Harry in the Wild: Astounding Stories of Adventure (Iron Pegasus Book 2)

by Steve Turnbull

  “Home,” said Khuwelsa.

  “Everybody will think we killed him,” said Harry.

  “We need to talk to Dad. He’ll believe us.”

  “Will he?”

  “Of course.”

  “I was thinking Johannes.”

  “Your pash for him will get us locked up,” said Khuwelsa.

  Harry turned with a flush of anger. “I do not have a pash for him,” she said. “I just think he’d be the best choice to find out where Hans here came from.”

  “Hans?”

  “Have to call him something.”

  Khuwelsa came up beside Harry and looked out across the peaceful water. “It’s a nice idea but we’re not exactly popular with the Germans, are we?”

  “I was thinking you might go in wearing a disguise.”

  “Oh fine,” said Khuwelsa. “Send the black girl into danger while you keep your precious freckly white skin safe and sound.”

  “Well, I can’t go.”

  “We haven’t established that talking to Johannes is the best idea.”

  Harry reached out and took Khuwelsa’s hand in her own. “I need to make up for what I did, Sellie.”

  “What we did,” said Khuwelsa. “Don’t you think I feel guilty too?”

  Harry gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “You never said.”

  “No.”

  * * *

  Harry gave one long whistle and flicked the switch to engage the Faraday. The familiar and comforting lightness pervaded the ship. She took hold of the controls and spread the wings. She tested them with a couple of experimental strokes. They felt good—in fact they felt more powerful. Khuwelsa had definitely done something in her recent tinkerings.

  Two long whistles. She engaged full power on the propeller and beat the wings in strong lifting strokes. The Pegasus leapt from the rock, dipped momentarily as she raised the wings for the next stroke. The nose lifted and the roaring propeller thrust them away from the roost.

  As the wings rose the ship dipped again towards the bright surface of lake. The next beat swept them upwards, causing ripples in the water. Harry thought she saw a pair of yellow eyes peering out as the ’thopter carried them above the tops of the trees opposite.

  The craggy lip of the ancient volcano slipped beneath them and the ground fell away a thousand feet into a deep valley. They were facing north. In the distance the great mountain Kilima-Njaro was a blue shadow against the sky, save for its snow-encrusted peak.

  Around them were the rain-eroded peaks and ridges of the Usambara range, from their bare tips to the thick forests of the valleys. Each valley held a river that cascaded down the rapid drops, spread out in the flat floors, or tumbled hundreds of feet in sparkling waterfalls.

  Harry side-slipped slowly, bringing the nose round until the compass showed them on a southwesterly course. She adjusted the air-plane’s attitude into a steady descent and locked the wings in the rising V-shape she had discovered had a natural stability.

  With the new propeller installed, Khuwelsa had adjusted the airspeed gauge and changed the speed positions. They could now make one hundred and fifty miles per hour. Khuwelsa had indicated she was tired of having to be the stoker as well as the engineer and wanted to fit the ‘thopter with one of the new coal-dust furnaces, even though they were potentially explosive, or a diesel, which wasn’t.

  However, after recent events neither of them thought it would be appropriate to approach their father about buying one. He had indulged their hobby thus far, but the events leading up to the Anglo-Zanzibar War meant he was unlikely to accede to any request for some time to come.

  The war itself had lasted twenty-five minutes: from the deadline given to the resident sultan to abdicate in favour of the British choice of leader, to the moment when the British troops had landed in the palace grounds in their flying assault craft and seized the throne.

  The new sultan had taken up his post and the British were content. The Germans, who favoured the original incumbent, were not happy at all. It was their task force that Harry and Khuwelsa had taken apart, downing the four Zeppelins in the ocean.

  So she and Khuwelsa were unlikely to get any improvements unless they bought them themselves. Granted, they were provided with some pocket money, but it was not enough to buy heavy machinery. Khuwelsa was reduced to tinkering with what they already had.

  Harry pulled the tooth from her pocket and examined it. Why would a dead man have a tooth in his hand? Perhaps it was valuable.

  “She’s fully stoked for now,” said Khuwelsa right beside her. Harry jumped, having been so engrossed in her own thoughts. “I think I’ll read some more.”

  Harry frowned with an annoyance she did not quite understand. “Whatever you want.”

  “Unless there’s some bowing and scraping you’d like me to do, your majesty.”

  Harry shook herself. “Sorry.”

  Khuwelsa glanced at the gauges. “At this rate of descent we won’t hit the grass for about an hour or so. You could catch forty winks, paint a picture, or read a book yourself.”

  “Yours is the only one on board,” said Harry.

  “Oh no,” said Khuwelsa, clutching the book to her breast. “You’re not reading my Jules Verne.” She wrapped her arms around it protectively.

  Harry cocked her head to one side and looked at the spine. “Vingt mille lieues sous … your fingers are in the way.”

  “Vingt mille lieues sous les mers: Tour du monde sous-marin,” said Khuwelsa. “Twenty thousand—”

  “I know what it means,” said Harry huffily. “In French?”

  Khuwelsa shrugged. They both knew that her French was better than Harry’s German. It was just that Harry wouldn’t bother reading in a foreign language if she could avoid it.

  Harry took a breath to say something but Khuwelsa was looking down through the lower window of the plane. Harry looked too. They were coming out of the mountains and crossing the foothills.

  Several rivers joined together and ran into the flat open of the savannah. They reached a depression in the landscape and widened out into a broad, flat expanse of flowing water edged in grass and trees. They could see crocodiles floating across the surface and a herd of giraffes feeding in the west.

  But Khuwelsa’s attention had been caught by dozens of dark blobs on the shoreline, with perhaps hundreds of vultures flapping about on the ground and many more circling above. The blobs could only be the carcasses of animals, but she was unable to make out what kind.

  “That doesn’t look right, Harry.”

  Without a word Harry took the controls. She cut the power to the propeller and put them in a spiralling descent.

  iv

  Harry held the Pegasus in a tight circle as they went down rapidly. The vultures had enough sense to get out of the way as the huge metal rival fell through their ranks.

  Khuwelsa released steam pressure by opening the whistle, and the Pegasus gave a long mournful hoot. The steam whistle had an “alive” quality that launched clouds of terrified flamingos and vultures into the air, and cut short the crocodiles’ investigation of a free lunch, sending them sliding back into the water.

  The air was filled with carrion-eaters as Harry engaged the engine again to give the Pegasus manoeuvring power. She stroked the wings to bring the ship down to a gentle landing in a space a short distance from the dark mounds.

  The turbine powered down and the vessel went quiet. Almost automatically she flipped the Faraday switch and the Pegasus groaned as it sagged under the returned weight. From the rear of the ship came a thump.

  “Ow!” shouted Khuwelsa. “What about the signal?”

  Harry did not reply. She stood up in the bow and leaned forward, resting her arms against the window and gawking at the expanse of ground between ship and water.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “Sellie!”

  Khuwelsa came up beside her, and followed her gaze. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight ahead. “Oh, Harry, no.”

  S
cattered across the grass leading down to the water’s edge were the mutilated corpses of at least fifty hippopotamuses. Their glossy black skins were dried, cracked, and pierced repeatedly with machine-gun wounds.

  But worse, their mouths had been forced open and their teeth hacked out.

  Harry’s hand flew into her pocket. She pulled out the tooth and flung it away as if it were poison. It clattered on the metal. “Burn it, Sellie.”

  They gazed at the appalling scene of death and destruction while bolder, perhaps hungrier, vultures returned and floated down to the carcasses.

  “Their teeth?” said Harry, shaking her head. “What’s so special about their teeth?”

  “Ivory,” Khuwelsa said almost in a whisper. “Hippo teeth are ivory, and better quality than elephant tusk.” She turned to look at the wrapped body lying behind them. “Soldiers did this. German soldiers.”

  Harry nodded and moved round to the other side of her chair, bent down, and unlatched a wooden box bolted to the deck. She pulled out a shotgun and broke it open. Holding it out to Khuwelsa, she grunted softly at her sister’s head-shake of refusal. So, Harry put it on the pilot seat, then took out the second one and a box of cartridges.

  “What are you planning to do with those?” asked Khuwelsa.

  “They might not all be dead.”

  Khuwelsa sighed and glanced out at the bodies. The vultures were back, in the hundreds. “Yes, all right.” She picked up the weapon. “You didn’t land in the middle, did you?”

  Harry shook her head. “No. If there are any alive they won’t try to charge us here, but keep your eyes open.” A shotgun wouldn’t stop an enraged hippo.

  They opened the door, admitting the stench of rotting bodies on the breeze. Under the baking sun they climbed out onto the grass. The air was thick with flies; the sound of their buzzing drowned out all other noises. Walking through the clouds of insects was like walking through a sandstorm except the grains were too large and landed on them. They pulled their flying goggles down over their eyes and kept their mouths shut.

  The vultures were unwilling to lose their dinner to a pair of apes. They arched their wings threateningly and squawked at the girls. Harry and Sellie steered a course between the bodies, keeping their guns at the ready.

  They reached the shoreline without incident. The flies thinned out a little and Harry pushed up her goggles as she looked back at the bodies. They had found nothing alive. Her best guess was that the soldiers had chased the hippos from the water somehow, using whatever flying machine they had, probably a Zeppelin. And then machine-gunned them.

  The native tribes sold ivory to the traders but they did not have the advantage of flyers and machine guns. The traders brought it to the coast and sold it to people who carved it. They then sold it on to the Europeans and the Arabs.

  She had not known hippo teeth were ivory. They must be easier to bring down than elephants. Hippos were very dangerous but not if you were flying above them.

  As she imagined what had happened, she grew angry. Angry enough to use her gun on the men who had done this. This was not like Zanzibar. Yes, those men had been the enemy and threatened her father—and the Empire—but she did not hate them. She was not angry with them.

  These men she would harm without a thought.

  “Harry?”

  “What?”

  “We’re not doing anything useful here.”

  “No.” Harry shook herself. “Sorry.”

  Khuwelsa laid her hand on Harry’s arm. “I know.”

  There was a disturbance along the shoreline to the left where a crocodile had snapped a vulture and had it by the leg. The other vultures in the area exploded into the air. Panic went out like a wave across the field of death. They watched as the crocodile retreated into the water, the vulture flapping its wings helplessly as it was dragged under.

  She looked around behind them. More crocodiles were heading towards the shore.

  “Let’s go.”

  Back on board the Pegasus they stowed the guns. Khuwelsa got the furnace roaring and pressure up. The ship stayed firmly on the ground with Harry staring into space.

  “Do you want me to fly, then?” asked Khuwelsa.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  Filling the silence was the hum from the flies that had got into the cabin and were taking an interest in the body.

  “We need to get rid of him, for a start,” said Khuwelsa. “He’ll start to stink soon.”

  “Johannes then,” said Harry. “We’ll go with plan A.”

  She flipped on the Faraday and took them into the air with strong strokes, then headed southwest at low height and high speed.

  v

  Khuwelsa decided she was not keen on plan A. Stars filled the black sky on either side of the strip of the Milky Way snaking across it. She felt under-dressed and very cold, wearing nothing but a native kitenge they had bought with the hippo tooth from a family by the roadside.

  It was all very well, Harry saying that it was a perfect disguise and that Khuwelsa was used to it. Perhaps it was a good way to blend in, but she hadn’t worn one in thirteen years. In addition, just because her skin was black and she swam naked in private did not mean she was happy to go about in public in a state of undress. She was used to proper clothes and, worse, she was separated from her toolkit.

  But Harry was probably right; it would be better to find Johannes and get him to deal with the dead soldier. Of course they had no idea whether he was still stationed in the town. He might have been court-martialled for helping them escape. He might have been shot for treason. She went cold at the thought.

  She walked through the dark streets. There were plenty of people about—native Africans selling fruit at the roadside, Arabs and soldiers—and none of them gave her a second glance.

  Khuwelsa headed towards the officers’ building they had been taken to when imprisoned. Exactly how she was going to get to see Johannes even if she found the right building was something Harry had glossed over: “improvise,” she said. Which was all very well for her.

  Something dug into Khuwelsa’s foot. She suppressed a squeal of pain and hopped to the wall to pull out a sharp stone.

  That was another thing. Unlike natives who spent their lives going about without shoes, Khuwelsa was used to having a layer of thick leather between the soles of her feet and the ground.

  She limped round a corner. The old Arab building stood there with light pouring from almost every window. There was a wall, though not a high one, and guards on the main gate. She turned away and tried to think of how she would get in.

  “Hey, you!”

  She glanced up to see one of the gate guards heading her way. Her mind raced. Should she flee? No, she had no time and he had a gun at the ready.

  He loomed over her. She went for an innocent look, though in the dark he probably couldn’t see it.

  “What are you doing?”

  If she didn’t answer soon he would think she didn’t understand him. She spoke in halting German. “I want to see Johannes.”

  The fact that she spoke in his language took him back a bit. He hesitated.

  “Johannes?”

  “Johannes Schönfeldt.”

  “Why?”

  She thought quickly: perhaps she should pretend to be an informant. The Germans were paranoid about the Wahehe tribe, a constant thorn in the sole of their collective foot. “I have information.”

  “You tell me your information and I will tell Feldwebel-Leutnant Schönfeldt.”

  “Will you pay me?”

  That stopped him but only for a moment. “I will beat you if you do not tell me.”

  “Johannes will be angry if you strike me.”

  He thought for a moment. “Come with me.”

  Even though he had told her to go with him, he expected her to go first while he kept a lookout behind and his gun trained on her back. The shiver of fear that ran through her was not a fake.

  The guard conferred briefly w
ith the other one on the gate and then took her through into a shed just inside the entrance. Khuwelsa took in the lists of postings on the wall; the map of the area; rules about who could be admitted and what documentation was required. The Germans were always very well organised.

  There was a chair but he did not tell her to sit, so she did not. It seemed the building was equipped with the new telephonic apparatus. She watched in interest as he wound the handle to generate the power needed to communicate first with a switchboard and then somewhere else within the building.

  He spoke briefly asking that the Feldwebel-Leutnant come to the guardhouse. He did not give any further information, which worried Khuwelsa; how would Johannes react when he saw her? Would he give the game away?

  She was not facing the door when it opened behind her and the guard snapped to attention and saluted.

  “What’s this about, Sergeant?”

  “This girl said she had information for you, sir.”

  She turned to face him. His gaze raced from her feet upwards. Her legs and knees were completely bare—she blushed but knew it was almost invisible—and he paused around her bare shoulders. Then he looked at her face.

  For a moment it was obvious that he did not recognise her. Then his gaze became stony. He turned to the sergeant. “You can go back to your post.”

  “Yes, sir.” He saluted again and left the room.

  Johannes turned back to Khuwelsa. She got the very strong impression that he had no idea of what to say.

  “Good evening, Johannes,” she said in English.

  “God in Heaven, Sellie,” he said at last. “What are you doing here? And what are you wearing?”

  “I am in disguise.”

  He sighed. “Yes, very well. Disguise. If they knew who you were, you would disappear and be talking to Saint Peter instead of me. Why are you here?”

  “Long story.”

  “Make it short.”

  “Mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.”

  He gestured to the chair beside her, while he took the one on the other side of the desk. “I am all ears, as you British say.”

  As Khuwelsa related the events of the day he looked steadily glummer. He had a nice enough face, thought Khuwelsa, but she really didn’t see what Harry saw in him. Harry may have claimed she did not have a pash for him, but she was only fooling herself.