“Perhaps we can convince him to stay on the train,” Cilla spoke into the silence.
I didn’t entertain any hope in such a happy outcome, but like the others in our group, I refrained from comment and simply watched the tracks that connected Nairobi’s rustic train station to Mombasa and the world.
That I was standing there at all was, I decided, an accomplishment in itself. I’d awoken that morning feeling better than I had since before my flight to West Africa, yet already the mid-morning heat left me yearning to return to Lilly’s cottage.
Mr. Timmons stood beside me, as equally silent and stoic, but with a dangerous gleam in his eyes that left me uneasy. Before we’d arrived at the station to meet the Professor, I’d warned my willful fiancé:
“Mr. Timmons,” I said with some warmth, “I don’t wish to be a witness to any murders in public, if you don’t mind.”
“Then avert your eyes,” he said.
“I mean it, Mr. Timmons,” I rebuked him. “I will not tolerate murder today.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders, his gaze averted from mine. “Self-defense is never murder,” he retorted, which did little to reassure me.
“Whatever the case, we’re going there to engage in civil conversation,” I said. “We’ll try to persuade him to abandon his mission, an unlikely outcome, and more importantly to determine what that mission actually is.”
Mr. Timmons had made a rough and rude comment about werewolves and their mothers.
I won’t go far as to state that I distrusted my fiancé’s intentions, but I was concerned and a tad bit alarmed that I knew them all too well. Kam’s intentions, on the other hand (the hand I don’t have), were absolutely mysterious to me. I was therefore perturbed and baffled when Kam appeared that morning to accompany us.
A distant whistle drew me out of my musings, and I could just make out a smudge on the horizon that marked the train’s location. By the time the train was a distinct shape, the rickety platform was creaking under the weight of numerous traders, merchants and food vendors, all jostling for space and the opportunity to snag the attention of the new arrivals.
We were the only ones not being crowded about, and for that I thanked Kam. His looming, tattooed presence spoke more of a threat than Mr. Timmons’ glowering looks and hard words.
With a squeal of metal against metal, and a belch of steam, the battered, soot-smeared train pulled up to the platform. People surged forward but we four remained near Mr. Evans’ office, observing as the train discharged its passengers.
While the Professor wasn’t as tall or impressive as Kam, he was still a sizable man, and a solid enough physique to be able to push his way easily through the crowd and straight to us. He eyed us with the wariness of a stray dog expecting a kick or foul word.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Cilla said, eager to break the impolite silence.
He smiled, his shaggy facial hair unable to cover the ample mouth, or distract from the sizable nose. “Thank you, my dear, thank you indeed,” he said in his booming voice and rubbed his hands together. He paused to allow me the opportunity to introduce my companions. When I refrained from doing so, he continued, “I’ve been anxious, most anxious, to visit here.”
He turned to me, his countenance jolly even as his eyes held a keenness to them I didn’t remember from our previous encounters. “And Beatrice. How are you, my dear?”
It wasn’t just my stump with its dress-up hand that ached as I returned his greeting. Could Drew have been mistaken about Prof. Runal’s prior knowledge of the werewolf attack? Surely though my mother couldn’t have been incorrect as well. And Mr. Elkhart and his father…
I smiled, my cheeks stiff, and curtsied, but kept my hands at my sides.
“I see,” he said, the volume of his voice lowering. “Is this a welcome party or a jury?”
“That depends on your business here,” Mr. Timmons said, unconcerned about social protocol.
Kam stepped closer, as if to support Mr. Timmons. Or was it to attack the Professor? What was his issue with our visitor? Or did he view the Society as another form of colonization?
I didn’t have to squint my eyes to know that the energies of the men had shifted and were charged with passion and violence. The rumble of thunder only emphasized the potential threat.
Despite my determination to resist the memories of a fatherly mentor and a friend, I couldn’t tolerate the tension any longer. The contrariety of emotions overwhelmed my resolve. I stepped forward and slightly in front of Kam, as if my physical presence could discourage the Lightning God from lashing out.
“Prof. Runal,” I said, my voice heavy with emotion, “no harm will come to you, at least not while I’m here. But we are all intrigued as to the purpose of your visit.”
The old werewolf’s gaze softened, reminding me of how I’d always pictured him, as a gentle giant who’d never steered me wrong, who would never have consented to the crimes he seemed accused of.
But those crimes happened and he was somehow involved, I thought in order to steel my nerves.
Before I could resolve these different perceptions of the old werewolf, Prof. Runal placed a hand over his heart and said, “Beatrice, my dear Beatrice, I came here to warn you. Yes, to warn you of a very great danger, a very great danger indeed.”