released her grip on the blanket-wrapped legs.
'Yes, said Rosa. 'Now bring the basin. We must wash him and change his blankets, Nanny.'
She had worked many times with men who were sick or badly hurt; the servants and the bearers and the gun-boys, and, of course, with her father. But now, as Nanny peeled back the blankets and Rosa swabbed Sebastian's uncoiiscions body with the moist cloth, she felt an inexplicable tension within her a sense of dread mingled with tight excitement. She could feel new blood warming her cheeks, and she leaned forward, so that Nanny could not see her face as she worked.
The skin of his chest and upper arms was creamy- smooth as polished alabaster, where the sun had not stained it.
Beneath her fingers it had an elastic hardness, a rubbery sensuality and warmth that disturbed her. When she realized suddenly that she was no longer wiping with the flannel but using it to caress the shape of hard muscle beneath the pale skin, she checked herself and made her actions brusque and businesslike.
They dried his upper body, and Nanny reached to jerk the blankets down below Sebastian's waist.
'Wait!' It came out of Rosa as a cry, and Nanny paused with her hand on the bedclothes and her head held at an angle, quizzical, birdlike. Her wizened old features crinkled in sly amusement.
'Wait,' Rosa repeated in confusion. 'First help me get the night-shirt on him,' and she snatched up one of Flynn's freshly ironed but threadbare old night-shirts from the chair beside the bed.
'It cannot bite you, Little Long Hair,' the old woman teased her gently. 'It has no teeth.'
'You just stop that kind of talk,' snapped Rosa with unnecessary violence. 'Help me sit him up.'
Between them they lifted Sebastian and slipped the nightshirt down over his head, before lowering him to the pillow again.
'And now?' Nanny asked innocently. For answer, Rosa handed her the flannel, and turned to stare fixedly out of the rondavel window. Behind her she heard the rustle of blankets and then Nanny's voice.
'Haul Haul' The age-old expression of deep admiration, followed by a cackle of delighted laughter, as Nanny saw the back of Rosa's neck turning bright pink with embarrassment.
Nanny had smuggled Flynn's cut-throat razor out of the bungalow, and was supervising critically as Rosa stroked it gingerly over Sebastian's soapy cheeks. There was no sound medical reason why a malaria patient should be shaved immediately after emerging from the crisis, but Rosa had advanced the theory that it would make him feel more comfortable and Nanny had agreed enthusiastically. Both of them were enjoying themselves with all the sober delight of two small girls playing with a doll.
Despite Nanny's cautionary clucks and sharp hisses of indrawn breath, Rosa succeeded in removing the hair that covered Sebastian's face like the black pelt of an otter without inflicting any serious wounds. There was a nick on the chin and another below the left nostril, but neither of these bled more than a drop or two.
Rosa rinsed the razor and then narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she surveyed her handiwork, and that thing squirmed in her stomach again. 'I think,' she muttered, we should move him into the main bungalow. It will be more comfortable.'
'I will call the servants to carry him, 'said Nanny.
Flynn O'Flynn was a busy man during the period of Sebastian's convalescence. His band of followers had been seriously depleted during the recent exchange with German Fleischer. So to replace his losses, he press-ganged all the maschille-bearers who had carried them home from Luti's village. These he put through a preliminary course of training and at the end of four days selected a dozen of the most promising, to become gun boys The remainder he despatched homeward despite their protests; they would dearly have loved to stay for the glamour and reward that they were certain would be heaped upon their more fortunate fellows.
Thereafter the chosen few were entered upon the second part of their training. Securely locked in one of the rondavels behind the bungalow, Flynn kept the tools of his trade. It was an impressive arsenal.
Rack upon rack of cheap Martini Henry.450 rifles, a score of Lee-Metfords that had survived the Anglo Boer war, alesser number of German Mausers salvaged from his encounters with Askari across the Rovuma, and a very few of the expensive hand-made doubles by Gibbs and Messrs Greener of London. Not a single weapon had a serial number on it. Above these, neatly stacked on the wooden shelves, were bulk packages of cartridges, wrapped and soldered in lead foil enough of them to fight a small battle.
The room reeked with the slick, mineral smell of gun oil.
Flynn issued his recruits with Mousers, and set about instructing them in the art of handling a rifle. Again he weeded out those who showed no aptitude and he was left finally with eight men who could hit an elephant at fifty paces. This group passed into the third and last period of training.
Many years previously, Mohammed had been recruited into the German Askari. He had even won a medal during the Salito rebellion of 1904, and from there had risen to the rank of sergeant and overseer of the officers' mess.
During a visit by the army auditor to Mbeya, where Mohammed was at that time stationed, there had been discovered a stock discrepancy of some twenty dozen bottles of schnapps, and a hole in the mess funds amounting to a little over a thousand Reichsmarks. This was a hanging matter, and Mohammed had resigned without ceremony from the Imperial Army and reached the Portuguese border by a series of forced marches. In Portuguese territory he had met Flynn, and solicited and received employment from him. However, he was still an authority on German army drill procedure and retained a command of the language.
The recruits were handed over to him, for it was part of Flynn's plans that they be able to masquerade as a squad of German Askari. For days thereafter the camp at Lalapanzi reverberated to Mohammed's Teutonic cries, as he goose stepped about the lawns at the head of his band of nearly naked troopers, with his fez set squarely on the grey wool of his head.
This left Flynn free to make further preparations.
Seated on the stoep of the bungalow, he pored sweatily over his correspondence for many days. First there was a letter to:
His Excellency, The Governor, German Administration of East Africa, Da re Salaam
Sir, I enclose my account for damages, as follows, herewith:
1 Dhow (Market value) 1,500 pounds Rifles 200 pounds. Various stores and provisions et cetera (too numerous to list) 100 pounds.
Injury, suffering and hardships
(estimated) 200 pounds. TOTAL 2,000 pounds.
This claim arises from the snaking of the above-said dhow off the mouth of the RLIfiji, 10th July, 1912, which was in Fact of piracy by your gUnboat, the Blucher.
I would appreciate payment in gold, on or before 25th September, 1912, and I will take the necessary steps to collect same personally.
Yours sincerely, Flynn Patrick O'Flynn, Esq
(Citizen of The United States of America).
After much heavy thought, Flynn had decided not to include a claim for the ivory as he was not too certain of its legality. Best not to mention it.
He had considered signing himself 'United States Ambassador to Africa', but had discarded the idea on the grounds that Governor Schee knew damned well that he was no such thing. However, there was no harm in reminding him of Flynn's nationality it might make the old rogue hesitate before hanging Flynn out of hand if ever he got his hooks into him.
Satisfied that the only response to his demands would be a significant increase in Governor Schee's blood pressure, Flynn proceeded with his preparations to make good his threat of collecting the debt personally.
Flynn used this word lightly he had long ago selected a representative debt collector in the form of Sebastian Oldsmith. It now remained to have him suitably outfitted for the occasion, and, armed with a tape-measure from Rosa's work basket Flynn visited Sebastian's sick bed.
These days, visiting Sebastian was much like trying to arrange an interview with the Pope. Sebastian was securely under the maternal protection of Rosa O'Flynn.
Flynn knocked discreetly on the door of the guest bedroom, paused for a count of five, and entered.
'What do you want?' Rosa greeted him affectionately.
She was sitting on the foot of Sebastian's bed.
'Hello, hello,' said Flynn, and then again lamely, 'Hello.'
'I suppose you're looking for a drinking companion,'
accused Rosa.
'Good Lord, no!' Flynn was genuinely horrified by the accusation. What with Rosa's depredations his stock of gin was running perilously low, and he had no intention of sharing it with anyone. 'I just called in to see how he was doing.' Flynn transferred his attention to Sebastian. 'How you feeling, old Bassie boy?'
'Much better, thank you.' In fact, Sebastian was looking very chirpy indeed. Freshly shaved, dressed in one of Flynn's best night-shirts, he lay like a Roman emperor on clean sheets. On the low table beside his bed stood a vase of frangipani blooms, and there were other floral
