Thunder over the Grass

by Steve Turnbull

  “I’ll remember.”

  He took another drink. The door to the house opposite was open; most of the doors were open. These people had nothing to steal. There was a child of perhaps three years old standing in the doorway staring at them and sucking his thumb.

  “So when did you know you wanted to be a woman?” he asked again.

  She thought for a while. “I wanted to wear what my older sister wore. I wanted to be beautiful like her. I was six or seven years. I was beaten for putting on her sari.”

  “Well, you look all right.” The compliment came out as an awkward grunt and he rushed the words but it sounded real.

  “Thank you.”

  He jumped to his feet. “Better be getting on, this case won’t solve itself and your Maliha’s relying on us, right?”

  “She is Miss Anderson to you,” Amita said then looked up the street. “Mama Kosi is close.”

  v

  Valentine and Ouderkirk reached a place where a gate led through a fence.

  “This is the place,” said the farmer.

  It had been at least eight months since the ship had been here so they were not looking for any recent track marks.

  They went through the gate and shut it behind them then continued on foot. There was no sign this area was being used for livestock but you could never be too sure. A short distance away there was a stand of trees.

  They found a patch where the grass had not grown back fully and the ground was covered with the remains of ash and charred sticks.

  “Watch out for snakes,” said Ouderkirk as Valentine used his hands to push back the grass. “Some like the shade and others will bathe in the sun in the top of the long grass.”

  Valentine cast around until he found a fallen branch that was a good size and used that instead. Ouderkirk wandered further.

  “Here’s another, Crier,” he shouted. Valentine followed him. Another fire as overgrown as the first; that might make them the same age.

  They kept looking and located a further seven charred patches. At one they found a pewter spoon. Ouderkirk examined it; Valentine thought the handle was unnaturally splayed. “Local make,” said the farmer.

  “This is the place then,” said Valentine to no one in particular.

  The trees made a natural curve around the hill and the two together would ensure a large vessel could land and still be well hidden.

  Valentine set off across the open space beyond the trees and up the hill using the branch he’d found as a walking stick. The slope was gentle and it was easy going but took him a good five minutes. Ouderkirk did not accompany him.

  He reached the top of the hill. To the east was the road they had come along which continued north and crossed the river that was the northern border of this pasture. To the west the field went off into the distance until it was cut off by a fence. It was the same in the south. There were clumps of trees but no animals that he could see anywhere. Just some birds circling overhead.

  He looked at the space between the hill and the river. If he was flying a ship as large as the one he had seen in India that’s where they would land.

  Was that a rectangular indentation? He wasn’t sure. He was so eager to see some evidence that he was just as likely to imagine it. Ouderkirk did not know exactly what Valentine was looking for, perhaps if he could see it too, without being told what he was looking for.

  Ouderkirk had been bent over and examining something in the long grass.

  Valentine waved his stick and shouted. “Hey!”

  The farmer glanced up and then stood up straight; he took a few halting steps in Valentine’s direction and then pointed at him. He shouted and started running up the slope as if the hounds of hell were after him.

  Behind Valentine something made a grunting noise in its throat. The direction seemed to come from somewhere near the ground. Valentine tensed and tightened his grip on the branch.

  He heard fast padding of paws on the ground and threw himself to the side, rolling so he could see what was attacking him.

  An animal shaped like a dog with short legs flew through the space where he had been. Its form was silhouetted against the sky so he could not make out any details but there was a hint of both stripes along its body and spots on the hindquarters.

  Whatever it was had not considered the drop-off down the slope. It flew out and down hitting the ground hard and tumbling. Valentine scrambled to his feet still clinging to the branch. The animal was already moving towards him. The sound of a shot echoed across the hill.

  Valentine hoped Ouderkirk was a good shot. The animal did not even flinch but accelerated fast and launched itself at him again. He swung the branch and caught it on the side of its body as he dodged again. It tried to turn in mid-air and snap at him. He felt the air move as it passed and its wiry fur brushed across the back of his hand.

  If only it would give him enough time to get his gun. The creature stumbled on landing again, as if it were not entirely coordinated. It paused, panting. Valentine took the opportunity to reach for his holster and as he did so he saw the glint of sunlight reflecting off the barrel. It lay two yards away.

  The creature slammed into his side knocking him down. He cursed his stupidity for getting distracted by the gun. He rolled away down the hill in the direction of his weapon. Pain shot through his ribs as he rolled over the gun and left it behind.

  He caught a glimpse of Ouderkirk. He was not far now.

  The animal was leaping again. Valentine rolled back and towards it, shortening the distance. As it went over him its paws brushed his arm. He grabbed up his gun, aimed and fired. There was a double report. The creature hit the ground and slumped into a pile of fur.

  Valentine got up on his knees. The animal was pushing itself up again. It turned and started back at him again. Valentine fired second time, third, fourth. He could see it jerking as each bullet hit home. The blood splashed from it. It jerked as Ouderkirk’s shots went into its body from the side.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Valentine stopped pulling the trigger of his empty gun. The strange animal staggered twice and finally collapsed to the ground. Its ragged breathing sounded twice more and then it went silent.

  Before he got to his feet Valentine reloaded. He kept his gun trained on the animal as he climbed to his feet and brushed some of the dirt from his clothes. Ouderkirk approached, he was panting hard.

  They approached the animal lying there. Blood leaked slowly from the ten wounds that Valentine could count. Its eyes were still wide open, and they were uniform black.

  “Hyena,” said Ouderkirk. “Probably rabid.” He looked with concern at Valentine. “He did not bite you?”

  “I don’t think so, no, I’m sure it didn’t.” He poked it with the branch. “Really didn’t want to die.”

  “It was sick, dying, maddened with the rabies.” Ouderkirk shook his head. “Good thing it didn’t bite you or I’d shoot you now.”

  “It definitely didn’t bite me,” said Valentine. “You can check.”

  Ouderkirk did. And declared him free of rabid hyena bites.

  “So have you seen enough, Mr Crier?”

  “Just one thing more,” said Valentine. “Look at the space between the river and where the hill starts. Can you see anything?”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “No clues. I want to know that I’m not imagining it.”

  Ouderkirk shaded his eyes against the sun and stared down into the valley. He turned his head from side to side looking up and down the length. Then paused. “I see a rectangle in the grass.”

  “How big?”

  “Bigger than a church.”

  Valentine smiled and set off down the hill towards the river.

  “Is that what you wanted me to say?”

  vi

  Maliha came back into Barbara’s rooms and went through into the bedroom. Barbara’s arm was back where it started: lying flat beside her. Maliha wondered for a moment whether she had imagined it, b
ut no, she recalled the previous positions with complete clarity.

  There was a curious effect when one approached an active Faraday device: the sensation of one’s skin being brushed lightly. She imagined it was the transition into lower gravity crossing the nerves.

  She sat on the edge of the bed. Her body and head received the full effect of lightness while her legs extended out of the field and had their true weight. She wrapped Barbara’s left hand in hers. It felt cold but not overly so. It was strange how affected she was by the woman’s illness. The possibility that she might lose her solid friendship had torn at her heart the same way the death of her parents had.

  “I believe I have made you into my mother.” She spoke the words out loud and as she did so Barbara’s eyelids fluttered.

  A surge of hope and excitement went through Maliha. “Barbara? Can you hear me?”

  There was a long moment during which nothing happened, then Barbara’s eyes opened. “Thank god,” breathed Maliha.

  But her hope was strained. Barbara’s eyes were open but she did not focus nor look in Maliha’s direction, but her eyes did not close. The words of two dozen medical texts were poised in Maliha’s mind crammed with words that did not describe what she was seeing. Save one: the one that described the paralysis that could follow a heart attack.

  Maliha squeezed Barbara’s hand. “Can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  “Can you close your eyes?”

  There was a pause and Barbara’s eyelids slid down and covered her eyes. Then, almost as if it was an effort akin to lifting a bucket of water, they opened again. Maliha felt as if she were breaking with the twin forces of joy and despair. Joy because Barbara was conscious; despair because all she could do was blink.

  But it was communication and it was a beginning. Maliha thought quickly what would be the best way to utilise this limited system.

  “Barbara, I understand that you can hear and understand what I am saying. I will speak to you and ask questions. If the answer is yes, or you agree, I want you to close your eyes and open them. If not, just do nothing. I will wait a short time to allow you to blink if you want to,” she spoke clearly and slowly so that there would be no misunderstanding. “Do you understand?”

  Again the pause, then Barbara blinked. Maliha wanted to laugh, shout and even perhaps dance. Instead she found her eyes filling with tears.

  She realised she needed to continue the conversation.

  “Good. I am so happy you are awake. I’m crying.” She lifted Barbara’s hand and touched it to her the wetness on her cheek. “Can you feel it?”

  Yes.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Yes.

  “I don’t know what would be appropriate for you to eat. I will have to send for the doctor.”

  Barbara’s hand jerked. Maliha stared at it and then at Barbara’s half-shut eyes still staring at the ceiling.

  “Did you move your arm intentionally?”

  Yes.

  “You want me to stay.”

  Yes.

  “Can you see?”

  Yes.

  “And you’re just looking at the ceiling. That must be very boring.”

  Maliha stood up. The gravity change made movement very awkward and caused strange sensations in her insides. She ignored it. Carefully she lifted Barbara into a sitting position—the Faraday device made that quite easy—then arranged the pillow in such a way as to support Barbara’s back. Finally she lifted the older woman back into the pillows.

  Barbara’s head kept falling forwards and Maliha was concerned she would overbalance and fall. In the end she re-organised the pillows so Barbara was lying back but propped up. Finally she fetched a cushion from the lounge and put it behind Barbara’s head, then sat beside her again, holding her hand.

  “Is that better?”

  Yes.

  “You didn’t want me to go.”

  No response.

  “You want me to stay?”

  Yes.

  Maliha had been deliberately ignoring the investigation even though she wanted desperately to know whether Barbara had discovered anything. But it could take such a long time learning anything of value if all they had was a silly guessing game. There had to be something better.

  There was.

  “I am going to fetch some things that will help you communicate,” then as an afterthought, “and someone who can work with you.”

  Yes.

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  Maliha flew from the room as if there was a devil on her tail and rushed back to her rooms. Ulrika was in the bedroom holding the baby with the nurse beside her. Little Baba looked as if she was going to explode. Eruptions from either end were always quite unpleasant.

  “I have another task for you, Ulrika. Can you read and write?”

  “Yes, Miss Anderson.”

  “Good. Come with me.”

  Ulrika stood and lifted the baby on to her hip.

  “Leave the baby.”

  They went through into the sitting area and Maliha utilised the telephone. It was not so difficult if one imagined the person at the other end was beside you. She spent several minutes explaining what she wanted, having to repeat herself twice to be sure the operator understood the message to pass on.

  Then she led the perplexed Ulrika to Barbara’s bedroom.

  Ulrika stared at the helpless woman.

  “Stand where she can see you.” Ulrika moved to the end of the bed. She was not tall and was easily in Barbara’s field of view.

  “This is Ulrika. She is helping with little Barbara for now and she is going to help you talk to us.”

  There was a knock at the outer door. Maliha glanced at Ulrika as if she were about to order her to go to the door but then seemed to think better of it.

  “Come and sit here.” Maliha stood up and moved through the Faraday field. “No, on second thoughts, come with me.”

  It was one of the male staff laden with an easel, board, some twine and chalks in a tin. Maliha took the chalks and board, leaving the easel to Ulrika.

  A few minutes later they had the blackboard on the easel at the end of the bed.

  “Write the letters of the alphabet in a grid six along and four down with the last two making a final line on their own. Make sure the lines and columns are neat and large so they can be read easily. Use the twine to make straight lines across and down the board.”

  Leaving Ulrika to the task she went back to Barbara. “With this you will be able to say what you want.”

  Barbara’s arm twitched and her eyes closed. Yes.

  Maliha smiled. Ulrika seemed competent though very sad. At least she no longer seemed to be in pain.

  For someone who dislikes people so much, you do seem to collect them. The voice in her head was Barbara’s. Maliha squeezed Barbara’s hand as if she really had spoken. “It’s not that I dislike people,” she said. “It’s just that they can be so terribly dense.”

  vii

  There was nothing to see when he reached the rectangular depression in the ground. The terrain was dry but the edges of the hole had weathered. Even so the depth of the indentation was a good six inches. He could barely comprehend the weight of the vehicle that could do that. Even with the Faraday device, designers of flying vessels tried to keep them as light as possible.

  That’s not to say that a vessel like the RMS Macedonia was not heavy; it was thirty-five thousand tons, but compared the power of its rotors it was comparatively light. But he had seen one of these machines floating silently across the sky in India with no apparent means of achieving buoyancy or propulsion.

  He could not accept the possibility that slavers had achieved the complete nullification of gravity. Only the British had that technology. Though it was only a matter of time before it was stolen or duplicated, of course, but Rutherford and Tesla’s inventions were the property of the Crown and no one else.

  But what did that leave? A more powerful form of the Faraday device? Scien
tists and inventors had been refining it for all the years since its discovery. The maximum had been reached twenty years ago; no one had been able to better it in all that time.

  But the truth stared him in the face. The slavers had either complete nullification or something close to it. He should report it but, for some reason, he was reluctant to do so. At least not yet, he told himself, he needed proof.

  “Tell me about hyenas,” he said abruptly to Ouderkirk.

  “They hunt in packs like dogs,” said the farmer. “And they are very dangerous.”

  “They attack men?”

  Ouderkirk shrugged. “They stay clear of men but there are stories of them taking children. Maybe a man if there is a drought and their prey is scarce.”

  “And one on its own?”

  “They only hunt together. One on its own must be diseased. As I said, rabid.” Ouderkirk paused, then: “Why?”

  “Nothing really,” said Valentine. “It just seems like a strange coincidence that it should be here where the ship landed.”

  Ouderkirk gave a snort of derision. “How can it be a coincidence if they are months apart?”

  “You’re right.” Valentine sighed. “Would that be the farm that this land belongs to?” he pointed at the buildings in the distance.

  “I expect so; I don’t know the families in this area.”

  “I’d like to talk to them.”

  Ouderkirk looked for a moment as if he would refuse. “Will it help you find Marten?”

  “I don’t know,” said Valentine. “But it might.”

  “We should get the horses.”

  * * *

  The ride to the farm took them across the river and then along its banks until they reached another bridge back across it.

  Ouderkirk brought his horse to a standstill before crossing the bridge. Valentine came up behind him in the cart and stopped. In the middle of the track leading up to the farm buildings was a pile of clothes with bleached-white bones protruding from them.

  Without a word passing between them both men checked their guns. Ouderkirk stood up in his stirrups and scanned the area. Valentine brought the cart round, got down and tied the horse. Ouderkirk stayed in the saddle. Valentine glanced up at Ouderkirk, who nodded.

  Valentine moved across the flat bridge. It was a primitive affair of planks without any rail. The farmer kept pace a short distance behind; Valentine trusted he would provide warning of any attack.