impress Arap Maina.
Arap Maina shook his head. “That is no buffalo dropping. Look more closely.”
Obediently, the boys hopped into a tighter circle.
“The shape is wrong. Feel the wetness; smell it. All of you should know lion spoor. The cattle are in danger.” To the Nandi, there was no greater threat. The boys were training to be murani, the guardians of the tribe’s wealth, its cattle.
“Tomorrow the murani will hunt this lion,” Arap Maina said.
Beryl caught her breath as an excited murmur rose from the boys. Every warrior longed to prove himself against the greatest enemy. Legends were born during lion hunts.
“We should sharpen our spears,” said Mehru.
“We should pray to Enka that we take down the lion in one blow!” said another.
“Ha! This is warriors’ work,” laughed Arap Maina. But the smile in his eyes told Beryl that he was proud of their courage. “Your work is to find a healthy bull for the ceremony. He must not have any blemishes.”
Beryl seized her moment. “Arap Maina, I would like to go on the hunt.” Her words fell into a shocked silence. Arap Maina had often taken the young people hunting for small game, but a lion hunt was serious business.
Behind his father, Kibii bent over laughing. Beryl scowled at him, already afraid she was making a fool of herself.
“Beru, only the murani hunt lion.” Arap Maina’s lips twitched.
“I know, but I can take care of myself.” Beryl dug her toes into the soft ground.
“What can a white girl do on a hunt?” It was Mehru who taunted her. Arap Maina silenced him with a glance.
“I have not taught you to defend yourself against a lion,” Arap Maina said sternly. “I never thought you would be foolish enough to hunt one.”
“I am ready,” she insisted.
He shook his head.
“Arap Maina, my father wants me to go on a hunt,” Beryl said deliberately, as though he was hard of hearing. She gulped and went on, “He insists.”
“I will ask him myself,” Arap Maina replied, glancing at the boys.
“He’s in Nairobi,” Beryl answered. “Do you doubt what I say?”
After a long moment, Arap Maina shrugged. “You may go only if you promise to obey my orders. I swore an oath to your father that I would keep you safe.”
“I promise.” She glanced around the boys and quickly dropped her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see the shocked disbelief on Kibii’s face and the sullen anger on Mehru’s.
LOCATION: Abingdon, England
DATE: 12:00 GMT, 4 September, 1936
I exit the hangar. There’s the low roar of a heavy plane above us, a bomber. It looks like a fat marabou stork gliding in for a landing. Bombers are ugly planes; they handle as though they’re flying through treacle.
My ground crew is waiting impatiently by my lovely new plane, The Messenger. Suddenly, I hear a loud boom and the ground shakes. The bomber has crashed. We all start to run toward the burning hulk of metal. The smoke billows from its carcass. We’re all watching for the same thing: Did the pilot survive?
A voice at my shoulder startles me. It’s my engine mechanic, Josh.” We’ll have to wait for that to be cleared before you can take off,” he says.
I nod, but my eyes are locked on the smoldering cockpit. “I hope you’re not superstitious,” he says. “That can’t be a good sign.”
“We all know the dangers,” I reply. “A landing can go either way.”
Something’s happening…shouting and frantic activity at the cockpit. The pilot stumbles onto the tarmac. There’s the wailing siren of an ambulance. He’s being helped onto a wheeled cot. Better that than a hearse.
“Whew, that’s a relief,” I say. “Let’s get started. I’ve got an ocean to cross.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BERYL RAN FULL TILT DOWN THE STEEP PATH TOWARD THE village. The valley spread out in front of her, shimmering in the pearly light just before dawn. Her feet slipping on the small rocks, she spread her arms wide
Arap Maina shook his head. “That is no buffalo dropping. Look more closely.”
Obediently, the boys hopped into a tighter circle.
“The shape is wrong. Feel the wetness; smell it. All of you should know lion spoor. The cattle are in danger.” To the Nandi, there was no greater threat. The boys were training to be murani, the guardians of the tribe’s wealth, its cattle.
“Tomorrow the murani will hunt this lion,” Arap Maina said.
Beryl caught her breath as an excited murmur rose from the boys. Every warrior longed to prove himself against the greatest enemy. Legends were born during lion hunts.
“We should sharpen our spears,” said Mehru.
“We should pray to Enka that we take down the lion in one blow!” said another.
“Ha! This is warriors’ work,” laughed Arap Maina. But the smile in his eyes told Beryl that he was proud of their courage. “Your work is to find a healthy bull for the ceremony. He must not have any blemishes.”
Beryl seized her moment. “Arap Maina, I would like to go on the hunt.” Her words fell into a shocked silence. Arap Maina had often taken the young people hunting for small game, but a lion hunt was serious business.
Behind his father, Kibii bent over laughing. Beryl scowled at him, already afraid she was making a fool of herself.
“Beru, only the murani hunt lion.” Arap Maina’s lips twitched.
“I know, but I can take care of myself.” Beryl dug her toes into the soft ground.
“What can a white girl do on a hunt?” It was Mehru who taunted her. Arap Maina silenced him with a glance.
“I have not taught you to defend yourself against a lion,” Arap Maina said sternly. “I never thought you would be foolish enough to hunt one.”
“I am ready,” she insisted.
He shook his head.
“Arap Maina, my father wants me to go on a hunt,” Beryl said deliberately, as though he was hard of hearing. She gulped and went on, “He insists.”
“I will ask him myself,” Arap Maina replied, glancing at the boys.
“He’s in Nairobi,” Beryl answered. “Do you doubt what I say?”
After a long moment, Arap Maina shrugged. “You may go only if you promise to obey my orders. I swore an oath to your father that I would keep you safe.”
“I promise.” She glanced around the boys and quickly dropped her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see the shocked disbelief on Kibii’s face and the sullen anger on Mehru’s.
LOCATION: Abingdon, England
DATE: 12:00 GMT, 4 September, 1936
I exit the hangar. There’s the low roar of a heavy plane above us, a bomber. It looks like a fat marabou stork gliding in for a landing. Bombers are ugly planes; they handle as though they’re flying through treacle.
My ground crew is waiting impatiently by my lovely new plane, The Messenger. Suddenly, I hear a loud boom and the ground shakes. The bomber has crashed. We all start to run toward the burning hulk of metal. The smoke billows from its carcass. We’re all watching for the same thing: Did the pilot survive?
A voice at my shoulder startles me. It’s my engine mechanic, Josh.” We’ll have to wait for that to be cleared before you can take off,” he says.
I nod, but my eyes are locked on the smoldering cockpit. “I hope you’re not superstitious,” he says. “That can’t be a good sign.”
“We all know the dangers,” I reply. “A landing can go either way.”
Something’s happening…shouting and frantic activity at the cockpit. The pilot stumbles onto the tarmac. There’s the wailing siren of an ambulance. He’s being helped onto a wheeled cot. Better that than a hearse.
“Whew, that’s a relief,” I say. “Let’s get started. I’ve got an ocean to cross.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BERYL RAN FULL TILT DOWN THE STEEP PATH TOWARD THE village. The valley spread out in front of her, shimmering in the pearly light just before dawn. Her feet slipping on the small rocks, she spread her arms wide
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