Free Death in Zanzibar by M. M. Kaye

disasters. A painfully audible anecdote about a settler who, while flying his family in to Nairobi for a week-end, made a forced landing in waterless country where they all died of thirst before help could reach them, was succeeded by another concerning a convivial gentleman called ‘Blotto’ Coots who ‘pancaked’ in the sea off Mombasa and was devoured by sharks, and a third relating to one ‘Toots’ Parbury-Basset who crashed into the crater of an extinct volcano, killing herself, two friends and her African houseboy in the process …
    â€˜Must have got caught in a down-draught: or else her engine cut out,’ trumpeted the narrator light-heartedly. ‘We didn’t find ’em till the next day. Nasty mess. Bits all over the shop — no idea who was who. Did you hear about that airliner that broke up over the Mediterranean last Tuesday? Come to think of it, must have been just about where we are now. Forty-eight people on board and ____ ’
    The Arab, Jembe, rose abruptly and hurried down the aisle once more, casting the speaker a look of virulent dislike as he passed. It was obvious that he too had caught part of the conversation, and Dany remembered his recent assertion that he felt ‘always most bad over the sea, for if the engines should fail then, we will all drown: it is terrible!’ He had something there, she thought, peering down at the enormous empty leagues of sea so far below them, and wondering if there were sharks in the Mediterranean. She had it on good authority that there were plenty off the Mombasa coast, and it occurred to her that if the timorous Jembe had been tuned in on the fate of the late ‘Blotto’ Coots, he was likely to feel a lot worse once they left Mombasa on the last lap of their journey.
    If he has any sense, thought Dany, he’ll take a strong sedative! She was not sure that she couldn’t do with one herself.
    A star swam palely into the blue immensity above, to be followed by another and another, until at last it was dark. The chairs were tipped back to facilitate sleep, and the lights were dimmed to no more than a faint blue glow; but it was not a restful night — although judging from the stentorian snores, a few people found it so.
    In the yellow dawn they came down for breakfast at Khartoum, where the stewardess, assisted by the First Officer, made another unsuccessful attempt to arouse the slumbering Mr Holden. ‘We’re supposed to turn everyone out at these stops,’ explained the First Officer, ‘but short of carrying him out, and back in again, there doesn’t seem to be much that we can do about this one. He must have been on one hell of a bender. Lucky chap! Oh well — let him lie. Are you with him, Miss — er ____ ?’
    â€˜Kitchell,’ supplied Dany hastily. ‘Yes. I’m his secretary.’
    â€˜Tough luck! What are you going to do about him when we reach Nairobi?’
    â€˜I’ve no idea,’ said Dany truthfully. ‘But he’s bound to wake up before then.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said the First Officer cheerfully, and went away followed by the stewardess.
    Dany and the remainder of the passengers, looking heavy-eyed and somewhat creased, had eaten breakfast and exchanged wan, polite smiles as the sun rose over Ethiopia. Sir Ambrose Yardley had left, looking regretful, and his place had been taken by a stout Indian. But otherwise the passenger list was unchanged, and the weary, yawning faces were beginning to look as familiar to Dany as though she had known them all for several years.
    Lash had woken shortly after they had taken off again. He had looked at Dany as though he had no idea at all who she was, and having informed his Maker that he felt terrible, had staggered off to the men’s washroom where he had apparently drunk several quarts of richly chlorinated water, and returning to his seat had instantly fallen