Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur (электронная книга TXT) 📗

Fourie is here, he told Lothar. Down at the end of the bar. I'll introduce you after I've served these others. The bar-room was half full this evening, and Lothar was able to study the driver. He was a powerful-looking man of middle age, with a big slack gut from sitting hours each day behind the driving-wheel. He was balding but had grown the hair above his right ear and then plastered it across his pate with brilliantine. His manner was bluff and loud; he and his mates had the well-satisfied air of men who had just performed a difficult task. He didn't look like a man that you could threaten or frighten, but Lothar had not yet finally decided on what approach to make.

The barman beckoned to him. Like you to meet a good friend., They shook hands. The driver turned it into a contest but Lothar had half-expected that and shortened his grip, taking his fingers rather than his palm so that Fourie could not exert full force. They held each other's eyes until the driver winced and tried to pull his hand away. Lothar let him go.

Buy you a drink. Lothar felt easier now, the man was not as tough as he put out, and when the barman told them who Lothar was and related an exaggerated version of some of his exploits during the war, Fourie's manner became almost fawning and obsequious.

Look here, man. He drew Lothar aside and lowered his voice. 'Erik tells me you're looking for a job out at the H'ani Mine. Well, you can forget it, and that's straight. They haven't taken on any new men in a year or longer. Yes. Lothar nodded glumly. Since I asked Erik about the job, I've learned the truth about the H'ani Mine. It will be terrible for you all when it happens. The driver looked uneasy. What are you talking about, man? What truth is this? Why, I thought you'd know. Lothar seemed amazed by his ignorance. They are going to close the mine in August.

Shut it down. Pay everybody off. Good Christ, no! There was fear in Fourie's eyes. That's not true, it can't be true. The man was a coward, gullible, easily impressed and even more easily influenced. Lothar was grimly satisfied.

I'm sorry, but it's best to know the truth, isn't it? Who told you this? Fourie was terrified. He drove past the hobo camp down by the railway every week. He had seen the legion of the unemployed.

I am walking out with one of the women who works for Abraham Abrahams. He was the attorney who conducted all the business of the H'ani Mine in Windhoek. She saw the letters from Mrs Courtney in Cape Town. There is no doubt. The mine is shutting down. They can't sell the diamonds. Nobody is buying diamonds, not even in London and New York. Oh my God! My God! whispered Fourie. What are we going to do? My wife isn't well and we've got the six children. Sweet Jesus, my kids will starve. It's all right for somebody like you. I'll bet you've got a couple of hundred quid saved up. You'll be all right., But Fourie shook his head.

Well, if you haven't got anything saved, you'd best put a few pounds

aside before they lay you off in August. How does a man do that?

How do I save, with a wife and six kids? Fourie demanded hopelessly.

I tell you what. Lothar took his arm in a friendly concerned grip. Let's get out of here. I'll buy a bottle of brandy.

Let's go some place where we can talk. The sun was up by the time Lothar got back to the camp the following morning. They had emptied the brandy bottle while they talked the night away. The driver was intrigued tempted by Lothar's proposition but unsure and afraid.

and Lothar had to explain and convince him of every single point, particularly of his own safety. Nobody will ever be able to point a finger at you. I give you my sacred word on it. You will be protected even if something goes wrong, and nothing will go wrong. Lothar had used all his powers of persuasion, and he was tired now as he trudged through the encampment and squatted down beside Hendrick.

Coffee? he asked and belched the taste of old brandy into his mouth.

Finished. Hendrick shook his head.

Where is Manfred? Hendrick pointed with his chin. Manfred was sitting under a thorn bush at the far end of the camp. The girl Sarah was beside him, their blond heads almost touching as they pored over . a sheet of newsprint. Manfred was writing on the margin of the page with a charcoal stick from the camp fire.

Manie is teaching her to read and write, Hendrick explained.

Lothar grunted and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. His head ached from the brandy.

Well, he said. We've got our man. Ali! Hendrick grinned. 'Then we will need the horses., The private railway coach had once belonged to Cecil Rhodes and the De Beers Diamond Company. Centaine Courtney had purchased it for a fraction of the price that a new carriage would have cost her, a fact that gave her satisfaction. She was still a Frenchwoman and knew the value of a sou and a franc. She had brought out a young designer from Paris to redecorate the carriage in the Art Deco style, which was all the rage, and he had been worth every penny of his fee.

She looked around the saloon, at the uncluttered lines of the furnishings, at the whimsical nude nymphs which supported the bronze light-fittings and the Aubrey Beardsley designs inlaid with exquisite workmanship into the lightwood panelling and she remembered that the designer had struck her at first as being a homosexual, with his long flowing locks, his darkly decadent eyes and the features of a beautiful, bored and cynical faun. Her first estimate had been far wide of the truth, as she had discovered to her delight on the circular bed which he had installed in the coach's main bedroom suite. She smiled at the memory and then checked the smile as she saw that Shasa was watching her.

You know, Mater, I sometimes think I can see what you are thinking, just by looking into your eyes. He said these disconcerting things sometimes, and she was sure that he had grown another inch in the last week.

I certainly hope that you cannot. She shivered. It's cold in here. The designer had incorporated, at enormous expense, a refrigeration machine which cooled the air in the saloon. Do turn that thing off, She stood up from her desk and went out through the frosted glass doors onto the balcony of the coach and the hot desert air rushed at her and flattened her skirts across her narrow boyish hips. She lifted her face to the sun and let the wind ruffle her short curly hair.

What time is it? she asked with her eyes closed and face uplifted, and Shasa who had followed her out leaned against the balcony rail and consulted his wristwatch.

We should be crossing the Orange river in the next ten minutes, if the engine driver has kept us on schedule. I never feel as though we are home until I cross the Orange. Centaine went to lean beside him and slipped her arm through his.

The Orange river drained the western watershed of the southern African continent, rising high in the snowy mountains of Basutoland and running down fourteen hundred miles through grassy veld and wild gorges, at some seasons a clear slow trickle and at other times a thunderous brown flood bringing down the rich chocolate silts so that some called it the Nile of the south. it was the boundary between the Cape of Good Hope and the former German colony of South West Africa.

The locomotive whistled and the coupling jolted as the brakes squealed.

We are slowing for the bridge. Shasa leaned out over the balcony, and Centaine bit back the caution that came automatically to her lips.

Beg your pardon, you can't baby him forever, Missus, Jock Murphy had advised her. He's a man now, and a man's got to take his own chances., The tracks curved down towards the river, and they could see the Daimler riding on the flat bed behind the locomotive.

It was a new vehicle; Centaine changed them every year.

However, it also was yellow, as they all were, but with a black bonnet and black piping around the doors. The train journey to Windhoek saved them the onerous drive across the desert, but there was no line out to the mine.