11.
Less than a mile away at Te Aro Pa, death had also perplexed the earliest of morning risers. From a tribal perspective, the passing in the night of Ko Hemi Tuwhare was most devastating news.
Within moments of the discovery of the body of the head elder, the tangihanga had begun. As he was already an old man, there was an instant assumption that he had probably died of natural causes.
But a young and rebellious individual named Te Moana, who discovered the body, was convinced that there were other going’s on that had preceded his death. But they weren’t easy to explain.
“I found him this morning,” Te Moana told Hone, who had spent the night at the Pa and risen late. “The Gods made him crazy. It is a tragedy for our people.”
“I saw him when I returned from town and he was fine then,” Hone replied. “What is this crusty white substance on his lips?”
“Some of our people are afraid to touch him,” Te Moana apprised, “they fear he is tapu. Some cannot even bring themselves to look at him. How can this be so? He was a great man. How can the demons have claimed him so quickly and without a sign?”
As tribal members were trying to come to terms with the tragedy, seeing their leader in such a state was overbearing. Confusion was setting in. Some had heard the rumours of ghouls in the cemetery above the city and looking at Ko Hemi Tuwhare, was indeed like looking at a zombie.
“I’m sure that you’ll find that there is a more logical medical explanation than demons have possessed him Te Moana,” Hone offered. “I will go and find a doctor. I’m not sure that I can believe my own eyes.”
Hone and Te Moana’s conversation was interrupted by Rangihatuaka, older brother of the latter, who had little time for the former. He had been quietly listening to their con flab and had more news for the pair.
“There has been another possession Te Moana.” the elder began. “Ngatata is also dead.”
Te Moana and Hone were speechless.
“His face is the same,” Rangihatuaka continued. “I fear the same spirit has claimed him.”
“Ngatata is the same pale colour as Ko Hemi?” Hone asked.
Rangihatuaka had been up in the night and already knew that the devastation was widespread throughout Wellington city. Other elders had attended the Council meeting and were still there when Ngatata was found dead in his room.
“There have been many deaths,” he said. “The demons have come and claimed the lives and souls of many Pakeha also. But why they have taken Ko Hemi & Ngatata, I do not know.”
“Do we know anyone else who has died Rangi? Do we know any of these people?” Hone was inquisitive.
“Yes,” replied the new leader. “I am afraid that you know a great deal of them.”
“I know them?” Hone looked and sounded confused. “What do you mean by that?”
Rangihatuaka hesitated before replying; “It is my opinion that you should leave here now Hone. Given the circumstances of the events last night, I do not want to be harbouring a fugitive on this Pa.”
“What?” Hone began.
“But that is not your decision to make Rangihatuaka,” Te Moana cut in. “Hone was a great friend to Ko Hemi and Ngatata and had their blessing to stay here.”
“Do not propose to speak for all the people of Te Atiawa, Te Moana,” Rangihatuaka replied, raising his tone and grabbing hold of his brother. “There is a rumour, that this man you shelter may be responsible for the deaths of most of these people.”
“What nonsense is this you talk?”
Looking to bring Hone back into the conversation, the two Maori discovered that while they bickered, he had quite simply disappeared.
“He is pouhawaiki!,” Rangihatuaka screamed. “He will discover that many of his friends have died and there is an emerging pattern regarding their deaths. Then you will see ‘Hone’ in another light Te Moana, as a servant of the devil himself.”
“Hatana, the heathen,” Te Moana challenged his elder sibling. “Strong words my brother.”
“Ru, the rising of the ground and now these deaths,” Rangihatuaka came back, now calmer than he had been, more reflective than angry. “Do you not listen and see the signs Te Moana? Hone is no longer welcome here.”
Having parted company with David Robertson, Frank Aitchison decided the moment had come to pay his long overdue visit to the Princess Hotel. But on the spur of the moment, on such a wonderful spring afternoon, he again changed his mind.
Such was the obstinance in his opinion, he decided to make the small journey further up the hill, so as to have a quick, quiet snoop around the observatory.
The duration was brief, but the climb honest and he found himself, to his dismay, almost out of breath when he reached his destination. To his surprise though, he was able to lever open an unlocked window and get inside the stone building.
The chances of being caught were minimal, but he didn’t want to waste too much time. He was aware that his presence would be required back in the city, as events from the previous evening continued to unfold.
He rummaged through some papers on a desk, mostly astronomy related charts and diagrams, with notes made in the hand of Octavius Hadfield. He lifted rugs to look for secret trapdoors and behind picture frames for keys or safe’s.
To his disappointment, there was no trace of anything incriminating. Should one be looking for evidence to pin on a certain John Valentine, or his moonshine operation, for example.
Just after 2pm, Dr. Maurice Kebbel walked into the main bar of the Princess Hotel, to be greeted by the proprietor, Mr. Charles Edward Suisted. Kebbel had very little by the way of sleep in the last 12 hours or so and Suisted was still wound up like a savagely deranged cuckoo clock.
“How was the meeting Maurice?”
“Fractious, to say the least,” the doctor replied. “When the obvious is not so to the common man, no amount of persuasion will sway his mind, therefore any poignant argument is futile.”
“Righto, if you say so Doc.”
If there was one thing that Maurice Kebbel absolutely despised, it was when someone called him Doc.
“I trust that you have had all the whisky removed,” he retorted, condescendingly. “It is enough for myself to have to deal with this epidemic and all the deaths that occurred last evening, without having to check up on your business as well. Thankfully things seem to have settled down, no deaths since reported since 11am.”
Just as Suisted was acknowledging Kebbel’s comments and about to respond, Tommy Roundtree came rushing into the bar.
“Guv…Oh, thank the heavens, Dr. Kebbel as well,” he blurted out, frantically trying to catch his breath. “Come quick, The Whiffler, he’s not at all well!”
Outside the pub, in the back seat of his hansom, The Whiffler was foaming at the mouth, virtually incoherent and was making gurgling noises of sorts. No one was sure if he could even comprehend reality at this point.
“Stay with me man!” Kebbel yelled. “Just when I thought there was some respite. John, can you hear me? John!”
But Whiffler was comatose and had gone quiet.
“We’re losing him,” the doctor went on, then continued to talk to himself principally. “Strange. Same symptoms, a sudden illness. And his breath smells like whisky!”
“He had a few healthy slugs from that flagon we found of Bills,” Tommy informed them. “It’s under that blanket.”
“Healthy?” exclaimed Charles. “Now there’s an irony! I told you bastards to get rid of that whisky, now get rid of it once and for all you damn fool.”
Realising now that there was a possibility that Frank Aitchison could actually be onto something, as loathe as he was to admit it, the practitioner in Maurice Kebbel decided that the contents of the whisky flagon were worthy of further medical analysis.
“Not so hasty Charles,” he said, motioning to all in sundry to not make moves to dispose of the contents. “You say this was one of Bills flagons? The ones he brought down the hill, day before yesterday?”
“Yes, yes,” Charles again interjected. “Now get rid of it before I do it myself.”
“Wait on!” yelled the doctor. “I can scarcely believe it myself, but it looks as though Aitchison may be right to suspect the alcohol, although I know not why.”
The gathered went silent. If Maurice Kebbel didn’t have the answer, how were any of them expected to provide anything of any practical value regarding an explanation medicalis?
“But I had some last night and I’m fine,” Kebbel continued. “But…yes, this is the new brew that we carted up to the observatory and mine at home is a month or so old. Charles, this is most important. Who was on Bills rounds? Who did he give whisky to last night from this flagon?”
The publican scratched his head and thought for a moment.
“Well, let me see now,” he said. “Well, I can’t be certain of anyone – except himself of course.”
“And presumably the visiting actress he was found dead with,” Kebbel added, to which Suisted nodded his head, also expecting that to be the case.
“Anyone else?” Kebbel cross-questioned.
“I’m really not sure Maurice,” Charles replied. “Oh wait, he did say that he was going to deliver some to old Agnes Buxton, he knew she’d be dry and joked about it.”
“Agnes Buxton,” said Kebbel. “Now isn’t that a coincidence. What about Paddy Jepson? Or was he drinking whisky off your shelf?
“Actually,” the publican replied, “Bill gave Paddy a hip flask to take home with him, but he started on it before he left so he’d not have to buy anymore. I had a go at him a couple of times about it.”
“And ‘Piccolo’ Charlie too, I’m guessing,” Maurice pondered. “But it certainly doesn’t account for the deaths of the Wallace children.”
“Or the chief of Te Aro Pa,” Tommy Roundtree butted in. “And at least one other Maori elder also.”
“Right,” said Kebbel, snapping back into reality. “There are a lot of things that do not add up as yet, but I am care taking this flagon of whisky, from this moment forth.”
He turned to face Charles Suisted and Tom Roundtree; “Exactly – no lies now either of you – exactly how many flagons of this new brew of Valentines whisky have made it down the hill?”
Neither of them appeared to know the answer for sure. The brace brought down by Bill Diamond, were the only goons anyone knew about, if it were only a couple.
Dr. Maurice Kebbel, suddenly aware that everyones left hand, knew not what their right was doing, addressed both men in a most forthright manner.
“It is absolutely imperative – that means essential Tommy – oh, let’s settle for ‘critically important’…that no one speaks of this and that no one goes anywhere near the observatory, for any reason whatsoever. Is that absolutely and completely understood?”
Both men nodded and mumbled words to the effect that they had taken this information in.
“Charles,” came a command from Kebbel. “Spread the word to all in the Astronomy Club. Tommy; go and find Murphy and tell him to meet me at my residence immediately, with the live rats I’ve requested from him.”