Beneath the Shining Jewel Read online

  He was still unconscious when Mba arrived with a rescue mission. He suffered a stroke as Gnaw Maws were cut down by broadswords and bludgeoned to death by throwing clubs. He slipped into a coma as the university tunnels were filled with oil and burned.

  His first act when he awakened from his coma was to wish Mba dead. It would not be the last time he made that wish.

  A lurch of the elephant brought Jima back to the present. The driver, a corporal and a telepath, verbalized his psychic communication as he was trained to do. “Yes, sir, we’ll cleanse the building when it’s sealed.”

  Jima realized he had missed most of the conversation. “Driver,” he said. “What did you just say?”

  “Sir?” The corporal’s voice registered surprise.

  “You said something about cleansing.”

  “They’re going to burn the building when Mba comes back out.” The corporal said.

  “But it was sealed!” Jima said.

  “Not yet.” The corporal said.

  “Mba went back in?” Jima’s skinned fingers gripped the arms of his wheelchair, his jaws moved silently, calculating.

  “Yeah,” the driver replied. “Said he’d reseal it.”

  “But protocol?” Jima shook his head. “You can’t break a Bacillus seal!”

  “He forgot his chalks,” the corporal reassured.

  “But that’s not protocol!” Jima shouted, clenching his skeletal fists.

  “Old protocol,” the corporal said. “And Bacillus doesn’t even exist anymore, so…”

  “Take me back there!” Jima said, interrupting him. Traffic was starting to move.

  “But Captain…” the corporal started.

  “Now!” Jima said, pounding the arms of his chair. “Take me now!”

  CHAPTER eight

  Mba crawled toward the wall. The Gnaw Maw’s eyes were locked on him, almost crossed over its dark, wet, sinus cavity.

  “E-eat…” the Gnaw Maw whispered. It took a step forward, holding its arms bent at the elbows, skinned hands outward with fingers clutching at air. “E-eat?” One foot wore a brown leather boot with a gold buckle. The other foot, while caked in blood, still had visible swirls and dots tattooed across the soft contours. Skin was peeled off her body down to her left knee and right ankle. Clots of yellow, greasy tissue dangled from her chest.

  Mba had always been amazed at how similar Gnaw Maws could look. A human body stripped of skin could pass for either sex when down to the essentials. Even a pretty pair of eyes was just a rolling white terror without any lids.

  Pockets of infection had formed in the cleft of her arm, torso, legs and groin.

  Most Gnaw Maws died before they had a chance to really heal or scar up. Few lived long enough to try for Alpha status.

  There was a big, dirty window behind him. To reach one of the offices, he would have to move past the creature. It wouldn’t be safe in an office, but the narrow doorway would be easier to defend. He inched forward. It was 15 feet to the closest office on his right.

  “E-eat…” the Gnaw Maw breathed in warning. It had a wild intelligence in its lidless eyes. Her exposed teeth drooled saliva and blood as she stepped toward him. Her blood pulsed through an exposed web of veins.

  There was a thump and clatter to Mba’s right. Mba snapped his head toward the sound.

  A male Gnaw Maw crept into view. It had skin on him from the waist down exposed through holes in his tattered trousers. He had a shoe on one foot and frazzled sock on the other. One arm hung at an awkward angle, the fingers were torn – sharp yellow bone showed at the tips. The other hand clawed the air. Exposed muscle on his face twisted into a snarl and he howled. “EAT!” Pink mist blew out of his lungs. Yellow ribs heaved under membrane and infection.

  The creature’s dark eyes were locked on Mba’s face. It hissed sharply.

  Mba could almost read its thoughts: Remove the skin. Eat the skin. Reduce the stress. Ritual.

  “Eat!” it barked, charging at the same time as the female.

  Mba drew his throwing club from under his jacket and hurled it with a sharp flick of his wrist.

  The female’s ribs cracked wetly. The impact sent her flying backward.

  He drew his broadsword and slashed toward the male.

  The male came in fast. The tip of the sword glanced off its teeth. Its exposed fingertips hooked into Mba’s coat.

  Mba went with it, throwing all of his weight into the thing’s chest.

  The creature’s back slammed into the wall. It slipped in the infection that seeped from the bottom of its sock and fell.

  Blood poured from the female as she struggled to her feet.

  Heart pounding with booze and exertion, Mba hurtled toward the doorway some ten feet away.

  A third Gnaw Maw leapt out of it screaming: “E-E-EAT!”

  Mba shuffled his feet to halt his forward movement.

  The thing had one eye, and the muscles on the left side of its head and neck had been torn away with the skin, leaving the skull exposed. The same injuries distorted its torso and chest, but it still moved well.

  “E-eat,” it roared and ran at him.

  Mba didn’t hesitate; he spun out of its path. Then he rolled and turned back toward the end where the dirty window waited. The Gnaw Maws’ hissing calls followed close on his heels. The female was almost on him. He whirled on his heels, slamming into the window. It cracked behind him.

  All three Gnaw Maws froze, eyes frenzied with anxiety and madness. Their fingers grasped and pinched the air the way they wanted to pinch his skin. Their tongues licked at their exposed teeth, anticipating the ritual of release. “Eat,” they hissed. “E-e-e-eat… eat!”

  Blood gushed from holes in the female’s chest, spraying out of her mouth with each breath. They stepped closer, answering some ancient program and fanned out, making it impossible to pick more than one target at a time.

  Mba raised his spare throwing club – he always kept a spare. His back pulled at him. His breath came in ragged gasps. He glared at the Gnaw Maws, raising his sword at the level of his throwing club. “Come on, then, damn it!”

  The Gnaw Maws roared and charged.

  The first male’s head exploded in a red spray.

  Mba’s throwing club sailed down the hallway, dripping blood and bits of brain onto the floor.

  The Gnaw Maw’s headless body fell with a wet thud.

  The female’s face was sheared off by a slash of Mba’s sword. She collapsed in a heap.

  The male with the exposed skull wailed as it ran at Mba.

  Mba slashed his sword, ripping a deep gash in the Gnaw Maw’s throat.

  The creature stopped in its tracks, shuddering as its body stiffened.

  Mba slashed again, hacking off the top of the creature’s head.

  It fell at Mba’s feet.

  Mba heard the floor creak to his left. He pointed his sword in the direction of the noise.

  “Fool!” Jima shouted. He sat in his chair at the end of the hall. Jima’s bright eyes flashed under the hood.

  Mba pointed his sword at the dying Gnaw Maws as he limped past them. Their bodies twitched and quivered on the dust and blood-covered floor. He approached Jima’s wheelchair.

  “They didn’t touch you?” Jima asked, adjusting himself in his seat, his face hidden by the hood.

  Mba shook his head. He inspected himself, saw the scarlet stains on his sleeve, then tore his jacket off. He pulled the bottle out of his pocket and then tossed the garment on the floor. He kicked the jacket away. “I just pushed the one.”

  “Protocol,” Jima said. His voice was flat. “Protocol is worthless if it isn’t followed.”

  Mba shrugged.

  “Bash, bag and burn!” Jima shouted, hammering the arms of his wheelchair with his fists. “What don’t you understand about that?”

  “Stop your nagging,” Mba said. “Wait. What are you doing here?”

  “You’re just lucky to be alive,” Jima said, rolling past Mba.

&nb
sp; “You gave the place the all clear,” Mba said, grabbing the chair. He turned it and then leaned into Jima’s face. “But it wasn’t clear.”

  “I was mistaken,” Jima said.

  Mba pointed at the Gnaw Maws. “That’s Bacillus!” He swung back to Jima. “It’s been quietly growing out there.” He waved his sword about. “And in here. It’s coming back.”

  “We did our parts a long time ago,” Jima said. “That’s why they brought us out of retirement. We’re the poor fools with experience.”

  “You knew this place was infected,” Mba said. “You knew Gnaw Maws were here. You said otherwise, so when, or if, we found the bodies, we’d figure you lost your touch and never call you back.”

  “I was mistaken.” Jima said again.

  “But here you are,” Mba said. “Proving you knew there were Gnaw Maws here and gave the all clear anyway.” He stared at Jima’s lowered hood. “You could lose your pension for this.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Jima said, turning to face Mba. Jima’s hood fell back, exposing jawbone and teeth.

  “Watch me,” Mba replied.

  “You damned drunk!” Jima spat. He turned his wheelchair and rolled out the door.

  Mba grunted, shrugged and turned up his calabash of wine.

  CHAPTER nine

  Mba had been cooped up in the interview room for two hours with only coffee, pounded yam and bread on the menu. He had been guzzling the coffee, wishing it was wine.

  Every time he moved, his back cramped, causing razor sharp pain to shoot up his spine. He needed a drink and it looked like he was not getting one any time soon.

  When they first brought him in for debriefing two hours ago, Mba asked Investigating Officer Bande if he needed to have legal counsel present. Investigator Bande told Mba they weren’t trying to prove he had committed any crime; they were just trying to get the facts straight, so they would understand, for future reference, how Mba’s attempt to recruit a Bacillus Squad member out of retirement had resulted in a double homicide.

  The Elder Merchants had decided that reviving the squads was a necessary, but classified, action after reports by Mba said Bacillus was manifesting again. That was why the Elder Merchants were keeping Mba out of retirement and giving him the job of training a squad to deal with the new threat. It was Mba’s idea to mix rookie constables with seasoned professionals…if he could pull the latter out of their retirement homes. Bringing old officers back looked good on scrolls, but most of them had not seen a bit of action for twenty years or more.

  The Elder Merchants ordered Mba in for questioning after constables were dispatched to the scene where he had killed the three Gnaw Maws. Bande had met him and assured Mba they would talk, that there were a couple of formalities when deaths were involved during the legal administering of a special officer’s duties. There was no reason to worry because the Elder Merchants were certain that Mba had done nothing criminal. That was a relief to Mba because he was pretty sure he had.

  From time to time he looked at his right hand, at the bandages there. The raw flesh across his palm was tender and swollen.

  The door to the interview room opened. Bande entered, carrying a wooden tray in his hands. Atop the tray was a small pile of file folders. Coffee steamed in two clay cups on the tray.

  “More coffee?” Mba sighed. “We weren’t allowed to use torture back in the day.”

  “I heard differently,” Bande said, dropping the files on the desk and then placing the coffee next to them. He then turned and walked back to the door to shut it. When he turned around he pulled a bottle of honey wine from inside his jacket. He smiled. “You prefer honey in your coffee, right?” He poured a couple ounces into the coffee cups.

  Mba reached out fast, grabbed the cup and took a deep drink before returning it to the desk. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the taste and the sensation.

  “Just don’t get frogged,” Bande whispered.

  “A couple of drinks won’t get me frogged,” Mba assured him.

  Bande took a sip of his own as he sat down across the table. He took a scroll out of his suit jacket and threw it on the desk. He cleared his throat and began: “Lieutenant Dima Bande interviewing Captain Mba Bongo, regarding events that occurred, at the home of retired Squad Captain Kamau Montu.” The words Bande spoke appeared on the scroll as he spoke them. “You went out to recruit Montu.”

  “Yes,” Mba replied. “One of your constables transported me there.”

  CHAPTER ten

  He told the elephant driver to wait. There was no point in setting Montu off bringing a uniformed driver with him. If Kamau was anything like Jima, he would be holed up playing strategy board games and hating the world.

  Kamau was another captain back in the day, and a martial arts master. All of the captains were well trained in combat – empty-handed; melee weapon; mounted; and ranged combat – but before becoming a captain, Kamau had studied nearly every martial art offered in Ki Khanga and had won a few pit fights in Sati-Baa, Haiset and Oyo before volunteering for the squads when Bacillus first appeared. His military experience fighting river pirates in the Riverine Reserves and the high mortality rate among captains shot him quickly up the ranks. Sure, he would be almost sixty now, so had likely left his pit fighting days behind; but he was the best close quarters fighter Mba had ever seen. Montu was quick, clever and deadly, with superb martial technique – handy to know in a fight if a captain found himself without a weapon and surrounded by Gnaw Maws. Mba hoped Montu would volunteer to train the new recruits.

  When the Elder Merchants asked Mba to suggest some names from back in the day – men and women that could be called to active duty to consult – that had not gone insane, the first person that came to mind was Montu. Mba had not seen him in twenty years, but the man was solid back in the day, and last he heard, Montu was still married, which was something.

  The Elder Merchants said, “Go get him.”

  Mba paced over the stone walkway to Montu’s front door. The grass was thick and weedy on both sides, with lots of dead patches. The door opened before he got there.

  “Mba, you sick bastard!” Montu offered his hand. Mba shook it. “That goatee makes you look old.”

  “Seasoned,” Mba said. “You mean ‘seasoned’.”

  Montu, on the other hand, was in excellent shape. Most of his hair was gone. His dark brown skin was smooth and without wrinkles and accented the corded muscles at his jaw and neck. He was trim and his chest still swelled with muscle.

  Mba’s chest was swollen, too…by high blood pressure, fatty foods and drink. He reclaimed his hand from Montu’s strong grip and deftly did up the only button on his jacket that would close. “So… do you have any wine around here?”

  “Of course!” Montu laughed, grabbing Mba’s meaty elbow and leading him quickly toward the front door. His teeth were smaller than Mba’s but whiter, suggesting money; suggesting more than a squad pension. Montu pulled the mahogany door – another sign of money; most people had doors made from tightly weaved straw – aside, exposing a very tidy home wrapped in shadow. Mba just made out the shape of someone at the far side of the house.

  “You remember Abea?” Montu gestured toward the person standing in the shadows.

  It was her. Montu’s wife was a teacher at the university. Good pension. Mba remembered more: he had made several drunken passes at her back in the day. Once, she responded in kind. What followed was an affair that lasted five weeks. Mba is the one who broke things off – he did not want a master of hand-to-hand combat as his enemy; he would have to always look over his shoulder.

  “Abea!” Mba forced his face into a smile and spread his arms. “You look fantastic,” he lied.

  She declined the hug, grabbed his hand and shook it once.

  Abea was in fairly good shape, but time had sanded down all the curves. She wore a colorful flowered dress that fit whatever form was left. There were silver bangles on her wrists that matched her necklace and earrings.

>   “You’re looking well,” she said dryly.

  “You never could lie to me,” Mba said, smiling.

  “Have a seat,” Montu said. “Abea will make us some stew.”

  “How about that drink?” Mba inquired.

  Montu spun around, then placed an iron cross-brace under the doorknob.

  “You expecting trouble?” Mba chuckled.

  “You can never be too sure,” Montu replied with a smile, but it fell flat when he focused on his wife. Mba saw it too. Abea’s look was sharp, staring at a long steel door chain that her husband had yet to throw.

  “Sorry,” Montu chuckled nervously as he slid the door’s chain in place.

  “Come on Mba,” Abea said, with a tilt of her head.

  Mba turned to see a shimmer of sweat had formed over her thin eyebrows.

  “Let’s get you a drink,” she said. “You still a honey wine man?”

  Montu threw an arm on Mba’s shoulder and gestured for him to follow Abea.

  “For as long as I live and breathe,” Mba replied.

  CHAPTER eleven

  “So, your first impression of Montu was positive?” Bande asked. He looked down at the scroll and checked his notes.

  “Yes,” Mba said. “Now, can I get another drink?”

  Bande produced the bottle and then poured Mba half a cup.

  “I still can’t believe those wet-behind-the-ears youngsters confiscated my calabash on the way in,” Mba said, shaking his head. He took a drink, smiling as the warmth spread over his face.

  “So,” Bande started, “Your impression of Captain Montu?”

  “He is a good man,” Mba said. “He is still in great shape.”

  “And his wife?” Bande inquired.

  Mba raised an eyebrow. “What about her?”