Wind in the East

  Wind in the East

  Maliha Anderson, Volume 4

  Steve Turnbull

  Published by Steve Turnbull, 2017.

  Wind in the East by Steve Turnbull. Second edition July 2016

  Copyright © 2015, 2016 Tau Press Ltd. All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978-1-910342-50-3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the authors' imaginations or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information retrieval system without permission of the publisher. The moral right of the contributors to be identified as the authors of their work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988.

  Published by Tau Press Ltd.

  Cover by Jane Dixon-Smith (jdsmith-design.com).

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Wind in the East (Maliha Anderson, #4)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Read THUNDER OVER THE GRASS | The next incredible book in the Maliha Anderson series. | http://bit.ly/maliha-anderson-05

  About the Author

  To my parents.

  Chapter 1

  Johannesburg, South Africa, 1908

  i

  When she had been young and credulous, Riette had believed in her mother’s fairy story where Riette’s father was a heroic Boer farmer. She said his name was Pieter and that he had been murdered by British soldiers. She claimed he had been her lover, or in some versions of the story, her husband. As the years passed, Riette learned from the taunts of the older children that her father, whoever he was, would never have loved a black prostitute. That was not what a whore, or the daughter of one, was for.

  Then there had been that day when a worker from the diamond mines, still grimy from his hours in the ground, had put his hand on Riette, and her mother had not stopped him. Instead she had glanced at her empty gin bottle and run her tongue across her lips.

  Riette had escaped to the streets as soon as she could where she sifted garbage for the occasional trinket she could sell, by stealing, and, yes, sometimes when things were really bad, letting some miner have a look for sixpence, or maybe even a feel for a shilling. No more than that. She was not her mother.

  That was another life now, Riette thought as she leaned against the tree that grew beside the cart bridge a mile out of the city. That was the life of a person she no longer inhabited. Marten would be along soon. This was where he’d told her to wait for him.

  When the church bell struck two that morning, she had crawled out of her hole in the alley that ran down by Holy Trinity. She had wrapped herself in the pretty kanga Marten had bought for her—her only honest possession—and, for the last time, left the cramped gap in the stones that had been her home. The night was cold and she pulled the ragged, stolen scarf tighter round her shoulders. There was no moon and the sky was heavy with stars like polished diamonds.

  Marten had said she mustn’t tell anyone they were going. They were lucky to get this chance and they didn’t want any trouble. Of course, she had told the other girls about Marten—she wanted them to be jealous and they were, when they believed her. She had to keep the kanga well hidden; there were those who would knife her for it.

  Marten loved her. She loved him. Even though they came from different worlds. Riette wondered whether she should change her opinion of her mother. Maybe the man who had fathered her was a good man. Maybe he had loved her mother. No, she was just a prostitute who got with child by a man who had the money to pay. She liked to think maybe her father was better bred, but what gentleman would go with the likes of a black whore?

  It had been strange walking out of Johannesburg. The city was a place of dangers for any street kid but she knew what those risks were. She knew how to avoid the gangs, the crushers, the slavers, and she had a sense for the men that were hurt in the head. But outside the city, even though it was just a short walk, were different dangers—ones she didn’t know.

  Marten wasn’t a miner or a gentleman, he was a farmer. A good man but he had no prospects, he had three older brothers and the eldest would inherit the farm. The only future Marten could hope for was working for his brothers, little better than being a slave.

  Meeting him had been a miracle for Riette, though it didn’t start that way. She recognised him as a country bumpkin by his clothes, his bleached hair almost ginger, pale eyes always wrinkled against the sun and the way he looked at everything. He stared about him, in awe of the buildings that surrounded him on all sides to a height of three or four storeys.

  And there was that bulge in his country-sewn jacket that attracted her. She had glanced around, and seen a couple of the others had spotted him too, but she was closest. If she didn’t act now someone else would get it. She almost ran at him, and that was the mistake. She knew better but she thought she could get his money and be off before he realised he’d been robbed.

  Later he told her he’d seen her coming out of the corner of his eye. She bumped him and slipped her hand inside his jacket just as she was coming out with the apology.

  But his hand clamped round her wrist. Shocked at being suddenly trapped, she tried to yank herself away, and kicked him in the shin. He swung his leg away and grabbed her other wrist. People were looking now. She struggled to free her wrists but he lifted his arms and she was almost dangling.

  “You’re a girl,” he said surprised.

  She laughed at him and stopped struggling. “Want a feel then? Cost you half-a-crown.”

  Then a crusher had come, all ready to drag her off to the nick, but Marten had said it was just a misunderstanding and she was his guide. The copper wasn’t pleased with that story but he didn’t argue because Marten had money. So she knew he was a soft touch, and handsome-looking. She was thinking how she could get a shilling out of him, when he held out half-a-crown for her. She hadn’t seen that much money in a month of Tuesdays, so she’d offered him a look and a feel. Then he’d been upset and angry with her.

  It took a time for her to get used to him and his honesty. She met him whenever he came into the city and she always washed herself to be presentable, and he’d never asked for anything from her except to guide him and show him places he could get good deals.

  Then one day he’d pulled her into an alley. And she realised the time had come for her to give herself and she didn’t mind, she liked Marten a lot. But he didn’t want her to give herself, he just wanted a kiss. Her mother never let the tricks kiss her, but Riette was not her mother. They kissed for a long time and, though Riette didn’t believe her mother’s stories, Riette knew this was the love her mother had talked about.

  But Riette was a half-breed and Marten was Afrikaans. They didn’t know any place in the world that would accept them. Until the day Marten had come into the city and told her about a place they could go. He’d met a man who told him about a new colony in Australia. They took anyone and wanted couples who would have families. And when Marten asked if she wanted to go, she did not even have to think about it.

  So now she was leaning against a tree, in the strange and frightening countryside, in the middle of the night and eloping with the man she loved. Back in Johannesburg there were some would wonder where she’d gone, but street kids disappeared all the time. Nobody wondered for long.

  ii

  The big clock in
the kitchen chimed once. Time to go.

  Staying awake while his brothers drifted off had been hard, though it got easier once they started to snore. Marten sat up in the bed, waited until the whole house had settled, then climbed down from his bunk, careful to avoid his elder brother’s outstretched arm and leg.

  He collected the bag he’d prepared from its hiding place at the bottom of his clothes chest. He had filled it with necessities: a change of clothes, plus his needles and different types of thread for when they needed to repair. Once he was in the kitchen he lit a candle and glanced up at the image of Blessed Mary above the door, the wondrous Child on her knee. It always seemed they were looking right at him, and now they were accusing him. Running away from the family.

  He never mentioned Riette to his father or anyone else in his family, of course. They never would have let him go back to the city if they had any idea he was meeting a kaffir. The fact she helped him get good deals and saved the family money would not have helped. The idea he might love her would be unacceptable—impossible because he was meant for Saskia Orman.

  Her father was Herman Orman and though Saskia would inherit nothing from her father, being their twelfth child, to be linked to such a family through marriage would bring a lot of good to his father’s farm.

  But he did not love her. His mother said that love was overrated; she had not loved his father when they were married but they had grown together. Marten did not agree. He knew what love was, and the only thing he felt for Saskia was the proper respect any man should have for a woman.

  He’d kissed her once or twice at the gatherings, when the sun had gone down and nobody really cared what the youngsters were doing. As long as it was just kissing. Least that’s what they said, but having a new wife already with child proved she was fruitful, and that was important. He did not like the hypocrisy. His father said he read too many books. Marten did not think you could ever read too many books. He would teach Riette to read.

  Once the clock had struck the half hour, he gathered up his things and put on his coat. He had a long walk ahead, and he would get hot in the leather, but he’d been told a coat would be a good thing to have with him in Australia.

  He was not really sure where Australia was excepting it was a long way from the Transvaal, and his family would never find him. He and Riette could have a life together.

  Marten had been making his way home in the cart when he met the wandering pirate on the road. The man had asked for a ride. Marten had been a little unsure because the man was swarthy with a lot of black hair. Marten had read Robinson Crusoe and the man reminded him of the Barbary pirates who enslaved the hero. But that excited him too. This was a man who had seen the world and, once up and seated, he entertained Marten with tales of travelling above the clouds, and visiting strange lands.

  The pirate, he said his name was Roberts, explained he had been hired to find people to start a new colony on an island off the coast of Australia. From his description it was a paradise. Marten, with his imagination fired up, knew a farmer would be a much better colonist than the city dwellers the pirate had been recruiting. He said as much and Roberts had sounded surprised, as if he’d never thought of it, but agreed.

  Roberts saw Marten’s interest and had tried to dissuade him; he said he’d already got a full manifest. But Marten had made up his mind and insisted the man tell him where the ship would be leaving from and, reluctantly, he had. As the man said, there were always some people who did not arrive in time to take the trip.

  Marten said he and his girl would be there. At the mention of Riette, the pirate had brightened up, saying couples were always welcome in colonies. Marten understood that; it was just like Noah and his Ark, you needed to make children. When Roberts asked if she was already with child, Marten almost blurted out they weren’t even married, but managed to catch himself.

  When he’d told Riette of his plan to get them away, she had been pleased. And she had not been upset when he said they’d have to pretend to be married—and where that thought led was something Marten looked forward to. He was a farmer; he knew about breeding animals, and he understood the stirring in his loins when he touched Riette, just the same as it had been with Saskia.

  They could always marry properly later.

  He walked the couple of miles from the farm to the bridge. It was a moonless night. His heart pounded as he approached the place and could not see her. But then there she was, asleep curled in the roots of the tree. It was nearly three o’clock and the air was freezing cold. He woke her with a kiss. Her bare arm wrapped around his neck and pulled him in tight.

  “You’re warm,” she said and her moist breath was like a butterfly against his cheek. He dared to do something he’d never attempted before. He let his hand touch her as they kissed once more. The thin fabric of the kanga hid nothing and he felt the moving shape of her body as he ran his hand down to her hip. His breath quickened. And she pressed her lips even harder against his.

  He tore himself gently away from her. “We must not miss the flyer, beloved.”

  He leaned back and stood. She found his hand in the dark and pulled herself to her feet. He averted his gaze as he realised she had pulled open her kanga. He breathed again as she re-wrapped it tightly about her.

  Together they walked south, holding hands and not speaking.

  iii

  They knew they were approaching the place when they met other people on the road. There were couples and single men. There was even a whole family—father, mother and six children—on a cart drawn by a plodding old horse that could barely manage the weight.

  There was a crowd gathered around a gate opening on to a track. Six men with guns lounged and sat nearby, but if anyone paused, the guards lifted their guns and moved the slow ones on, towards a stand of trees. A flickering of firelight showed between the trunks.

  Marten shuffled along with the other people and did not slow down. He let Riette walk on the side away from the guards and she pulled her scarf up over her head, as he had seen her do many times in the city. He did not understand why she did it. She was beautiful, and he thought it glorified God for her to be seen. But then these were rough men and perhaps it was best they did not see her beauty.

  He’d been told the ship would take off just before dawn, whether they were there or not. Anyone late would be left behind. But they were not late, and he was glad for that because the alternatives had plagued his mind. Riette could return to the city, but what would he do? Suffer a beating from his father and be forced to lie in the face of difficult questions.

  Once past the guards he could feel the excitement mounting. His own and also in the people around him. Riette put her arm around his waist as they walked. He could feel the warmth of her along his whole body. He laid his arm across her shoulders and pulled her in close.

  They passed through the trees and stared in amazement at what was beyond: Lit by fires burned to embers was a great metal machine, some sort of flyer. So great was its length that its far end was hidden in the night. He had seen the Dutch and German airships that landed in Johannesburg, and the British flyers with their great steam-driven rotors, and sometimes the ones as fast as hawks with their long wings.

  And he had seen the soldiers with their flying artillery and gunboats, that had exacted such a price from his people less than ten years before. He hated the British, and could recite the tally of farmers’ lives that had been stolen by them.

  But this machine, it resembled nothing he had seen before. It did not have gas bags like the Zeppelins, nor the British rotors. It did not have the smooth lines and grace of the hawk-like flyers, nor their wings. It reminded him only of a long and thin tin box, but one of such dimensions it could hold a church and have room to spare.

  There were windows high up at the front of one end and, in the side, there was a hatch big enough to admit a barn, with a great ramp leading down. All was shadows outside but within there were lights burning with the constancy of electric.

/>   Once again he was reminded of Noah: This was the Ark that would carry him and Riette to their new world, free of sin. But we are the beasts, he thought, we are the ones to be corralled here until the time comes to be herded two-by-two into the pen. What happens in the pen? The only thing he could think of was slaughter. He held tighter to Riette and guided her to a fire of bright embers, around which a few others had gathered.

  No one spoke but an older woman offered him a mug of hot soup. It smelled good. He gave it to Riette. She clasped both hands around it, warming them. She breathed in its fumes and took a sip, then a longer drink. He looked over at the shadowy face of the woman, half-lit from the red glow, and smiled his thanks.

  A gunshot split the night. There were shouts of fear, and a child’s scream that died away. Marten jerked his head round towards the vessel. There was a man silhouetted against the interior light at the top of the ramp. He held a rifle pointed into the black of the sky.

  “Time to go,” he shouted.

  All around people gathered up their belongings. Some, like Marten and Riette, only had a small bag each and were soon walking across the grassy space, before those with more had even begun to move.

  There were shouts from behind. “Leave it, get moving.” Then shouts of pain and anger.

  Marten kept his face forward, not looking back, not wanting to see what he knew was happening. There may be a new world, but these were not good people. Better not to antagonise them. We’d just get crushed the way the British crushed us.

  The ramp was also the door of the great opening, and it was a difficult step up onto it. Marten scooped up Riette, she was light as a new-born calf, and placed her on the metal. She in her turn helped him climb up. The surface was not flat, but was a pattern of criss-crossed beams of metal. They picked their way carefully across it. The crowd grew closer and more tightly packed as they approached the top. There were guards strung across the ridge, with a gap between them at the centre. No one wanted to be too close to the guns.