Paniha's Taniwha: The Artifact Hunters 3.5 Page 5

  “Captain Hawke, or you can call me Loki. I thought I might steal you away, if you would care to show me around your village?” The hilltop settlement didn’t offer many soft or secluded corners. He wondered what the low huts were like inside. They didn’t look big enough to contain a large and comfortable bed.

  She met his gaze with a steady look. “I am not an object that can be stolen, nor land for the taking.”

  He did have a habit of picking the argumentative, strong women. A change of tactic was required. “I merely wanted to spend some time in your company. To learn more about this beautiful country.”

  Her gaze became appraising. Surely he was an inviting prospect compared to the half-naked savages she was used to. Her hand touched the pendant at her throat. Hung on a leather thong, he thought at first it was a simple teardrop shape. Up close, it revealed itself as an intricate creature, curled up upon itself.

  “Marika was chosen to instruct you in our ways. I am betrothed to our chief and have little time for the shallow words and broken promises of the pakeha.” With that, she turned her back to him and walked away with her maidens.

  Loki watched her retreat amid the swirl of people. Her rejection didn’t bother him, nor the news that she was to marry Hone. Betrothed meant no official words had yet been exchanged. Loki had seen the flare of interest in her eyes before she had dismissed him. Paniha was on his hook. He just had to play his line gently now, so she didn’t escape.

  6

  As dusk fell, the Matanui community congregated on the village green to watch as the Maori pulled up the hangi. Delicious aromas wafted on the released steam as baskets and wrapped bundles were pulled from their nest in the heated earth. An array of vegetables were steamed in their flax containers. Birds were cooked to the point the flesh fell from the bone, fish were wrapped in leaves, and one large pit contained pieces cut from a wild boar. Golden bread came from another oven, and a multitude of stomachs rumbled. Woven mats were laid out for people to sit upon and the dishes lined up.

  The natives certainly knew how to feed a large crowd, and it seemed that most of the settlers and many of the soldiers had turned up for the feast. As Loki waited his turn he watched as groups formed. The settlers piled their plates high and took spots around the bonfire, but most chose to sit with other settlers. The Maori largely stayed close to other Maori. Only the children freely mingled and played with each other. Their laughter added a layer of lightness to the atmosphere which masked the stiffness between some of the locals.

  Perhaps life down in the colonies wasn’t so bad. Or at least it wouldn't be once Loki coaxed his chosen companion to play his game. Miguel sat himself next to Loki, and Marika took a spot next to the lad. The young couple kept exchanging shy glances over their dinner. They were probably working up the courage to try hand-holding. Loki ate a leg of some type of gamey bird and wondered if he needed to ply Miguel with ale and whisper a few words of older-brother type advice in his ear.

  Night dropped her cloak over the gathering and the only light came from the bonfire and a few lanterns set around the lawn. Laughter rose and fell, and then a group of women began singing. Ale flowed freely and Loki reclined on the mat, listening. Then one voice soared over the others and Paniha stepped into the flickering glow as she sang. Her hands were as expressive as her words as she wove a story on the air. Loki was spellbound, and his blood hummed to be near the extraordinary woman.

  Her gaze rested on him for a moment and he gave her his best intense stare—the one that made ordinary women weak at the knees. A smile flickered over Paniha’s lips, then her attention moved on. She could put up a fight but she would succumb to his charm. The chase would make the reward all the sweeter, although he hoped for something spicy with this woman. Then a prickling at the back of his neck made him turn his head. Hone stared at him through the flames of the bonfire. Loki returned his scrutiny and heat flowed along the fixed gaze between the two men. If Paniha didn’t want to play Loki’s game, perhaps her betrothed would.

  A FEAST TURNED into a funeral with the arrival of a dull grey morning. Loki and Miguel donned their sombre black uniforms and walked across the paddock toward town. The ale of the previous night had packed quite a punch and Loki was glad the sun hid behind the clouds. A mechanic pounding on metal with a wrench seemed to have taken up residence in his head. He needed his wits about him today; he was supposed to start collating their inventory to ship back to England. Assuming Hone gave him access to the gold mines and the jade they found in the rivers.

  “Pounamu,” Miguel said from beside him.

  “What?” Loki frowned and glanced at his first mate.

  “You’re muttering about jade, but the Maori call it pounamu.”

  “Whatever it’s called, it will fetch a pretty price if we can get our hands on enough of it.” There was the big issue. The green stone was nondescript and hard to distinguish until the rocks were cut open. The best profit would be in obtaining the pendants and jewellery the Maori carved from the green stone.

  “It’s considered a treasure, gifted by the land. They might be unwilling to sell it whatever the price. We might have more luck gaining access to the gold stores.”

  “Hmm.” Loki considered adapting his approach with the locals. They seemed to value things that the English considered of lesser worth. Relationships and nurturing the land were placed above gold nuggets and coins. Strange people, the Maori, but not to be underestimated. They couldn’t be fooled by offers of rifles and blankets in exchange for a foothold in their country. There were rumours that those who sought to cheat the Maori ended up in a pot—not that Loki had found any direct evidence of cannibalism, but the shrunken heads adorning the posts inside the meeting house had to have come from somewhere.

  They crossed the field and walked down the main street toward a tiny patch of England. The cemetery claimed a spot between where the last house stood and the soaring forest. The trees were specimens native to New Zealand, from the massive kauri favoured for ship masts to rimu and totara. At their feet grew ferns, brush, and flax, which the Maori used to make a variety of useful objects, from skirts and baskets to mats and hangings. Bell-like birdcalls came from high above in the dense canopy.

  The church looked like the same one found in remote corners all over the world. They were packaged up with the plans in England and shipped like giant jigsaw puzzles wherever they were needed. It had a fresh coat of white paint and the brass bell gleamed in its tall steeple over the doorway. On the lawn next door, sheep grazed the grass between fresh-scrubbed headstones.

  The mourners were predominantly made up of settlers and soldiers with just a few Maori. Small smiles and nods were exchanged as people found their seats. Loki and Miguel sat near the back with James Taylor, their local agent.

  “Why are we here again?” Loki asked in a low tone. He assumed he had agreed to attend last night, but after a certain level of alcohol he would agree to practically anything. Putting up his hand for a funeral was new, though.

  “Because you’re part of this community while you are here. And because the family wants to talk to you afterward about returning to England.” Miguel kept his eyes to the front as the reverend droned on from his psalm book.

  “Has anyone identified what killed the poor bugger?” Loki still thought a bear or large cat was most likely responsible, given the gashes across the man’s body. It was highly unlikely he had been pecked to death by a moa, despite the bird’s rumoured size, and men tended to use either a knife or a gun on each other.

  “No,” Taylor answered. “There are those who think the Maori might be responsible.”

  They all rose to sing a hymn. “Disharmony in Matanui?” Small towns seemed to shimmer with undercurrents and silent feuds between neighbours. The lack of varied company and prolonged exposure to one another brought out the worst in some people. It brought to mind the groups and division among the adults at the feast last night—the younger community members were unaffected, and made friends e
asily.

  Taylor leaned closer to whisper. “Not everyone is happy to see European settlers arriving on these shores. There are those among the tribes who think all white men should be packed into ships and sent back to wherever they came from.”

  Loki’s mood lightened, despite the sombre occasion. The mention of intrigue made him renew his inspection of those assembled—and more importantly, who wasn’t present—to mourn the loss of a husband and father.

  While the funeral progressed, Loki kept himself entertained by creating histories for those present and guessing who was sleeping with whom. The eulogies were spoken for the deceased, a hard worker for the lumber mill. He’d spent his days deep in the forest cutting down selected giants to become furniture back in England. By the testimonials of those in the church, he was well liked—although people didn’t usually deliver tirades against a dead man from the pulpit. Still, there was no obvious reason why the Maori would single him out in such a manner. Not that Loki believed the natives were responsible. The country was largely undiscovered; who knew what beasts were lurking in the undergrowth?

  With a few final words from the reverend, the time came for the man’s fellow workers to carry his plain coffin from the church. Loki and Miguel waited until everyone else had filed out before joining the quiet procession in the adjourning cemetery. Fresh-turned earth was an open scar in the lush grass, and two pieces of rope lay next to the hole in the ground. The coffin was placed on the ropes and four men lifted it into its final resting place and lowered him into the earth.

  People tossed handfuls of dirt onto the coffin lid with dull thuds as the service concluded. The widow was still supported by other women but at least she wasn't screaming. Instead she sobbed into a hankie while two young children clung to her skirts. Each mourner spoke a few words and either offered a hug or a consoling pat on the shoulder.

  Loki wondered if love was worth the pain of loss. Did she grieve her soulmate, the one person in the entire world who fit her? In which case, if there was truly only one person out there for anyone, she was now staring at the rest of her life on her own. Or perhaps her sorrow was more practical: With her husband dead, she had now lost the income that supported the family. With the man gone, there was no one to care for and protect her and their children, and they were alone in a savage new world.

  People dissolved like mist under the sun. Soon only a handful were left to watch as the reverend peeled off his robes and laid them over a gravestone. Next he rolled up his sleeves, grabbed the shovel, and became the sexton as he piled dirt back into the grave. Taylor nudged Loki and gestured with his head toward the widow. Loki let out a sigh. May as well hear what she wanted. Then he needed to find an enormous coffee to see him through the rest of the day.

  “Maddie?” Taylor asked softly. “This is Captain Hawke, of the airship Jenny Elle. You wanted to speak to him.”

  She gave one almighty sniff and then fixed Loki with a red gaze. “Yes. I want to take my children back to England.”

  “I’m sure you don’t want to make a hasty decision. This land has much to offer.” If Loki had his way they would carry only cargo on the return journey. He was still recovering from the constant needs of passengers, not to mention that a wailing widow didn’t seem like any fun at all. He couldn’t tolerate two weeks of her dour appearance and sobbing.

  Her hands tightened on the child at her side, his face buried in her black skirt. “I’ll not stay here to see my children slaughtered like their father.”

  Women were so emotional and prone to overreacting, especially where children were concerned. She made it sound as though they were sheep in the path of a pack of hungry wolves. “That’s quite the presumption, when this was a terrible accident.”

  “No, it wasn’t. The Maori sent the taniwha to kill him, and if we stay we will all be murdered in our beds. I can pay passage and we will depart when you do.” She nodded her head, gathered up her children, and swept from the cemetery before Loki could say anything else.

  “We’re going to have to get to the bottom of this, aren’t we?” Loki said to Miguel. He could practically smell the cogs in the lad’s mind burning.

  Miguel shrugged as though the answer were obvious. “Yes. Tensions will erupt if we don’t find the beast that slayed him. How difficult can it be? Given the size of the claw marks it can’t have too many places to hide.”

  Loki let out a sigh. “You ask around about the man and see what skeletons he had lurking in his closet. I’m going to cosy up to the army and find out what they say about the death.”

  New faces and fresh conversation were a rarity this far out in the colonies, and while there was a certain taint to Loki’s name, he had still received an invitation to dine with the colonel on his tiny patch of England. Late that afternoon, after freshening his appearance, he walked back to the English end of town and the colonel’s house, which occupied a place next to the church.

  The colonel’s home was the most impressive house in the entire settlement. It even sported a classic English garden out front, complete with sad-looking roses. Though by ‘impressive,’ Loki meant the house was built of stone, two-storeyed, and far superior to the shacks made of rough timbers that were dotted around the settlement. In London it wouldn’t warrant a second look.

  Inside it was like hundreds of other boring Victorian parlours that Loki had spent a lifetime trying to avoid. Dark flocked wallpaper and wood-panelled walls were the backdrop to a multitude of indoor plants and ferns. Persian carpets were underfoot and delicate settees and love seats were scattered around to sit and rest your feet. There was no gas or electric lighting here. Candles burned in sconces attached to the walls and candelabra standing on sideboards, and hung from the overhead chandeliers.

  Austin held court in a large open parlour. His bright red uniform was neatly laundered and pressed; brass buckles and fittings gleamed and the white tassels hanging from his shoulders swayed with each move he made. He was on the wrong side of fifty and his hair was turning from grey to white while his waistline expanded. Loki wondered what he had done to end up in New Zealand when he should have been looking forward to an easy retirement.

  His wife stood at his side in a lavish pink silk opera gown with diamonds at her throat. Officers and finely dressed women gathered around them. Overall it looked like they were trying to ignore where their feet stood and pretend it was a fashionable evening in London. The most recent arrivals, Lord and Lady August were also decked out in their finery for the evening and regaling everyone with tales of how feted they were back in England.

  Austin’s gaze settled on Loki and narrowed somewhat. “Captain Hawke.”

  “Colonel Austin.” It didn’t feel like a greeting, but rather like the older man had used his name to slap him across the face in an open challenge. What was going on in this sleepy settlement?

  The officer took a sip of his brandy and stared at Loki. “We don’t usually have your type to dine.”

  “Do you mean English or well-dressed?” Loki helped himself to a glass from a passing silver tray. No champagne this far south, but it looked an average type of white wine.

  The man coughed and his cheeks reddened. “I referred to the dealings of your master.”

  Loki took a sip. The wine was rough; it would take a few glasses before it mellowed into acceptable. He could see an opportunity to ship decent liquor down under, or perhaps find a sunny spot to grow grapes and start a vineyard. “Nate is not my master but my business partner. Do you have an objection to Lyons Enterprises establishing a trade route with New Zealand?”

  Austin huffed. “I see you are going to be deliberately obtuse. We uphold British law here.”

  “How do the Maori feel about that? I rather understood Britain lost the war and we are here under native rule.”

  Sex remained Loki’s primary pastime, but needling uptight toffs was a close second. Colonel Austin was going to provide his entertainment for the evening.

  7

  The colonel�
��s gaze narrowed further and his hand tightened around his glass. Now that Loki had found his weak spot he intended to drive a thorn deep.

  “We are, of course, British first and entrepreneurs second. We always follow Her Majesty’s command,” Miguel spoke from Loki’s side.

  Loki had forgotten his ‘mother’ had also been invited to the soiree. His fun disappeared in a puff of disapproving smoke. Now he would be forced to discuss serious business matters or boring things like the annual rainfall or migratory patterns of local birds.

  Colonel Austin stood a little taller and beamed at Miguel. “That’s what we like to hear. Always sad when good British troops go native and forget their origins. We need to bring these savages to enlightenment, not dance around in grass skirts.”

  “Viscount Lyons is aware of the opportunities a new colony like this represents and Queen Victoria is most interested in the trading outposts he plans to establish. I believe he has discussed his plans at length with the monarch.” Loki wondered what Miguel was up to, but it was a nice touch to remind the colonel that Lyons had Victoria’s ear. If Loki were to place a bet, the lad was his vote for most likely to go native. Or go off with a native, given the way he sighed after Marika.

  Austin tapped the side of his glass as though mentally weighing up some decision. “Yes. There are delicate matters Lyons could assist us with, given his connections.”

  Mention of ‘delicate matters’ raised Loki’s interest. What was the colonel planning? “Oh? If there are goods you require we can add them to the manifest for the next trip.” The colonel’s wife had the look of a woman pining for a string quartet to entertain her guests. Or perhaps she would want silk dancing slippers for tripping through the fields?

  “Guns.” One word softly spoken on the exhale.

  “Pardon?” From what Loki had observed, the local soldiers were armed. It was an unusual request, but not entirely unheard of for pioneers to want more firepower.