by A. W. Exley
Laughter twinkled in Miguel’s gaze, but it was good-humoured. “It’s normal, you know. It’s what happens when you care for someone. It just means you’re becoming a real boy, Pinocchio.”
He grunted and drank his coffee. It all felt so new, as though he were looking upon the world with the eyes of a newborn, or of wood made flesh. He needed time to adapt. Let his mind sort out one problem in the background while he worked on more pressing things. “What did you get up to last night?”
“Just as you crept up the hill, Marika came down. She left not long before you crawled in.” Miguel’s chest puffed out as he said the words.
Loki stared at his second and then laughed. “Good on you, lad. I was getting worried that I might need to call out instructions to you.”
“Some of us just prefer to take our time,” Miguel murmured. The tips of his ears went bright crimson and he stared fixedly at his coffee.
“It seems we have both found what we needed in New Zealand. But before we celebrate, first let’s find our killer. We’re going to go over each death and see what commonality we can find. We need to find the culprit before Austin starts a whole new war.” He thought he’d found a thread with the fishing venture, but it didn’t sound like the barber had any involvement in that.
Miguel leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees as a rabbit bounced past the cottage. “There’s a list of people wanting to be relocated. They don’t feel safe here. A few want to move to other towns, but most want out of the country entirely. They think a war is about to erupt.”
More passengers. Loki wiped a hand down his face. He wasn’t sure he could cope with two weeks of being stuck with other people’s constant demands. “Offer them a ride to Australia. No further. If we can fill the hold they won’t even get that far and will have to either start walking or wait for the next airship.”
He stood and drained the last of the coffee. “Right now I’m starving.”
Miguel smiled. “Breakfast it is, then. I find I also have quite an appetite this morning.”
With a hot meal in his stomach to satisfy at least one ravaging hunger, Loki was able to face the day. He also managed to elicit a few juicy morsels from Miguel that reassured him the lad did actually know what to do with a young woman and they hadn’t spent the night braiding each other’s hair or reading aloud.
Freshly shaven and having changed his clothes, he set off in search of Doctor Finley. They found the town’s doctor in his home. The stout little house sat about halfway along the main road. The wide verandah served as a waiting room while inside, the two front rooms were used as his surgery and office. The doctor stood in the surgery, contemplating a wall of open shelving that reached to the ceiling. He seemed to be taking inventory of his supplies as he pulled out boxes of bandages and rattled coloured glass bottles with their contents sloshing back and forth.
“Do you have a moment, doctor?” Loki asked.
The older man turned with a weary smile on his face. “Right now I do. The lull before the storm.”
His words set off a new train of thought in Loki’s head. “You think the colonel will start a war.”
A faint smile quirked the doctor’s thin lips, then it dropped away. “I think the man’s been itching for a fight for years. Some British officers can’t let go of a territory, seem to think everyone should be colonised to an appropriate British standard. I’m surprised we haven’t made another push to take back America.”
Ideas gathered momentum inside Loki. A breakthrough was close, if he could find the last few missing pieces of information. “I wanted to ask you about the wounds that killed the three men. In your opinion, where they the same?”
The doctor nodded. “Not just the same. I would go as far to say identical.”
Loki frowned. “Identical? But wouldn’t you expect that if the same creature or person inflicted the wound?”
“Yes and no.” The doctor drew shapes in the air with his hands as he spoke. “It was the distance between the marks and the depth. It was all the same. If it were a creature, like a bear for example, I would expect some variation in distance and depth.”
He held up one hand and turned it into a claw. “Think of a cat or dog’s paw. The claws aren’t fixed rigidly; they have movement laterally.” Then he swiped his hand through the air. “If you swipe, the nail might impact at a slightly different time, causing variations.”
“Hang on. Are you saying that each set of wounds on each man was identical to the others?” Loki stroked his goatee as he let the implications sink in.
The doctor’s eyes lit up at the chance to explain his theory to a more receptive audience. ‘“Exactly. Almost as if it were something mechanical rather than natural. Colonel Austin ignored me. He thinks it’s one assailant with a knife and the others all think it was the taniwha.”
Loki made a noise in the back of his throat. That didn’t sound plausible—and if there was one thing he knew, it was knife wounds. “A knife struck three times wouldn’t yield identical wounds. You would see a far greater variation.”
“Something with fixed points then, like a pitchfork,” Miguel suggested from the back of the room.
The three men fell silent, each of them playing a possible scenario over in their heads.
“That would certainly do it, if the tines were slightly closer together and shorter,” the doctor said. He held his hands apart and made an approximate shape.
Loki rolled his shoulders. “Our likely suspect had to be a farm implement in a remote outpost full of farm implements.” He tapped Miguel in the chest. “Come on, lad, we’re on the hunt for a modified-pitchfork-wielding killer.”
They stepped off the doctor’s cleanly-swept verandah and back onto the dusty road. There were fewer people around now. Those that had business outdoors scurried with their heads down. No one stopped to chat and everyone cast nervous glances behind them, as though they expected a spectral beast to rise out of the dirt and strike them down.
They neared the end of the road and the section of town that Loki had pegged in his mind as Austin’s domain. It included that most English of buildings, the church, the two-storey stone building, and the bland barracks. Soldiers in bright red uniforms marched back and forth, rifles at their shoulders and one arm swinging.
The roar caught Loki’s attention first, like a high wind hurtling across a desert plain. He turned his head as men swarmed down the hill. Fierce armed Maori warriors, carrying the long taiaha or short club-like patu, ran toward a smaller party, a group of four English men who appeared to drag an object between them.
A woman.
Loki ran as the group crossed the white line and was absorbed by the larger force of soldiers. Their rifles were aimed at the Maori who stopped on the grass, their toes inches from the painted mark. Bodies rocked back before noses crossed the invisible barrier.
Hone’s nostrils flared as he drew short breaths. His anger was palpable, like an enraged bull about to charge. “Let her go.” He spoke the syllables slow and measured, keeping a tight control on his temper.
Loki skidded to a stop behind the soldiers. “What’s going on?”
“Get out of here! This is none of your business,” one yelled at him and waved an arm.
He peered over their heads to see who they held. His heart thudded to his boots when he recognised the shape. Paniha. He tried to push through to her but ten armed men thrust him backward.
Colonel Austin rode up on his horse, using the tall beast as another barrier between his prey and the avenging Maori. He sneered down at Hone. “She’s not going anywhere except to trial.”
Loki shoved his way through the press of men, using his elbows to make way and refusing to let their tide push him back again. He swam against them until he reached the colonel’s stirrup.
“Why have you seized Paniha? She is no part of this.” His anger rose and his gaze flicked to Hone.
Maori and English fighters eyed each other, waiting to see who would make the first lunge
across the line and be labelled the attacking force. The soldiers had bayonets fitted to their rifles to extend the reach. The Maori were undoubtedly better fighters, but how many would die before they wrapped their hands around English throats?
Austin looked down. “The Maori bitch is our murderer. We found her hiding the weapon. My men were commanded to seize her and bring her back to the barracks.”
“No.” Loki didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Then a flicker of doubt crossed into his mind. Paniha was passionate about protecting the land from what the pakeha would do. Just how far would she go in the defence of her earth goddess?
19
“This is impossible. I need to talk to her,” Loki said, as much to himself as to Miguel at his side. Part of him rebelled and swore at Austin as a mad man. Then a teeny niggle took up residence in his brain and asked, what was the weapon Austin claimed to have found in her possession?
Loki tried to turn and push toward Paniha, but the soldiers closed ranks and linked arms to make an impenetrable ring around her. That left him few options. He could draw his weapon and force his way to Paniha. Hone and his men were waiting for the match to ignite the combustible situation. But he couldn’t have the blood of his friends on his hand. He needed to take a different tack. Something he had never stooped to before: Diplomacy.
“You cannot put Paniha on trial without her having access to legal representation. Isn’t upholding the justice system a tenet of the British way?” Loki called out.
Austin’s hands tightened on the reins and he pulled the horse’s head to one side. The horse turned its haunches so it now faced Loki. The colonel’s gaze narrowed.
“You cannot have it both ways, Colonel. If this is British territory then she must be tried in a British fashion. Or, if we are still under the dominion of the Maori, you have no right to hold her.” Never had Loki felt so vulnerable. He preferred a fight with a weapon in his hands. While Loki was adapt at sarcasm, he wasn’t the most proficient with wit, and now every syllable he uttered was weighted with Paniha’s life.
Austin sneered and cast a glance at his men, who outnumbered the Maori five to one. “There are no lawyers here. Justice is delivered swifter in the colonies without them. Unless you want to masquerade as one?”
"Excellent idea." That was exactly what Loki was hoping Austin would say. “I shall represent Paniha, along with my first mate, who shall act as my clerk.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Miguel whispered under his breath.
“No idea,” Loki replied in an equally hushed tone. “I’m relying on your big brain to buy us some time while I come up with a plan.”
“As Miss Paniha’s official legal representation, we are entitled to a private interview with our client,” Miguel spoke up.
Colonel Austin huffed, on the verge of uttering a denial. Settlers had been drawn from their homes by the commotion and gathered in quiet groups, hanging on every word spoken. If the colonel had wanted an audience, he had one now.
“Very well. Justice is, after all, a British principle. Report to the barracks in one hour. You may speak to your client after she has had an opportunity to confess.” Then the colonel hauled on his horse’s reins and booted it toward the barracks. The soldiers surrounding Paniha flowed after him, the defenceless woman somewhere in their midst.
Hone stood like a statue at the painted line as his wife was taken away. His gaze sought Loki. He didn’t scream or yell or demand her return. He simply locked eyes with Loki. “You have until dark. Then I reclaim her.”
A chill washed down Loki’s spine. He heard whispered tales of the extent the Maori went to in pursuit of utu, or revenge. Not that he cared about Austin’s hide, but the only crime his soldiers had committed was their blind belief in their leader. “Let me see if we can resolve this without bloodshed first.”
“Until dark.” Hone walked away, his men grouped around him and guarding his back. The Maori disappeared among the trees and became indistinguishable from the landscape.
“If we don’t fix this, we are going to see first-hand how the Maori defeated a far better-equipped English force,” Miguel said.
“You know I prefer a good fight, but for once we’re going to try this your way.” Loki slapped Miguel’s shoulder. “Now, what do we need to know before we turn up at the barracks as a couple of lawyers?”
They had scant resources on the airship although, unsurprisingly, Miguel had a copy of English crime statues in his cabin. He fetched the thick volume and handed it over to his captain.
Loki flicked through the pages of tight small print and squinted. “We really need to discuss what you read at night, lad. This doesn’t even have pictures, let alone naked ones.”
Miguel pulled the book out of Loki’s hands and ran a thumb through the leaves and opened the statue at a particular spot. He tapped one finger on a particular provision. “She will be charged with murder, and no doubt Austin will seek a death sentence.”
It offended Loki’s sense of fair play to see Austin play judge, jury, and executioner. “Can he do that on his own?”
Miguel’s fingers ran along lines of ant tracks and his lips whispered words before replying. “We are far removed from England here and Austin can appoint himself the magistrate.”
Loki’s hands clenched for a more substantial weapon than a book, even if it was only a heavy one that would make a satisfactory projectile. He didn’t like leaving things to points of law and whatever kangaroo court Austin pulled together. “Let’s get the lay of the land and then we’ll formulate our own strategy. And it won’t involve quills and books.”
Loki waited exactly one hour. He kept staring at his pocket watch for the second that minute number sixty ticked its last tock. The worry-critter in his gut grew larger with each sweep of the clock’s second hand. What was Austin’s idea of asking Paniha to confess? If they touched a single hair on her head he was going to delight in helping Hone deliver utu upon the British colonel.
With a rough plan in mind, Loki and Miguel set off for the barracks. Soldiers paced back and forth in front of its whitewashed walls, but this time it was no parade, but a constantly shifting guard.
No one stopped the two men as they walked across the manicured lawn and along the lime chip path to the front entrance. Loki strode through the double doors and into a spartan interior. A corridor led off in two directions from the middle of the building. Loki peered down one and then the other, wondering where Austin was holding Paniha.
“Where is Paniha?” he asked a bored-looking man standing by a closed door.
He pointed down the left-hand corridor. “In the cells.”
“This place has cells?” Loki glanced at Miguel who shrugged.
Their boot heels rang out on the wooden floor as they headed along the hallway. At the end of the hallway, ornate double doors to one side were open an inch. Loki glanced through the gap to catch a brief glimpse of Austin seated at a desk. Then the hall opened out into a larger room with metal bars enclosing one end. Three small cells each contained a narrow cot and a bucket. Paniha sat on the ground in the middle one.
Two more soldiers propped up a wall each on either side of the cells. Loki gestured to the prison door. “Unlock it so we can talk to our client.”
The private shook his head. “Sorry, sir. Colonel says you’re allowed to talk to the prisoner but you’re not allowed in with her, in case you try to help her escape.”
Rather than start a pointless argument, Loki grabbed a chair from behind a desk and plonked it down next to the bars. Paniha looked up, her face stained with tears and her sleek hair ruffled.
“Have they hurt you?” he asked, a tight knot in his stomach.
She shuffled closer to the bars and reached up to him. Loki shoved an arm through and took hold of her hand, stroking her skin with his thumb.
“I have been shoved and pushed but they have not hit me yet.” She rested her cheek on the cold metal by Loki’s knees.
It was t
he yet that made his heart stutter. If only that was all. If Austin had his way, he would see Paniha take the long drop. “The colonel said you were found with the murder weapon.”
Her eyes shimmered with more tears as she raised her gaze to his. “I was working in the garden with a hoe when they grabbed me and dragged me down here.”
A hoe had a single, wide edge and looked nothing like a pitchfork. None of this made sense. If Austin wanted a scapegoat, why single out Paniha and not a more believable target like one of the warriors? What was he missing? “Why you, Paniha?”
“Because I have fought the soldiers since they came here. Pakeha rape and destroy moana and whenua, and we are expected to do nothing but stand aside and keep silent. As a child, I used to steal their saws and axes so they could not cut down our forests.” Her hand wrapped around the pounamu at her throat. A faint green glow washed over her fingers.
He stroked her hair through the bars. Would Austin really hold a woman accountable for acts of vandalism committed as a child?
“Why doesn’t Hone tell the pakeha to leave?” The Maori chief retained control over his region, but like any government, there were always conflicting opinions. Or did Hone not agree with his wife’s opinions?
Her gaze darted to the other men who stood in the room, listening. “Because his father allowed their presence here. Hone hoped to use English ways to remove their greedy hands from Aotearoa and to protect our land.”
You can’t unring a bell. Once the pakeha had a foothold in the country, how could you politely minimise the damage they can cause? To have any hope of repelling those who were dug in, you would need a united front for starters. In a country this isolated and without the transport network, how did you bring all the remote tribes together?
“The airship,” he muttered to himself. Was that Hone’s long game? With an airship he could travel the length and breadth of the country to talk to chiefs and gather their support. “Well, one problem at a time. We need to get you out of here first.”