OVERLAND

 

 

Excerpts from the prologue:

 

“I see a burnt man who has a heart of blue stone that takes the hearts of living men. I see a beast that is dead but kills. Or no, the beast is dying. But it’s killing. No. Yes. It’s dead.”

 

The gypsy paused. Frowned.  

 

“That’s very strange,” she muttered.   

 

It certainly is, thought Mabel Millard. Strange. And incomprehensible. And incoherent.  

 

The gypsy stood up. Her sudden movement shook the table.　A crystal ball fell off.

 

Mabel hurried forward to pick it up, anxious to oblige but dreadfully hampered by her toffee apple.

 

“Don’t bother,” the gypsy said impatiently. Rather rudely actually, Mabel thought. The woman seemed distracted. She gave the ball a contemptuous kick, stooped, opened a battered leather steamer trunk and began to rootle through its contents.

 

“It might have broken,” said Mabel. “I just thought I’d pick it up.”

 

“It’s plastic, darling,” said the gypsy. She gave it another kick and it sailed out of the tent. “They make them in Dublin for the pikeys. Sit down, please. Please, Mabel?  I’m just getting some things. I want a closer look. This is very strange. Special.”

 

Mabel sat down. She ought to be annoyed, she thought. She’d just been scolded. And she was the paying customer! But she wasn’t annoyed.

 

She was having her fortune told.

 

And it was very strange.

 

Special.

 

Not two words she’d associated with herself before. And, anyway, she’d never been one to make a fuss.

 

Her chair smelt of incense, candle wax and stale tobacco. The whole tent did. Mabel thought she could smell horse sweat, too. The gypsy then stared at Mabel, her eyes dark, her expression inscrutable.

 

“Does that mean anything to you? The burnt man?”

 

“Not as such. Not yet,” said Mabel Millard, her heart fluttering with a mixture of embarrassment, confusion and excitement. She wasn’t used to confrontations or bad language. The whole thing was rather thrilling. It didn’t go on much in Framley.

 

Be sensible, she thought. Calm down. Don’t be silly. You’re only here because of the toffee apple. All this business about dead men and blue hearts was just, well, just a yarn, a bit of harmless fun. But she was intrigued. She couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t help herself.  

 

“Is there anything else?”

 

“Let me see.” The gypsy began to arrange the things she’d pulled from the trunk.

 

Mabel leaned backwards in her chair. Her toffee apple was beginning to melt in the heat of the candles, and the gypsy tent, disappointingly, didn’t seem to have a dustbin. She wasn’t sure what to do with it. Trevor had bought it for her by the novelty rock emporium on the pier. She didn’t want the crimson sugar coating to mess up the gypsy’s charts. In fact the whole reason she’d ducked into the gypsy’s tent in the first place was to get rid of the toffee apple. She didn’t like them. They hurt her teeth. But Trevor had insisted and Mabel hadn’t wanted to seem rude...

 

“Umm,” said Mabel.

 

The gypsy woman sensed her discomfort.

 

“Gorgi! Stop smoking! Take the lady’s toffee apple! My charts tell me she doesn’t want it.”

 

A joke, Mabel realized. The gypsy was making a joke. The gypsy chuckled.

 

Mabel handed the toffee apple to a swarthy young man who appeared briefly and gave her a very un-Trevor-like leer then ducked back out of sight through the curtains.

 

“Thank you so much for that,” said Mabel. “Is there any more in the stars?”

 

“More. Yes. More. I see the hearts of many living men cease their beating. Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum. It is the sound of the heart. It is the sound of guns.”

 

“Goodness me! I thought you’d see me meeting a tall dark stranger. Isn’t that traditional with gypsy prophecies?”

 

Trevor had bought her a lager shandy and she was suddenly feeling jolly and adventurous. She’d never been anywhere as exciting as Blackpool before.

 

“You will meet many tall dark strangers. Don’t marry any of them. They’re not your type,” said the gypsy. She chuckled again. Her mood changed abruptly. The frown was back. “Some will mean you harm. Four fly on the backs of owls and scream to the black gods.”

 

“Goodness me,” said Mabel again. She certainly was getting value for money! One silver sixpence crossed over the gypsy’s palm and things were really looking dramatic. She’d just applied for a job as a librarian but it seemed that wasn’t on the Tarot cards at all!  

 

The gypsy woman frowned again. She shuffled the stuff she had laid out on her table – twists of string, cards, seashells, polished bones, dried peas - and then dropped a bunch of twigs.

 

“Do you see things?” she asked. Her expression was now hawk-like. Intent.

 

Funny question, thought Mabel. See things? What things?

 

“Do you know where lost things can be found? Do you have feelings?”

 

Mabel was now seriously off-balance. Feelings, yes she had feelings, yes, she saw things. Everybody did.

 

“You’ve got The Sight,” said the gypsy. “You don’t know it, perhaps. But you do have it, darling. God help you.”

 

More twig dropping.

 

More concentration.

 

“I see a long career looking after books.”

 

“Oh,” said Mabel, suddenly slightly crestfallen. So she was going to be a librarian after all. Tall dark strangers, gunfire, hearts of blue stone? In the Framley library? Not remotely likely.   

 

“Very strange,” said the gypsy again. “I’ve never seen a fortune like this. It’s…disturbing. Haunted. Violent. I’d like my grandmother to join us. She’s one of The Wise. She’s in Morecombe just now with the carnie picking pockets when the punters have had a drink too many. But I could telephone her.”

 

Mabel checked her watch and suddenly flushed with worry. The bus! The mystery tour bus was due to go back to Framley in ten minutes! Trevor would be getting anxious!

 

“This really has been very interesting, but I ought to be going,” said Mabel. “The others will be waiting. I don’t want to miss the bus!”

 

“You won’t,” said the gypsy darkly. “It’s waiting for you. Somewhere down the years, it’s waiting for you.”

 

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER SIX

 

The next morning was cold, surprisingly cold, but the lead wood coals of the previous night were still hot beneath their cake of white, feathery ash. As the Overlanders emerged from their tents, Petrus was at work on two pans of eggs and a third pan of pap that popped, bubbled and spat. What remained of the previous night's boerwurst sausage was chopped with canned mushrooms and added to one pan of eggs, but not, Mabel was pleased to note, both.

 

Kobus was learning.  

 

Mabel felt fresh, alert and alive. She'd not spent a night under canvass since she'd been a girl guide and that had been…well that had been some time ago. She'd shared her tent with Patricia, and they'd talked a little. About this and that. Yes, she liked Patricia.

 

"Slept well, ladies?" asked Kobus. "OK to mix honey with the mielie, Lolly? Or is that exploitation?"

 

Lola looked slow and confused. Still half asleep and shivering in the cold of a Namibian desert dawn. Her face, normally confident, was smudged and vulnerable.   

 

Mabel felt suddenly sorry for her. ‘Lolly’ sounded like the sort of vile nickname that might stick.   

 

"Honey's fine," Lola said.

 

"What about the bees’ rights?" said Rolf, toweling his hair. He looked unpleasant this morning, Mabel thought. Hung-over. Argumentative. He also, she noticed, had a tattoo on his shoulder. It read Koevoet.

 

Under that it read, “Our business is killing and business is good!”

 

"Insects not animals are they? Pass my T-shirt, Achim."

 

Korin cackled.

 

Lola flushed.

 

"What's that?" Mabel said, pointing to a smooth rock, balancing, or so it seemed to her, on a pile of other rocks high above them on the shadowed cliff. It looked like a recipe for an avalanche.

 

It was also a blessed diversion.

 

"Klipspringer," said Kobus, but only after he'd brought out his binoculars and checked. He looked at Mabel and grunted approvingly. "Your eyesight's first rate for an English."

 

This was a joke and Mabel took it as such. She was also pleased, not so much with herself, but with the praise. When one gets old, people stop praising you properly, she thought. Their praise just comes over as patronizing.   

 

"Hey guys," Kobus went on. "Nice sighting here from Mabel. Klipspringer. Small antelope and one hell of a climber. In appearance I would say it resembles a cross between a llama and a springbok. Look! Jesus Christ!"

 

“He’s up there, too? This I’ve got to see,” said Rolf.

 

"Leopard! Third rock up!"

 

There'd been general lethargy up until that moment. At the word ‘leopard;, everything changed. The Overlanders crowded in, greedy for the binoculars. Bob dashed for his tent and his Nikkons, Mabel who had her own binoculars but didn't need them handed hers to Lola. Patricia produced a small cheap camera and started clicking photos that Mabel was sure would be awful. The Israelis took off their sunglasses and squinted.  Then they took out their small cheap cameras, too.

 

"Where?"

 

"Left. She's moving left."

 

"Left where?"

 

"By the rock!"

 

"Which rock? There's millions! Ah! Something! It's a sort of baby buffalo! "

 

"There aren't buffalo here, Bob. It's the klipspringer. "

 

"I can't see a damn thing!"

 

"Right!"

 

"Eight o'clock!”

 

"No, dear, turn the middle bit left to focus..."

 

"I can manage!"

 

"My God, it is a leopard! Just there! Right there! It's going to jump on the deer!"

 

"It's a klipspringer! Not a bloody deer!"

 

"It's Sheba," said Petrus still pushing eggs. His face was pale. His blue eyes were wide.

 

"Sheba's dead," said Kobus curtly. The Overlanders were now huddled about him as he pointed and steered their hungry gazes with his fingers. "Look, she's making her move. You see it?"    

 

"I can't focus!" wailed Lola.

 

"It's that knob...just turn it."

 

"I need my contact lenses!"

 

"Jesus!" breathed Kobus. "Jeeezus God!" The words came out in a whisper.

 

The leopard swayed, missed its footing and fell. Off the rock. Two hundred feet down. It tumbled, turned. Silence accompanied the fall. Absolute silence.  

 

"No way!" said Kobus. "Did you see that?”   

 

Every Overlander had. Of course they had. Mabel felt a chill. Lola was biting at her lower lip. The French couple was holding hands.

 

"It fell," Patricia breathed. "It just...fell."

 

"That is one seriously fucked up leopard," said Rolf. "Did you see where it landed?"

 

"By the rocks there, beyond the reeds," said Korin. He pulled out a knife.

 

Mabel still felt cold. And frightened. "I think a goose has just walked over my grave," she said. Patricia laughed, high shrill and nervous.

 

She's frightened, too, Mabel thought. We all are.

 

Well, not all of us, she amended after a glance at the South Africans - who appeared either indifferent (Achim) or pleased (Rolf/Korin) - and the two Israelis who were exchanging delighted, predatory grins.  

 

"I'm taking its skin," said Korin. "Head, too, if there's anything left of it. Rolf, man you know how Smittie’s been on about wanting a leopard skin? For his snug? He’ll go up to 5,000 rand. I know he will."

 

Mabel expected Kobus to object. Fish River Canyon had National Park status. Skinning leopards wasn't remotely legal.   

 

Kobus, though, said nothing. Perhaps he hadn't heard. He was staring at the rocks scratching thoughtfully at the stubble on his chin.

 

"Sheba," said Petrus. Mabel saw that the Baster was still pale. More than frightened. Plainly and obviously terrified.

 

"Sheba?" asked Mabel.

 

"Leopard. Celebrity leopard. She got blinded by a porcupine a couple of years back. Fell off the cliff...Same spot or close enough as to make no difference. I guess what happens once can happen twice." Kobus looked uncertain. "Ach, man, that's weird."  

 

Weird was just exactly right, Mabel thought.

 

"Petrus? Hey, man Petrus! Where the hell are you?" shouted Kobus. "Hey, those eggs! Save those eggs!"  

 

The men - with the exception of Korin and Rolf who were loping off in the direction of the base of the cliff, and Achim who was once again brushing his teeth - rushed to rescue the abandoned breakfast that was beginning to stick and singe

 

A bit later, after the meal was over, the dirty plates were left to Kobus to clean. Of Petrus there was no sign. No sign at all.  

 

 

 

Excerpt from CHAPTER EIGHT:  Lola's Chimpanzee.

 

Mabel had never seen an uncut diamond before. The white soapy almost flabby looking stone in Rolf's hand struck her as completely unremarkable. But she knew the truth as so often she did. Bob had got it right.

 

It was a diamond.

 

Lola and Tracy still didn't seem to know what it was, didn't seem to get it. Patricia's eyes, though, were wide and curious. And just a little apprehensive. Patricia wasn't stupid. Three of the four South Africans were bunched together, Korin and Rolf locking stares with Kobus. Achim looking blank.   

 

It was Kobus who broke the silence. He turned to Lola. "You say there's more stones like this?"

 

"In the chimpanzee, monkey, whatever. Yes. Oh, God, God, God, I hate this wind! Why’s it always got to be so windy?"

 

Nobody bothered answering the question. Achim smiled.

 

"Show us," said Kobus.

Lola looked confused but shrugged and led the group away from the tents. There, only a few yards away, was something very dry, black and dead, partially buried by a red pile of sand. They gathered round. It hadn't been there when they'd set up camp. Mabel was sure of that. Perhaps the wind had unearthed it.

 

"Well, guys, looks as if we've got a bit of a situation here," said Kobus stooping to pull the withered leathery carcass out of the sand. A hairy, shriveled rug of some sort came loose from the thing and was caught by the wind and sucked away rattling stiffly across the stony, killing Namib grassland.

 

A bit of a situation? And some, thought Mabel. Oh yes, indeed and some, then a little bit more. She hoped that Kobus could handle what she feared was to come. She hoped that they all could.

 

The corpse even without the foul furry rug that had made Lola think it was a monkey was barely recognizable as human - the head was missing and so were the legs. Twig thin, yellowed bones jutted through the skin in blunted weathered nubs. The stomach had been ripped open. Perhaps it had bloated and burst, Mabel thought queasily, remembering the more lurid detective novels that she'd read while pottering about the stacks in her library.

 

Finding a body, even a ghastly desert-tortured remnant like this, was news.

 

What the body contained though was more than news. It was earth shaking.

 

Nestled in the leathery, blackened cavity like eggs in a rancid nest was a pile of stones and the stones exactly resembled the one Rolf had found. Exactly, but for one thing. They were much bigger. One in particular was huge. It had a blue-ish tint to it that, just for a moment, seemed to flare and writhe.

 

It’s a soul, thought Mabel, with a surge of unease. The diamond’s got a soul!