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feeling was markedly different. The day belonged to man, but the night belonged to the things that creeped and crawled and flew from tree to tree in the dense, ancient, primordial jungle.
    They walked along the little coast road for fifty meters until they came to Kessler’s house: a large, ugly bungalow on stilts overlooking the bay.
    â€œGerhard!” Kessler called out.
    A native boy—clearly not Gerhard—ran from the darkness, took Brunhilde by the reins, and led her to a stable block with Ross mosquito screens over the shutters: perhaps the real reason for Brunhilde’s longevity.
    â€œIf you will just excuse me for one moment, Will,” Kessler said, going inside.
    Will nodded. The sun had set over Cape Stevens and the sky had rapidly turned the curious purple-black color that it assumed in the rainy season. Herbertshöhe had almost no street lighting and since the local ants would devour any candles they came across, the few internal house lights were kerosene or whale-blubber lanterns. With this light and the rich star-field it was just bright enough to read on most nights, if one was so inclined. But why read when you could watch Siwa dance the Ramayana or go with her, watching for snakes, into the jungle behind the house until you came to the waterfall that brought river-water clear and cold from some unknown place in the highlands.
    Kessler had been inside for five minutes.
    â€œWhat’s going on in there?” Will asked.
    â€œOh, I am sorry, Will,” Kessler said from somewhere. “This is taking . . . I should have asked you . . . Braun, can you escort Herr Prior inside and get him a glass of schnapps.”
    The door opened and a blonde youth in a shining uniform ushered Will inside the bungalow. The youths were always blonde, winsome, pale. This one so pale he was probably already on the coffin maker’s list.
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing, Kessler?” Will shouted, declining the schnapps with a shake of the head.
    â€œI will not be a moment Will, make yourself at home.”
    It was a dreary house: a few old-fashioned pieces of furniture, some dull native drawings, and several genuinely disturbing local Duk Duk masks. Kessler did, however, possess an extensive library and a rather impressive gramophone machine. Will took a volume off one of the shelves and found that it was in Greek. He put it back again.
    â€œDo you like those things?” Will asked, pointing at the masks.
    The blonde youth shrugged.
    Duk Duk was one of the better-organized local religions, their witchdoctors forcing the natives who worked in the plantations to pay them a regular spiritual tax out of their meager wages. And if they didn’t: hexes, curses, spells, the whole shooting match.
    â€œMay I have a go on this gramophone machine?” Will asked.
    â€œDo not let him touch it, Braun!” Kessler shrieked, and a moment later appeared in full evening dress of black dinner jacket, white shirt, butterfly collar, gold cufflinks, and black bow tie.
    â€œOh really, Klaus, is this necessary?” Will asked.
    â€œHave you dined at Frau Forsayth’s before?”
    â€œI had a luncheon,” Will sniffed.
    â€œShe is quite strict with her gentlemen callers, we Germans certainly, although she may pardon you; she has a soft spot for Englishmen.”
    â€œI hadn’t noticed.”
    They walked outside just in time to see Doctor Bremmer hurrying along the track to Gunantambu.
    â€œHerr Doctor Bremmer!” Kessler yelled.
    Bremmer jumped. “Gott in Himmel you frightened me,” he said.
    Much to Will’s chagrin he saw that Doctor Bremmer was also in full evening dress. The men greeted one another and Kessler asked Bremmer if he, too, had been summoned to Frau Forsayth’s.
    â€œI received a note from the Governor, not one hour ago. I assume this is not about the unfortunate business of . . .” Bremmer’s voice trailed