The Lost Tohunga (15 page)

Time to gamble.

‘Throw your gun out, Wiremu, and I'll let your woman live.' He looked at Ronnie, and pointed to the door. The big man nodded, and levelled his gun shakily. He was guessing Wiremu had a gun, although he had not seen one. ‘Deal?'

A heavy black metal object spun out the bathroom door. He grinned.

Coiling himself up, he sprang towards the bathroom. He was firing even as he lunged around the corner. The gun bucked as bullets exploded from the muzzle and ripped holes in the walls, shattered the mirror, and flew straight through the window — which had no glass, just a gaping hole: the panel had been removed, and laid neatly against the wall.

He whirled, and looked straight down the barrel of Deano's Glock, gripped steadily by a pink-haired Pakeha girl in floral maternity overalls. She was still in the hallway, perfectly placed to cover him while remaining out of Ronnie's field of fire.
Well played, bitch!

Her trigger finger squeezed; a bullet smashed into his left shoulder and spun him round. A second tore across his back, missing his spine by centimetres and slashing a rut across his right biceps. He shrieked, and desperately began to shift.
More bullets tore his flesh even as he began to fade. Out in the lounge he heard glass shatter inwards, and Ronnie bellow in terror. He pulled the whirling forces around him, and dived into Aotearoa. Empty air embraced him, and he had just a second to remember that he had shifted across from a point three storeys above ground level, before he was falling through tree branches. The ground flew up at him, and the world went out.

 

Armed police were swarming about the building within minutes. Seven police cars with sirens blaring surrounded the hotel, and uniformed men set up a cordon, herding the curious back. More police were guiding the staff and guests out to a staging area down the street. Sirens clamoured deafeningly. Through the chaos, hard-faced men with walkie-talkies strode about, creating a clear zone around the building, keeping the media back as they arrived, calming frightened guests. White vans disgorged a dozen black-clad Armed Offenders Squad officers with face shields, Kevlar body armour and automatic weapons.

It took a few minutes to secure the ground floor, and get men onto the back stairs. By then all apparent violence had ceased. A shattered window alongside a missing one identified the likeliest location, and a sharpshooter was racing to get to a vantage point across the street.

A hand appeared at the shattered window, holding a handkerchief. It wasn't white, in fact it was brilliant orange, although the intent seemed clear. Guns and cameras trained on it as a woman with spiky pink hair appeared.

‘Hi, everyone!' she called anxiously. ‘We've apprehended a criminal. Can you come up and give us a hand, please?' She smiled hesitantly, and waved at a news camera. ‘Hi, Mum!' Then she exchanged a couple of words with someone inside, and turned back. ‘Could someone give Tim Spriggs a call, please?'

Thursday evening

K
urangaituku dropped the limp form into the cage she kept for just such a purpose, and then sat back on her haunches and watched the unconscious boy, occasionally reaching through and greasing her fingers in his blood, then licking them clean.

She hadn't meant to snatch this boy — it was the other one she was after — but when this one fell into her talons, instinct had taken over. And the Douglas boy had almost burned her. She shuddered.

I hate fire!

Mistress Kyle will want me to keep this one alive, for leverage … but I'm ravenous.

The boy groaned, and rolled over. He opened his eyes and peered through the gloom. He wasn't one to hide his face and pretend things hadn't happened, this one. Not like most of them. She liked that. But there wasn't much fat on him. Maybe he wouldn't make much of a meal after all. He looked up at her, through the wooden bars of the cage, with wide eyes. The room was dim. All he would be able to see of her would be a silhouette. His nose wrinkled as he inhaled the fetid air.

‘What is your name, poai?' she asked.

‘Riki,' he replied tentatively.

‘You are a friend of the Douglas boy?'

He nodded. ‘Yeah,' he said huskily. ‘What do you want with us?'

She leant closer, measuring the fear in his voice. He was worried, but not terrified. And he didn't seem shocked by her appearance. What did he know of Aotearoa? Was he an Adept, like Douglas? Another fire-wielder? ‘Do you know where you are?' she asked, ignoring his question.

‘Aotearoa?' he replied, after a pause. ‘You've gotta be that Birdwitch, that gets parboiled when she's trying to catch Hatupatu.'

She scowled at the reminder. ‘Don't think that you'll escape me like that,' she growled. She shook her grey mane. ‘Don't think you'll escape me at all, Riki.' She stood, thinking.
Kyle will want to question him
. She sighed, abruptly bored. ‘Sleep. I will return in the morning.'

She stalked outside, into the night air. Most of her children were settling to sleep, but the night birds were waking. She called a morepork to her, filled its tiny mind with a message for Donna Kyle, then tossed it into the air. ‘Tell her I have one of them,' she told it. ‘But not the one she wants, so he's mine.'

Thursday afternoon

‘Matiu Douglas! Come out!' Donna Kyle pirouetted slowly, watching every angle. ‘Come out — I know you're there!' Nothing moved in the shadowy bush. Insects buzzed lazily, a gentle breeze stirred the leaves, and those damned birds just
kept on watching her. She fought the desire to lash out at them. ‘Matiu — come out! I only want to talk.'

She had followed as swiftly as she could, but had quickly lost sight of him in the dense bush, apart from a glimpse ten minutes ago, labouring up a slope half a kilometre ahead, just a chance sighting through the woods. But now … his elusive presence hung in the air.

‘I know you think I'm the enemy, Matiu,' she called, fishing for contact, listening with every sense she possessed. ‘But I'm not — I'm not really your enemy at all. I'm not even that different from you: I'm just fighting to survive!'

Her words echoed and faded about her. Nothing stirred. But the birds cocked their heads intently.

‘I was
eight
when my father sold me to Puarata — can you imagine what that was like? What chance did I have?' She tried to put all that old pain into her voice. ‘Mat, we don't have to be enemies.' She raised both hands. ‘I just want to talk!'

She panted slightly, feeling very, very strange. This had begun as a ruse, to try to lure him out. But somehow, speaking these words aloud felt dangerous, and gave them a life of their own. And she couldn't stop talking suddenly. ‘What happened to me could have happened to you, Mat. If Puarata had won last year, you would be
his
now. We would be allies.' Nothing moved. ‘But he didn't win. You did! You freed me!'

A huge old crow turned and faced her from a branch in the nearest totara, with eyes like a camera.

‘I'm the least of your enemies, Matiu. Venn is a foreigner — he'll rape this place if he wins! John Bryce: you know what a bastard he is. And Parukau … he's the worst of them all.'
Except for Father.
‘Parukau has the girl, Mat. The girl you're
hunting. Together, we could find him and get her back. He can't hide from me, not when the Birdwitch is my servant! Not with all these birds looking for him.'

I bet Kurangaituku knows where the boy is … Crooked bitch …

‘I'm not what you think, Mat! I'm like your friend Lena. I've had to swim in dark waters, but now I want to come back, into the light — and I need your help to do that. I can't give myself up to the authorities. Governor Grey would have my head on a pole in seconds — if my enemies didn't get to me first. So I've got to keep fighting. But with you beside me, vouching for me, helping me … I'd have a chance. People would listen. Please! Give me that chance!'

The silence mocked her.

She spat suddenly, and said a word that made every bird visible drop dead from its perch. It would not do to have this one-sided conversation reported to Kurangaituku.

Damn you, Matiu Douglas.

She had run out of words, and nothing stirred. Emotions she had forgotten boiled inside her, frightening her, so she pulled the darkness about her, and faded back into the real world.

Midnight, Thursday evening

A
tall, thin man with sandy hair and a dapper moustache ambled past the holding cells in the Rotorua Police Station. He wore a long trench coat, yet looked nothing at all like a policeman, or even a detective. But he had the right papers, and doors were opened for him. He was well connected, rumour said.

An eccentric appearance and manner, combined with favour in high places, should have made him an ostracized, resented figure who would be undermined at every turn out of sheer territory-protecting bloody-mindedness. But he wasn't. The fact that he talked like an old-world British army colonel should have made him a figure of fun. Which he was, but not in a mean way. Because it was impossible to dislike Tim Spriggs.

It was something about the way he chatted with everyone like they were good friends. He made others feel likeable. He was friendly with no hint that he was currying favour. He treated everyone with equal respect and esteem. And he operated with calm precision, despite his idiosyncrasies. The station officers had quickly learned to trust him. They
occasionally wondered where on Earth he came from, but ghost worlds of the mythical past didn't figure in the speculation. Spriggs was one of a number of the Aotearoa constabulary that had some semi-regular contact with modern real-world police, but they kept it off the record.

So when he walked into the station, someone called out in a pantomime voice: ‘I say, chaps, it's Inspector Timothy Watt-Ho from Scotland Yard!' Greetings showered down around him as he returned their smiles and waves.

‘Good evening, young Anne. How are you this fine evening?' Timothy Spriggs beamed at the young policewoman behind the desk. ‘I hear you have some friends of mine staying with you.' She smiled up at him, and directed him to the door to the interview room. ‘Thank you, my dear.' He sidled past a couple of Armed Offenders Squad officers, who looked at him curiously, and into the narrow hallway beyond. He took the second door on the left, entered the spartan room, and sat down. Opposite him was a frayed-looking Maori police detective, a handsome man growing old quickly, with grey forming at his temples, and hands that seemed to be smoking a non-existent cigarette. His name tag read:
HOLLIS, T
.

Hollis looked up and smiled bleakly. ‘Gidday, Tim. Coffee?'

‘Gracious, Tu, you know I only drink the finest Ceylon tea. Purifies the mind, you know.' Spriggs smiled at the man opposite him. ‘You married yet, Tu? Surely some lovely wahine is just waiting for you to drop on one knee and pop the magic question?'

Hollis rolled his eyes. ‘Not you, too, Tim. I get enough of that at home. Haven't met anyone likely for a while … and not likely to in this bloody job,' he added ruefully.

‘It all comes to us in time, Tu. So, what's the problem then?'

Hollis frowned. ‘Well, these friends of yours — I take it you do know them? — are the problem.'

Spriggs smiled reflectively. ‘Wiri and Kelly are very close friends, Tu. What's the matter? I heard they caught someone you were looking for?'

Tu Hollis rolled his eyes. ‘Hmph! Either they're just unlucky people in the wrong place at the wrong time, or they are vigilantes on a revenge spree. And I can't work out which.' He looked at Spriggs with a serious expression. ‘Nothing in their background suggests too much trouble: a part-time entertainer and a security guard looking for their friend — and yes, their friend was staying in that room — and they seemed to have no idea what they were walking into. But hell, Tim, they're just too damned competent for people who are supposed to be innocent passersby.' He looked at Spriggs with a look of exasperation. ‘Your friends — an unarmed man and an unarmed pregnant woman — and a dog, lest we forget — took down three armed men without a scratch. What are they — ex-SAS?'

‘Goodness me, no. Just good citizens, Tu. You say they weren't hurt at all then? Thank heavens!'

‘Hmmm. I believe the man — Wiremu — might have grazed a knee when diving
into
the
third floor
window of the suite. Otherwise, nothing. But their dog almost killed the kid in the hallway, and the big guy in the bedroom is still out cold.' He leant forward. ‘Tim, there are clearly connections here. They claim they came to meet a Napier schoolboy called Matiu Douglas, but instead found three men in Douglas's room. None of the hotel staff saw the men arrive and have
no idea how they got into the room. The manager wants it hushed up because it implies the hotel isn't secure. Fat chance! There were more cameras flashing than at a Peter Jackson premiere.'

Spriggs waved a hand airily. ‘I understand one got away?'

‘Yeah. A lowlife from Taupo called Evan Tomoana.' Hollis frowned. ‘Which is where it gets interesting: last Sunday, two of these guys were done for assault in Taupo — Tomoana and Ronnie Symes, the big guy who was KO'd in the bedroom. They got bailed from Taupo, and then failed to show up at the station on Thursday. We got an anonymous tip that they were in town, having kidnapped a missing girl, Hine Horatai. Know the name?'

Timothy Spriggs shook his head, and motioned for Hollis to continue.

‘The person they were arrested for beating up was the same Matiu Douglas, son of a Napier lawyer, who was visiting his mother in Taupo. These names familiar, Tim?'

Spriggs grinned. ‘Everyone knows Tama Douglas.'

Hollis rolled his eyes again. ‘Indeed. The lowlife's lawyer of choice in the Hawke's Bay. Anyway, it's the Douglas kid's room. He hasn't come back, by the way. But wait, there's more! The assault that Tomoana and Symes got done for was apparently over Tomoana's girlfriend, who is — you guessed it — the missing Hine Horatai! She went missing Sunday night, right after the fight. It seems our colleagues in Taupo misplaced her while delivering her to the women's refuge. And this morning Taupo station got an anonymous message telling us the Horatai girl was in Rotorua. But nothing is truly anonymous anymore: the call came from the telephone of
Colleen O'Connor, Matiu Douglas's mother.' Hollis rubbed his eyes. ‘So, it's nearly midnight here in Roto-Vegas, and we have ourselves a few problems, I'm thinking.'

‘Not any more, Tu. I'm here to make your problems go away.' Spriggs pushed some papers across the desk. ‘All of your problems, just by signing these.'

Hollis sighed mournfully over the papers, wincing slightly at the name on the bottom. Way too high up! ‘Tim, at the least I'm obliged to impound the dog: it could have killed that kid. It's a potential threat to public safety. So are these friends of yours, in my opinion.'

Tim Spriggs stood up. ‘Tu, my friend, I give you my word of honour that they are not vigilantes. I'll take them into my custody, usual guarantees and all that. And I don't think you need worry about the dog. I'd be awfully grateful if you could keep a sharp lookout for Douglas and Horatai. And of course, bring in that rotter Tomoana if you can.'

Hollis studied the letters, and reflected that he had no choice. He felt oddly relieved. ‘You really do have some guardian angels in Wellington, don't you, Tim?' Hollis signed the papers quickly, and pushed them back to Spriggs. ‘Okay, okay, take them away, and don't let me see them again. The Labrador's out the back with the police dogs. They seem to like him, funnily enough.'

‘I should think so, he's a lovely fellow. Good evening to you then, Tu. Thank you, and don't work too hard, old bean.' They shook hands firmly, Spriggs's smile slowly infecting Hollis's lugubrious face.

Hollis shook his head as the tall Englishman went through into the interview room beyond, to be greeted by joyous
exclamations from the young couple. Out back the dogs all began to bark happily.

Oh, to be loved wherever you go
, he thought ruefully.
What normal policeman ever has that privilege?

 

Spriggs took Wiri, Kelly and Fitzy to a private lounge of the famous, or infamous, Red Deer tavern in Aotearoa-Rotorua, in the smallish European part of the settlement. The Red Deer had a dodgy reputation for bad whisky and gunpowder smuggling. Although it was well after midnight, the tavern remained open and, judging from the noise from the taproom below, well patronized.

It was only the second time they had got together since they had aided Mat's flight north a year ago, but the prevailing mood was worry. Spriggs knew Aethlyn Jones better than Wiri and Kelly, and they drank a quiet toast to him.

‘Mat thought Jones might be alive,' Kelly stated.

‘He may not be dead,' Spriggs agreed. ‘Judging from what you said Mat saw. I for one have learned to assume the best when it comes to Aethlyn Jones.'

‘I hope so,' Wiri replied. Fitzy mewled softly from the floor — turehu weren't popular here so he was staying in dog form.

‘I say, Wiri,' said Spriggs, ‘I'm surprised at you bringing your lovely wife into this situation in her, ahem, delicate condition!'

‘She's not so delicate, actually. I tried to insist she stayed in Wellington, and nearly found myself divorced over it.' Wiri glanced at Kelly, smiling slowly.

‘He would have come alone, the thick-headed dork, and
then where would he have been, huh?' scowled Kelly. ‘You men have such delusions of adequacy. Wiri thinks he's still immortal, and can charge a roomful of gunmen armed only with a patu and still come out the winner.'

Wiri looked at Tim as if to say ‘See what I'm up against?'

Kelly took a swallow of orange juice with no enjoyment, and glared at her swollen belly. ‘Sooner this bloody lump's out, the sooner I can have a long, glorious double brandy and feel human again.' She looked at the others. ‘So, where's our Matty?'

‘Hollis has the Rotorua police looking out for him on his side,' Spriggs told her. ‘But we'll need to hunt in Aotearoa, too. I can enlist some Aotearoa constabulary to have a look round, but they will struggle to get anyone here 'til after sunrise.'

‘Parukau spoke like he knew Mat,' said Wiri. ‘He must've got outta that dog-binding when Puarata died. Last time I saw him was back in the 1890s.'

‘Ahhh, the 1890s,' Spriggs sighed reminiscently. ‘Good times.'

‘Speak for yourself,' Wiri grumped. ‘I was bodyguarding the tohunga makutu, remember? Grubby, nasty decade.'

‘You're a pair of relics!' Kelly complained. She swirled her glass thoughtfully. ‘So, who's Parukau?'

Wiri gave her a potted history, and Kelly thought it over. ‘Why would Parukau want Mat? If Parukau took over this Tomoana-guy
after
his fight with Matty, then he wouldn't care about Tomoana's petty vendettas.'

‘Also, they weren't prepared for serious resistance,' said Wiri. ‘Apart from Parukau, they didn't have a clue what they were doing. They were amateurs.'

‘They were morons,' agreed Kelly. ‘I don't think they had any more idea where Matty is than we do. So, what's going on? Who is this Hine chick you mentioned, Tim? Any idea? I got a bit out of Mat when he phoned, but he was pretty cut-up over Jones.'

‘I've no idea, Kelly my dear. If Aethlyn was sheltering her, then she must be someone of potential. Someone like young Mat, I suppose.'

‘And Mat said that it was Donna Kyle behind the attack on he and his mother, and probably the second wave of attackers at Jones's cottage,' Wiri reminded them.

‘I guess the theory that Matty and Hine are locked away somewhere making mad passionate love can be discarded,' Kelly joked half-heartedly.

The men half-smiled. ‘Splendid thought, my dear,' said Spriggs, ‘but, no, it doesn't fit the facts.'

Wiri nodded grimly. ‘I think there is a crossfire going on here. Kyle, Parukau, maybe others.' He turned to Spriggs. ‘What help can we get, Tim?'

Spriggs looked concerned. ‘There's the rub, old boy. Puarata used to come here, and folk are afraid to get involved. There are not a lot of resources we can call on. The soldiery on this side are primarily mercenaries, and Venn has been doing most of the hiring. The only other manpower here are the local tribes and they're staying out of it. They've been burned by the warlocks too often.'

‘There's no justice, there's just us, huh?' said Kelly.

‘Well, maybe. I'll see what I can do. I'm going to see if anyone in the pa saw anything. I've booked you a room in the real world, and I'll be back to check on you in the morning.
Don't try ringing Mat's cellphone until morning, when we can rig up a few devices to trace any answer we get. Okay?'

They sat in silence, and contemplated their helplessness. Finally Wiri sat up a little. ‘That sounds fine, Tim. I'll make a few calls, too, then we'll get some sleep, yeah?'

‘It's not much of a plan, Stan,' rhymed Kelly, tiredly.

‘It's all we can do for now,' said Wiri. He patted Kelly's belly. ‘Let's all get some rest, and pick things up in the morning.'

Fitzy stretched. ‘You can. I'm going to go and have a sniff around. Literally.' He padded towards the stairs. ‘My nose can find things your dull human senses cannot,' he said smugly. ‘I'll find Mat if anyone can.'