Paniha's Taniwha: The Artifact Hunters 3.5

by A. W. Exley

  Hone’s gaze darkened. “Good. That means you will have to return to us.”

  A chill washed over his skin. Probably just the sweat drying after the exertion. Or was there another, deeper meaning to Hone’s words?

  12

  Loki collected the empty beer bottles and placed them in a wooden crate. Their stores needed replenishing due to his nightly ritual of a quiet drink and an introspective conversation with Miguel. The youth was the breathing embodiment of Loki’s long-silent conscience. For the first time in his life, he had the luxury of quiet moments to examine his past, present, and future—although what he stirred up made him wish for the non-stop noise of his usual routine. Exploring the depths of his mind was like splashing around in puddles: He got wet but it didn’t seem to achieve anything.

  The ache in his chest remained. Nothing seemed to shift it; if anything, it grew and gnawed at more of his torso. Seeing happy couples made him grumpy and when he thought about the impending celebration of Hone and Paniha's marriage, the ache became a sharp stab.

  Blasted country is going to be the death of me. The sooner he loaded up the Jenny Elle and returned to England the better. Loki shook his head and picked up the crate of empties. New Zealand would either give him a fatal heart attack or drive him insane with all the time he spent rattling around inside his head.

  He walked across the field, calling out greetings to the traders and other townsfolk going about their business. It would take time to set up their outpost, for word to spread and establish the network they needed. Over the coming months, he and Nate intended to grow Matanui into a bustling trading town for goods imported from England and the rest of the world.

  James Taylor had ridden to Christchurch to see what connections he could make in the larger settlement. Men from the southern goldfields headed to Christchurch to hand over their nuggets, seeking a better price. Taylor was going to try and encourage them to head a little further north with their precious cargo. At the same time he was going to canvas the shopkeepers and find out what they desperately needed from back home. Christchurch had been established as a little England, and the residents wanted whatever was fashionable in London, despite being thousands of miles away.

  Loki strolled the main street and hopped up the steps into the quiet tavern. The regulars played cards in a secluded corner and nodded their heads in his direction. Joining their game would have to wait until later. He had a few things to achieve before he relaxed today—like doing his own spot of digging about the murdered men.

  He swung the crate on the bar. “Refills, please.”

  “Good to see you enjoying the local brew.” The manager removed the empty bottles and placed them under the counter.

  “It packs a punch. I shall miss it when we leave.” Loki made a note to secure a crate or two for his own enjoyment on the return trip.

  “When do you head back to England?” Voices were a soft murmur in the tavern, which seemed unusually quiet. A lone chair sat in the middle of the stage as though a performer had abandoned it mid-routine.

  “Soon. We don’t have enough cargo yet and I want to get to the bottom of the recent deaths.” It had become a personal mission to find the mysterious ‘bear’ responsible for the deaths. Loki’s gut said a man’s hand was behind the clawed torsos, but whose?

  The bar manager made a noise in the back of his throat. “Nasty business, that.”

  “What can you tell me about our two unfortunates, Dudley and Alder?” He ditched the soft approach and jumped straight in.

  The man paused, one empty bottle in his hand. “Nice enough fellows. They’ll be missed around here.”

  Which was the same scant information Miguel had turned up. A pair of upstanding citizens with no obvious reasons for the fatal gashes in their chests. “Any arguments with either the other settlers or the Maori?”

  The barman screwed up his face as he thought. “Loggers like Dudley get a bit of stick from the older natives. They’re not happy to see the trees cut down. But that’s progress, isn’t it? Can’t have livestock without somewhere for them to graze.”

  The Maori were protective of their forests; was that a possible motive? “How unhappy are the elders?”

  Another shrug. “Minor grumbles, I guess? They want beef and lamb and that means turning forest into pasture. And there’s plenty of trees, isn’t there? Whole bloody country is one giant forest, apart from a few paddocks. It’s not like Dudley was going to personally fell it all overnight.”

  “What about Alder? Any connection between the two?” Loki hoped for a juicy spot of scandal. Maybe the two men had secretly been fighting over the same woman. A close-knit community like this was bound to have something simmering under the surface.

  The barman’s gaze lit up. “Oh, yes.”

  Bingo.

  “They wanted to build a fishing boat together.” He pulled full bottles from under the counter and set them in the crate.

  “What?” Loki frowned. The conversation had just taken an unexpected turn. He’d angled for a nibble on his line, but he wasn’t looking for an actual fish.

  The last bottle went into the wooden box. The barman grabbed a notebook and pencil next and added the tally to Loki’s account. “Not a big ship like the whalers use, but a smaller vessel for fishing inshore. Alder thought there was a growing market in Christchurch for seafood. The two planned to fish out here and then dock in Lyttelton once a week to sell their catch. They were going to make their fortune.”

  Loki wrapped his hands around the box of beer. “Anyone else involved in their venture?”

  The barman rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and then shook his head. “Not that I can recollect. Sorry.”

  Would you kill two men over a possible fishing venture? It was a tenuous motive. It was also a triangle with only two sides; he still needed to find the missing piece. “Thanks. You’ve given me something to think about.”

  Loki took his beer and stepped out onto the verandah. Outside life continued as usual. A sense of unease permeated the town, but livelihoods still needed to be earned. Men had jobs to perform and women had children to raise and gardens to tend. People walked a little faster and kept their eyes downcast but life hadn’t stopped. Well, except for two particular individuals.

  “Hello Captain,” a soft voice spoke from his side.

  Loki set the beer down on a bench seat and turned to find one of the sisters from the trip out. He couldn’t for the life of him remember her name. The three were all named similarly: Hettie, Bettie and Lettie? Or was it Annie, Fannie and Nannie? Quite apart from not recollecting the trio's names, he couldn’t remember which particular one she was. They had all blended into each other in the dim confines of various cramped spaces on the airship.

  “Settled in, have you?” He avoided the identity problem by skipping her name entirely.

  “Yes. My sisters and I have been employed by the tavern owner. We’re going to put on a regular stage show. The traders seem most appreciative of our talents.” She walked across the timbers with a sway to her hips.

  “I bet they are.” Enterprising women could make easy money by taking it from the sweaty palms of lonely men.

  She stalked closer to him and ran her hand around his waist, then trailed her fingers down the side of his leg as she passed.

  Loki tried to ignore the wandering hands and scanned the people on the street. Where would Miguel and Marika have got to? He had questions about fishing and whether that was also controlled by the Maori and treaty provisions. The sheet of parchment signed on behalf of Queen Victoria was the foundation that governed life between Maori and European.

  The woman ran her hand down the front of his trousers and made herself difficult to ignore. Her fingers outlined his member, which perked up at the attention. Her palm stroked up and down and roused him further.

  “I have so missed certain aspects of you, Captain,” she whispered. Her eyes shone with interest and she wet her lips. She leaned closer until her breasts
pressed against his side as her hand found a rhythm over the fabric of his trousers.

  Loki drew a lungful of air through his nose, inhaling as he closed his eyes. Pleasure was an old companion and so easy to grasp. One word and this willing partner would either drop to her knees or lift her skirts, depending on his preference. For a few minutes the turmoil in his head would be silenced as he pursued his release. The old Loki wouldn’t hesitate, but a twinge in his mind made him pause.

  He opened his eyes. Hone and Paniha walked down the street, her hand tucked in his larger one. Hone dropped his head to catch something she whispered at him. Then, as though sensing his presence, Hone looked up and across the dirt road to meet his gaze.

  The chief’s gaze flicked over the woman plastered against Loki’s side and the movements of her hand. He raised one eyebrow. Paniha turned her head and once she spotted him, a scowl settled over her brow. She spoke to Hone and then they both carried on their way.

  The blooming interest in Loki’s body withered under their stares and shrank when they turned away.

  If he kept doing the same thing, he would always be the same Loki. Shallow, selfish, thinking only of himself. A hollow clang echoed through his torso. When had this pit opened up inside him? A beast lurked there demanding to be fed, and it wanted a meal more substantial than fleeting pleasure. It wanted something he wasn’t even sure he was capable of—an emotional connection.

  He grabbed the woman’s wrist and pulled her hand away. “Sorry, love. Not really in the mood today.”

  She pouted and then shrugged one pale shoulder. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  Oh, he knew, and it gave him somewhere to avoid. He picked up the crate and jogged down the stairs. Then he headed up the road, toward the village green.

  “Hone, wait.” Loki caught up with the couple at the edge of the field. The beer shook and rattled in his grasp and he made a mental note to let the brew settle before he cracked one open. Or if he was feeling mischievous, he’d press one into Miguel’s hands first to see what happened.

  “Finished with the wahine already?” Paniha cast him a cool look.

  “I never started.” Loki gathered his thoughts. He was used to jealous women; you had to shrug them off when you had so many clamouring for a moment of your time. But the disapproving stare from Paniha stirred up something new in his gut. An emotion he hadn’t experienced before that made him uncomfortable inside. He squirmed like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. What was that emotion others felt when they had almost done something they shouldn’t? Ah. Now he remembered the label for it.

  Shame.

  “Change your mind, Kahu?” Hone was more curious as he asked his question. At least the chief would hear his side of events before passing judgement on him.

  “I found she wasn’t to my taste.” Loki set the crate on the grass at his feet and stared at the brown bottles as though they contained the answer to his problems.

  Paniha made a noise in the back of her throat and moved a little closer to Hone, but the harsh light dropped away from her gaze and was replaced by a more open curiosity.

  Hone chuckled. “Have you lost your appetite?”

  How to find the words to explain? He could have had the woman, easily. A quick swive on the verandah and he would have walked away whistling a tune. But it wouldn’t have fed the hunger within him. “No. I’m still hungry but my appetite has changed. I find I crave something different. I want a banquet, not a piece of dry bread.”

  “Perhaps it is not your body that needs feeding but your soul?” Hone’s dark gaze peered into Loki's own and stripped away his façade.

  Loki blew out a sigh. This was all too deep and philosophical for him. He’d rather ditch thinking and tangle tongues with the chief again. That would certainly wipe his mind clear and restart his stalled libido. He cast a glance at Paniha. What would it take to coax the voluptuous little prickly pear to join the two men? Now there was a feast that made his mouth water with anticipation.

  “Fishing,” he blurted to distract his mind. Another train of thought was gathering momentum and it needed to be derailed before he said something stupid, like ‘I want to feel your fingers around my throat.’ Or ‘your hand could squeeze somewhere lower.’ He’d take either from the warrior.

  Humour and curiosity danced in Hone’s gaze. “You have a hunger for fish?”

  He was regretting walking away from the woman at the tavern now. A quick dip in her ocean might have relieved some of the pressure building in his brain. He was a steam engine without a release valve and he might explode soon. “I wanted to talk to you about fishing. Dudley and Alder planned to build a small boat. Had they spoken to you about their intentions?”

  Hone cast around the field before his attention returned to Loki. “We spoke of their plans. The tribe had no issue with them fishing off the coast. There are plenty of fish in the ocean and their vessel could have benefited the whole community. Some of the younger men were keen to dive for kina and paua from their boat.”

  “We are guardians of moana and they agreed to fish in accordance with our ways,” Paniha said.

  “How do you protect an ocean?” Loki asked.

  Hone chuckled. “Like watching any flock. We asked that any fish smaller than their hand, from tip of finger to wrist, be returned to the ocean. Small fish must be left to grow into bigger fish to breed so the ocean will always be full.”

  “Ah.” That made sense. He never considered that fish could be farmed like other livestock. And if the tribe had agreed to the dead men’s plan to fish, it also meant he had hit another dead end.

  Hone laid a hand on his shoulder. The physical contact dampened some of the noise in Loki’s head. “You honour them, by seeking to find what killed them. But do not chase shadows of the dead and forget you are amongst the living.”

  Loki met Hone’s gaze. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. There are those who are always on my mind.” He just couldn’t figure out how to proceed. The idea of rejection made him indecisive, where he would normally be bold.

  Hone squeezed his shoulder then let go. Paniha tilted her head as she regarded him. She had soaked up the conversation and continued to inspect him. Loki rubbed his chin. The maiden stared at him as though he had forgotten to shave one side of his face, yet his goatee felt even on both sides to him.

  “Do I have something stuck in my moustache?” he asked.

  “You look different, Kahu. I like it.” A mysterious glimmer lit up her eyes, then she tugged Hone’s hand and pulled him toward the forest.

  Loki was left standing with his crate of beer, wondering what had changed about his appearance—or did she perceive something deeper?

  13

  Early evening saw Loki and Miguel observe their ritual of a few beers out on the verandah. In London, dark fell hard and fast, like blowing out a candle. In New Zealand, dusk lingered like a child that didn’t want to go to bed. The sun took its time dropping below the horizon, golden rays caressing the countryside and inching their way toward darkness.

  They sat in silence, watching the colours change in the world around them. The half-light cloaked the scenery in a deep gold that dropped through a spectrum of bronze and brass before reaching the obsidian of night. Birds roosted in the trees and their chatter diminished as the light faded. Miguel moved to light two lanterns on either side of the porch and then returned to his seat.

  Loki tried to sort through the turmoil in his mind. When he’d arrived in New Zealand he had a simple plan. Fill the hold with cargo and have lots of sex with a native woman or two. As soon as he had arrived and set eyes on Paniha he’d known she was the one he wanted to join in his nocturnal activities.

  Paniha rebuffed him but Hone called to him. A deep current of attraction ran between him and Hone, and it merged with his need to possess Paniha and created a tight ball of frustration in his gut. Over the course of his time in New Zealand, a slow fire had taken hold. It simmered and burned a little ho
tter wherever he was around Hone. The powerful demeanour of the young chief warred with something deep inside Loki. There would be no casual encounter with Hone. He suspected the chief kept a tight hold on what he considered to belong to him or to be under his care and protection.

  Somewhere along the way, Loki’s well thought-out plans had become all messed up. Usually he just crooked a finger or waggled his eyebrows and his chosen mate came trotting along. Then his fickle nature singled out the two people who were the most beyond his reach and he didn't want anyone who was, well, easy. On arrival, he’d thought obtaining trade goods would be easier, that they would wave a few shiny trinkets and loot the local resources. But the Maori held fast against him in all things.

  Loki felt like a child’s toy, pushed and pulled between grabby hands. He was locked in a three-way battle, for adding to his physical and economic problems was a more spiritual one. The oddness of the deaths niggled at him and his cat-like curiosity needed to get to the bottom of the matter. For a man who spent most of his life on the wrong side of the law, he now found himself trying to uphold it as he investigated the strange deaths. He never would have suspected that deep inside him lurked a sense of righteousness that would propel him to seek justice for the dead men.

  “You’re awfully quiet for you,” Miguel said at length.

  Loki blew out a long sigh. Blasted country with its lack of modern entertainment was wearing him down. He was spending too much time in his own head exploring unfamiliar territory, like feelings. He needed copious amounts of alcohol and willing athletic partners to remind him of who he was before he burst into tears or started composing poetry.

  Where to start with all the ideas fighting in his head? He needed to pick which tangled thread he wanted to unknot first.

  “Why does everyone assume I’m a shallow, selfish bastard?” Loki stared at his beer. While Miguel was younger than him by over ten years, there were certain topics he found easier to discuss with his first mate. An ancient soul lived in his lanky frame and he needed to tap that wisdom.