The Sun Is God (8 page)

The port arrived next to Will and he poured himself a generous measure. He passed the bottle to Doctor Bremmer and gave him a fatalistic look. In Queen Emma's house there always seemed to be some kind of ferment going on. One did not go to the South Seas to seek ferment. One came here to slip slowly into oblivion. Even poor old Jim of the
Patna
had had ferment thrust upon him.

Governor Hahl ignored Doctor Parkinson and turned directly to Queen Emma and Miss Pullen-Burry. He took Emma's hand in his. “Ladies, these matters cannot become known outside of these islands. You must see that it would be entirely inappropriate for a female writer to visit the Sonnenorden, even if there has been no wrongdoing. My duty is first and foremost to protect the good name and reputation of the Reich and our Imperial Majesty from whom all honor flows in the Empire.”

Queen Emma smiled like a lioness in Regents Park. “I had hoped that we would not find it necessary to raise the legal niceties,” she said.

“The legal niceties? There are no legal niceties,” Hauptman Kessler muttered.

“Kabakon and the other islands in the Duke of York group were bought by the late Mr. Forsayth under treaty from the temporary German administration in Samoa. Under the terms of this treaty no German colonial officer can enter Mrs. Forsayth's domains without her express permission, or unless acting under a direct decree by the Governor of Samoa,” Doctor Parkinson said.

Governor Hahl looked at Kessler who had no clue if this was true or not.

“I can show you the documents if you wish,” Queen Emma said.

“Do you deny us permission to go to Kabakon?” Governor Hahl asked.

Queen Emma laughed. “Surely it will not come to that. I no more wish to deny you permission to go to Kabakon than you would wish to overrule me by telegraphing Governor Solf.”

Governor Hahl's smile evaporated. He certainly did not wish to involve Governor Solf of Samoa in these events. The one thing Governor Hahl feared more than Brigida's frosty expression was Solf's duplicitous wife Catherine and her boundless capacity for making mischief.

Governor Hahl stared for a moment into the purple blackness of the port. “Emma, what is it that you want?” he asked at last.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I wish to have a witness to what has happened on my island of Kabakon. Herr Doctor Parkinson who normally acts as my factotum has made himself unavailable,” she said.

“What about Evans?” Kessler asked.

“That dog! I would not trust him to bury me.”

Governor Hahl looked at Miss Pullen-Burry and slowly his face creaked into a tiny grimace, like the dry smile of a tortoise. “This must not become the subject of a book, Miss Pullen-Burry. You must give me your word that nothing that happens on Kabakon will ever appear in print anywhere.”

“Oh, my word of honor,” Miss Pullen-Burry said.

“You must go at your own risk; we cannot accept responsibility for any injury which may befall you on this trip,” Governor Hahl insisted.

“I am quite capable, Governor Hahl. However, if an accident does befall me, I assure you that it is my responsibility alone.”

“We may want something in writing,” Kessler said sourly.

“I would not object to that,” Miss Pullen-Burry said.

“It is settled then. Captain Kessler and Bessie shall go to Kabakon together,” Queen Emma said.

They had forgotten him but Will said nothing. Policemen, even military policemen, even ex-military policemen, were doomed to be outsiders.

“Good! Let us celebrate. We can do better than champagne,” Queen Emma replied, and out came a bottle of cognac laid down in the previous century. Will drank two glasses of the heady stuff.

The normal discourse resumed but Will took no part in it. He began to nod in his chair.

“We will commence at dawn!” someone said at last, startling him from a doze.

“My bungalow is not far,” Will attempted but the words did not come out quite right.

He had eaten and drunk far too much and in the end two Kanaks had to push him home in a wheelbarrow just as Siwa had predicted.

Will tried to kiss her but she brushed him off. It was obvious that she was extremely angry with him. She had the Kanaks lay him on his bed and dismissed them with half a pfennig each.

Will groaned and tried to sit up.

“Be still,” Siwa said and stripped him of his clothes.

“I'm going to be sick,” he said.

She brought a chamber pot.

“I have told you before: you cannot drink so much!” she said. She knelt beside him and stroked his back. “You are not used to such rich food and wine,” she said more gently.

“Perhaps I have made a fool of myself.”

She cleaned him and took him to the bed, but although the pillow was soft underneath him the room was turning like a carousel. The insects, tree kangaroos, and other marsupials had commenced their night calls. Vesper bats flitted across the moon.

“Kabakon is a dangerous place,” Siwa whispered, apparently already aware of the “secret” plan to go to the island.

“Don't tell me
you're
frightened of the Night Witches too?”

“I will ask Kot to protect you,” she said after a long pause.

“Do that. Yes. That'll help,” he said, and thus comforted, the room eventually stopped spinning, and with Siwa's cool hand on his forehead he finally fell asleep.

6

DOCTOR PARKINSON'S REQUEST

A
wafer of light drifted through the shutters and a hand on his shoulder shook him.

“Siwa,” he groaned, but it wasn't her. It was a man.

Will sat up and stared at Doctor Parkinson, dressed to the nines in a white suit, bright green tie, and a pith helmet.

“Mr. Prior, are you awake?” Doctor Parkinson asked in a low whisper.

“I am now,” Will said.

“Do not stir, sir, Hauptman Kessler will not be coming for you for another hour or so.”

“Well then why in the name of—” Will began, but as Doctor Parkinson's lips formed their customary purse the thought that Will was going to articulate died in his thorax. He sat on the edge of the bed and threw the sheet over Siwa's naked back. “I'm listening.”

“Mr. Prior, I believe there is something you can help me with.”

“Yes?”

“When you return from Kabakon, Mrs. Forsayth and I would appreciate it very much if you would find yourself able to share your impressions with us,” Doctor Parkinson said amicably.

Will looked into the Dane's languid, grey face. “You want me to report to you, not Governor Hahl?”

“Of course you will report to Governor Hahl, but we would be delighted if you were able to share your candid observations with us
ab ovo usque ad mala
, so to speak.”

Will rubbed his chin. “Don't you trust Hauptman Kessler to give you the full story?”

“Of course,” Doctor Parkinson said. “However, aside from the investigation into these macabre events there is a . . . there is a fiscal angle that interests Frau Forsayth.”

“What fiscal angle?”

“The Cocovores have taken a ninety-nine year lease on Kabakon Island. Under certain circumstances this lease may be legally terminated.”

Will nodded. “And you want me to find out if the Cocovores have violated their terms of residency?”

Doctor Parkinson nodded.

“Does murder violate the terms of the lease?”

“I'm afraid not. I examined the document last night. There are only three clauses that interest us: piracy, the violation of a foreign power's sovereignty, and permanent damage to the island's material resources. Do you understand the nature of those exigencies?”

“And do you think they've been destroying the place or indulging in piracy or preparing for an invasion of Australia?”

Doctor Parkinson smiled. “Our information about Kabakon has been contradictory and incomplete. That is why we would appreciate your assistance in this matter. Emma did not wish to trouble Miss Pullen-Burry with our concerns and inquiries, but I saw that an alert man of discretion such as yourself would be able to help us.”

“Anything for Queen Emma.”

“We shall, of course, compensate you for you trouble.”

“I will be happy to assist you.”

“Excellent, I see that we understand each other.”

“We do.”

Doctor Parkinson bowed. “I must depart.”

“Yes. The trip to the highlands to photograph birds Emma spoke of. I hope you have a pleasant journey,” Will said.

Doctor Parkinson gave a bitter laugh. “I am not going anywhere near the Highlands or anywhere else for that matter. Life is precarious enough in Neu Pommern without additional adventures.”

“Indeed,” Will agreed.

“Goodbye, Mr. Prior.”

“Goodbye, Doctor Parkinson.”

Parkinson exited through the kitchen door.

Will's face found the down pillow and Siwa's soft neck and the next time he was shaken awake it was by a bevy of excitable Kanak boys chewing betel.

“You go, now!” one boy said.

“You very late!” another one claimed.

Before he could respond Siwa had jumped out of the bed, found a machete and chased them from the hut.

“It's all right my dear,” Will replied and wearily slid his legs out of the impossibly comfortable bed.

“Come on, Will!” Kessler shouted from somewhere outside.

“Hold your horses, chum. I am just going to brush me teeth,” Will muttered.

Siwa came back in with the machete while Will mixed the tooth powder.

“Forget such foolishness!” Kessler yelled impatiently. He had never “brushed his teeth” in his life and at nearly thirty he wasn't going to start now.

Will brushed his teeth, had a quick nip from his hip flask, dressed, and ordered the Kanak boys to bring his sea bag.

Tears were running down Siwa's cheeks. She was holding a wooden idol in her hands, no doubt entreating Lord Kot to protect Will on his sea voyage and to save him from the clutches of the demons on the Island of the Night Witches.

Will smiled at her. “Remember that I'm a soldier, my dear. I can look after myself,” he insisted.

She did not reply but kissed him sternly on the cheek.

Will marched outside and shook Kessler warmly by the hand. The German was dressed in a loose shirt, bright blue jacket, and canvas trousers. Will had never seen Klaus so informally clothed before. He seemed relaxed, excited.

“I see that the prospect of travel agrees with you, Klaus.”

“Getting away from here would make any man agreeable,” Kessler said happily.

7

KABAKON

T
hey left in a rabble of green butterflies, the water beryl, the sky a golden hair on a fuchsia cloth. The skiff
Delfin
caught the wind and the pilot, a German naval rating Will hadn't seen before, asked them to move themselves to the lee side of the craft.

They complied without complaint even as the spray frothed over the gunwales onto the little vessel's deck.

“Isn't this delightful?” Miss Pullen-Burry said.

Will was in no mood for conversation and it was up to Kessler to give her a civil response. Will's mind was elsewhere. It was the first time he had seen Herbertshöhe from the water and the harbor and wharves made it look an ugly sort of place. Squalid. Untidy. Un-German. He had arrived at night and hadn't noticed this. He shuddered at the recollection of that ghastly first week in the hotel when his letters of introduction had gotten him nowhere. If he hadn't charmed Parkinson into believing that he came from the agriculturally savvy Yorkshire gentry, things could have become unpleasant.

The
Delfin
moved quickly and within a few minutes all that could be seen of the town were the Forsayth warehouses on the shore. After another quarter of an hour the entire settlement was indistinguishable from jungle. No road, no telegraph office, no plantations, nothing: just the brown, primeval forest.

Will found this comforting. Undoubtedly, after the Germans and the other Europeans had left this stretch of coast, New Britain or Neu Pommern or whatever you wanted to call it would return to its natural condition: a state of war with all the works of civilized man. And perhaps the menacing volcanoes behind Simpsonhafen would put an end to the European folly sooner than everyone was expecting.

The air trembled as the sun began its merciless ascent in the eastern sky. The pilot passed Will a mug of something under a lid and Will initially refused it, assuming it to be the hair of the dog. But then he caught a whiff of coffee and drank.

The butterflies must have been at the end of some difficult migration for they were dropping by the thousand, exhausted, into the Bismarck Sea; only a lucky few landed on the teak deck of the
Delfin
, rested, and moved on.

Will let his half boots dangle into the tips of the waves. The breeze was freshening from New Ireland and the Kriegsmarine pilot nudged the tiller a point closer to the wind. White braids of foam fell away from the stern.

It was a beautiful morning yet Will was feeling hipped and he didn't really understand why this was so. He was getting paid in English guineas and if he could successfully solve the case his social standing in Herbertshöhe would rise. Perhaps if Polizeimeister Beyer were to take a turn for the worse . . .

His mood, however, was one of pervasive despondency.

It was probably the residue of a dream about South Africa. His nightmares were always about Africa and presumably the bad dreams he couldn't remember were about Africa too. And maybe too he was anxious about being without Siwa for the next few days. He would miss her touch, her voice, and that way she could bend her wrist backward almost onto her forearm. Her cooking, her laugh, her
body
. If only she were here: her little half frown would be so reassuring, but then again, perhaps it was just as well—he
had
grown awfully dependent on her . . .