Authors: Adrian McKinty
Next was a broad-shouldered, handsome fellow called Jürgen Schreckengost, who turned out to be a German-American from Pennsylvania. Jürgen chose to speak English to Will but his accent was so thick that Will could understand only every other word. Jürgen's penis was unremarkable but his ball sack hung alarmingly low on his thigh. Jürgen, Will reckoned, was not the guy who shinnied up the trees to get the coconuts.
Wilhelm Bradtke came next, the oldest of the Cocovores, an emaciated, wild-eyed type who was probably in his late forties or early fifties. He had the air of a man who talks your ear off in a railway carriage about his scheme for getting rid of the poor or tunneling under the Channel. His face was an inverted triangle with his beard the lower apex. He was carrying a box in his hand, which Will later discovered was a camera. Bradtke was from Posen and had an accent Will could barely follow. He was an agitated sort and his cock, Will saw, was about the size of an acorn.
The next man was a Russian called Misha Denfer. He was also broad and strong: apparently thriving on the vegetarian regimen. He was a good-looking fellow with red hair and a magnificent russet beard. He gave the two men a suspicious look, bowed very deeply to Miss Pullen-Burry, and grunted a response to Miss Pullen-Burry's harmless pleasantries.
Next was a brown-haired, slender chap with kind, bovine, green eyes and an agreeable smile. His name Christian Weber, and he had been some sort of pastor and director of music at a church in Charlottenberg near Berlin. He spoke fast, and Will just about got his story: apparently he had been with the Lutheran missionaries in New Britain for a while and had been on his way to some suicidal mission station in the jungle when he had run into Engelhardt in Herbertshöhe and decided that his destiny lay not in a Kanak cooking-pot but rather among the naked Cocovores in Kabakon.
Will had gotten bored with the cock spotting game now and didn't even look near Christian's privates. Rather absurdly Engelhardt presented Harry again to the three newcomers and each of them gave their bow.
“And you have met Fräulein Herzen?” Engelhardt asked Klaus.
“Yes. We were fortunate to see her yesterday,” Kessler said.
“So you have encountered all of our little society?” Engelhardt said with a grin.
“Indeed.”
“May I ask you all some preliminary questions about Herr Lutzow's death?” Will said.
“Poor Lutzow. A cruel case. He had only been with us ten weeks,” Engelhardt said sadly.
“A fine musician!” Christian Weber added sadly.
“And the particulars of his demise?” Will asked.
“Perhaps we could talk at breakfast? We are all very hungry after our night's exertions,” said the other August, Bethman, in his stern doctor's voice.
“Of course, you must pardon us,” Kessler said.
“You will join us in our meal?” Engelhardt asked.
“We would be delighted,” Kessler replied, answering for all of them.
“If you don't mind, I would like to take a walk, my daily constitutional before breakfast, dontcha know,” Miss Pullen-Burry said.
No one minded.
Will retreated to the shade of a coconut tree and watched while a long table was brought into the center of the piazza. He sat and considered the morning's events. These people he supposed were his “list of suspects.” just like in a Wilkie Collins story, and again he thought about how different this case was from even a capital crime in the army.
He examined the Sonnenorden. A motley crew if ever there was one. Engelhardt didn't seem like a killer but he was deceptive, and the man who deceives has begun his slide down the slippery slope into moral squalor.
And what in the name of God were they all doing here? Immortality? Who could believe in such stuff?
He sighed and looked up between the branches of the coconut palm at a surprising number of pygmy parrots and a pair of sulfur-crested cockatoos. Beyond them, the sky had thinned away to a mica greyness that was like wet newspaper.
The Sonnenorden had completed their breakfast preparations. Benches had been laid down on either side of the table and the black servants (or slaves, he supposed) were wiping up the fresh bird shit from the wood.
Fräulein Herzen appeared from her hut looking just as lovely as the previous evening. She avoided contact with the others and sat at the table by herself until Anna joined her.
A black servant brought a mound of coconut meat from a storage jar and set it in the middle of the table in a large wooden bowl. Schreckengost and Harry went off to a little shed and came back with two bunches of bananas.
A flagon of liquid was placed down next and a dozen Bavarian-style covered drinking vessels were produced. Ingenious, Will thought, the covers would be useful in keeping out the mosquitoes now beginning to swarm.
“Englishman, please, you must join us for breakfast,” Engelhardt said, waving to Will.
“All right then,” Will said, sitting himself down next to Fräulein Herzen. Kessler sat next to Will and the rest of the Sonnenorden arranged themselves randomly about the table. There was, surprisingly, no grace or any other ceremony. Everyone just began tucking into the fruit.
“We had been told that you only eat coconuts,” Klaus said to Engelhardt, while munching on a banana.
“That indeed was our original plan,” Bethman said a little icily. “But there are bananas in abundance and they share many of the same health-giving properties as the coconut.”
Engelhardt laughed. “Our ways must seem so strange to you, Hauptman Kessler.”
Kessler shook his head. “Doubtless it was the coconut that Eve offered Adam in the Garden of Eden.”
Engelhardt shook his head vociferously. “No, it is nothing to do with that. We believe that the fruit at the tops of trees, closest to Apollo, the sun God, is that which is most wholesome. Bananas, as you can see, also grow near the tops of trees.”
“Yes.”
With a not entirely steady hand, Bradtke, the old geezer, took Will's photograph with the machine he had been carrying. “A camera?” Will inquired.
“An Eastman-Kodak box camera. The very latest model,” Bradtke said proudly.
“No doubt your photographs will be used to illustrate a book or pamphlet about life on Kabakon,” Will said.
“For the many books to be written about this bold experiment in living!”
“To long life!” Engelhardt said and the Sonnenorden en masse removed the lids and drank from their mugs. Will lifted his mug and was surprised to find that it contained neither water nor coconut milk but arak, into which a rather large amount of opium had evidently been dissolved: in other words it was home-made laudanum.
Will had had laudanum many times before this and he had seen its abuse among his father's patients. Burned and injured men were often prescribed laudanum. Without question it saved their lives but unless the doctor was careful he'd have an opium fiend on his hands . . . And here these characters were drinking it for breakfast.
“Heady stuff,” Will said to Klaus.
“Yes,” Kessler agreed enthusiastically.
Will took another sip. There was no question that this was more potent than any tincture he'd tried before. Unless he was very mistaken it was dissolved in a ninety or one hundred proof doubled-distilled arak to which a little coconut milk had been added. But it was the opium which packed the wallop: several mugs of this mixture would knock an elephant on its arse.
Will watched the others drain theirs as if they were tars splicing the main brace in the navy. Except tars never looked quite so fetching as did Fräulein Herzen, Anna Schwab, and the countess.
As they drank a second bowl of coconut meat was passed around the table. Will ate a piece of the dense, chewy meat and caught Klaus's eye.
Klaus nodded at him and Will cleared his throat. “If I may ask about the circumstances of Herr Lutzow's death . . .” Will began.
“Your trip has been a waste of time. There are no
circumstances
. He died of the malarial sickness,” the countess said.
“So we have been informed. But malaria has a latency period, does it not? It is never
that
sudden. No one thought of getting Herr Lutzow to the hospital in Herbertshöhe?” Will asked.
“His final descent was rapid and he was in such pain; the torment of a sea crossing was quite unnecessary,” Engelhardt added.
“Our own sweet Anna was with him, right to the end,” the countess said.
“So I understand,” Will said, turning to Fräulein Schwab.
Miss Schwab nodded solemnly. “I held his hand while he was dying, until the last faltering beat of his heart. So sad. So very sad. It was a tragedy.”
“Ach, the man was a fool!” August Bethman muttered.
“Why must you speak so, Bethman?” Fräulein Herzen cried, tearing up a little.
“My dear, are you all right?” Kessler asked.
“You must pardon me gentlemen,” Fräulein Herzen sniffed, and excused herself from the table.
Will and Kessler stood but none of the other men did.
“We have upset the lady,” Kessler said. “This is a painful subject.”
“Yes you
have
upset her. She is very young. Too young to have come here. I should have seen that before I engaged her,” the countess said bitterly.
Miss Schwab nodded. “Far too young. I should never have recommended her.”
Will was not to be deterred by the interruption. “Fräulein Schwab, so you were with Herr Lutzow until the very end?”
“I was trained as a nurse. I thought that I might be able to comfort him. And I did try my best,” Anna Schwab said.
“I am sure you did,” Engelhardt said kindly.
“His face! You should have seen his face. So pale! His hand was weak, I could not feel a pulse. If only he had been here longer . . .”
“Longer?” Will said,
so more mosquitoes could have bitten him
?
“Longer,” Bethman insisted.
Will examined Engelhardt and looked at Klaus.
“We know little of your ways, sir, but as I understand it, immortality is the central part of your credo,” Kessler began. “Does not Lutzow's unfortunate deathâ”
“No, it does not! The island and our diet cannot be expected to effect an overnight transformation. Lutzow was only here for ten weeks. Apart from Christian, the rest of us have been here considerably longer,” Engelhardt said brusquely.
“You clearly do not understand, Herr Kessler! The island takes a while to work its magic,” Fräulein Schwab said, to murmurs of agreement from around the table.
“The rest of you then are immune to the malaria and the other diseases of mortal men?” Will asked.
“You may mock us, Herr Prior, but while you indulge your bellicose passions, we will live our lives in reading and contemplation and stay here quietly and safely and sit out the twentieth century at our ease,” Bethman said.
“Bellicose passions?” Kessler asked.
“War is coming! Everyone knows it. Civilization will be annihilated!” the countess said with a touch more glee than regret.
“England and Germany will fight to control the oceans. The ensuing apocalypse will embroil the whole world. They will all be destroyed, but we will be safe on this island,” Bradtke went on.
“I am sure wiser councils will prevail. There has been no general war in Europe for a long time,” Kessler asserted.
“If I could bring you back to Lutzowâ” Will attempted.
“You are wrong, Hauptman Kessler! Armageddon is on the march. You know it is the truth. Man craves bloodletting. It is his nature and the next such war will be the Gotterdammerung. The end of everything. But we will stay here and we will grow strong and a hundred years from now, when the survivors of your civilization are scrambling around in the ashes, we will come forth and lead the world to a new tomorrow,” Engelhardt said.
“A hundred years?” Kessler asked.
“The limits on the lifespan of man in the book of the Jews have no meaning for us here,” the countess said sourly. “The so-called Holy Bible has poisoned mankind, robbed us of our true birthright. Here we are far from such nonsense. I have already outlived my mother and dear papa and sister who the doctors say were killed by the cancer, but who were really killed by the blights and poisons of the modern world!”
There was an awkward silence for a minute or so during which Denfer and Schreckengost finished their food, nodded to Engelhardt, and went off into the plantations. A few seconds later they could be heard barking orders at the Kanak servants who were also out there doing God knows what.
“I too must go,” the countess said and excused herself. She was followed by Anna Schwab and August Bethman.
Harry and Bradtke began talking about photography and after a time they too departed.
Engelhardt cleared his throat. “I have a fondness for the English. English ladies in particular. I wonder where Miss Pullen-Burry has got to?”
“Yes, where indeed?” Kessler wondered, a flicker of concern drifting over his composed, soldierly face.
11
THE PILOT
W
here Miss Pullen-Burry had got to was the beach, where she had encountered the young German pilot who had sailed them across the sea yesterday. The pilot was correcting Miss Pullen-Burry's impression that the Kaiserliche Marine was a relatively novel development in German maritime history. “You are mistaken, madam: although the Imperial navy is young, the Hansa tradition of seafaring is old.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh yes, Frau Burry, it goes back hundreds of years. Long before even Frederick the Great and the first Empire.”
Miss Pullen-Burry wrote this information in her notebook. “I see. And whereabouts in the present Reich do you hail from, sir?”
“I am from Kiel.”
“Kiel. A delightful city I'm sure.”
“It is a good place for fishing, perhaps,” he conceded. “But it was not big enough for me. I wished to see the world!”