Free Looking for Mrs Dextrose by Nick Griffiths Page A

terms. “I’ve learnt never to get drunk at the Frihedhags’ celebration party!”
    “Hmm,” he said, frowning. “Do you not feel that the more you discover, the less you know?”
    “Yes. No. Maybe.” He had lost me. “So how did you become leader of the tribe?”
    “Aha. That is a long story,” said Gdgi, and he must have spotted my involuntary grimace because he added, “But I will tell you quickly. The honour is passed down from father to
son. If there is no boy-child then a new dynasty is chosen. But a new leader must always prove himself worthy. He must go into the forest alone with his spear and he must bring back a wild boar to
feed his people. If he does not kill such an animal, he cannot return, or it will bring shame upon his family.”
    I didn’t know much about wild boars. Weren’t they just pigs with tusks?
    Gdgi went on: “My brother, Mkki, who was older than me, was killed by a boar during such a test. That is how I came to be leader. I tracked down the creature that took his life, I killed
it and ate its heart, and my people stripped its bones.”
    He looked around him. “What do you understand of my people?”
    “A little,” I hazarded.
    “The truth is you understand less than that, Pilsbury. Though we seem happy tonight, tomorrow we shall be sadder. Many times we return from hunting trips empty-handed. Our forest is being
destroyed by companies who bring bulldozers and tear down the trees, encroaching upon our lands. We have sent delegations to speak with them and they make promises, but bring only destruction.
    “And as they destroy the forest they kill many animals and drive others far away. If we “Q’tse die, Pilsbury, our ways and our language will die with us. And who will know and
who will care? I wonder this often.”
    I didn’t know what to say.
    “One of your TV explorers came here some time ago and we talked when the cameras were not working, about our histories. He told me that there had been two world wars. I was shocked. My
people had not heard of these. I said to him, ‘How could they have been world wars if we were not invited?’”
    “Right,” I said.
    Conversation-wise, he had waded out of my depth.
    Gdgi must have cottoned on to this, because he smiled and stopped talking about himself. “I notice, Pilsbury, many times while we have talked, you have looked at your Shaman. I wondered
why. I have never asked how you became friends.”
    It was true. I’d been desperate to keep an eye on both shamen. What would happen when mine suspected his dastardly poisoning plan had been somehow foiled?
    “We aren’t exactly friends,” I said. “Really I’m helping him out.”
    “Oh? Why is that?”
    “Well, it’s a long story. He has a map I need to see.”
    “He will not show it to you?”
    “No…” How much should I tell Gdgi, I wondered? Perhaps if I gave away enough he would offer to help me out. Might indiscretion be the better part of cowardice? “To be
honest, I’m finding him rather devious.”
    Gdgi laughed. “You do not surprise me! What has he promised you?”
    Tread gently. “He told me he’d show me the map if I brought him here. But he didn’t. And then” – How to word this one? – “…there was a funny
thing with his brother…”
    “His brother?”
    “Yes. Your shaman.”
    “Our shaman? But that is not his brother. Indeed the shaman you bring here is a classic only child.”
    Really? “So he doesn’t have a brother?”
    “No.”
    “They didn’t go to shaman school together?”
    Gdgi slapped his thigh and roared with laughter. “Shaman school! That is very funny. Oh dear. Shaman school. Goodness me!”
    I wasn’t finding it funny. “He said they were big rivals.”
    “Goodness me, no. They are great friends!”
    “But. That fight when we arrived?”
    “Oh, it is for show. They are always doing that. The people love it.” He noticed my deepening concern. “Is something wrong?”
    “Do you trust him?”
    “No. Of