Day 1
When Tyburn set off that night to round up the prostitutes, he was cursing Commissioner Burkitt roundly. By the time he returned to the lines, he was cursing everyone he could think of -- especially himself.
The prostitutes were the least of his concerns. The Laibon's attack on the Valley Mission the previous night had been simply one in a string of disasters to befall Nairobi in the past month and a half. The bad luck that began with Lanyard's death continued to plague the Superintendent, and with no sign of a new Assistant Superintendent on the horizon, he had to deal with all crises himself, with only Corporal Karinde and Sub-Inspector Singh to aide him -- God knows Burkitt was never any help. At least four times in the six weeks since Lanyard died, Tyburn found his hand on the phone, ready to call Valentine and beg him to take the next train out of Mombassa, but between having to placate the Commissioner in one way and Chico in another, James Valentine was the last thing he needed to add to the equation.
And, oh yes: the Prince of Wales would arrive in a week.
Prostitution was not illegal in Kenya, and the women harmed no one. But Burkitt was insistent that the Prince not be exposed to any of what he considered the city's less savory element, and to that end the women had to go. "Round them up; charge them -- or do you think it's beneath you?"
"No, sir," Tyburn hastened to assure him, "not at all. I think it would be most inappropriate for the Prince to catch a glimpse of the real Nairobi." Grinning inwardly at the rage that twisted Burkitt's face, he continued, "I would've dealt with it sooner, but I've been a little undermanned at present."
A strange glimmer came into the mad dog's eyes. "I have employed a new man to be your assistant. Good chap; fine breeding -- might even teach you a thing or two." With a dry, chilling laugh, Burkitt tapped himself on the shoulder with his ever-present riding crop and walked off.
"Sounds like a horse," Albert muttered, shuddering at the thought of what Burkitt would consider appropriate qualities in an Assistant Superintendent. But in a way, he was relieved. Breaking in Burkitt's new man -- hell, surviving day-to-day without killing Burkitt's new man -- would go a long way toward making him forget about Valentine.
All of that was a matter best dealt with at another time. And so Tyburn grabbed Karinde and a handful of constables and set out for the prostitutes' village.
At the very first row of huts, everything started going wrong. As Karinde and the constables began working their way down the row, Tyburn took the one closest to the end. He banged on the door and went in.
Froze.
Forced himself to smile.
There he lay, Chico de Ville, naked as the day he was born and not the least bit embarrassed at having his lover find him in bed with a prostitute. Blowing out a puff of cigarette smoke, he chuckled and tapped his brightly painted nails against his cheek. "Superintendent Tyburn," he cooed, "my word. How deliciously inconvenient of you."
And that insouciant amusement reminded Albert just who he was dealing with. Chico wasn't his property. They'd made no commitments to each other -- indeed, Chico had been firm in his declaration that sharing one bed would in no way prevent him from sharing others. This, though, was the last bed Albert would have expected to find him in. "Mr de Ville." He offered a genuine smile, and Chico grinned back.
The woman stopped massaging Chico's back and said something Tyburn didn't understand but was clearly an invitation to join them. "She's quite beautiful, isn't she?" Chico asked.
Albert stared at the woman's enormous breasts and gap-toothed smile. "She doesn't quite run to my tastes," he said, letting his gaze linger on de Ville's slender shoulders and back. "I'm surprised she runs to yours."
De Ville's agate eyes glinted. "I don't see why I have to confine myself to the delights of only half the human race," he said, the challenge clear in his voice.
Albert was now fighting against laughter. He'd never met anyone remotely like Chico, and he was still learning how to navigate the twists and turns of this relationship. "Quite so," he said, "but I'm afraid your companion has to come with me." When they stared at him in disbelief, Albert snapped, "Come on; out you go." His anger was directed far more at Chico than at the prostitute; Chico knew damned well what Tyburn had come to the village to do, and to assume that an exception would be made out of respect for their relationship was the most ludicrous, arrogant...and, blast him, typical reaction he could have. Once the woman was out of the hut, Albert came back inside and shut the door. Leaning down and pressing his lips to Chico's, he whispered, "There is something bizarrely irresistible about you when you speak so philosophically."
"Philosophy enters into it not at all, Albert." Chico laughed and drew him back for a longer kiss. "Dare I live in hope that I'll see you again soon?" he asked when they broke apart.
Albert groaned. "I couldn't say. Burkitt's turned the force upside down in preparation for the Prince's visit -- I barely know when I'll see myself next."
"In that case..." Chico patted the mattress. "There is a bed conveniently located directly beneath me."
Albert wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "There are also five of my best men outside. At the first sound out of you, they will charge through the door with their guns drawn."
Chico licked his lips. "I rather like the sound of that."
Albert kissed him again and stood, pulling down the brim of his hat. "I have many more women to arrest before the night is over, Chico. I must be going."
"Fine. If you can resist such an offer, then go on. I see where your priorities lie."
Albert paused at the door. "I have never made a secret of that point, Chico."
"Indeed, you have been most clear," he said grimly, his eyes darkening. "Return to your work, then."
Tyburn drummed his fingers on the door, but he decided against whatever he had thought to say and slipped out of the hut into the night.
It might have been lingering malaise from his encounter with Chico that led Tyburn to treat Karinde so roughly at the next village -- or it may have been the bloody lot of screaming the young prostitute was doing as the officer dragged her from her hut. "Corporal Karinde!" Tyburn yelled, grabbing him by his shirtfront and shaking him, "you'd better have an explanation -- now!"
Karinde glared at the girl cowering on the ground behind the Superintendent. "She is my cousin, sir," he spat.
Instantly, Tyburn released him. That was a damned good explanation.
Day 2
Tyburn stood before the magistrate and charged the women with the "wrong crime." As the magistrate pointed out that anyone arrested in their own home couldn't be vagrant, and Tyburn tried to hide his smile, he thought he felt a presence -- an energy, observing him from the back of the room -- but by the time he had a chance to look around, there was no one there. He told Karinde to get the prostitutes back to their homes -- and his cousin out of Nairobi -- and left the courtroom.
"Ah. Superintendent. Delighted to see you."
Tyburn froze outside the door. The presence he had sensed in the courtroom sat on the railing, foot swinging idly, a confident, ecstatic grin on his face. Tyburn turned his hat in his hands. "Valentine." He shook the young man's hand and ignored as best he could the flame that raced through him at the contact. "Come to arrest me again, have you?" There was something alluring about the prospect.
Valentine laughed. "No, no, sir; I've come to assist you."
Tyburn's world ground to a halt, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Valentine? Valentine was the new man Burkitt had brought in? Bloody hell.
"Superintendent? Sir?" Valentine lay his hand hesitantly on Tyburn's arm.
Tyburn's shook himself. "I -- I'm fine." He reminded himself that he was the Superintendent of Police and kept his voice more professional and uninflected than he would've thought possible.
Valentine dropped his eyes, unexpectedly shy and uncertain. "You -- you did say you'd be glad to have me here...."
Tyburn swallowed around a lump forming in his throat. He'd forgotten how young Valentine was. Younger than Chico; perhaps even younger than Lanyard. "I am extremely glad to have you here, Valentine," he said, and Valentine's eyes cleared and he even smiled a little. "God knows I can use the help, especially with the Prince on his way."
Valentine grinned. "I would imagine Commissioner Burkitt is beside himself with excitement about the attention the visit will bring Nairobi."
"Of course," Albert said, grimacing, "but he's like to drive everyone else mad in the meanwhile. Let's get back to the lines, shall we?" He clapped Valentine's shoulder jovially, and the young man's eyes flicked to him briefly, unreadable, then away. Tyburn swallowed again and took his hand away, leading his new Assistant Superintendent toward the car as the rain began to fall.
The ride back to the barracks was silent. But as they dashed across the yard toward the office, Valentine said, admiration strong in his voice, "I'll say, sir; you handled that with commendable guile."
Tyburn shrugged. "I didn't have much choice. Burkitt ordered me to arrest them; the jail didn't have room. He won't even notice." He shook the water out of his hair and ignored Valentine's appraising gaze, and after a moment Valentine looked down and wiped his sunglasses on the hem of his shirt.
"TYBURN!" Ronald Burkitt's bellow rattled the windows.
"No, sir," Valentine said, a smile curling his lips, "I doubt he'll notice at all."
"Assistant Superintendent," he warned, but the effect was spoiled by his laughter as he dragged the officer toward Burkitt's office.
"Vagrancy?" the Commissioner demanded.
Tyburn ran his fingers along the brim of his hat. "It seems it was the wrong charge, sir," he said. Valentine was smirking behind him. He could feel it.
"Assistant Superintendent Valentine." Burkitt swung his attention to the other man.
"Sir." He stepped forward and inclined his head respectfully.
"Once you have acquainted yourself with your surroundings, perhaps you'd arrest these women again," he said. Tyburn sighed. Burkitt rose and headed toward the door. "And this time, be sure to charge them in the appropriate fashion."
Valentine shot a sympathetic glance at Tyburn. "Certainly, sir."
"Thank you, sir," Tyburn muttered as Valentine left the office.
"Just a minute, Tyburn." Burkitt pointed his riding crop out the window at Valentine. "Ah...good stock. Devonshire family. His, uh, uncle fagged for a cousin of mine at Harrow before the war."
Tyburn smiled at the lunacy of Burkitt's thinking this was in any way important to the mettle of a police officer -- and that he was still discussing Valentine as he would a race horse. "Wheels within wheels, sir," he murmured.
"You're new here, Tyburn," Burkitt said, and Tyburn's smile faded. "You might do well to observe young Valentine. He'll show you how we do things in Africa."
The Superintendent's eyes narrowed. "Sir," he said grimly. Burkitt's blatant distrust and dislike of Tyburn irked him, but far more worrisome was what he perceived as the Commissioner's attitude that they were not a police force but a team of security guards for rich colonists. Then, though, he just had to smile as he left Burkitt's office; he would indeed be observing Valentine -- far more closely than the Commissioner would ever imagine.
And with any luck, Valentine would show Tyburn exactly how they did things in Africa.
There was something sinister about Thomas Drennan. Albert felt it the instant Emma introduced them. And there was something strange, as well, about the Watcham sisters -- something off, but not threatening -- and it wasn't simply the eerie silence of the empty workers' huts, the bitter coffee and rock-hard biscuits (though God bless Valentine for saying he liked them), or Matilda Watcham's obvious mental frailty. But Drennan was no concern of his, and once the Watchams identified the girl Charlotte Elliot was keeping at the Valley Mission, that would cease to be his concern as well. He went back to his reports.
And looked up about an hour later, grinning to himself, at the sound of a large group of women singing. Valentine was back. Albert picked up his cup and went outside to greet the Assistant Superintendent and his prisoners.
"Not a job for the faint-hearted, sir," Valentine said dryly. "What would you like me to do with them now?"
Tyburn leaned against a post and regarded the scores of women Valentine had arrested. Then he grinned. "Put them in the barracks, Assistant Superintendent."
Valentine's lips twitched, but he managed to avoid a full grin. "The soldiers will probably object to that arrangement, sir."
"Do you have another suggestion?"
The officer shook his head, grinning widely now. "No, sir."
"Very well, then." He pushed himself away from the post and nodded once.
"Sir." Valentine nodded in return and motioned for the prostitutes to follow him.
"Valentine!" Tyburn called.
"Superintendent?"
Albert licked his lips, uncertain of why he had spoken. "Come back here when they're seen to."
"Yes, sir."
Albert drained the now-lukewarm tea from his cup in one long swallow and went back inside, staring at his desk and wondering just what he was about to get himself into.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
Despite the gentleness of Valentine's voice, Tyburn jumped. He rose to his feet, regarding the young man standing uncertainly in the doorway. "Ah. Valentine. The...the women have been seen to?"
He grinned. "Yes, sir. As expected, the men put up quite a resistance."
"They can take it up with Burkitt in the morning." Tyburn was smiling, now, too.
"I did suggest that, sir, yes."
"Valentine," Tyburn began, but he knew words would not serve him tonight. "I, ah--" Valentine took a single step forward and put his hand on Albert's left arm. Albert raised his right hand, covering Valentine's. Two pairs of brown eyes regarded each other warily, then Albert lifted away a lock of dark red hair that had fallen against Valentine's temple. "James--"
The younger man stiffened and dropped his arm. "Don't. I -- no one calls me that. Ever."
Albert took half a step backwards. "I'm sorry. I didn't -- That is, I don't...God, Valentine, I've no idea what I'm doing."
Again Valentine closed the space between them and lay the back of his hand against Albert's cheek. Albert leaned into the touch, raising his hand to stroke Valentine's palm. He lowered his head, searching Valentine's face. A flush swept across the other man, and his breath caught in his throat. Feeling every nerve jangling, Albert leaned further and brushed his lips against Valentine's. A flame raced through Albert's body, and his grip on Valentine's hand tightened.
Valentine stared at him with hazy eyes and lifted his free hand to the back of Albert's head, pulling him in again. Albert swept his tongue across Valentine's lower lip, and soon their tongues were entwined, demanding more. Albert dropped Valentine's hand and slid his own hand slowly up Valentine's arm, snaking his other arm around the other man's waist. Valentine's left hand grabbed almost desperately at a handful of Albert's shirt. As the hand at Valentine's waist slipped down to his ass, he groaned softly, "God, Albert."
Albert drew back and grinned at him. "A little presumptuous, don't you think?" he teased. "I am your superior officer, after all."
Valentine ran his tongue along his lower lip, almost undoing Albert. "Well, sir, if you'd prefer I screamed, 'Superintendent Tyburn, sir' at the height of passion--"
"All right, you." Albert claimed Valentine's mouth again. Before he was entirely aware of what was happening, he found they were on the floor. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather--"
"Shush." He pulled Albert's shirt from the waistband of his pants.
"It's the floor of the office," he protested. Whatever argument he was going to offer next was converted into a strangled moan by Valentine's hand tweaking his nipple. "Right then," he gasped. "Office floor it is."
And when they had both found release, Albert slumped against the desk, cradling Valentine against him, his hands drifting slowly across the other man's chest, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "We have just had sex on the floor of the office, Valentine."
He nodded lazily, his hair brushing against Tyburn's chest. "I suppose we should move at some point."
Albert shrugged. "At some point." He frowned and shifted Valentine so they could look each other in the eye. "This is, ah, perhaps something I should have mentioned before, but..."
"Before was not exactly the moment for the baring of one's soul, is that it?" Valentine's eyes were twinkling.
"Something along those lines." Albert grimaced. "There is -- in a manner of speaking -- someone..."
Valentine smiled. "Miss Fitzgerald. I know."
"What?" Albert was shocked. "Emma! No -- wherever would you get such an idea?"
"One hears things," he said. "So, if it's not Miss Fitzgerald, then who?"
Albert sighed. "Chico de Ville."
This stunned him. "Really?"
"Really." He waited, suspecting his entire life might well depend on Valentine's reaction to this revelation.
"Oh. I see."
"We're not -- I mean it's not...exclusive." He thought of the prostitute's hut and laughed sharply. "By any measure."
"Do you love him?"
Albert hadn't expected that question. How in heaven's name was he to answer? It was a situation he had never anticipated finding himself in, and he understood that God truly had it in for him. "I don't know," he admitted at last.
For a long moment, Valentine held himself still. He was leaning slightly forward, knees drawn up against his chest, and from this position could rise to his feet and walk away or settle back against him with equal ease. Albert forgot to breathe.
At last, Valentine exhaled and eased himself back into Albert's arms. "I suggest you find out," he said, and it sounded like nothing more than a friendly suggestion; there was no rancor in his voice.
Albert dropped his head against the desk and thanked God for maybe not completely despising him. After a time, he noticed that Valentine's breath had slowed and deepened and nudged him gently. "Valentine," he whispered.
"Mmmm?"
"We can't sleep here." He winced at a vision of Burkitt walking in on this in the morning. "I've become rather fond of my job."
Valentine grumbled and stretched. "Dreadfully unfair of Burkitt, if you ask me." He stood, and Albert was more relieved than he could say that he was still sitting -- he doubted his knees would have been able to support him at the sight of Valentine just standing there, so casually naked. "And I imagine I'll just have to work with you all day tomorrow and not touch you at all." He held out his hand, and Albert grasped it tightly, letting Valentine pull him upright.
"I'm afraid so." For a moment they stood like this, hands clasped between their bodies, looking at each other, then Valentine kissed him and stepped away. They pulled on their clothes without speaking, the air between them charged with a mix of desire and despair.
Albert paused outside the door to Valentine's room as he let himself in. "Good night, Valentine."
Valentine smiled, once more turning Albert's knees to water. "Good night, Albert. Sleep well." And then they laughed at the impossibility of that happening tonight.
Day 3
Chico was drunk, drunk, drunk. He didn't remember having drunk so many martinis, but five glasses were lined up in front of his couch, and he was busily imbibing another.
When the shiningly polished shoes and crisply pressed pants stopped beside him, he allowed himself to hope -- for one blinding instant -- that it was Albert. That was impossible -- the Superintendent shunned the Kefaro Club, and by now everyone knew that the new Assistant Superintendent was Mombassa's charming young James Valentine. What not everyone knew was that Albert Tyburn was given to muttering Valentine's name in his sleep. So the man standing in front of him could not be the one he most wanted it to be, but when Chico's eyes followed up the slender legs and torso, he realized it was almost as good. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like, Thomas?" he slurred as Drennan sat beside him.
Drennan stretched his arm across the back of the couch and touched his fingertips to Chico's upper arm. "Chico," he murmured, "I'm wondering right now."
Chico grinned in drunken triumph and rose unsteadily from the couch. "My room is that way," he said, pointing in generally the correct direction. Thomas stood, as well, and they headed off "that way."
Day 4
Burkitt was still going on about the damned seating chart for the Prince's dinner. Valentine smiled knowingly at Tyburn, and Tyburn's body felt suddenly ten pounds lighter and ten degrees warmer.
And then a crazed robber with a machete had Tyburn pinned down in the street, and Valentine shot the machete out of his hand. Shaking, Tyburn rose and dusted himself off. It wasn't until much later that the reality would strike him with stunning force: Valentine had saved his life again.
After Reverend Herbert accused the Laibon of MacAllister's murder, after they discovered that the workers from the Watchams' plantation had never returned to their villages, Tyburn told the village chief -- despite strenuous objections from Karinde and Valentine -- to let it be known that he didn't blame the Laibon for being afraid of him.
On the road from the Watchams' farm, the car was blocked by the Laibon and his men, and Tyburn -- though again his officers warned against it -- arrested him. From his jail cell, the Laibon put a curse on Tyburn, but he didn't believe in the Laibon's juju magic -- after all, hadn't Dr Mueller discovered that MacAllister had been shot, not speared? Only then the Laibon escaped, and no one knew how, but Tyburn had Edward Herbert on suspicion of the murder of John MacAllister; he suspected he was steps away from figuring out who killed the Watchams' girl, Mary, and abducted Karinde's cousin; and he had Valentine. He could afford not to care about the Laibon for now.
Burkitt skulked around the office forever, and eventually Albert and Valentine silently agreed that they were just going to have to go to bed. Loathing Burkitt -- though that was hardly novel -- Albert fell into bed and into a restless sleep tormented by dreams of Valentine. When he jerked awake in the middle of the night, it took him a moment to realize that there really was someone else in the room, rather than a lingering image from his dreams. But the figure in the room was not his lover -- it was the Laibon, and the Laibon had a rather large knife swinging directly towards Albert's head. With a roar, Tyburn drew his gun and lunged at the man.
"Superintendent!" The door to his room flew open, and Valentine was there, gun drawn and cocked.
Albert drew up and looked around. The Laibon was gone.
"Are you all right, sir?" Valentine asked, the light from the barracks glinting off his rain-streaked glasses.
Albert swallowed and looked around again. "Fine, thank you, Valentine."
"Are you sure?" The worry in Valentine's eyes and voice cut him, but he was embarrassed and bewildered and didn't think he could handle further confrontation. He nodded, and the Assistant Superintendent began to withdraw.
But Albert hadn't even had time to reholster his gun before the door swung open again with a bang, and he found himself crushed in Valentine's embrace. "Never do that to me again," he whispered, his lips seeking Albert's. As they tumbled onto the bed, Albert couldn't help but feel they were throwing the Laibon's curse back in his face.
Day 5
Albert jerked awake and flopped over ungracefully -- landing on top of Valentine, who woke with a protesting grunt and glared up at him. "These beds weren't made for two," Albert apologized.
Valentine stretched as Albert climbed over him to get out of the bed. "What are we doing today?"
"We have to go back to the mission and find the gun that killed MacAllister."
The young officer propped himself up on his elbows. "That could take days!"
"I'm not going anywhere; are you?"
Valentine muttered something Albert couldn't quite hear and climbed out of bed. "I think you're perfectly evil," he said as he pulled on his shirt and pants and disappeared from the room. Albert grinned like a fool.
In fact it was a simple matter to unearth the gun -- hand shovels to a small group of constables and tell them to keep digging until they find something -- and a quick check of the area where MacAllister's body was found turned up the bullet.
Tyburn turned from the wall to examine the bullet in the light, and the Laibon rushed him and drove a spear through his gut. As the stabbing pain spiked through his body and he gasped for breath, the Laibon laughed and gave the spearhead a vicious jerk. Tyburn sagged against the wall, his hands drenched in blood, and he felt the death rattle in his throat. Valentine, he thought as blood trickled from his mouth.
"Found it, sir!" Valentine called jubilantly, appearing at the top of the hill. "Sir?" He increased his pace and jogged down the incline toward the Superintendent.
Tyburn stared at the officer, then at himself. He was whole. No blood. No wound. No Laibon.
"Sir?" Valentine's eyes had the same look they'd had the night before when he burst into Tyburn's room.
Tyburn swallowed and wiped his forehead. "It's nothing," he said shakily, not caring if the other man believed him.
"We found the gun, sir," Valentine said, darting quick glances at his superior. The two men agreed that the bullet Tyburn had found probably came from the gun Valentine was holding, and Valentine helped the Superintendent back to the car.
But it seemed he was not to have any rest. They had been at the lines a mere five minutes when Emma arrived, telling him that Charlotte Elliot was missing. They found her back at the mission, prepared to kill herself to shift the blame for MacAllister's murder away from Edward Herbert. As Tyburn talked the gun away from her, he found himself wondering if Valentine would do such a thing for him -- or he for Valentine. Then he passed out for five hours.
When Valentine found the name of Thomas Drennan's room among MacAllister's belongings, Tyburn set out for the Kefaro Club again, though every step felt like it was going to be his last. "Can you account for your whereabouts two nights ago, Mr Drennan?" he asked, clutching his glass of water as though it were his only link to the world of the living.
"Am I a suspect, Superintendent?"
Tyburn tried the disarming smile he'd used on Herbert and MacAllister, but suspected it came out looking more like a grimace. "I just want to be able to eliminate you from my investigation."
Drennan paused in his preparations for dinner, sighed, and looked at Tyburn's reflection in the mirror. "This is very embarrassing for me, Superintendent. I trust I may depend on your discretion?" Tyburn inclined his head. "I was with Chico de Ville."
Tyburn's heart dropped into his shoes, and his stomach leapt into his throat. Stilling his hands around the glass, he whispered, "All night?"
"Yes."
"Will--" He gulped at the water. "Will he confirm this?"
Drennan rolled his eyes. "Frankly, Superintendent, I'm amazed he hasn't been shouting it from the rooftops."
Tyburn excused himself as decorously as possible, then raced down the stairs to the Kefaro's main room. When he spotted Chico, dancing by himself at the edge of the floor, Tyburn crossed to him, grabbed his arm far too forcefully, and spun him until they were face to face. "Is it true?" he hissed.
Chico's eyes were hazel tonight, and they glittered triumphantly. It looked as though he'd made Albert Tyburn jealous -- as though he had caused Albert a fraction of the pain Albert had caused him with his little red-headed Assistant. "Surprised, Superintendent?" he gloated.
Through a great exertion of will, Tyburn resisted shoving his fist though Chico's face. "Was he with you the entire night?"
"What fun would only half the night be?" Chico teased.
Albert could hardly see Chico for the red and black circles swimming in front of his eyes. Uncontrollable rage was building within him, and he knew he had to get away at once. He turned and stumbled down the stairs and out of the club, trying to convince himself that Chico's laughter ringing in his ears was an illusion. The haze that descended over his brain, wiping out everything but disbelief and rage, did not lift even when he saw Valentine again, when Valentine's fingers brushed the back of his neck as he stood, shivering, over his desk. Did not lift until he heard the shot that killed Avril Watcham.
Day 6
Tyburn and Valentine stood side-by-side on the bank, watching the launch with the native girls Theodore Watcham had kidnapped make its slow way up the Tarna River. "We secure the rope to the bank," Valentine was saying, "swim out with it, attach it to the anchor chain, and use it to drag the launch aground."
Tyburn surveyed the river. "That's good," he said. "That could work." He looked over at his assistant. "You going to do that, then?"
Valentine blinked at him from behind his sunglasses. "Not me, sir. I can't swim."
Tyburn rolled his eyes and grabbed the rope.
He hit his head on the underside of the launch. He could've sworn he heard Valentine scream, "Where is he?" but by rights he should've been unconscious, so that didn't make sense. The Laibon dragged him out of the water and disappeared. Tyburn had saved the Laibon's people, and the curse -- if there really had been once -- was lifted. By the time Emma and Valentine reached him, the Laibon was gone, but Tyburn knew he had been there -- and had saved his life.
Tyburn tried not to smile when Burkitt informed them that King George was taken ill, and that the Prince had therefore been obliged to cancel his trip to Africa. Then Singh appeared on the porch and it became easy not to smile. "Superintendent? Theodore Watcham's fingerprints."
A knot formed in Tyburn's stomach. "What about them?"
"They do not match those on the gun that killed John MacAllister."
"Well, if Watcham didn't kill him, then--" Tyburn ran for the car. He heard Valentine calling to him and Burkitt screaming at him, but he had a suspicion which would not release its vice-like grip around his heart.
It wasn't difficult to find what he sought -- though he had allowed himself, briefly, to hope that he had been mistaken -- in Drennan's room, then he blasted back down to the Kefaro's main level and stormed up to his unrepentant former lover. "Where is Drennan?" he demanded.
Chico's eyes danced. Was there, perhaps, going to be a fight over him? Then he got a longer look at Albert and realized the man was in no mood for games. "His light has dimmed," he said, sounding bored.
"I'm surprised you remember much of your night together," Albert spat, waving a small bottle under Chico's nose. Chico jerked his head away from it, recoiling at the sharp and unsettlingly familiar odor. "Chloroform," Albert said. "You were drugged. He used your bed as an alibi." He shoved the bottle closer. "Recognize the smell?"
Chico curled his fingers protectively in front of his mouth and looked away. And there the bastard stood, at the foot of the stairs, looking as casual as a man might when he knows he's been found out. Chico's eyes turned storm gray, and Albert followed his gaze. For a moment, Albert and Drennan stared at each other, then Thomas turned and sauntered across the lawn, Albert mere steps behind. Chico rose from his couch and watched them circle each other, hoping ridiculously that even the tiniest piece of Albert was doing this because of him -- not simply because of his job. Finally Drennan sprinted across the lawn and into the club, but he could never have hoped to get away from Albert. Chico heard later that Albert put Drennan's head through a window. He was thrilled. No one used Chico de Ville to commit a murder.
Day 7
"She's not fit to stand trial," Valentine said, watching Tyburn watch Karinde load Matilda Watcham into a car.
"That's for the magistrate to decide," Tyburn said. "I just hope he agrees with you." He finished his tea and set the cup on the desk. "The magistrate is waiting. Escort the prisoner to the bar."
"Yes, sir." Valentine picked up his hat and Matilda Watcham's case file. "Sir? Edward Herbert?"
Herbert had been a deserter, and deserters hung. It was law, and Tyburn was not a man to rewrite the law. But as he looked at Valentine, he kept hearing Emma's voice. "You were given a second chance; let Edward have his." She'd been absolutely right -- and absolutely wrong. Kenya wasn't his second chance -- Valentine was. So perhaps Charlotte Elliot was Edward Herbert's. "No charge to answer," he said.
Valentine smiled, nodded sharply, and turned to go. "Superintendent?" he said softly. Tyburn looked over at him, and Valentine's smile faltered. "You should, perhaps, have a talk with Mr de Ville."
Tyburn closed his eyes. "I shall take it under advisement."
"Yes, sir." He left the room.
Tyburn sighed and put on his hat. Later, they would need him at Matilda's trial, but right now he had time. He squared his shoulders and watched the back of Valentine's head disappear out of the lines, then crossed to his car. "Damn you anyway, Valentine," he muttered.
Knocking once again on Chico's door, Albert pondered everything that had passed since he stood here last. Nothing in his life was the same anymore -- had it really only been a week? He didn't hear the door open, but suddenly Chico was gasping, and he looked over apologetically. "Albert. I hadn't expected to see you here. Ever again."
"Chico--" He stopped. It wouldn't do to start out on the defensive. "May I come in?" he asked as calmly as he could. The Chico didn't answer, simply opened the door a bit wider and turned away into the room. Albert stepped inside and shut the door behind him, which earned him a raised eyebrow but no other reaction. "Thomas Drennan is dead," he said.
Chico went very still. "What happened?"
"Matilda Watcham shot him."
"Matilda! But, she's...obviously she's unwell."
Tyburn nodded. "Drennan killed Avril."
"Good heavens, why?"
Albert sighed and sank down onto the bed. "Drennan, John MacAllister, and Theodore Watcham were kidnapping native girls and selling them into slavery. Avril figured it out somehow, and she came to the police station to tell me. Drennan...shot her." He stared at his hands. "They weren't sisters, you know. They were lovers."
"Everyone knows that," he said.
"I didn't."
Chico laughed. "You've only been here for two months."
As a long moment ticked past, Chico stared out the window, and Albert stared at the floor, trying to decide where to steer this rudderless ship. Finally he sighed and stood. "I thought that, considering your...history...with Drennan, you might want to know."
Chico turned, seeming to notice for the first time that Albert was standing. "My history." He laughed softly, and it was a sound filled with self-mockery. "You make it sound far less tawdry than it was." He stepped forward, looking as though he wanted to touch Albert, but then decided against it. He blew on his nails as though drying them, though the polish had dried hours ago. "I am sorry, Albert. About Thomas. About...everything." He sighed. "About Valentine."
Albert turned his hat slowly in his hands. "I met him in Mombassa when I was investigating Lady Daphne's murder. I truly did not expect I would ever see him again. And now, this thing has simply...happened."
Chico snorted. "Nothing 'simply happens,' Albert."
For a moment it seemed Albert would not answer. Then, quietly, "No; I don't suppose it does."
Chico settled himself in the chair by the window. "So, is this the end of our affair, Albert? A month and a half and you abandon me for another man's charms, freeing me to pursue my own amours?"
Albert smiled faintly. "Has my light dimmed, Chico?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Oh." He ran a hand through his hair. "You deserve better."
"Unquestionably." Both the teasing and the sadness were unmistakable in his voice.
"Then I'll go. But...I will miss you."
Chico raised his eyebrow. "That was the plan all along, Albert. Be absolutely certain your loss will haunt him for the rest of his life."
Albert laughed ruefully and put his hand on the knob, wondering when he'd crossed to the door. "Chico?"
"Albert."
"I tackled Drennan because it was my job."
Disappointment stabbed him. "Of course."
"But I put his head through a window because of you." Chico smiled broadly at that, but he said nothing. Albert looked him over one last time. "I'll say good night, then."
"Good night, Albert. And...good-bye."
"Nairobi is small, Chico. We're bound to run into each other again." He touched the brim of his hat in farewell, then opened the door and left.
Chico leaned heavily against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. "That, my dear Superintendent, is what I am afraid of."
END
**********
THINGS I DID NOT MAKE UP: Chico did sleep with Drennan, and Avril and Matilda Watcham were lovers, not sisters. Also, it's never made clear how much time passes between "Private Lives" and "Hide in Plain Sight," so I made up a number that suited my nefarious purposes.