shirt out of his drawer, held it like a toreador's cape, made two passes and swirled it onto his back with a half veronica. Ole! applauded Duff wryly. Sean pulled on his trousers and sat to fit his boots.
You're in a nice mood this morning, he told Duff. I've just come through an emotional hurricane! What's the trouble? Candy wants a church wedding. Is that bad? Well, it's not good. Why? Is your memory so short? oh, you mean your other wife. That's right, my other wife. Have you told Candy about her? Good God, no. Duff looked horrified.
Yes, I see your problem, what about Candy's husband?
Doesn't that even the score between you? No, he has gone to his reward. Well, that's convenient. Does anyone else know you're married already? Duff shook his head.
What about Francois? No, I never told him. Well, what's your problem Go down to church and marry her.
Duff looked uncomfortable.
I don't mind marrying a second time in a magistrate's court, it would only be a couple of old Dutchmen I'd be cheating, but to go into a church -'Duff shook his head.
I'd be the only one who'd know, said Sean. You and the headman. Duff! Sean beamed at him. Duff, my boy, you have scruples, this is amazing!
Duff squirmed a little in his chair.
Let me think. Sean held his forehead dramatically. Yes, yes, it's coming to me, that's it. Come on, tell me.
Duff sat on the edge of his chair. Go to Candy and tell her it's all fixed, not only are you prepared to marry her in a church but you're even going to build your own church. That's wonderful, Duff murmured sarcastically, that's the way out of my difficulties all right. Let me finish. Sean started filling his silver cigar case. You also tell her that you want a civil ceremony as well believe that's what royalty do. Tell her that! it should win her over. I still don't follow you. Then you build your own chapel up at Xanadu, we can find a distinguished-looking character, dress him up in a dog collar and teach him the right words. That keeps Candy happy. Immediately after the service the priest takes the coach for Capetown. You take Candy down to the magistrate's office and that keeps you happy Duff looked stunned then slowly his face broke into a great happy smile. Genius, pure inspired genius Sean buttoned his waistcoat. Think nothing of it. And now if you'll excuse me I'll go and do some work, one of us has to make sufficient to allow you to indulge these strange fancies of yours. Sean shrugged on his coat, picked up his cane and swung it. The gold head gave it a balance like a handmade shotgun.
The silk next to his skin and the halo of bay rum round his head made him feel good.
He went down the stairs. Mbejane had the carriage waiting for him in the Hotel yard. The body tilted slightly at Sean's weight and the leather upholstery welcomed him with a yeilding softness. He lit his first cigar of the day and Mbejane smiled at him. I see you, Nkosi. I see you also, Mbejane, what is that lump on the side of your head? Nkosi, I was a little drunk, otherwise that ape of a Basuto would never have touched me with his fighting stick Mbejane rolled the carriage smoothly out of the yard and into the street.
What were you fighting aboutV Mbejane shrugged. Must a man have a reason to fight? It is usual. It is in my memory that there was a woman, said Mbejane.
That is also usual, who won this fight? The man bled a little, his friends took him away. The woman, when I left, was smiling in her sleep. Sean laughed, then ran his eyes over the undulating plain of Mbejane's bare back. It was definitely not in keeping. He hoped his secretary had remembered to speak to the tailor. They pulled up in front of his offices. One of his clerks hurried down off the veranda and opened the door of the carriage. Good morning, Mr Courtney. Sean went up the stairs with his clerk running ahead of him like a hunting dog. Good morning Mr Courtney, another polite chorus from the row of desks in the main office. Sean waved his cane at them and went through into his own office. His portrait leered at him from above the fireplace and he winked at it. What have we this morning, Johnson? These requisitions, sir, and the pay cheques, sir, and development reports from the engineers, sir, and... Johnson was a greasy-haired little man in a greasylooking alpaca coat; with each sir he made a greasy little bow. He was efficient so Sean hired him, but that didn't mean he liked him. You got a stomach ache, Johnson? No, sir. Well, for God's sake, stand up straight, man.
Johnson shot to attention. Now let's have them one at a time. Sean dropped into his chair. At this time of the day came the grind. He hated the paper work and so he tackled it with grim concentration, making random checks on the long rows of figures, trying to associate names with faces and querying requisitions that appeared exorbitant until finally he wrote his signature between the last of Johnson's carefully pencilled crosses and threw his pen onto the desk. What else is there? Meeting with Mr Maxwell from the Bank at twelvethirty, sirAnd then?
The agent for Brooke Bros. at one, and immediately after that Mr MacDougal, sir, then you're expected up at the Candy Deep mine. Thank you, Johnson, I'll be at the Exchange as usual this morning if anything out of the ordinary comes up. Very good, Mr Courtney. just one other thing.
Johnson pointed at the brown paper parcel on the couch across the room. From your tailor. Ah! Sean smiled. Send my servant in here. He walked across and opened the parcel. Within a few minutes Mbejane filled the doorway. Nkosi? Mbejane, your new uniform. Sean pointed at the clothes laid out on the couch. Mbejane's eyes switched to the gold and maroon finery, his expression suddenly dead. Put it on, come on, let's see how you look.
Mbejane crossed to the couch and picked up the jacket. These are for me? Yes, come on, put it on. Sean laughed.
Mbejane hesitated, then slowly he loosened his loin cloth and let it drop. Sean watched him impatiently as he buttoned on the jacket and pantaloons, then he walked in a critical circle around the Zulu. Not bad, he muttered, and then in Zulu, Is it not beautiful? Mbejane wriggled his shoulders against the unfamiliar feel of the cloth and said nothing. Well, Mbejane, do you like it? When I was a child I went with my father to trade cattle at Port Natal. There was a man who went about the town with a monkey on a chair, the monkey danced and the people laughed and threw money to it. That monkey had such a suit as this. Nkosi, I do not think he was a very happy monkey. The smile slipped off Sean's face, You would rather wear your skins?
rwhat I wear is the dress of a warrior of Zululand.
There was still no expression on Mbejane's face. Sean opened his mouth to argue with him but before he could speak he lost his temper. You'll wear that uniform, he shouted. You'll wear what I tell you to wear and you'll do it with a smile, do you hear me? Nkosi, I hear you. Mbejane picked up his loin cloth of leopard tails and left the office. When Sean went out to the carriage Mbejane was sitting on the driver's seat in his new livery. All the way to the Exchange his back was stiff with protest and neither of them spoke. Sean glared at the doorman of the Exchange, drank four brandies during the morning rode back to his office again at noon scowling at Mbejane's -still protesting back, shouted at Johnson, snapped at the bank manager, routed the representative from Brooke Bros. and drove out to the Candy Deep in a high old rage. But Mbejane's silence was impenetrable and Sean couldn't re-open the argument without sacrifice of pride. He burst into the new administrative building of the Candy Deep and threw the staff into confusion.
Where's Mr du Toit? he roared. He's down the Number Three shaft, Mr Courtney. What the hell is he doing down there? He's supposed to be waiting for me here. He didn't expect you for another hour, sir. Well, get me some overalls and a mining helmet, don't just stand there. He clapped the tin hat on his head and stamped his heavy gumboots across to the Number Three shaft. The skip dropped him smoothly five hundred feet into the earth and he climbed out at the tenth level. Where's Mr du Toit! he demanded of the shift boss at the lift station. He's up at the face, sir. The floor of the drive was rough and muddy; his gumboots squelched as he set off down the tunnel. His carbide lamp lit the uneven rock walls with a flat white light and he felt himself starting to sweat. Two natives pushing a cocopan back along the railway lines forced him to flatten himself against one wall to allow them to pass and while he waited he felt inside his overalls for his cigar case. As he pulled it out it slipped from his hand and plunked into the mud. The cocopan was gone by that time so he stooped to pick up the case. His ear came within an inch of the wall and a puzzled expression replaced his frown of annoyance. The rock was squeaking. He laid his ear against it. It sounded like someone grinding his teeth. He listened to it for a while trying to guess the cause; it wasn't the echo of shovels or drills, it wasn't water. He walked another thirty yards or so down the drive and listened again.
Not so loud here but now the grinding noise was punctuated with an occasional metallic snap like the breaking of a knife blade. Strange, very strange; he had never heard anything like it before. He walked on down the drive, his bad mood lost in his preoccupation with this new problem. Before he reached the face he met Francois. Hello, Mr Courtney. Sean had long since given up trying to stop Francois calling him that. Gott, I'm sorry I wasn't there to meet you. I thought you were coming at three. That's all right, Francois, how are you? My rheumatism's been giving me blazes, Mr Courtney, but otherwise I'm all right. How's Mr Charleywood? He's fine. Sean couldn't restrain his curiosity any longer. Tell me something, Franz, just now I put my ear against the wall of the drive and I heard an odd noise, I couldn't make out what it was. What kind of noise? A sort of grinding, like, like... I Sean searched for words to describe it, like two pieces of glass being rubbed together. Francois's eyes flew wide open and then began to bulge, the colour of his
