Smit Golden Heads & Fuzzy Tales

an Epic Historical Adventure
1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-3-7103-2153-5
Verlag: PublishDrive
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 306 Seiten

Reihe: PublishDrive

Set against a rich historical backdrop, the narrative follows a riveting and high-stakes quest to capture the national bullion of an entire country. The plot centers around an unlikely and diverse alliance forged between three distinct characters who must learn to work together: a homeless Boer, a British spy & a Zulu warrior.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Smit, Ro

Leseproben

*****

Friday 14 September 1900

To My Dearest boys:

I doubt if you will ever get to read this letter. I just have to put into words the craziness of this day.

Your Mother had just departed Africa on course for my return to you.

But something terrible happened.

The vessel I traveled on suffered a mishap and went down in flames.

The event left me fuming with discontent until the smoke choked me into semi-silence. While coughing constantly, I was forced to hang out of the huge rectangular window to avoid the fire at my back.

A young Boer with a food stain across the front of his, otherwise splendidly white shirt, ran past me with yet more water. I remembered the man. The same young man had helped me with my luggage while boarding the airship back in Lorenzo Marques. Then, as the chasing British naval ship blasted the hole into the side of the Zeppelin’s passenger pod, the same young man had messed himself with his plate of saucy food.

What a mess I still thought.

Yet I wasn’t referring to the man’s shirt, but rather to the idea that my ‘own people’ had almost killed me.

The airship leaned heavily to one side and not even the use of our drinking water could stop the flames at the back of the craft. Worse, the airship dipped slowly downwards and towards the approaching ocean.

As you probably DON’T know, your dear Mother secretly suffers from aqua phobia - the fear of drowning.

Then there was a loud snapping sound. Another one of the cables above had broken and the airship tilted more to the side. The motion flung me through the open window. I made a last-gasp effort to grab at my precious vanity case; which in turn flew past me.

Then I closed my eyes to block the sight of a rapidly approaching death-by-falling.

Death didn’t seek me on that day. I landed in the branches of a tree along the shoreline. Yet I was saved by the most unexpected person.

I wanted to scream if he didn’t let go of me immediately. Then it appeared as though the big man considered hanging me back onto the branches.

‘Listen woman…’ he growled with a lowered, deep voice, ‘…go ahead and scream your little lungs out. But I will drop you right here like a sack of potatoes when the Zulu Impi appears from behind those bushes…then YOU can entertain them on your own!’

A mixture of his stern, commanding tone and the growing loudness of the approaching Impi mandated my silence. There was no chance for a reply anyway, as the force of the horse’s acceleration nearly knocked my wiry frame windless

*****

“Holy crap...” I muttered in amazement.

The tale sounded very familiar.

I rattled the plastic bag for the next page but there was none.

“Hey man, how the hell did you get hold of this my friend?”

Prof just pulled up his shoulders like it was a perfectly normal thing to find a collaborating document for the journal – and perfectly normal to find one written more than a hundred years ago.

“Well…” he milked the situation a bit for effect, “…when you’re good…you’re good.”

As usual I had to wait a few moments before he deemed me worthy of his smart-ass answer.

“I simply inquired…in the correct form of inquiry…if anybody knew of some crazy stories written in 1900…on Friday the Fourteenth of September…”

After we read that letter, the moment arrived when the blind man opened his eyes after a successful optical nerve surgery.

Needless to say, we rushed home to read some more from the diary, but I nicked the gate with the tire of my SUV on the way out. It was only after another hour of squabbling with the security guard and the manager of the mall that we finally sat down at my house.

We were just about to read on when my wife walked into the living room.

“I think we should go to Cape Town for the entire holidays,” she said, “we can afford it now. What is this with you and that ugly book? Can you guys just put it down for a bit; please.”

I promptly dropped the journal on the coffee table.

“My mom phoned today and said we’re welcome to stay as long as we want…”

“That sounds great, angel.” I replied to her and then gestured to the object of our temptation. “Prof, you read up so long until you catch up to my bookmark.”

“Naturally I will”

Prof grabbed the journal and paced away while flipping the yellowed pages.

My wife plopped down next to me.

“Who knows when we’ll be able to do it again,” she continued, “and it’ll only be the second time that Jimmy has ever seen the ocean. My dad’s already planning whole lists of things we’re gonna do.”

“That’s great honey.”

I didn’t dislike her mom. But my mind remained with Bernardus and the mysterious lady who fell from the airship. Prof remained quiet as a mouse; pacing around with his nose in the journal.

“Are we going to the sea?” Jimmy asked as his broad smile peered around the doorway of the lounge.

My wife skated across the tiles of the kitchen in her wooly, oversized socks and picked him up playfully.

“Yes my big boy!”

She swung him playfully through the air.

“But only if you promise to be a good boy. It’s past Ten…now get back to bed. Mommy loves you.”

Prof cleared his throat.

“Okay, I’m at your bookmark.”

“Can I phone my mom and tell her we’re coming?” My wife asked yet she actually told me.

“Yes. Tell her we leave day after tomorrow.”

My wife continued speaking, but I’d already slipped in next to Prof on the coach.

“We don’t have to drive down you know…”

*****

…‘keep quiet!’ I barked into the red hair fluttering all over my face. A few strands jammed into the gap between my front teeth and I promptly bit it off.

After half a mile of bashing through the leaves and plants of the undergrowth, the brown mare finally pulled up next to Mark Twain. I noticed the mare’s wide eyes.

‘Okay, Ou Vrou, okay,’ I said soothingly.

The red headed woman sitting awkwardly in front of me had finally stopped grunting as the horses came to a complete halt. Her head twisted like that of a marionette in her neck-high, blue Victorian dress and a pair of fiery, jade eyes appeared.

‘Now you listen here, Boer,’ she said in a furious tone and dismissive manner, ‘don’t think for a moment that I cannot understand your Afrikaans!’

I did NOT appreciate the way in which she articulated the word ‘Boer.’

The woman continued her rant.

‘You think you can yank me...