zeitgeist, time itself, has some sort of beneficial purpose.”
“Yes. Nietzsche posits that, through living as we do, we have impeded our proper relationship with time. We misunderstand it. We see only one aspect of it and we allow that to dominate us. It keeps us bound to the natural world. Only by becoming an
The sky suddenly grew darker. The sun was beginning to set.
Wells said, “You don't happen to be an
Burton gave a wry smile. “I very much doubt that I'm anything Nietzsche might aspire to.”
He reached among the flowers and brushed idly at a flat moss-covered stone. “Beresford. That's who I've been trying to remember. Henry-um-Henry de La Poer Beresford. Yes! The Mad Marquess! Bismillah! Bertie! This
“What is it?” Wells asked, puzzled.
“By Spring Heeled Jack!”
“By folklore?”
“By Edward Oxford!”
“Are you referring to the man who assassinated Queen Victoria?”
“Yes-and no.”
“You're not making any sense, Richard!”
“I'm-I'm trying to remember!”
Burton scrubbed furiously at the stone, as if cleaning it of moss might also clear his foggy memory.
“The Libertines,” Wells said. “I believe they opposed the Technologists for a period but pretty much died out during the 1870s or 80s.”
Burton didn't answer. He was leaning forward and frowning. Wells looked at him curiously then moved to his side. He reached out, pushed flowers out of the way, and, in the dwindling light, peered at the flat stone.
“Are those letters on it?” he asked.
“Yes,” Burton murmured. “There's some sort of inscription.”
Wells reached into his pocket and pulled out a dagger. “Here, use this.”
Burton took it and used the blade to scrape the moss away. Words were revealed. They read:
On the morning the expedition departed Nzasa, having stayed there for a single night, Sir Richard Francis Burton sent Pox to Isabel to report his position. When the parakeet returned, it squawked: “Message from Isabel Arundell. We are still harassing the stinky-mouthed enemy. I have so far lost eighteen of my women to them. They are preparing a moronic party to follow you. We will try to hold them back. Grubby pants. Message ends.”
With the threat of pursuit, Burton tried to establish a greater sense of urgency among his porters, but already his safari was assailed by problems. Upon packing to leave the village, it was discovered that two boxes of equipment were missing and three of the Wasawahili had deserted; one of the mules appeared to be dying; and water had found its way into three sacks of flour, rendering them unusable.
The explorer, who from previous experience had resigned himself to such misfortunes, put a bullet through the mule's head, discarded the flour, redistributed the loads, and got his people moving.
The second day saw them trek from Nzasa to Tumba Ihere. The route led over gently undulating grasslands and through miry valleys, past a bone-strewn burial ground where witches and other practitioners of
They rested for an hour.
Swinburne abandoned his stretcher.
“I'm fine and dandy! In the pink! Fit as a fiddle!” he announced. “How far to the next village?”
“At least four hours' march,” Burton replied. “You can't possibly be in full bloom. You had half your blood sucked out a couple of days ago.”
“Pah! I'm perfectly all right. Confound it! I was hoping the village would be closer.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to try that
They started moving again, crossing a plain that seethed with wildlife, and for half an hour, Swinburne, who was now riding a mule while holding an umbrella over his head, amused himself by shouting the names of every species he spotted: “Zebra! Koodoo! Giraffe! Guinea-fowl! Lion! Quail! Four-legged thingummy!”
He then fell off his mount, having fainted.
They put him back onto the stretcher.
After wrestling their way through a long stretch of sticky red soil and onto firmer, hilly ground, they were met by men from the village of Kiranga-Ranga. These Wazamaro warriors each bore three long puckered scars extending across both cheeks from their earlobes to the corners of their mouths. Their hair was plastered down with ochre-coloured mud and twisted into a double row of knobs that circled their heads. They wore loincloths of unbleached cotton and had strings of beads looped around their necks, which were also fitted with tightly beaded bands, known as
They were not friendly.
Tribute was demanded, haggled over, and finally paid in the form of two
The safari continued, meandering past fertile fields of rice, maize, and manioc before coming up against a snarled and riotous jungle, which they were still hacking through when the rains started. They eventually stumbled out of it, soaked to the skin and covered with ticks, and found themselves amid fetid vegetation from which misshapen dwarf mango trees grew, and in this unlikely spot-Tumba Ihere-they were forced to establish their camp.
That evening, in the main Rowtie, Isabella Mayson announced that she was feeling out of sorts. By the morning she was trembling with ague and hallucinating that ravenous birds were trying to peck out her eyes. Swinburne gave up his stretcher for her.
“I have developed a horror of the horizontal!” he declared.
“Sit on your mule,” Burton instructed, “and don't overexert yourself.”
The explorer ordered the commencement of the next march.
“Kwecha! Kwecha!” Said bin Salim and his Askaris yelled. “Pakia! Hopa! Hopa!” Collect! Pack! Set out! Safari! A journey! A journey today!
So began the third day of their hike.
Pox made the daily flight eastward and back again. The report was not good. A ship had delivered two thousand Prussian reinforcements to Mzizima. The Daughters of Al-Manat had divided into two groups of ninety women, one continuing to wage a guerrilla campaign against the burgeoning town, the other harassing a contingent of men that had set off in pursuit of Burton's expedition.
“We have to move faster,” the king's agent told Said.
“I will do all I can, Mr. Burton,” the
They tramped through alternating bands of richly cultivated land and matted flora, with Said's Askaris forcing the porters to a brisk pace wherever possible, until they eventually found themselves in a large forest of copal trees that oozed resin and filled the air with a cloying perfume. Horseflies attacked them. Thomas Honesty was stung below the left eye by a bee and the side of his face swelled up like a balloon. Trounce started to feel a stiffness in
