with such single-minded intensity as you have these past few days.”

  “Really?” He lowered the tome and glanced at the clock, then changed the subject. “It’s getting on. Andrew should be here by now.”

  “No he should not. You know that he and Valerie are having dinner at the hotel. He will stay as long as he desires. I am surprised to see you worried. The road is not long and Andrew knows it well.” She leaned forward, to peer out a window. “There is ample moonlight for him to ride by.”

  “I know, but I still worry.” Though he could hardly tell her what he was really worrying about. “Maybe I should send one of the servants after him.”

  She smiled. “You know what Andrew would have to say about that, don’t you?” She rose from her chair, holding her needlepoint. “I am going upstairs. I have some things to do and will be back down soon. Go to sleep in your chair if you wish. And don’t worry. Andrew will be back before you know it. You should have more confidence in your son.”

  She walked over to kiss him. He returned her embrace, watched her fondly as she exited the room. Still graceful, still full of energy, still beautiful, he told himself. The past quarter-century had been kind to her, the brush of age only highlighting her extraordinary beauty—whereas he had gone from handsome to simply old.

  Merita preferred to call him “rugged,” though Coffin wasn’t really vain enough to care.

  He took another look at the clock. Though Merita had no way of knowing it, his concern for the time had nothing to do with his son’s safety. There were no highwaymen in this part of the country. The few die-hard Hau Hau who still held out in the deepest forests had been reduced to the status of bandits. Even the Maori shunned them.

  No, he was worried because the longer Andrew remained in Valerie’s company
, the longer Halifax and his men must delay their work and the less time they would have to ride to Tauranga before morning.

  Andrew should not be a problem, though. Coffin planned to keep his son occupied and away from town. Discussion, sleep, celebration, drink—anything to keep him at the house until Halifax was safely away.

  He thought he heard the large castiron knocker boom against the front door. Odd, he thought. Andrew wouldn’t knock, and it was hardly the hour for a friendly visit. The buzz of what sounded like a violent argument filled the hall outside the parlor. Not Halifax, surely. Something else unexpected.

  As he was rising from his chair the doors parted. The butler stood there, apologetic and upset, with a well-dressed gentleman waiting behind him.

  “I am truly sorry, sir. I tried to tell him that it was too late for strangers to call, but.…”

  The man stepped forward, his face partly in shadow. “I’m no bloody stranger.”

  Coffin grunted, peered hard at the intruder. Something about the other man’s voice made him frown. The visitor was fifty-odd, tall, prosperous by the cut of his clothes and straight of bearing.

  “It must be something important, sir,” he said formally, “to bring you out so late.”

  “It’s important, all right.”

  That rough tone! Coffin tried unsuccessfully to place it. A South Island burr, perhaps, but he wasn’t sure. He remembered they were not alone and spoke to the butler.

  “It’s all right, Edward. I’ll handle this.”

  “Very well, sir.” The butler regarded the visitor with unmistakable dislike.

  “Anyone who feels the need to barge into another man’s house in the middle of the night must have something urgent on his mind.” The visitor simply smiled at that and handed his hat and muffler to the butler, who took them with obvious reluctance and silently closed the doors behind him.

  “Come in then, sir,” Coffin said graciously. “What brings you here? You have the look of a tourist come to view the terraces, but not the manner of one.”

  “I am no tourist.” The man was still grinning, though without evident humor. “You don’t recognize me, do you? Well, I suppose that’s not surprising. It would’ve been foolish to expect otherwise.”

  Coffin’s vision was sharp as ever. What kind of deception was this? He’d never cared for riddles, far less so in the middle of the night, in his own house. This fellow had best have a reason for his nocturnal intrusion or Coffin intended to see to it that he left by the seat of his pants instead of on his feet.

  “I’m afraid you’re right. I don’t know you.”

  “Just as well.” He was surveying the parlor, examining it, appraising. “You’ve made a lot of changes.”

  “Changes? I think you’d better explain yourself, sir. You try my hospitality.”

  The fellow acts as if he owns the place, Coffin mused. Either he’s supremely confident in what he’s come to say or else he’s all brass.

  “It’s been a while. Harder for me to visit than it used to be, since you began spending so much time here. Have to have my assignations elsewhere.”

  Now Coffin was fully on guard, though outwardly he exhibited no change in voice or posture. Clearly this man was no casual traveler. Not only his words but his manner proved that. But then what was he? Not that Coffin was worried. There were two loaded pistols in the drawer of the reading table two steps away and he was still a crack shot.

  “What are you raving about, fellow?”

  “Raving?” The smile vanished. “I know this house as well as you, Robert Coffin.”

  “If you are an escaped maniac, sir, you are the best-dressed one I’ve ever encountered. Who are you? You have the advantage of me.”

  “I’ve had the advantage of you for years, Coffin, only you didn’t know it.”

  “How do you come to know my house and how it has changed?”

  “In time I’ll tell you. But first a name. You should recognize it easier than you do my person. It’s Kinnegad.”

  Coffin’s gaze narrowed. “What? What’s that you say?”

  “Kinnegad. Surely you’ve not forgotten the name as well?”

  There was silence except for the crackle of the fire. Coffin was staring straight at the visitor, slowly shaking his head. “That’s insane,” he muttered.

  “Insane? If sanity be at stake here tonight it will not be mine—Father.”

  “I thought you were dead.” Coffin’s voice had dropped to a tense whisper.

  “Might as well have been, for all you cared.”

  The ground was not shaking, but Coffin was. He felt his way back to the chair, sat down heavily as he regarded his implacable visitor. “I—I never would have recognized you.” The pistols in the drawer, the intricate plans for the evening—all forgotten now as he stared.

  Flynn Kinnegad laughed then, the sound of sandpaper on splintered wood. “How could you? You don’t care about anything or anyone except yourself.” He spread his arms and pivoted neatly. “As you can see, Father, we’ve both done well despite your indifference.”

  Coffin said nothing.

  “In fact,” Kinnegad continued, “I’d say I’m doing better just now than you. Coffin House has been having some problems lately, hasn’t it? A business deal gone sour here, some unexpected and unreasonable competition somewhere else?” When the elder Coffin still didn’t reply, Kinnegad shifted his attention to the portrait of Merita, which adorned the mantle. “Those problems, Father? I must admit I’m responsible for most of them.”

  That finally provoked a response. “You? How could you be?”

  “Because I’m Redline, Father. The relentless competitor who’s more interested in market share than profits? That’s me. And half a dozen other companies as well. I’ve worked long and hard to make things as difficult for you as possible. That’s nothing compared to the trouble I’m going to cause you in a little while.

  “Twenty-five years I’ve been preparing for this day, biding my time, restraining the urge to confront you directly. It’s not easy to wait twenty-five years for a moment of truth, you know? You must admit I’ve done well at hiding myself, concealing my identity behind a dozen interlocking corporate boards. I doubt if half my own subordinates know who their real boss is. It takes time to place trustworthy people in strategic positions, not only within my own concerns but within yours as well. Oh yes, I’ve been responsible for any number of little difficulties you’ve experienced over the past years, though I couldn’t give you any new gray hairs. Those you had always.”

  Coffin was thinking furiously. The unexpected collapse of a trading venture in Melbourne, the loss of his irreplaceable number-three man to Scotland, the bankruptcy of a lumber company and sawmill in Christchurch: all catastrophes for which there had been no obvious explanation. He mentioned them to his visitor and each time the younger man nodded complacently.

  “Yes, those were me. Every one of them. Except for the sinking of the packet Victoria. I had nothing to do with that, though I praise Nature as my ally.”

  “Your ally in what?” Coffin inquired cautiously.

  “Why, my life’s work, which is to reduce you to nothing. To lay you low. To bring you down to the miserable level I lived at when you abandoned my mother, my sister, and myself.”

  “I abandoned no one!” For the first time since he’d learned the intruder’s identity Coffin spoke sharply. He found himself thinking back, back through the years, to make certain he got it right. “We had—an argument. Your mother was a very stubborn, hard-headed woman.”

  “Oh yes, she was that.”

  “She was the one who made the final break. Not me. I never wanted that.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Flynn sneered. “You wanted to keep screwing her on the side while you lived the proper married gentleman with your fancy lady from England. A mistress in the country and your wife in the city. That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” He spat on the fine carpet. “You know, I’m glad you didn’t gi
ve me your name.”

  Suddenly feeling his years, Coffin slumped back into the chair. He found himself unable to meet the stare of the man who called himself his son.

  “How did Mary die? Your mother.”

  “That’s right. Sometimes I forget you never heard. Syphilis.”

  “God.” Coffin’s eyes closed tight. “When she fled the burning of Kororareka I lost track of her.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you exhausted yourself in your efforts to find her and apologize.”

  Coffin’s eyes snapped open. He gripped the arms of the chair with both hands. “Flynn, listen to me. It was your mother who made the break between us. It was her who sailed away without leaving word. She made it plain she wanted nothing more to do with me and I—I was pig-headed enough in those days to take her at her word. After Kororareka I tried to find her, but it wasn’t a simple matter in those days to search this country. Kororareka’s refugees scattered in many directions.”

  “There weren’t that many people in this country then, either. If you’d really wanted to you could have found us.”

  “Don’t you understand!” Coffin rose angrily. “She didn’t want me to find her! Why should I have broken myself to find someone who’d made it plain she never wanted to see me again?”

  “I don’t believe that. I can’t believe it. This is just some story you’ve invented to assuage your own guilt. Even if it’s true, what about us? Sally and me? We didn’t drive you away. Did you ever give a thought to us, Father? To what we might be going through? Mother was full of love, but she was never much of a provider, bless her poor, sad soul. Didn’t you wonder about your children’s situation?”

  “What could I have done?” said Coffin earnestly. “Even if I’d managed to find you? Stolen you away from your mother? That would have made things ten times worse.”

  “Worse for whom, Father?” Flynn asked bitterly. “For us—or for you?”

  Coffin looked toward the fire. “I won’t take the blame for what happen all those years ago. It was Mary’s decision, dammit! I won’t suffer for it.”

  “Oh, but you will. Tomorrow I instruct my bankers to commence a complex series of sales and acquisitions. I’ve been planning them for the last ten years. When all is done Coffin Ltd. will be but a memory, a footnote in the economic history of this country. And you, Father, will be as broken and destitute as were we when mother died in our filthy little hovel. Others will suffer as well. That is unfortunate but unavoidable. In a financial panic it’s impossible to single out one company for destruction.”