Fever Dream Read Free Page A

will be the second shooter.”
    A silence. Wisley and the DC were both looking at Helen. She returned their looks with a smile.
    “I’m afraid that might be somewhat, ah, irregular,” said Woking, clearing his throat.
    “Because I’m a woman?” Helen asked, amused. “Don’t worry, it isn’t catching.”
    “No, no,” came the hasty reply. “It’s just that we’re in a national park, and only someone with a government-issued professional
     license is authorized to shoot.”
    “Of the two of us,” said Pendergast, “my wife is the better shot. On top of that, it’s essential to have two expert shooters
     when stalking lion in the bush.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you’d care to be the second shooter?”
    The DC fell silent.
    “I won’t allow my husband to go in there alone,” said Helen. “It would be too dangerous. The poor dear might get mauled—or
     worse.”
    “Thank you, Helen, for your confidence,” said Pendergast.
    “Well, you know, Aloysius, you
did
miss that duiker at two hundred yards. That was as easy as hitting a barn door from the inside.”
    “Come now, there was a strong cross-wind. And the animal moved at the last moment.”
    “You spent too long setting up your shot. You think too much, that’s your problem.”
    Pendergast turned to Woking. “As you can see, this is a package deal. It’s both of us or neither.”
    “Very well,” said the DC with a frown. “Mr. Wisley?”
    Wisley nodded reluctantly.
    “We’ll meet tomorrow morning at five,” Pendergast went on. “I’m quite serious when I say we’ll need a very, very good tracker.”
    “We have one of the best in Zambia—Jason Mfuni. Of course, he’s rarely tracked for hunting, only for photographers and tourists.”
    “As long as he has nerves of steel.”
    “He does.”
    “You’ll need to spread the word to the locals, make sure they stay well away. The last thing we’ll need is a distraction.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” said Wisley. “Perhaps you noticed the empty villages on your way in to the camp? Except for us,
     you won’t find a single human being within twenty miles.”
    “The villages emptied that quickly?” Helen said. “The attack only took place yesterday.”
    “It’s the Red Lion,” the DC said, as if this were explanation enough.
    Pendergast and Helen exchanged glances. For a moment, the bar went silent.
    Then Pendergast rose, took Helen’s hand, and helped her to her feet. “Thanks for the drink. And now, if you will show us to
     our hut?”

3
    The Fever Trees
    T HE NIGHT HAD BEEN SILENT. EVEN THE LOCAL prides that often tattooed the darkness with their roars were lying low, and the usual chatter of night animals seemed subdued.
     The sound of the river was a faint gurgle and shush that belied its massive flow, perfuming the air with the smell of water.
     Only with the false dawn came the first noises of what passed for civilization: hot water being poured into shower-drums in
     preparation for morning ablutions.
    Pendergast and his wife had left their hut and were in the dining shelter, guns beside them, sitting by the soft glow of a
     single bulb. There were no stars—the night had been overcast, the darkness absolute. They had been sitting there, unmoving
     and silent, for the last forty-five minutes, enjoying each other’s company and—with the kind of unspoken symbiosis that characterized
     their marriage—preparing mentally and emotionally for the hunt ahead. Helen Pendergast’s head was resting on her husband’s
     shoulder. Pendergast stroked her hand, toying now and then with the star sapphire on her wedding band.
    “You can’t have it back, you know,” she said at last, her voice husky from the long silence.
    He simply smiled and continued his caresses.
    A small figure appeared in the shadows, carrying a long spear and wearing long pants and a long shirt, both of dark color.
    The two straightened up. “Jason Mfuni?” Pendergast asked, his voice