The Sun Is God by Adrian McKinty Read Free Book Online Page B

think of trying anything.”
    Will shook his wrist free and attempted to make his mustache bristle in the way the German military men did so well, “My dear fellow, you must have mistaken me for someone else entirely.”
    â€œI don’t think so, Mr. Will Prior, you just make sure the number of knives and forks at your place is the same as when you got here.”
    â€œI’ve never suffered such impertinence in my life,” Will was going to say, but he was weary of the fight and instead nodded meekly and walked on, thankful that Evans hadn’t commented on his plimsolls, which were squeaking now like poisoned rats in a granary.
    â€œFinally!” Queen Emma said when he at last entered the dining room.
    â€œI do beg your pardon,” Will said, his cheeks crimson.
    â€œSit, sit and we can begin,” Queen Emma ordered with a grin that was both indulgent and a little impatient.
    The table was set for seven and the room was much as Will remembered it. Open on the north side to catch the sea breeze with sliding American-style screen doors keeping out the insects. A lethal looking chandelier hung from the high-beamed pine ceiling. European oil paintings from three different centuries hung on the walls. The floor was a scrubbed and polished teak but Queen Emma was a flamboyant eater and the table and chair legs were covered with ant traps.
    The only innovation since Will’s luncheon—when there had been twenty people in here and a servant behind every chair—was the cooling device: a large mechanically operated fan blowing over a gigantic slab of ice from Emma’s ice-making machine. With the breeze and the ice, the room was a pleasant seventy degrees Fahrenheit.
    Emma herself was unchanged. Easily fifteen stone and tanned from her yacht but still extraordinarily beautiful. She was dressed in a purple sarong with bare arms and shoulders and a décolletage that took a frightening plunge. Her eyes were dark and intelligent, her cheeks ruddy, and her famous laugh—which Will could hear sometimes all the way from his house—was evidently intact. The daughter of a Samoan princess and an American trader, she had been schooled in Australia and taught business by both her father and her first husband, the Scottish entrepreneur James Forsayth. Emma was the richest woman in German New Guinea and one of the richest women in the South Pacific. She had built her empire on copra, rubber, and a few coal seams, originally in Samoa and now mostly in New Britain and New Ireland. The Germans had let her be when they had annexed the place, which was wise because she was the only one who seemed able to turn a profit in these parts—no matter what was happening in the world economy.
    Apart from the fidgety Doctor Bremmer and rather tense Captain Kessler the other guests at the table were Doctor Parkinson, Governor Hahl, and a mysterious lady whom Will had never seen before. She was obviously European and a bluestocking, not quite of Emma’s size but getting there. She was no beauty, although her cheeks were red and her eyes were clear, green, and sharp. She had curly brown hair crammed under a rumpled pink hat that might have been in fashion twenty years ago. A half a crown, she’s the sausage-eating sister of Governor Hahl , Will said to himself.
    Hahl himself was a languid little man, with a waxed face, waxed mustache, and a tight coiffure resembling that of the tin soldiers Will had played with as a boy.
    The famous Doctor Parkinson, Queen Emma’s plantation manager and aide-de-camp, was tall, clean-shaven, blue of eye, and Danish. He had to be pushing fifty-five, which was positively ancient in the fever latitudes. He, more than anyone else, was responsible for Queen Emma’s wealth. He had a knack for wise investments, buying failing plantations and turning them into profitable endeavors. He was an eccentric who liked to watch birds, botanize, and paint still lifes, but