Promise the Night by Michaela MacColl Read Free Book Online

resist a dare.
     
    It began only a few months ago. There had been lobster, champagne, and a jazz band so noisy you couldn’t hear your dinner partner. Lord J. C. Carberry, a thoroughly unpleasant man but a generous host, leaned across the table, his black eyes glittering in their sunken sockets.

    “Beryl,” he said loudly, capturing everyone’s attention. “What do you think of this woman Earhart? She’s a snappy dresser.”

    “What does it matter what Amelia Earhart wears? She’s a smashing pilot,” I said. What was the old fox up to?

    “She crossed the Atlantic solo. Got a lot of publicity.”

    “Well deserved,” I answered.

    He glanced around the table. “She took the easy route, west to east. Do you care to try it the hard way?”

    England to New York. East to west. Flying in the dark over the stormy North Atlantic. The winds against me. Chasing the morning.

    After a bare moment, “I would…if I had a plane.”

    “It’s a deal!” J. C. cried. “I provide the plane and you do the flying.” He called for another bottle of champagne and we toasted my flight. Everyone laughed, clinked glasses, and drifted off to dance. Just as though there weren’t pilots crashing every day to their deaths in the deserts, in the forests, into the freezing water.

    Why did I say yes? Everyone was setting records in those days. Tom set one just the other day, flying from London to Melbourne in only 71 hours. It’s my turn.

CHAPTER SIX

    BY TWILIGHT, BERYL WAS TIRED OF WAITING. SHE’D DELIVERED the goat and left Arap Maina and Kibii to their task. But no sooner had the sun fully set than she was creeping toward the water tower. She wore a dark shirt and her filthiest trousers, to blend into the night. After a moment’s consideration, she kept her shell bracelet on her wrist.
     
    As she got closer, she could see Kibii crouched underneath a rusty water tank. Beyond him, lit by the rising moon, was a clearing where the miserable goat was tethered. Careful not to step on anything that would make a noise, Beryl moved forward.

    Suddenly, her body was lifted from behind and she couldn’t breathe. Arap Maina had pulled her up by the back of her shirt. She swung from his grip, like a cub in a lioness’s mouth.

    “Arap Maina,” she cried. “How did you know I was coming?”

    “Beru, you are louder than your goat and your yellow hair is easy to see in the dark,” he scolded. “You must go home.”

    “Please let me stay,” Beryl begged.

    He shook his head. “Your father…” he began.

    “Wants his livestock to be safe.”

    “He also wants his daughter to be safe.”

    “He asked you to teach me,” Beryl reminded him. “And I want to learn, so I can help my father.”

    Arap Maina looked up at the sky as if to find inspiration from the bats and owls flying overhead.

    “Please,” Beryl said again. “At least let me watch.”

    “If I take you back to your hut, I might miss the leopard, and all our work will be undone.” With a sigh, he put her down. “Kibii, come here.”

    “Father?” came Kibii’s low voice. He emerged from the bushes, his steps silent. Then he saw Beryl and his tone became accusatory. “What is she doing here?”

    “Take Beru to the top of the water tank. Stay with her and keep her safe.”

    “But we were to hunt together!” Kibii protested.

    “I don’t need protecting!” Beryl exclaimed at the same instant.
     
    Arap Maina pointed. They climbed up the tank’s ladder.

    “I’m sorry, Kibii,” she said as they lay on their stomachs. He didn’t answer.
     
    The moon continued its long arc into the sky. The surface of the water tank was hard and bumpy against Beryl’s stomach. Nothing moved below. The goat bleated, as if inviting a leopard to kill him.

    “Kibii,” she whispered. “I thought hunting would be more interesting.”

    “This is not hunting, it is minding a girl-child who does not know her place,” he snarled. “Now, be quiet. If you