Read Online Promise the Night by Michaela MacColl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michaela MacColl
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toy is that red ball—he’ll play catch for hours.”
“Will you come with me?”
“I told you. I’m working.” She turned back to Camiscan and brushed his long legs. “Simi’s probably on the porch underneath that bench.”
“All right.” He trudged off, kicking the dirt.
Beryl smiled to herself and patted Camiscan. “Arthur had better watch out,” she murmured to the stallion. “Or else he’ll get a big clout across the head. Simi doesn’t like to share.”
Her hand was closing the latch of the stall to lock Camiscan in for the night when a shriek split the evening. Only Simi sounded like that: like a human screaming, but without words. Beryl took off at a run in the direction of the house.
“Help!” Arthur cried.
“I’m coming!” she called.
Another baboon shriek. She had never heard Simi so angry.
Beryl took the shallow steps with a leap and skidded to a stop on the porch. “Simi!” she shouted. “Get away from him!”
The baboon had trapped Arthur in the corner of the porch. His arms wrapped around his head, Arthur had made himself as small a target as possible. His face had a huge welt. The baboon had struck once already.
“Simi, get away from him!” Beryl repeated. She smacked her hand against her leg, as her father did when he gave Simi an order.
Simi bared his sharp teeth. With contempt in his eyes, he turned back to the little boy.
Beryl’s eyes shot around the compound. Where was Daddy? Where was Arap Maina?
“Help me, Beryl!” Arthur screamed.
“Don’t move, Arthur.” She was trembling, but her voice was steady.
Simi turned back to Arthur, and with a long swipe of his claws raked down the boy’s shoulder. The blood welled up on the skin, and he shrieked from the pain.
Beryl darted in to grab Simi’s arm. The animal must have had eyes in the back of his head. With his other arm, he reached across, lifted her by her shirt’s collar, and threw her hard against the railing. She lay on the porch floor, the rough cedar pressed into her skin. A cut on her cheek bled, mixing with the tears rolling down her face. Simi was too strong for her.
The baboon moved toward Arthur. “Beryl!” he cried. “Do something!”
Beryl pushed herself up. She wouldn’t fail again. She had to save Arthur. Casting about for a weapon—any weapon—she cursed herself for leaving her knife in her hut. Her eyes lit on her father’s rungu, propped against the front door. She grabbed the narrow end of the walking stick and swung it in a wide circle above her head. The heavy, knobby end connected hard with the side of Simi’s head.
Thwap.
The baboon went down like one of her father’s trees.
Holding her breath, Beryl gripped the rungu in front of her. The baboon lay still on his side. She exhaled when she saw the widening pool of blood under his skull.
Arthur whimpered. Beryl spared him a glance. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He looked up at her, his face streaked with blood and tears. “Is he dead?”
“I think so.” She approached the body. The baboon’s face was unusually peaceful. It was easy to forget the wild beast and remember the years he’d been the family pet, to smile at the memory of all the pranks Simi had played.
“I’m sorry, Simi.” She bent down to stroke his fur.
Simi’s eyes popped open and Beryl stumbled backward. He screamed from deep inside his throat. The baboon’s lips curled back and he leapt at Beryl’s face, claws extended.
Without thinking, she struck out again with the rungu. Simi tried to grab it for himself. Beryl held the stick in front of her, like Arap Maina held a spear. She rammed the stick into Simi’s body, crushing his stomach against the wall. Simi wrapped his arms around his body and hunched over. He hid his face the way baboons did when another creature bested them.
Beryl watched with wary eyes, rungu at the ready. With a quickening of her breath, she knew what Arap
“Will you come with me?”
“I told you. I’m working.” She turned back to Camiscan and brushed his long legs. “Simi’s probably on the porch underneath that bench.”
“All right.” He trudged off, kicking the dirt.
Beryl smiled to herself and patted Camiscan. “Arthur had better watch out,” she murmured to the stallion. “Or else he’ll get a big clout across the head. Simi doesn’t like to share.”
Her hand was closing the latch of the stall to lock Camiscan in for the night when a shriek split the evening. Only Simi sounded like that: like a human screaming, but without words. Beryl took off at a run in the direction of the house.
“Help!” Arthur cried.
“I’m coming!” she called.
Another baboon shriek. She had never heard Simi so angry.
Beryl took the shallow steps with a leap and skidded to a stop on the porch. “Simi!” she shouted. “Get away from him!”
The baboon had trapped Arthur in the corner of the porch. His arms wrapped around his head, Arthur had made himself as small a target as possible. His face had a huge welt. The baboon had struck once already.
“Simi, get away from him!” Beryl repeated. She smacked her hand against her leg, as her father did when he gave Simi an order.
Simi bared his sharp teeth. With contempt in his eyes, he turned back to the little boy.
Beryl’s eyes shot around the compound. Where was Daddy? Where was Arap Maina?
“Help me, Beryl!” Arthur screamed.
“Don’t move, Arthur.” She was trembling, but her voice was steady.
Simi turned back to Arthur, and with a long swipe of his claws raked down the boy’s shoulder. The blood welled up on the skin, and he shrieked from the pain.
Beryl darted in to grab Simi’s arm. The animal must have had eyes in the back of his head. With his other arm, he reached across, lifted her by her shirt’s collar, and threw her hard against the railing. She lay on the porch floor, the rough cedar pressed into her skin. A cut on her cheek bled, mixing with the tears rolling down her face. Simi was too strong for her.
The baboon moved toward Arthur. “Beryl!” he cried. “Do something!”
Beryl pushed herself up. She wouldn’t fail again. She had to save Arthur. Casting about for a weapon—any weapon—she cursed herself for leaving her knife in her hut. Her eyes lit on her father’s rungu, propped against the front door. She grabbed the narrow end of the walking stick and swung it in a wide circle above her head. The heavy, knobby end connected hard with the side of Simi’s head.
Thwap.
The baboon went down like one of her father’s trees.
Holding her breath, Beryl gripped the rungu in front of her. The baboon lay still on his side. She exhaled when she saw the widening pool of blood under his skull.
Arthur whimpered. Beryl spared him a glance. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He looked up at her, his face streaked with blood and tears. “Is he dead?”
“I think so.” She approached the body. The baboon’s face was unusually peaceful. It was easy to forget the wild beast and remember the years he’d been the family pet, to smile at the memory of all the pranks Simi had played.
“I’m sorry, Simi.” She bent down to stroke his fur.
Simi’s eyes popped open and Beryl stumbled backward. He screamed from deep inside his throat. The baboon’s lips curled back and he leapt at Beryl’s face, claws extended.
Without thinking, she struck out again with the rungu. Simi tried to grab it for himself. Beryl held the stick in front of her, like Arap Maina held a spear. She rammed the stick into Simi’s body, crushing his stomach against the wall. Simi wrapped his arms around his body and hunched over. He hid his face the way baboons did when another creature bested them.
Beryl watched with wary eyes, rungu at the ready. With a quickening of her breath, she knew what Arap
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