by A. W. Exley
Miguel answered without taking his eyes from those seated on the grass. “From what I understand, each family will either ask to stay in Matanui or declare their desire to go elsewhere. The tribe will weigh their skills to see if it is one that will complement the town or not.”
One man clutching a piece of paper found his courage, wrapped an arm around his wife, and dragged her to stand in front of Hone. Three children followed behind. Loki remembered them—the children were the ones he had considered tossing off the walkway for their constant refrain of ‘Are we there yet?’
“Warren Hines, um, sir.” How did one address a Maori chief? The settlers were used to the rigid social structure of England and tugging their forelocks at their superiors. How did you look up to someone seated on the ground at your feet? “I have a, um, lease on an area of land to the east of here for me and my family.”
Hone meet the man’s gaze. “What gifts do you bring to this land?”
“Gifts?” The man’s eyes widened.
“Skills,” Taylor interjected. “Hone wishes to know what skills and abilities you bring to the settlement and how you intend to manage the land.”
“Oh.” The tension in the man’s shoulders eased as he grasped the question. “Back home I was a sheep farmer. I want to breed sheep for meat and wool. Lizzie—that’s my wife—she’s a fine spinner and can turn the wool into fabric on her loom or yarn for knitting.”
Hone stroked his chin. An elder leaned over and whispered in his ear. Hone gave a slow nod of his head as he considered the advice from his council.
“We do not have a sheep farmer yet. This is good. Will your wife teach our women to use this loom or yarn?”
Warren and Lizzie exchanged a quick glance and she nodded her head.
“I would be happy to share what I know,” she said in a quiet voice, as though unused to being asked her opinion.
At a hand signal from Hone, a Maori woman rose and escorted the new family to one side and welcomed them into their new community. A ripple of relief ran through the crowd that the family hadn’t been thrown into a gigantic cooking pot along with potatoes and carrots.
The next family stepped forward and answered questions about what they had done in England and how they planned to support themselves in the new country. Loki understood the genius behind the process of sorting through the immigrants. Find settlers with abilities that enriched the Maori way of life, those whose skills that could be traded and learned so that everyone advanced and benefited. Only one question lingered in his mind, waiting to be answered: What would the Maori make of the idle aristocracy, whose best talent was often drinking to excess and spending their inheritance?
The group slowly dwindled as each family presented themselves. Some people wished to go elsewhere in the country, and they formed a smaller sub-group off to one side. They would wait for a coach to Christchurch and a growing town that more closely resembled familiar England, not this quiet rural town surrounded by a slumbering forest.
Next to step forward was a minor aristocrat and his wife. In their late forties, they seemed an odd choice to turn their back on Old Blighty and head halfway around the globe.
“What did they do, do you think?” Miguel asked. The couple clung to each other as though they had been deposited on a desert island and now waited to be either brutally savaged by hostile natives or eaten by sharks.
Loki huffed a soft laugh. The passengers on the Jenny Elle had all been vetted, and this particular couple paid a large sum for their berth. “From my enquiries, a rather juicy scandal involving greyhounds, his valet, and a quantity of missing jewellery. He either left the country voluntarily or stayed and faced charges and then transportation to Australia.”
Miguel swallowed a snort. “Sounds like the plot for a good novel.”
“He’ll have plenty of time to write it now. Perhaps he could recover his fortune that way.”
“What gifts do you bring to this land?” Hone asked, his gaze boring into the haughty aristocrat.
Delight bubbled up in Loki’s chest. He suspected things were about to get interesting.
5
The noble couple narrowed their eyes and peered down at the chief. Hone ignored them and turned to converse with the elder on his right. The aristocrat straightened his spine and brushed his wife off his arm. “I am Lord Reginald August. I am the gift to this land. My wife and I intend to add an air of culture and civilisation to this Godforsaken backwater."
Loki sucked in a breath and clucked his tongue. The man had his head so far up his own derriere he couldn’t see that a young country needed a skilled population, not parasitic layabouts. He could have at least presented himself as a scholar willing to teach reading, writing, and arithmetic. Or in the case of this particular parasite, how to read the greyhound race sheet.
The elders on either side of Hone leaned in for a whispered conversation. Murmurs washed over the assembled crowd but no words were distinguishable to Loki's ears. Heads were shaken in a pitying manner and hand gestures made. Perhaps they were discussing potential uses for the couple, like digging potato trenches.
“What of your wife? What work does she do?” one of the elders asked.
Lady August swooned and caught at her husband. “Work?”
“What do you take us for, dirty-faced nobodies? We do not work; we have servants in our employ who labour for us to see that our needs are met.” Lord August propped his wife up, his face turning red at the idea they should undertake work.
Hone rolled his eyes and waved his hand. “You have no servants here. If you cannot toil with your own hands, then you are not wanted. Find a home with another tribe who does not mind the lack of dirt under your fingernails.”
Lady August sobbed as her glass world shattered around her. Apparently it was a rude wake-up call to find out you have no real value in society. Lord August had the traditional stoic upper lip as they were cast on the mercy of another tribe.
“Veto.” Colonel Austin spoke in a clear tone from his chair.
“If you are certain,” Hone replied. “But they are under your care, not ours. They will not benefit from our labour.”
Austin shrugged. “Very well. Unlike savages, we know how to treat the nobility and there is always a place at my table for refined company.”
Two soldiers in smart red uniforms stepped forward and escorted the noble couple to the English side of the gathering. Someone produced a portable chair for Lady August, who looked on the verge of collapse.
“What was that about?” Loki edged nearer to Taylor to ask his question.
“The colonel has one right of veto per intake of settlers. He can allow a family to stay that the tribe has rejected, but he becomes responsible for them. He must now feed and clothe them from his own pocket.”
“Not who I would waste a veto on,” Loki murmured.
Next up were the three sisters who had driven him into hiding on the airship. Now that he had more room to run, he was considering letting them chase him again.
It transpired that the sisters had considerable musical ability, which they were delighted to demonstrate. They captivated the Maori and were welcomed to Matanui. Watching their practiced smiles and the sway of their hips, Loki suspected their talents leaned more toward burlesque than opera. Now there was a business opportunity. The young country needed a burlesque club where hard-working men could relax and enjoy a quiet drink and charming company. Ideas ticked over in his mind as the remainder of the settlers were either welcomed, dismissed, or moved on.
There was minimal interaction between the official British presence and the locals. At the end of the process, Colonel Austin stood and a soldier rushed forward to snap up his chair. Without a backward glance, the army officer mounted his horse. From the saddle he gave instructions for the Augusts’ luggage to be collected, then he turned his horse toward his quarters. Soldiers marched away and a bewildered-looking couple of peers trailed behind.
The Maori mingled with the newest members of the town a
nd fledging bonds of friendship were extended as children ran around their legs.
“What happens now?” Loki asked as he scanned the smiling faces. Paniha stood beside Hone and waved to a toddler clutching a cloth doll. Then the Maori couple left and Loki watched them disappear back amongst the trees.
“We have a big feast tonight to celebrate the new arrivals. Bring an appetite.” Taylor beamed.
Loki watched people disperse and pondered the ways of life so far from any civilising touch. He could appreciate the practical way things were run. This just might be his sort of country, if he were ever to set down roots. He was a hawk, after all, not a tree.
What Loki had thought of as the village green now turned into a Maori kitchen. Earlier that morning, deep trenches had been dug and fires built within them. Now they buried the hangi for the feast with the heated rocks and embers. He stayed for over an hour, watching as wrapped bundles were placed in the ground and buried.
With the strange sorting ceremony concluded, and the immigrants settling into their new surrounds, Loki decided to explore. In particular, the Maori fortification on the hilltop called to him. Or was it his affinity for high perches making him want to survey the forest and land from the mountain peak? Not that there was much to see as he walked past, apart from disturbed earth, wispy strands of escaped steam, and chatting women.
He followed the main road, which narrowed and soon turned into a track that wound its way around the hill. He decided to take the scenic route, walking straight up and through the terraced gardens. On each level the Maori cultivated the ground and grew a variety of vegetables. On a level where plants climbed frames built of sticks, he spotted Miguel and Marika. The two youths smiled and chatted quietly as they walked amongst the mounded potatoes and other green plants Loki couldn’t identify.
“I may need your assistance, Marika. I’m heading up to ask your chief about the trade goods I need to acquire,” Loki said as he caught up to them.
“If Hone is free, he and the elders will hear your proposal,” Marika said.
The youths fell into step with Loki as they walked up the hill.
The Maori village, or pa, was constructed like a fortified castle, but made of wood and sticks instead of stone. It had stockades, trenches that could be fitted with sharpened poles, and ramparts to protect the sides from enemy attack. Tall lookout platforms soared in two corners. As they walked under the open gateway, Loki counted the spots along the wall that would serve as places to fight should the need arise. Like if the soldiers down in the town got bored with watching sheep and waiting for the mail carriage.
Personal huts, communal buildings, and stilt-legged food storage structures were clustered around the inside of the fence. While Loki could appreciate the village’s military capabilities, what struck him most was the sense of community within its walls. Everywhere were running children, laughing as they played or ran some errand for their parents. Women sat on woven mats and chatted as they worked, their nimble fingers constantly busy weaving, sewing, or preparing a meal.
Hone sat outside a large, low-roofed building. The front timbers were decorated with ornate carvings and squat characters with their tongues poking out. Under the protection of the wide verandah, men of varying ages were arrayed around the chief, and they appeared to be in the midst of a heated discussion. Voices rose and fell along with hands as they emphasised a point in the lyrical language.
“This is our marae, or meeting house,” Marika whispered. Then she approached and waited to be noticed.
Loki nearly charged past her, but she waved a hand at him to wait. That rankled. Was this how they treated their women? Most English women who would have walked right up to Hone and tapped him on the nose. He knew very few women who would stand quietly, waiting.
Hone fixed his dark gaze on Marika and asked a question in a far lighter tone than the one he had just used with the man to his left. She replied, and the warrior’s gaze shifted to Loki. The pirate found himself subject to the same appraising stare the man had given during the welcoming ceremony and the sorting of settlers. He had the sense of being judged, but not knowing if he passed or was found wanting.
Then the large man grunted and pointed to the mat. “Captain Hawke, if you have something to discuss, then sit and we will listen.”
Loki dropped to his knees but blurted out the question on his mind. “Why did you leave Marika standing like that? She is no servant for you to ignore.”
Hone arched one black brow. “Is it not a sign of respect to wait for a pause in a conversation, rather than charging in like a screaming pig?”
Well, he supposed that was another way of looking at it. He still didn’t like quiet women who waited to be noticed.
Hone swept a hand around the wider group of people. “Here we treat each other with respect. Is that not something the English do?”
A ripple of laughter came from the other men.
“I’m not used to respect being given without being earned or fought for.” These people were savages, yet they sought to school him in how to treat one another? Or perhaps it stuck in his throat that no one had ever offered him respect unless he seized it by the throat.
“You wish to trade?” Hone rested one elbow on his bent knee, his entire focus on Loki.
“I would establish a trading base here, if you can facilitate what we require.” Business deals were made in dark clubs over a brandy. It didn’t seem right to sit on the ground outside while children laughed and skipped past. Some were even trying to fly a kite in the light breeze. His fingers itched to help them launch it down the slope.
“What do you offer in exchange, or are you like the other pakeha and expect to simply take the bounty of our land and oceans?” Hone’s gaze narrowed and his tone hardened.
Loki suspected there was a fair amount of bad blood between the Maori and the British troops—to be expected when the latter turned up and tried to seize the land from the former. Plundering a new country did tend to make subsequent relations fraught.
“The Lyons company wishes to work with the Maori, to see if we can both profit. We have no interest in being soldiers or making enemies.” Not to mention, if Nate did decide to storm New Zealand he would be more successful than the British soldiers. Although he couldn’t imagine why they would want to possess the country. It might be rich in natural resources but it lacked modern entertainments and conveniences. Like indoor plumbing and decent lighting.
“Whenua and moana provide all that we need.” The chief sounded offended to think their settlement might not compare to anything back in Europe.
Miguel and Marika worked as translators, whispering that whenua and moana were the land and ocean. Loki rubbed his goatee. “You need nothing? No trinkets for your women?”
Hone barked in laughter. “You would dangle beads before us with one hand and snatch our land with the other?”
“No trinkets then.” He marshalled his thoughts. What would motivate these people? If not trinkets, then what? The idea hit him like a brick. Technology. “What of English inventions that would make your life easier? Perhaps your own airship to trade with other tribes or to travel this country? We have contraptions that harness the sun and wind to generate electricity, which provides light in the dark and heat when it’s cold.”
Hone’s nostrils flared and interest sparked in his gaze. Loki congratulated himself on picking the right type of bead to dangle. Advancement. Matanui could be the most advanced town in New Zealand, which would increase the prestige of both town and chief.
Soft words flowed between the men and their chief before Hone answered. “You would trade one of those large mechanical kereru?”
“What’s a kereru?” Loki waited for his translators to supply the meaning, but a quick glanced showed they had moved away to hold their own whispered conversation.
“Kereru is a fat lazy bird. It flies low and slow, making a regular beat with its wings. Like the creature you came in on, but far smaller.” Hone turned his
hands into a bird that hovered in the air while he made a soft whump whump noise.
“The Jenny Elle is for travelling long distances between countries and around the world, but we could certainly provide you with a smaller airship that you can operate yourself.” Lucky Nate operated his own airship factories. It wouldn’t be too hard to make one to their requirements, and the long-range aircraft had a hold big enough to contain a smaller version of itself.
“Provide us with a mechanical kereru and we will trade with you,” Hone said.
It was an expensive trade, but worth it to establish a long-term base here with access to natural resources. “I’ll confirm details with those back in England and let you know how quickly I can have one ready for you.”
“Good.”
Loki rose and held out his hand to Hone, expecting to shake on the deal. But Hone grasped him mid-forearm. Loki did likewise and they clasped hands as two warriors. Warm and strong, the large Maori flowed with power. His gaze stripped away the layers of Loki’s soul, and he wondered what the other man saw within him.
Once dismissed, Loki cast around for his wayward first mate, who seemed to have disappeared. His attention was drawn to a group of women returning from their work on the terraces. Woven baskets rested on their hips, full of vegetables. The others disappeared into a mist as he saw only one amongst them.
Paniha drew his eye with more than her exotic beauty and enticing curves. There was a pull about her presence, as though she were the sun and he just an orbiting moon. Her laughter was a pure note, much like when she sang. He wanted to kiss her throat as she spoke to taste whatever magic was contained in her voice.
“Paniha,” he murmured her name as he approached. Her skin was the colour of a strong coffee with the warmth of chocolate. She was exactly the brew he was seeking to make the stay in this country palatable.
She turned upon hearing her name and frowned at him. “Yes?”
Yes. There was an excellent start. All he had to do now was steer her away to a private corner far from her friends. Or they could watch if they wanted to learn a thing or two. Or join in. He was open to all sorts of permutations.